The Uneven Path

It was just another day for Anjali, walking down the familiar streets of her neighborhood. At the age of fifty four, walking was the only form of exercise Anjali did every evening without fail to keep herself fit. The air was crisp, and the golden hues of late autumn danced across the sidewalk, crunching beneath her sandals. She had taken this route a thousand times before, her mind often wandering with the rhythm of her steps. Today, however, she was distracted. Her phone vibrated incessantly in her pocket—work emails, family group chats, reminders she’d been putting off for too long.

Anjali sighed, pulling her Dupatta tighter as the wind picked up. She wasn't paying much attention to where she was stepping, her thoughts tangled in the endless loop of responsibilities and decisions she felt she wasn’t ready to face. Then, with an unexpected jolt, her foot struck something solid.

“Ouch!” she yelped, stumbling forward, catching herself just before she hit the ground. Heart pounding, she straightened up, rubbing her shin as she glanced back at what had tripped her.

A small, rectangular object lay half-buried in the fallen leaves. It didn’t look like much—maybe a piece of old furniture or some discarded junk. But something about it felt…off. Anjali’s curiosity got the better of her, and she knelt down, brushing the leaves aside to reveal a worn-out box, made of wood so old it had nearly turned gray. The box was intricately carved with the word Ohm on it, though the patterns faded with age.

She hesitated, her hand hovering over the box. A part of her wanted to just walk away—after all, who knew where it had come from? But another part, the part that had always been drawn to mysteries, urged her to open it. Slowly, she pried the lid loose.

Inside was a key.

It was unlike any key she had ever seen. It wasn’t made of metal, but some sort of smooth stone, and it seemed to shimmer faintly in the dull afternoon light. She ran her fingers over it, a strange sense of déjà vu washing over her. The moment her skin made contact, the world around her shifted. She felt as if she phased out momentarily

Her vision blurred, her body tingled, and the sound of the wind vanished. When she blinked, she wasn’t standing on the sidewalk anymore. Instead, she found herself in front of an immense wooden door, standing alone in the middle of an empty field. The sky was a deep, endless gray, and the ground beneath her feet felt unnaturally soft, like walking on a bed of moss.

Anjali’s heart raced as she took a few cautious steps forward, her eyes fixed on the door. It was massive, much taller than her, with thick iron bands running across it. It was a grand door in faded sky blue. A keyhole sat in the center, just the right size for the stone key in her hand.

She swallowed hard. “Where am I?”

The wind whispered around her, though there were no trees, no buildings, nothing but the door and the vast, empty landscape. She glanced behind her, hoping to see the familiar street, her world, but it was gone. There was only the door.

Instinctively, she reached for the key. It was warm in her hand, as if it had been waiting for her. She knew what she had to do, even if it made no sense. It wasn’t hot outside but Anjali was sweating profusely. She constantly wiped her forehead with her Dupatta. With trembling fingers, she inserted the key into the lock and turned.

The door swung open with a soft groan.

And beyond it—was something familiar, yet not. It was her world, but...different. The buildings in the distance looked like the ones in her town, but they were distorted, as though seen through the wrong end of a telescope. The colors were slightly off, too vibrant, too sharp, just the opposite of what it looked like outside. And the people—there were none.

Anjali’s heart pounded. She had to figure out where she was and how to get back. But as she stepped through the doorway, something told her that whatever this place was, it was important. It felt real—more real than the world she had left behind.

She could hear her breath echo in the strange quiet. There was no going back now. She had to find out what this place was—and why it felt so intertwined with her own life.

A World Unseen

Anjali walked cautiously. The landscape around her shifted subtly with each step. The town in the distance looked more and more familiar the closer she got, but something about it still felt wrong. The buildings were too perfect, as though someone had taken a photograph of her world and tweaked it in small, disorienting ways.

As she approached the edge of town, she saw a figure standing by the road—a man, tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in a snow-white Dhoti-kurta with a golden border. He looked elegant and well cultured with a soft welcoming smile. He was wearing wooden slippers. For a moment Anjali was reminded of her late grandfather who passed away decades ago in the same house when she was only ten years old. The man had the same look, the same pleasant demeanor and gentle elegance of her grandfather. He seemed to be waiting, but for what, Anjali wasn’t sure. Her first instinct was to avoid him, but there was nowhere else to go.

“Excuse me,” she called out, her voice sounding small in the stillness. “Can you tell me where I am?”

The man turned slowly, his face expressionless this time. The original soft smile had disappeared. “You’re in the In-Between,” he said.

Anjali frowned. “The In-Between?”

He nodded. “A place between worlds. It’s where you go when you’re stuck—when something in your life is unresolved.”

Her mind raced. What could he possibly mean? "Unresolved? I—I don't understand."

The man’s gaze softened slightly. “You will. But you need to figure it out for yourself. That door brought you here for a reason.”

Anjali glanced over her shoulder at the door, now far in the distance, standing solitary against the barren landscape. "How do I get back?"

The man’s eyes gleamed. “The same way you came. But first, you must find what you’re looking for.”

Anjali’s heart sank. “And what is that?”

He smiled faintly. "That’s the mystery, isn’t it?"

With that cryptic response, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the strange town. Anjali stood there, confused and frustrated, thinking, “What was this place? Why had she been brought here? And what did she need to resolve?”

Reluctantly, she followed him toward the town, hoping the answers would reveal themselves soon.

Shadows of Familiarity

The town unfolded before Anjali like a dream she had half-forgotten. The streets were eerily similar to those of her own neighborhood, but everything felt heightened, as though someone had taken the essence of home and stretched it into a strange, distorted reality. The houses stood in neat rows, their windows dark and lifeless. It was all so familiar, yet...off.

Anjali’s footsteps echoed loudly as she walked down the empty street, the silence thick around her. She had no destination in mind, but something—some invisible force—pulled her forward. Her eyes scanned the houses, searching for signs of life, but there was none. Every window was a blank stare, every door tightly shut. It felt like walking through a ghost town, except there were no ghosts, just the eerie absence of people.

As she turned a corner, her breath caught in her throat. There, in the distance, was a house she recognized all too well—her childhood home. The home where she lived with her father, mother and her brothers. The old bungalow-style house stood at the edge of the street, exactly as it had been when she was young. It had high ceilings, large verandas, ornamental pillars, and intricate woodwork, with Indian influences. The house was a blend of modern and traditional elements. The peeling white paint, the sagging porch, the tall Neem tree in the front yard—it was all there, unchanged, as though time had frozen.

Her heart raced as she approached the house. She hadn’t been back there in twenty-four years, not since her parents had sold it when she was in college. The memories flooded back: the smell of her mother’s cooking, the sound of her father’s voice, the creak of the stairs under her feet as she raced up to her room. Her brothers’ voices started echoing in her ears.

But this wasn’t her house, not really. This was the In-Between, and everything here had a purpose.

Anjali hesitated at the front gate. Her fingers brushed the rusted metal. The man’s words echoed in her mind: You’re stuck. Something unresolved. What could that possibly mean? What was she supposed to find here?

Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the gate and made her way up the front steps. Her hand hovered over the door handle for a moment before she twisted it, the familiar click of the latch sending a shiver down her spine.

The door swung open, and Anjali stepped inside.

The house was exactly as she remembered it—down to the last detail. The worn doormat in the entryway, the old grandfather’s clock ticking softly in the corner, the framed photographs on the wall. But it was too quiet. The air felt heavy, thick with a silence that pressed down on her chest.

She wandered through the house, her footsteps muted on the cemented floor. Every room was just as it had been: the drawing room with its faded sofa-set and cluttered centered table, the kitchen with its chipped tile counters and old-fashioned stove. It was like walking through a snapshot of her past, a place frozen in time.

In the hallway, she paused before a closed door. Her old bedroom.

Anjali swallowed, her hand trembling as she reached for the doorknob. She hadn’t thought about her old room in years, but now, standing before it, a flood of emotions washed over her—nostalgia, sadness, regret. What was it the man had said? Something unresolved.

She turned the knob and pushed the door open.

The room was just as she had left it. The bed neatly made, the desk cluttered with old newspapers and notebooks, the posters of her favorite actors still taped to the walls. And there, on the bed, sat a small wooden box—identical to the one she had found on the street.

Anjali’s heart pounded as she crossed the room, her eyes locked on the box. What was this? Why was it here? She picked it up, her fingers tracing the familiar carvings of Ohm. It was the same box, no doubt about it.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the lid.

Inside was a single photograph, yellowed with age. Anjali frowned as she lifted it out, turning it over in her hands. The photo was of her and her parents, taken when she was about eighteen years old. They were standing in the Varanda of the house, smiling at the camera. She remembered that day—it had been one of the last times they’d all been together before things started to fall apart.

She stared at the photo, her chest tightening. She had almost forgotten about that day, forgotten about the way her mother had fought constantly in the years after. The house had always been a source of tension—her father had wanted to sell it and move to the village, because her mother started falling sick a lot and needed a caretaker all the time. Caretakers were easily available in the village but not in towns. Her mother had insisted on keeping the house and living there. The house was the love of her life. She built her life-long memories in the house. They had fought for years, and by the time her father finally sold it, her family had been fractured beyond repair. Her elder brothers refused to take care of her mother who had moved out too. Anjali was too young and was unable to support her ailing mother because her college was out of town in a different city. Her father wouldn’t allow Anjali to transfer to a local college because he wanted Anjali to attend the best college.

Anjali’s fingers trembled as she held the photograph. Was this what she was supposed to find? Was this what was unresolved—the fractured emotions of her mother with the house? But her mother was gone now, lost to dementia. Her father still lived in the village. There was nothing she could do to fix it.

She sank onto the bed, her head spinning. What was the point of all this? Why had the door brought her here, to this painful reminder of her past?

Suddenly, the door to her bedroom creaked open. Anjali’s heart leapt into her throat as she turned to see a figure standing in the doorway. It was her mother.

But not as she had been before the dementia took hold. This was her mother as she remembered her—strong, vibrant, the woman who had held their family together for so long.

“Maa?” Anjali’s voice was barely a whisper.

Her mother smiled, her eyes soft and kind. “You’ve been carrying this for a long time, haven’t you?”

Anjali’s breath caught in her throat. “I...I didn’t know. I thought I’d moved on.”

Her mother shook her head gently. “You never forgave yourself. You never forgave your father, either. That’s why you’re here.”

Tears welled in Anjali’s eyes as she stared at the figure before her. “But how? How do I fix it now? You’re...you’re gone. Why didn’t I stay with you? Why didn’t I take care of you? Why did I leave you alone?”

Her mother’s smile didn’t falter. “Forgiveness isn’t about fixing the past. It’s about letting go. I didn’t want you to cut slack with your education either. You are in a better place now. Your father couldn't squander your future for the present. Your father took good care of me throughout. You shouldn’t feel bad about anything, Anjali.”

Anjali’s vision blurred as tears spilled down her cheeks. She had been carrying the weight of her failure to take care of her mother in her sick and aging condition, the pain of her fractured family, for so long. Anjali had never allowed herself to grieve, to forgive. But now, standing in this strange, in-between world, she realized that she didn’t have to carry it anymore.

Her mother’s image began to fade, the edges of the room blurring as well. Anjali blinked, wiping her eyes, but when she opened them again, the room was gone.

She was back in front of the door.

And this time, it was open.

The Return

Anjali stood there, staring at the door, her mind reeling from what she had just experienced. The box, the photograph, the conversation with her mother—it all felt so real, yet surreal at the same time. She wiped the last of her tears away, her heart still heavy, but lighter somehow. For the first time in years, she felt as though she could breathe.

The door, now ajar, beckoned her. Behind it, she could see the familiar street she had been walking down before all this had begun. It was a strange feeling—being drawn to the life she knew while carrying the weight of what she had learned in this in-between world.

As she stepped toward the door, a voice echoed in her mind. It was her mother’s voice again, gentle and firm, just as it had been in her memory: “Forgiveness isn’t about fixing the past. It’s about letting go.”

Anjali paused, her hand resting on the edge of the door. Letting go—could she really do that? The weight she had carried for years was so familiar that it had become part of her. But now, she realized, it was also holding her back.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door open wider and stepped through.

The world around her shifted once more, and the soft sensation of moss beneath her feet gave way to the hardness of the sidewalk. She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the familiar sights of her neighborhood. The sun had dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the ground. The crisp autumn air filled her lungs, and for a moment, everything felt normal again.

But Anjali was not the same.

She glanced over her shoulder, half-expecting to see the door still standing in the field behind her. But it was gone. The strange world of the In-Between had vanished, as if it had never existed. Only the weight of the stone key in her pocket reminded her that it had all been real.

Her phone buzzed again in her pocket, dragging her back to reality. She pulled it out and saw the same flood of notifications that had been there before—work emails, family messages, missed calls. The world had kept moving while she had been away, but something within her had shifted.

Anjali stared at her phone for a long moment, then made a decision. She swiped through her contacts and tapped on her father’s number.

It rang three times before his familiar, gruff voice answered. “Anjali?”

“Hey, Papa,” she said, her voice catching slightly. “I…I was just thinking about Maa today.”

There was a pause on the other end. “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about her too,” he replied softly.

Anjali’s chest tightened, but it wasn’t the same suffocating weight she had felt before. It was a sadness, yes, but also a release. For years, she had avoided these conversations, avoided the grief and guilt that came with them. But now, it didn’t seem so unbearable.

“I wanted to talk, Papa,” Anjali continued, “about everything. About how things were before Maa passed. I know we never really did…”

Her father’s voice cracked slightly when he spoke again. “I’d like that.”

As they talked, Anjali found herself sharing memories she had kept locked away for so long. They spoke about her mother, about the fights, about the good times too. It wasn’t an easy conversation, but it was necessary. And with each word, Anjali felt the weight on her shoulders lift, piece by piece. Her anger and frustration towards her father had vanished. 

When the conversation finally ended, the sun had set, and the stars were beginning to peek through the darkening sky. Anjali pocketed her phone, feeling lighter than she had in years.

As she walked down the quiet street, she passed the spot where she had stumbled upon the mysterious box. She slowed her pace, her eyes scanning the ground, but there was no sign of the box, the key, or any of the strange events that had taken her to the In-Between.

Yet something deep inside her told her that she had been given a gift. The key wasn’t just a physical object—it had unlocked something within her, something she had been afraid to confront. And now, having faced it, she was free.

The path ahead seemed clearer now. She didn’t know what the future held, but she was no longer haunted by the past. The In-Between had shown her what she needed to let go of, and in doing so, it had given her the chance to move forward. She forgave herself and her father for whatever happened in the past.

As she continued her walk, the stars above twinkled brightly, and for the first time in a long time, Anjali smiled. She wasn’t stuck anymore. She had found her way back.

“Papa, I will be home soon,” Anjali whispered to herself with a relieving and content smile.