Evan slogged down the apartment building's narrow hallway after another long day of monotony in the office. He reached the bottom basement floor and dropped his trash into the bin by the wall. The dim light above flickered, casting uneven shadows dancing across the room. That was when he saw it again... the chalk door. It was there: a simple outline, childlike, drawn onto the far wall between the two storage units. He had seen it once or twice before and passed it off as some kind of harmless prank. But tonight, something about it was odd. He felt drawn to it.

            He reached out, running his hand along the cool brick where the door's handle had been chalked. A soft click echoed in the quiet basement. The chalk door swung open to his surprise. Evan looked back toward the stairwell. He could go, just head upstairs, and forget about it. Yet something about that dark hallway beyond the door tugged him forward. He hesitated for just one moment before stepping across. Evan emerged into what felt like his own hallway, identical to the one he had just left. The same wallpaper, the same old carpeting, even the hum of footsteps from above sounded real. Yet something was wrong. The air was thicker, pushing against his skin as he walked towards his apartment door. Inside, everything was in place. His couch sat in its usual place. His jacket slung over the armrest. But on the wall of his living room, a framed photo caught his eye. In it, Evan stood beside a woman—dark-haired and beautiful, her arm draped around his shoulders at what seemed to be a party or social function of sorts, smiling warmly. He didn't recognize her. The knock on his door gave a leap to his heart.

 His neighbor, Mr. Eli, stood in the doorway, the perpetual scowl on his face inverted into a wide grin. Normally, Eli was cold and far away, mostly silently loathing Evan's existence. "Hey there, Evan," Eli said cheerily. "We're having a get-together upstairs later! You should swing by." Evan stared at him. Was this the same man who never so much as held the elevator door for him? "Uh, thanks, I guess," Evan said, closing the door behind him slowly, perplexed by Eli's sudden friendly demeanor. The apartment around him was familiar and strange at the same time. The woman in this photo seemed to be someone he should definitely know, yet the memory of her dodged him. A warmth hung in the air, reassuring and yet disquieting. Still grasping at the feeling, Evan returned to the basement. Back in his real world, Evan strode down the hall past the chalk door, taking the stairs two at a time. Inside his apartment, everything was normal. No strange photos, no new furniture bearing scents he wasn't used to. His neighbor brushed right past him, headed for the elevator. But that other life—his apartment, that woman—wouldn't leave his brain. Who was she? What did she mean to him? Why was everything in that life so appealing yet wrong? That night, Evan just lay awake in bed, and he felt an irresistible urge to go back.

 The next day again found him in front of the chalk door. It swung open easily this time around, as if expecting him. He stepped through and felt the shift immediately. His apartment looked... better. The furniture had changed. An armchair now sat where his bookshelf used to be, the couch was plush and new, the whole place seemed upgraded. And yet, it was undeniably his. The picture on the wall had changed, too. Yes, the woman was still there, but now they were standing in front of a house—a house Evan didn't recognize. It wasn't grand or anything, yet it looked cozy and inviting. His heart was racing as he stared at it, trying to remember if he'd ever seen it. 

His phone buzzed. He had received a text from a number saved as "Leighton": "Dinner tonight? Miss you!" 

Leighton? The name somehow sounded both familiar and unfamiliar. He couldn't quite place her in his life. He didn't know anyone named Leighton in the real world. Evan's unease dug a little deeper into his stomach as he again looked around the apartment. Everything was perfect, right down to the most minute detail—except it wasn't his life. Not really. The pull to stay still lingered, but before he could get swept up, he rushed back down to the basement. It was like jumping into a more mute, unappealing version of the life he could have lived by coming back to his world. The apartment was run down, the couch lumpy, the fridge half-full of leftover pepperoni pizza from the night before. The absence of warmth, the kind he'd felt in the other place, was jarring. His phone was void of texts from Leighton and anyone else. The next day he just gave in. He went back to the chalk door.

 This time, the world felt even more different. Evan could barely recognize his apartment because new furniture lined the walls; the lighting was softer, more inviting. His fridge was stocked with food he didn't remember buying. There were flowers on the kitchen table... a sign of a life more lived in. The picture on the wall had changed again. Now, it was of him and Leighton, smiling, standing in the doorway of their home—no longer just his. She seemed happy, and the warmth of her smile tugged at him to stay. 

His phone buzzed once more. From Leighton: "See you tonight, honey." Evan's heart was pounding in his chest. There had never been a version of Leighton in his real life, yet here she was, and she seemed to know him with an intimacy he hardly knew existed. He glanced at his calendar on the wall. There was a circled date. An anniversary. Their anniversary. Was this his life? Really? Every time he returned to the real world; it was a little duller. The paint in his hall chipped, the elevator creaked in its movements; his flat was cold, dead, and lonely. And with each passing time, the pull to return to the chalk door got stronger. 

This other world had something more, had something fuller. But with every trip he took there, he began to forget the details of his life---the name of his best friend (did he even have one?), his childhood memories, his job. Life beyond the chalk door was slowly fading; the comfort and charm of that life with Leighton replaced it. The air was colder, heavier on his final trip through. His apartment was pristine, every detail in place. But the photo had changed for the last time. It was only Leighton now, smiling contently. But Evan wasn't in the picture anywhere. Panic set in. He pulled out his phone. There were no contacts, no messages. It was as if this world's perfection had scrubbed away his memory of the real one. Evan turned to leave, but when he reached for the chalk door, it was gone. It was as if it had never even existed. The wall was solid. No chalk outline, no handle. He was trapped.