What I Should Have Known

The room is cold. No, it's colder than it should be. I can't pinpoint why. Maybe it's the shadows creeping along the walls, or maybe it's just me. Something's wrong. I feel it in my bones, but I don't know what it is.

I sit there, staring at the floor. It's always the floor. I used to think the floor was just the thing you walk on, the thing that keeps you grounded. Now, it feels like it's part of the same emptiness, the same void that keeps pulling at me.

I try to remember — what was I doing? Where did I come from? These questions don't sound familiar, but they claw at me like I should know the answers. Like they've always been there.

I rub my eyes, but the answer doesn't come.

Eduardo.

I remember his name. But it's like trying to hold water in your hands. It slips away every time I try to catch it. His face, too. It was there, wasn't it? His eyes, his smile… but now, it's just shadows and flashes. Nothing solid. Nothing real.

The silence is suffocating.

I stand up, but my legs feel wrong. I feel like I'm made of something else — something not quite human. Everything is wrong. This room. The air. Me.

Then, I notice the door. It wasn't there before. I know it wasn't. I look at it for a moment, trying to make sense of it. It's just a door. A plain, dull door, like the ones you ignore. But this one isn't just a door. This one feels… necessary. It's like it's been waiting for me to notice it. And now that I have, I can't stop looking at it.

I don't want to open it. I don't. But my hand moves. Without asking. Without thinking.

I grip the handle, cold and hard beneath my fingers.

I don't pull. Not yet. I just stand there. My heart is beating too loud in my chest.

Then I do it. I twist the handle, and the door creaks open.

And I step into darkness.

I can't see anything, but I can feel it. I can feel it pulling at me, like the air is thick with something I should remember. But I don't. I can't.

My feet move forward, and I don't even question it. My body is on autopilot. Something inside me is moving without my permission, and I let it. I have no choice but to follow.

It's quiet. Too quiet.

Then the whisper.

It's not loud. It doesn't need to be. It's there, inside my head, like a memory I didn't ask for.

"Ana."

I stop.

I don't know why, but I know that voice. I don't know how. But I do.

I turn my head, but I can't see anyone. Just the blackness. The same blackness that's been there since I opened the door. The same blackness that's swallowing everything whole.

"Ana," it says again. It's different this time. There's something in it. Something urgent. Something desperate.

I don't move. My feet stay rooted to the ground, but my mind is running. It's running faster than it should. What is this? Why am I here? What's behind that voice?

Another step. My feet ache with the movement, but I take it anyway. I don't know why. I don't know where I'm going.

"Ana, don't stop."

The words hit me, not like a question, but like a command. And something in me responds to it. Not out of fear. Not out of confusion. But because it feels like it's the only thing left to do. The only thing that makes sense.

I don't stop.

I move forward. I don't know what I'm walking toward, but I have no choice but to keep going. Something is waiting for me. I don't know what it is, but it's the only thing I feel. And it's too late to turn back.

The air shifts. It's heavier now, thicker. I feel it pressing against me, making it harder to breathe. But I don't stop. Not yet.

The silence is unbearable. The quiet is a weight I can't shake off. It gnaws at me, fraying the edges of my thoughts. The door is still behind me, but it feels miles away now. Like it's not even real anymore. Like I'm not real.

I push forward, every step uncertain, like the ground beneath me could disappear at any moment. I can't trust it. I can't trust anything.

But I keep going.

And then, there's a sound. A crack. A soft snap, like a twig breaking in the dark.

I freeze.

I know that sound.

It's the sound of a door opening. But it's not the door behind me. It's the one ahead. The one I didn't see before. The one that shouldn't be here.

It's opening.

I should turn around. I should leave. But my feet won't listen. I can't move. It's like my body has already made the choice for me.

The door creaks. Slowly. Relentlessly. The dark inside it seems deeper now, as if it's pulling me closer. It's drawing me in. And I can't stop it.

I know what's waiting for me on the other side.

Or at least, I think I do.

"Ana," the voice says again.

It's not just a whisper now. It's something more. It's there, in the air, thick and pressing, like it's in my head, my ears, my bones. I can't escape it.

I don't want to.

I take a step forward. Then another. The door is almost fully open now, but I don't see anything on the other side. Not at first. Just shadows. A haze. But there's something in it. Something moving. Something I can't quite make out.

My heart beats louder. It's all I hear. The pounding of my pulse. The weight of it, pressing down on me.

And then, finally, the figure emerges. It's familiar. Too familiar.

Eduardo.

He stands there, half in shadow, half in light, like he's not sure if he should be here. Like he's not sure if he's real.

"Ana…" His voice cracks, and I feel it. It rips through me. Like it's not just his voice. It's mine too.

I can't move. I can't breathe.

For a moment, he's just a figure. A memory.

Then, he steps forward.

And I can't stop myself.

I don't know why. I don't know how, but I reach out to him. My hand trembles, like I've never touched anything before. Like I've forgotten how.

"Ana, I…" He stops, his words getting lost somewhere between the spaces. His eyes are wide, too wide. There's something desperate in them. Something broken.

I don't know what to say. I don't know if I should speak at all.

I've forgotten how to talk.

Everything feels wrong. This isn't how it was supposed to go. Waiting for him to tell me the rest of the story.

But he doesn't.

And we stay there, both of us, suspended in this in-between. Neither of us knowing how we got here. Neither of us knowing how to leave.

The door behind me is still open. The room is still dark. And the silence presses in closer.

I don't know what I should have known.

But I know that I'll never forget this.