Endless Stairwell Leads to the Cupcakes Kitchen of Memory

Endless Stairwell Leads to the Cupcakes Kitchen of Memory

I woke up late for work and rushed out of the apartment, half‑asleep, trying to find my keys. In the hallway, the door to my building was open and a soft glow spilled out. I stepped into the lobby and saw my old college roommate, Alex, but his face was faintly translucent, like a faint after‑image. He smiled and said, "You left your coat on the train," even though I hadn't taken a train. I turned to the elevator and it was a stairwell that stretched forever, each step echoing my heartbeat. As I climbed, Alex followed, his hand brushing mine—cold, but warm at the same time. When I finally reached the office floor, the doors were all wrong; instead of my cubicle, there was a small kitchen where we used to bake cupcakes together in freshman year. He handed me a steaming mug, and when I took a sip, the taste was exactly the chocolate latte we shared on our first date. I woke up with my mouth dry, feeling both the panic of being late and a strange, lingering longing.