An elevator is a mechanised vehicle that carries humans to levels above or below the one they started from. Or a cosmic enclosed spacetime box where humans behave differently from open spaces.
It was unexpected to find two non-communicating apparent strangers standing almost side by side in an elevator leaning lightly against the back handrails, looking at some common point on the closed metal door in a contemplative silence.
The lift had barely begun descending when it shuddered to a sudden dead stop. A metallic thud of the brakes, and then a pop – the lights died.
It was past midnight. They were stuck halfway between floors.
“What was that …”, Xena muttered in the darkness.
“What the – !” jolted Yash.
The lights flickered back on in a minute. The riders were relieved, expecting restoration in the next few seconds. What felt like five minutes, passed. The cabin was still, still. Inside, outside. The passengers, standing a little apart now, were looking at each other, as if in a silent secret dialogue.
A moment’s forethought, then Xena slowly stepped ahead towards the red alarm button.
“Don’t.” whispered Yash.
Xena advanced anyway. The first tap did nothing. A longer press maybe. After a thumb pressdown and a brief, breathless moment, the panel light flashed and a text on the digital screen confirmed dialing up the lobby desk. As both fixed their eyes on the panel and shifted closer to the door expecting an alarm ring to shatter the quiet, nothing really happened. Except that the panel screen suddenly went dark. The tiny flashing light died.
“They know we’re here”. Yash took a deep breath. “The code always does.”
The buttons on the panel of this elevator read differently. Not the usual numbers, or floors. Instead, there were cryptic symbols carved on metal.
Xena still stood by the panel, took a deep, hopeful breath, pursed her lips, perhaps in a prayer, and pressed the lowest button once. Twice. Nothing moved. She punched the one above it. Maybe this will work. Or any other … she kept trying desperately for any lower floor.
The machine didn’t stir. Except for fresh scrolling text that now kept flashing on the panel.
Descending codes locked. Please press any button above your current level.
Yash stared at the strange symbols. “Should’ve guessed. There IS no way back. The algorithm is brutal. There is no reverting to who we were.”
“There has to be. A forking path to some place closer to home. If not a way back to what we used to be, a way to what we can be again.” Xena murmured while searching for something in her head, her gaze traversing the carved glyphs on the elevator panel.
Forcing her voice, and hands, and mind to stay steady, halfway between knowing and unknown, Xena decisively punched the topmost button on the panel.
The lights went out as the system powered up to a noisy start. Heavy gears engaged somewhere along the shaft. The cabin floor shook up for a second under their feet before the dark capsule started ascending – and shortly after, accelerating, unsteadily.
Yash stared at the panel, now blinking randomly in pitch darkness, and then instinctively at the ceiling.
His face ashen. “We won’t make it. Xena. Look up. ”
The roof, now semi-detached, was tearing away. Cables were recoiling back into some unfathomable blackness above. The wind from the ascent gushed through the cabin from the open ceiling. The floor shook vigorously beneath their feet and both gripped the handrails for life. There was nothing holding the capsule anymore.
“We are climbing into nothing, Xena.” Yash choked helplessly. “I can’t do this. I’ve lost me three levels back.”
“Only if you think you have. Just keep looking up. If nothing it must be, let it be nothing. We start over – and this time, with the lessons.”
His grip, however, loosened on the handrail. As the elevator tore upwards into a void, he failed to ascend with her.
Seven years later.
“We’ll take the stairs, honey.” Zena adjusted her backpack while firmly holding the hand of the little girl in tow.
“One puzzle every five steps, Mommy?”
“And lots of finger painting once we are home?”
“Till bedtime, and then stories to sleep?”
“Mm-hmm,” smiled the mom. Then added gently, “Hey, careful with those digital walls and wires, Xena. This stairwell isn’t fully mind-safe yet.”
High above them, through the glass atrium, the sky was a clear, endless blue.
They climbed in safety, connection, and freedom — no longer trapped between levels, no longer standing apart, no longer afraid of ascent. Open air above. Lessons carried upward.
Watch this space for the next story in our series, Long Stories, Short
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