Kaya woke in a dark, empty room.
She had rested comfortably on a thin mattress. Looking around, she peers at her black purse with a keychain of a cat dangling in the motion of the waves.
Sunlight leaked through a blurry-barred window, catching in her eyes. She rubbed them, yawned, and sat up, tucking in her baggy gray shirt into place.
"I wish I could help him," she muttered. "He feels . . . different."
She left her room, passed the stairs—and ignored it. It begged for attention, but to her, it didn't even deserve to consider a glance. Instead, she turned sharply left.
Malik's door stood apart from the others. The others had designs, and symbols on their doors, yet Malik's didn't. It remained empty, a plain wooden door.
She knocked twice.
Knock. Knock.
Movement shuffled inside, then steps were audible and—
"Not yet," Malik said.
Kaya leaned closer to it. She knew something was up.
The door suddenly opened, creaking slowly.
"What—" She froze.
Papers sprawled across the floor, Strings stretched wide on the wall, pinned by thumbtacks, connecting words and phrases in frantic patterns.
"What is all this?" Kaya asked.
"I borrowed things from Amaya's room," Malik said flatly. "I stayed up all night."
Her eyes scanned a long wall of words.
Sea. Forget. Fall. Silently. Forgive. Grief.
Looking around, something caught her attention, something she shouldn't have seen. A note barely visible beneath the mattress. It stood out, but it looked as if Malik was trying to hide it, but his thoughts ran faster than his actions.
He's hiding something. Why? Does he not trust me?
She crouched and carefully pulled it free—Malik snatched it from her hand immediately.
"Not now." He said, seriously.
His fist clenched the note. His veins stood out along his wrist, like cables that were going to snap out.
Damn it . . . she can't know. Not yet.
"Malik," Kaya said softly. "There's something you're not telling me."
"It'll only make things worse. I'm doing this for me, you, all of us."
"If this is about the door, we'll figure it out. But you can't keep shutting me out."
"I know."
"What could be so bad about all this?"
Malik swallowed. "All I know is that words aren't the answer. There's something more to it, there always is."
"Then what is it? What is it that could possibly have you this worried?"
"I only know what it isn't."
Kaya's eyes glowed faint amber, she kept a strained expression.
"I can't read anything," she said quietly. "It's completely silent in your head."
Malik stayed quiet, facing his back to her.
"You're making it harder to believe you."
"I'm sorry," he said, kneeling. "Please . . . just believe me that this is what's right."
Kaya hesitated—then nodded. "I understand."
She left without another word, without another sound. Malik stared at the open doorway, sighing.
You did it again.
He turned back to the wall and wrote one final line:
Grief before joy. Fear before forgiveness.
He picked up the note he'd tried to hide. One word stared back at him. A word he wasn't supposed to know, but he did anyway.
" . . . How would Dad even know about this? Can he see them?" He whispered.
Later, Malik left his room, stepping quietly to not alert anyone. He held the note that he hid, tightly. Inspecting the entire perimeter, he observed that nobody was awake, and Kaya must've left the main hall.
Then, he stood before the door. Four bolts. Each faintly colored.
Navy. Gold. Mauve. Black.
"They're not microphones," Malik said to himself. "They respond to feelings. Our emotions might dictate if the door will open or not."
Then he heard footsteps, awfully light.
He clenched his jaw, as he thought he had been caught but—
"Then we don't speak," Kaya said. "We mean it."
They both stared at the bolt. The bolt that corresponds with the sentiment of grief.
"I miss my family. I miss my home, and I left it all for this job. Even though my parents might not support it, I know this was the right path for me." Kaya said.
The bolt hummed, it wanted more.
Malik hesitated. "I miss my childhood. I miss the laughs I would have, the people I met on deck, and how now they're just a faint memory now." He said. "I miss that feeling of being honest. I miss feeling real."
Then, shaking harshly, the bolt glowed navy.
Joy came next.
"I'm happy I have my brothers," Kaya said. "And my dad. Although I barely ge tot see them, I'm grateful to have them."
The door asked for more, it blinked lightly as to tell them they were on the right track.
Malik exhaled, rubbing his eyes. ". . . I'm glad I met a girl like you, Kaya. I wouldn't have gotten this far if you hadn't opened my eyes."
Kaya's eyes widened. She smiled.
"I'm glad I met you too, Malik. You've made me realize things about myself that I had never known."
The gold light from the bolt bloomed, it shook violently in approval. The bolt of fear followed after.
"I'm afraid of being lied to. Im afraid that I'll never experience something real in my time/." Malik said. "And worse—lying to myself."
"And I'm scared that no one will ever care for me the way I care for them," Kaya added.
The bolt glowed bright, applauding them both.
Only one bolt remained, black.
Malik quickly pressed it. Nothing.
"…It didn't work," Kaya said.
Malik stepped back, then realized what he had to do.
"Because I haven't forgiven myself."
The door listened, its ears wide open.
"I watched people die. I ran from a truth that lied behind this, and I hid from it, up until this day. I lied every time, and I still kept pretend like I'm worth something."
The door made no sound, it had rejected him.
Kaya stepped forward, placing her hand on his shoulder.
"I forgive you, Malik. Whatever you may have been through, whatever you may have done . . . I'm here for you."
He looked at her. "I forgive you too, Kaya."
The door trembled, it wasn't satiated enough.
Malik looked down, clenching his jaw.
"Kaya," Malik said quietly. "I need you to trust me."
"…Okay."
"Cover your ears, for me."
She covered them, looking at him, as he looked hesitant, looking around.
Malik pulled out the paper. His hand shook. He crossed out the words written there. Then he wrote four new ones. He spoke them, and she listened closer.
She attempted to read his lips, but a word she couldn't understand was between them.
The door lit bright yellow. A beam scanned his face.
"Access granted. Hello . . . Seeker."