He turned back to look at his apartment, but there was only the wardrobe. Inside, through the crack, he could see the faint glow of his laptop screen. On it, a single line of text was now visible:
Before him stretched a lamppost, its warm light cutting through the dusk. And behind him, standing alone in a snowy field, was a simple wooden wardrobe, its doors slightly ajar.
Kiran blinked. It was a riddle. He was too tired for games. But something… something stirred in his chest. The same feeling he got as a child, standing in front of his grandmother's old wooden closet.