*This is a piece of prose I wrote for an online creative writing class in the summer of 2022 and recently revised it and made more structured and personal.*

if you knock on the door of my heart, it’ll open right away because 
the door is never locked.
i don’t know why, but no matter what i do, how hard i try to lock this door, 
it never, ever works. 

the door swings open, and you take one small step into my home, 
entering a long corridor, each wall lined with uneven 
picturesque picture frames. peer into those frames. i dare you.  
laughing at idiotic moments, long conversations about opposite intentions 
in d2, walking through town, blasting steve lacy, and more moments in time. the ones that are too unique, too loved, too… everything, to fit into one specific room. 

now, take a sharp right, and open the door. filling the walls, 
moving portraits rest in frames, rewinding my favorite moments in time, over, and over,
and over again. long burgundy hair, dances, movie nights, hours of texting and facetimes,
and all the people i am lucky to be able to call my best friends.

as you check under the bed, that’s where i’ve put the ghosts 
that will continue to haunt me forever, and ever. the friends who weren’t really friends, 
were never real, leeched onto me. made me give, and give, and give, and when i had 
no more to give, they left. left me when i needed them most. 

they’re always going to be there, be under the bed, sitting in the darkness
in a place they can’t hurt me again. but, every so often,
they pop out, and scream “BOO!” like a monster under my bed. 
bringing back the pain, the rollercoaster they put me through, once again. 

as you get up, you notice a closet, and you open it. 
memories with my old friends, the ones that moved away, drifted apart, 
the ones i haven’t seen since elementary school. i loved them, and they’ll always 
have a spot in my sacred space. 

wiping your hands of the dust from the doorknob, 
you exit the room into the hallway, and enter a different room, this time on the left. 
this time, the room radiates an energy that you can only know when you go on a road trip with your family, and after 24 hours in a car together, everyone is still in a good mood. 

scenes on the wall, each one a different experience:
sunflower festivals, strawberry picking, disney trips, bollywood movies, going on a rollercoaster with my dad, knowing well enough that we both hate heights, and late night dance parties.
an echo of laughter fills the room, the happy aura, stronger than anywhere else. 

when you exit this room, and you’re back where you started, the long corridor with the picturesque picture frames. as you continue to wander down, the lights slowly start to flicker as you start to get closer to a door, with scratches on it, like something’s trying to escape.

a raggedy sign, barely hanging on, reads in big scratchy letters
“ENTER IF YOU DARE”. you enter and see all the people who hurt me, their words etched in the walls, carved out so deep, so permanent. unfixable. 
“ugly,” “weird," “nerd,” “friendless loser,” “useless.”
they live happily in this room, knowing their words will never leave me, never give me peace. 

shuddering, you leave this room, and go down the corridor until the lights flicker no more.
you enter the living area, chicken biryani in the oven, its aroma filling the room. 
the sound of an atrocious rom com echoes while my dog’s snores interrupt every so often. 

as you find your way into the next hallway, veering slightly to the left, the sounds of the laugh tracks, my dogs snores, and the clanging of pots and pans follow as you enter the next room. 

wall to wall bookshelves that go all the way up to the tippy tippy top, 
all the way to the ceiling are filled with all the books i’ve read. some are ones that got me through the dark times, some i couldn’t put down till i finished,
some kept me up at night, thinking. and most i deemed a waste of my time. 


once you leave this room, on the right you’ll see a pretty messy room with paint on the floor, on the walls, and somehow on the ceiling. don’t ask me how. you’ll see everything i’ve ever drawn or painted, hanging on the walls. the miniscule doodles in 
my math and physics notebook to things that won awards. from when i was a toddler, to this very day. 

on your way out, you see a room at the very very end of this hall, light radiating from under the door. vision boards line the walls, drawings of a white apartment in the city, fairy lights weaved into the curtains. photos of places i want to visit, to leave the jail that is being a legal immigrant,  i’ve been stuck in for the past 15 years. the things on my wishlist, the clothes, makeup, and 
the most random trinkets that have fought for a place in this room.

exit this hallway, and go up all 15 steps onto the 2nd floor, the room at the very end
is one that is dedicated to home. the home where i lived from when i was 3 to when i was 8. 
our small 2 bedroom apartment,which was on the ground floor. our home in india, the one i’ve never known and our current home, which we’ve had since december 29, 2016. 
all these homes have served us well, and have protected us from the elements in winter, summer, spring and fall. 

my favorite room though, is the room on the left as soon as you exit this room. 
indian dresses galore while bollywood music blares in the background. 
it’s the room that shows who i am. where i'm from. me. 

there’s one last room in my heart, but you’ll never know what lies
it’s the one room that’s under lock and key. 
but if i’m completely honest, i don’t even know what it contains. 
all i know is that it's the one room you’ll never see.