The White Space. Chapter 10. The Neighbor

As he entered the tunnel, he once again found himself surrounded by white light and a perfectly smooth road. The old unpleasant feelings returned instantly—the constant pressure, the control, the suffocating atmosphere. He emerged from the tunnel and stopped at the checkpoint.

- Hold your phone up to the scanner,- the police officer said dryly as he approached the window. There was no smile, no greeting, no emotion on his face.

A double beep sounded.

- Are you carrying anything unauthorized? - he asked.

- Only my tools and materials,- the driver replied calmly.

- Open the trunk.

The driver stepped out and opened it. The officer raised his tablet and scanned the contents. A red warning appeared on the screen.

- I have a permit,- the driver said flatly.

- Yes... I see that, - the officer replied after carefully reviewing the documents on his tablet. After a brief pause, he added, - You may proceed."

The bollards slowly lowered.

- Have a nice day,- the protagonist replied almost automatically, with a smile.

The officer looked at him in surprise, as if for a moment he did not understand what he had just heard.

The protagonist got back into the car and drove on. In the rearview mirror, he watched for a few more seconds as the officer stood by the roadside, still staring after him in confusion, trying to understand what had just happened. It was as if a tiny crack had appeared in the usual order of things.

On the way back, looking at this bleak white world, he suddenly realized a new truth. This system had not been created for safety—it had been created for control. To prevent people from having unnecessary emotions and unnecessary thoughts. To make them easier to manage. To immediately identify those who stepped outside the boundaries.

This neutral light had not been introduced by accident—it pressed down on people as if surrounding them with invisible bars. The perfectly smooth roads, the white color, the neutral lighting—all of it was part of an invisible mechanism of control. There was no need to build enormous institutions to control the population. It was enough to build one—the institution that controlled space itself. Then people would begin controlling themselves.

And anyone who tried to break free would immediately stand out. He remembered the underground bar that had recently been discovered. People had talked about it constantly on the radio. There had been colored lights, music, the smell of food, and people laughing... Everything the system was trying to erase.

And that was exactly how it worked: the moment someone tried to change something, the system noticed and corrected it.

But he understood one thing now. He had changed, and he would never become the person he had once been.

And now, he had opportunities.

"If you want to change something, start with yourself," he thought as he opened the door to his apartment.

It was beautiful and comfortable. Just this morning, he had believed it contained everything he needed. That it was perfect. That he genuinely liked it. But now he saw it differently. Suddenly, it became obvious how much it lacked: color, accents, individuality. It was cozy and warm, yet somehow empty.

He slowly looked around the space once more and felt a familiar urge—the desire to change things.

And he did not want to postpone it. He decided to begin right away.

The shredder hummed. The printer started working quietly while, in virtual mode, the protagonist browsed through furniture and materials, sending them one by one to be printed. He wanted to create something similar to the house he had visited earlier that day. But at the same time, something different. Something more. Something that truly belonged to him. A space that expressed his style and his feelings through its interior design.

Even if no one would ever see it. He wanted at least this space to tell his story.

The rooms changed one after another. Old surfaces disappeared, replaced by new materials and warm textures. Wood appeared here and there. Then deep colors. Then another accent. And another.

When it was finally finished, he removed his glasses. The printer and shredder gradually fell silent.

He stood in the middle of the room, looking around at the transformed space, surprised by his own courage.

Bright colors. Deep shades. Textures.

It felt as though a new chapter of his life had opened before him.

Slowly, he lowered himself into a new armchair upholstered in a pleasant textured fabric. He took one last look at the redesigned interior and, exhausted after the long day, almost immediately drifted into a peaceful sleep right there in the chair.

The morning was calm. He took a shower in the renovated bathroom, had breakfast in the new dining area, and slowly drank his coffee while sitting on the new soft sofa. Every interaction with the transformed space brought him a quiet sense of satisfaction. He touched the surfaces, ran his hand over the textured materials, and observed the colors that now filled the room.

The thought that, in this completely white and sterile building, there existed a single vibrant apartment warmed him. He had become braver. The fears that once constantly circled in his mind began to fade. He thought about them less and less, and instead something else began to emerge in his thoughts—ideas.

He kept returning in his mind to that colorful world he had visited: warm wood, deep tones, living spaces. He opened the sketchbook of ideas he had found in that hidden apartment. As he turned the pages, he realized one thing—he had surpassed his teacher.

He printed several photos of his own apartment, carefully glued them into the notebook, and began sketching new ideas with colored pencils, line after line, idea after idea. They were born in his mind and remained on the pages of the notebook. He was no longer just an observer. He had become a creator.

Sirius looked at his phone—no messages, no work for the day. He still did not know whether he would continue working in the colored world or return to the white one. The uncertainty made him slightly uneasy, but he still hoped he would continue working with color. The client had been satisfied with his work.

He decided to take a walk to clear his mind. He got ready, opened the door—and once again encountered the same neighbor. Their eyes met for a brief moment, then the neighbor’s gaze slid into the apartment interior. Only for a second, but something in his expression changed. He quickly looked away and walked down the corridor.

The protagonist remained standing in the doorway, behind which his bright world was hidden. Thoughts began to swarm again. The man had seen it. Of course, he had seen something he was not supposed to see.

And now what?

Yes, he now had access to color. He could work with it. But whether he was allowed to change his own living space—he did not know. He closed the door and still decided to go outside.

The cold air hit his face, but his thoughts did not disappear. He kept thinking about that brief encounter. He had only seen this neighbor a few times and knew nothing about him—who he was, what he did, or what kind of person he was. He walked around the building for a long time, blaming himself. Why had he opened the door so carelessly? Why at that exact moment? Why had he not anticipated it? It was too careless.

In the end, he could not calm his mind and returned home.

Now the apartment felt like home again, but at the same time like a lonely island in an ocean where sharks circled, ready to strike at any moment.

As he approached the entrance, he saw the neighbor again. He was standing by the door, as if waiting for him. The protagonist walked past without looking at him. The man silently followed him. They entered the elevator.

He placed his phone on the scanner. A moment later, the neighbor did the same. The doors closed.

- I heard you work with space?- the neighbor asked.

The protagonist hesitated for a second. He had been addressed differently than his official profession, as if the words carried a hidden meaning.

- Yes,- he replied shortly.

- I need help with my apartment,- the neighbor said in the same emotionless voice. - Some of the furniture has broken down. I would like to know if you could help me.

The protagonist paused. It might be a test. But after a brief silence, he answered,

- Yes, no problem.

- When would it be convenient for you? - the neighbor asked, now slightly softer.

- I have free time now. We can go immediately.

- That would be perfect. I live on your floor, a bit further down the corridor. Apartment 192. I will be waiting.

- Alright. I just need to get my tools.

They left the elevator and walked down the long white corridor together. Outside the protagonist’s apartment, the neighbor said,

- Then see you soon,- and for a moment a faint smile seemed to cross his face.

The protagonist entered his apartment, exhaled heavily, and began gathering his tools. Was this simply a request for help, or a trap? Again, uncertainty.

After collecting his things, he went to the neighbor’s door. He stopped in front of apartment 192 and placed his phone against the scanner. Two signals sounded. Inside, a soft melody played, and the door opened.