The White Space. Chapter 2. 3200K

A warm beam of light spilled from it and illuminated the white floor. Heat instantly passed through his body. He froze, staring at the beam. He had never seen white materials change their appearance so drastically under lighting. This was not cold standard light, not sterile 4500K. This was soft, warm light.

What was waiting for him behind those hidden doors?

A chill ran across his neck and into his hair. A strange feeling was growing inside him, as if from this moment on his life would never be the same again. He took a deep breath. — Well… let’s see where this takes me, — he said quietly and opened the door.

His eyes were not ready for what he saw. The light almost blinded him, and his balance wavered again. At first, he could not even understand what he was looking at, but what unfolded before him turned his worldview upside down. Everything he had lived by, everything he believed in, everything he had worked with — lost its meaning in an instant. Before him stood another truth.

A thin floor lamp on a metal stand, similar to the one he had at home. But the light it emitted was completely different — not emotionless and sterile 4500K, but soft, cozy, and warm. A light that seemed to embrace the space.

Next to it stood an armchair. Almost the same as at his home: metal legs, leather… But the leather was not white. It was brown — a deep, rich shade. His gaze literally sank into this color. He could not look away. Nor did he want to. He wanted to keep looking, to absorb the entire interior with his eyes.

Carefully, he sat down in the chair, closed his eyes, slowly exhaled, and trembling slightly, opened them again.

At first, he saw the floor.

Wood. Light beige, with a living texture, natural color transitions, and visible grain patterns. He studied it with the same focus as a child looking at a long-awaited toy, trying to absorb every detail and memorize it.

He slowly raised his gaze.

This hidden apartment was like a reflection of the previous one. The same layout, the same zones, the same proportions. But a completely different soul.

If the previous kitchen had been standard white, this one was metallic. However, the warm light from the wall lamp transformed it entirely. The metal played with unusual tones, becoming alive. The wall behind the kitchen was finished with wooden panels, which emphasized the contrast of materials, turning the metal from a cold surface into a warm accent of the space.

Around a round metal table with a glass top stood four chairs on thin metal legs. Their leather had the same caramel shade as the armchair he was sitting in. Above the table hung a lamp, matched in tone to the chairs and the armchair. It cast a warm glow, softly illuminating the metal and glass and changing the very perception of the materials.

The living room contained a large, elegant sofa on thin metal legs, upholstered in leather of the same warm shade. A beige rug lay on the floor, while the lamps emitted a soft, cozy light. The wall adjoining the white apartment was also finished with panels, but not smooth ones — wooden, with a living texture.

On the coffee table there was a built-in bio-fireplace. A forbidden object by the Ministry. Such things created a different kind of light — warm, intimate, dangerous. The flame reflected across the sofa’s texture and slid over the wooden panels. The light moved, almost breathing, filling the space with a sense of calm and comfort.

He wanted to examine every detail, to touch every texture. How could color change a room so dramatically? How could warmth have such a strong impact on human perception? He sat motionless, and for the first time in many years, he did not know what he was supposed to do.

The protagonist stood up and slowly walked toward the living room. The warm wooden parquet seemed to guide him forward, inviting him to move deeper inside. He paused for a moment, looked down, and unexpectedly took off his shoes. Bare feet touched the wood. Warmth. Living, soft, natural warmth beneath his feet. Not artificial cold flooring, not regulated surfaces — real wood.

He froze.

Feeling the floor physically was incredible. Its texture. The barely noticeable unevenness. The natural grain patterns. Until this moment, he had known only cold. Or rather, emptiness. The emptiness of synthetic surfaces. The emptiness of sterile materials.

The sleeping area was equally cozy, despite the metallic wardrobe fronts and metal platform bed. The wooden floor continued to warm the space simply by its presence. Warm tones, warm light. The bed was not perfectly made. The bedding was slightly wrinkled, but that imperfection made it feel alive. Even the air felt different — cleaner, calmer.

“Well then… there’s one more part left. The bathroom.”

He entered carefully and froze. The walls were also finished with wood, while the floor was covered with large-format stone-look porcelain tiles — a soft beige-sand texture with darker specks, deep and natural. Warm light filled the entire room. The bathroom was almost an exact copy of the one in the white apartment. The same layout. The same fixtures. The same metal furniture structure. But the warm lighting and natural materials transformed it completely. The sink and toilet were not white, but terracotta-colored. The warm light seemed to dissolve edges and soften every form. The bathroom felt incredibly warm — he did not want to leave it.

He slowly approached the wall and ran his fingers across its surface. Texture. A barely perceptible relief. Naturalness. He touched the metal countertop, and even the metal here felt warmer, as if the light itself was heating it. Everything was unusual. Functionally, it was the same: sink, shower cabin, plumbing… but far more pleasant, more human, and even more practical. Warm textured materials did not emphasize every drop of water. They did not turn every shadow into a flaw. They cooperated with the space instead of subordinating it.

He raised his head and looked at his reflection in the mirror. And suddenly realized: all his life he had not been correcting imperfections. He had been correcting warmth. Making everything emotionless, cold, dead. The thought made him uneasy.

Who lived here? Who created this place? How was all of this even possible? And most importantly — why?

To the last question, the protagonist already seemed to know the answer. But as for the others — his thoughts tangled and circled endlessly, refusing to settle. He wanted answers, but where was he supposed to look for them? He needed to go through everything again, more carefully.

He returned to the living room and approached the armchair where he had sat before. On the table beside it stood a framed photograph. Three people: a man around fifty, a woman about forty-five, and a young man in his early twenties. He studied the young man’s face closely. There was something familiar about him, but he could not recall what it was. Still, it was unlikely he knew him at all — his social circle had always been narrow, mostly people his own age or older.

Next to the frame lay a leather-bound notebook. He picked it up and immediately felt its texture — soft, slightly rough, warm. Even its color seemed to warm his palms. Standing barefoot on the wooden floor while holding a leather notebook felt strange, yet strangely natural.

He opened it. Inside were photographs of furniture, lamps, and interior objects. Page after page, it became more and more absorbing. Most of it he had never seen before. Different shades of brown, beige, terracotta — he had never realized brown could contain so many variations. Then came sketches, drawings, ideas. Some of the furniture he recognized — it was already here in this apartment. This was not just an interior. It was a concept — deliberate, cohesive, carefully developed over a long time.

He slowly closed the notebook. The room remained calm, with only the soft sound of the bio-fireplace breaking the silence.

What was he supposed to do with all of this?

The answer, in principle, was simple. According to protocol, everything was clear: unauthorized materials, forbidden lighting, a bio-fireplace. Full correction. The shredder would eliminate the “improper elements,” and the 3D printer would reconstruct the correct version of the space — cold, sterile, flawless. And this apartment would become just like thousands of others.

He imagined the warm floor lamp disappearing. The wooden textures turning to dust. The brown leather replaced with white. And something inside him tightened.

He had never hesitated before. Work was work. The system was the system. He was a professional.

But now…

He did not want to touch his devices. He did not even want to initiate the process. He looked down at his bare feet on the wooden floor. Could he really destroy this after feeling warmth for the first time?

Another thought crossed his mind. What if this was a test? What if they were watching him, waiting to see what he would do? Waiting to see whether he would prove his loyalty?

His heart began to beat faster again. He knew: if he submitted a full correction report — everything would end correctly. For the system.

And what if not… He didn’t know what this “not” even meant, because no one had ever been given that choice. He slowly stepped toward the window, warm light sliding across his face. Did the Curator know about this hidden apartment when he sent him to the object? Of course he did — otherwise, why send him here at all? The visible part of the apartment was perfect, fully compliant, with no deviations whatsoever, but after a resident leaves, correction is always performed — standard procedure, no exceptions. Maybe the Curator did not know about the mirrored section, but then another question arose: the next occupant could discover the hidden door, report it to the Ministry, submit a request, and then questions would come — questions about him.

He swallowed hard. He could say he had not noticed the panel, that the mechanism was too well hidden, that it was a technical defect of the builder. But what if this was a test, and this was exactly why he had been sent here — to see whether he would find it?

A heavy sigh escaped the interior corrector. He already knew what to do. His job was to correct the object, write the report, and submit it — that was all. Everything that did not meet standards, everything not approved by the system, was dangerous. He would send the report, describe the hidden room, document the violation, take photos, and then let others deal with it; it was no longer his responsibility.

The man slowly turned away from the window, warm light lingering on his face for a moment longer. He bent down and put on his perfectly clean white shoes; the warmth of the floor disappeared. He left the hidden part of the apartment and walked toward his devices near the entrance, then stopped.

“I can still do one thing,” he said quietly. And left the apartment.