Your phone buzzed on the nightstand. A text. You reached for it without looking, thumb swiping across the screen.

From: Unknown

"Come to Platform 9¾. Bring nothing but yourself. We remember you."

You blinked. Sat up. The room looked the same—posters on the wall, yesterday's clothes draped over the chair, a half-empty mug of cold tea.

You read it again. Platform 9¾. That was from the books. The movies. Fiction.

But your thumb hovered over the message, and something in your chest—some quiet, buried thing—pulsed like a heartbeat you'd forgotten you had.

A breeze stirred the curtain. The window was closed.

Your phone buzzed again.

From: Unknown

"Tonight. Don't tell anyone. Some doors only open once."