The waiting room was plain, painted in a dull gray shade. The walls seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. The air was cool, yet stagnant. Sam felt a heavy unease—likely because of the sterile atmosphere, even though this wasn’t the first corridor of its kind he had ever sat in. Dimly flickering sconces cast faint shadows that danced along the long, empty hallway stretching in both directions.

He sat alone, his fingers nervously intertwined in his lap. A weight pressed against his chest—an inexplicable anxiety he couldn’t shake. The oppressive silence was only interrupted by the rhythmic ticking of a distant clock Sam couldn’t see. There was something unsettling about the sound, as if it measured more than just time, more than the ordinary purpose of such devices.

Sam shifted uneasily in his seat. “Why am I so nervous?” he thought. He wasn’t someone who easily succumbed to stress—years as a firefighter had taught him to keep his composure. But here, in this quiet, sterile space, a strange sense of unease gnawed at him.

His thoughts, disjointed and restless, wandered from one memory to another until they settled on a darker moment—the fight with his daughter.

She was only eight, but she carried a stubbornness that reminded him of her mother. The previous night, they had clashed over her school’s father-child event. He had promised to be there, teasing her about how they would tackle the obstacle course together and defeat all the other competitors. But duty had called—a massive fire in the outskirts of town. He’d spent the evening battling the flames, coming home late, exhausted and reeking of smoke.

She hadn’t understood. “You lied!” she had yelled, her eyes brimming with tears. “You always pick your job over me!”

Her accusation had cut deep, though he knew it wasn’t entirely fair. How could he explain the weight of his responsibility to a child? That morning, as he drove her to school, the silence between them had been heavy—a gulf he didn’t know how to bridge.

His thoughts shifted to the accident. The memory surfaced suddenly, vivid and raw—the screeching tires, shattering glass, the twisted wreckage. He had seen it while driving his daughter to school. Two cars crushed together like children’s toys.

He had reacted without hesitation, running to the scene. The passengers in one of the cars had managed to escape the flames engulfing it. But the other car wasn’t as fortunate. Inside were a father and his daughter.

Sam immediately took action, first pulling the child out of the wreckage. She was alive, crying for her father. He worked frantically to free the man, dragging him to safety and performing CPR until the ambulance arrived. But it wasn’t enough—the man’s injuries were too severe, and he passed away long before help could reach him.

Now, the memory clung to him like smoke. He replayed it over and over in his mind, wondering if he could have done more. The thought of the girl, now fatherless, haunted him. “Why do things like this happen? Why do we hurt each other and destroy lives?” he thought.

Trying to escape the heaviness of the accident, Sam let his mind wander to brighter memories—his family, his safe haven.

His wife’s laughter echoed in his mind, warm and tender. She had a way of soothing his soul, reminding him why he fought so hard to protect others. He pictured her sitting with him late at night, a plate of lasagna in front of him. “You’re my hero,” she would say with a gentle smile, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She always waited for him after his grueling shifts, no matter the hour, greeting him with a hug and trying to dispel his weariness by sharing the children’s daily adventures. She listened when he needed to share, letting him unburden himself.

Then there was his son, now playing in the junior leagues of the local football team. Pride swelled in Sam’s chest as he remembered the boy’s dedication. His mind flashed back to their first time kicking a ball together. Sam had tried to show off all his tricks to impress his son. The boy tried to replicate them, but his tiny feet were too clumsy, and he often stumbled and fell. That memory was a treasure—a reminder of the simple joys that give life meaning.

Sam eagerly awaited his son’s next match, scheduled for this week. He tried to attend every game, always dressed in his son’s team colors. He sat at the front with his family, cheering his son’s name throughout the entire match.

Sam then remembered his daughter again. Time had flown by, and the baby girl he had once cradled had grown into an independent eight-year-old. They had a ritual—every Sunday, they would sit together to watch their favorite movie, “Back to the Future”. No matter their obligations during the day, they always found time to revisit one of the parts of the trilogy, again and again. It was one of Sam’s favorite moments of peace each week.

The ticking abruptly stopped, replaced by the creak of a door. Sam looked up, startled. The door had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. A man stood in its frame, his presence calm, yet commanding.

“Sam,” the man said, his voice steady and warm. “Please, come in.”

The office was a balm after the waiting room. The walls were a light blue, soothing to the eye. Sunlight poured through tall windows, illuminating the white wooden desk and plush chairs around it. The air was warm, with a faint scent of lavender. Everything about the space felt inviting, cozy. The unease that had gripped Sam instantly melted away, and he somehow felt this place was familiar, as though he had always belonged here.

The man was dignified, with silver hair and piercing eyes. He gestured to one of the chairs. “My name is Peter,” he said. “Let’s talk.”

A wave of unease washed over Sam again. “What is this place?” he asked, furrowing his brow. “Why am I here?”

Peter smiled gently. “First, tell me—what’s the last thing you remember?”

Sam frowned, searching his memory. “The car accident. I was trying to save a man…”

Peter nodded. “Do you remember anything specific about him?”

“No,” Sam admitted. “I was just trying to help.”

Peter’s gaze softened. “You were in that accident, Sam. And I’m sorry to tell you, but you didn’t survive.”

The words hung in the air like a thunderclap. Sam shook his head, his heart racing. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “No. That’s impossible. I’m here! I’m alive!”

Peter remained calm. “Few people realize this right away. Our minds protect us from the truth until we’re ready to face it. And that’s normal—nobody knows what lies ahead until it happens. But it’s time to let go.”

Peter paused for a moment, letting Sam process what was happening. In the distance, it was as if someone had turned on a television, broadcasting news of the accident. Peter looked at Sam, and like a movie playing in his mind, images and scenes from the moment of the crash surfaced in the firefighter’s memory. He had been driving his car, wondering how to start a conversation with his daughter, when suddenly something hit them head-on. Sam instinctively reached out to shield his daughter, who was sitting next to him. The airbags deployed just a fraction of a second later. He felt a sharp pain—pain unlike anything he had ever felt before. With his remaining strength, he carried out a practiced motion, immediately freeing his daughter from her seatbelt, allowing her to crawl out through the shattered window.

“This isn’t possible,” Sam murmured, as if hoping his words would work some magic and someone would tell him this was all a cruel joke. With a calm tone, Peter finally continued, “You’re a good man, Sam. You’ve always helped others. That’s why you’re here. It’s time to decide how you’ll spend eternity.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asked, still incredulous.

“You see, people like you are given the opportunity to choose how they want to feel—the thing they wish to experience over and over, which will bring them happiness and peace, and soothe their soul. Some people choose to live out their boldest fantasies or dreams—to fly like birds, to always stand on a stage performing songs before a huge audience. There was even one person who simply chose to sit on a couch and watch movies endlessly. You can choose whatever you desire, whatever will make you happy.”

***

Sam awoke abruptly, his heart pounding. His breathing was shallow as he looked around, disoriented.

He was in his bed, his wife beside him, reading a bedtime story to their children. His daughter was leaning against her, her face serene as she listened attentively. His son was sprawled at the foot of the bed, dressed in his favorite football team pajamas.

Sam exhaled deeply, running a hand through his hair. The vivid images of the waiting room and the office still flashed in his mind, fading like dreams we remember only for a few seconds after waking.

Was it all just a dream? He couldn’t say. But here, with his family, everything felt real enough.