I got inside, and looked around myself, hoping nobody had caught me. Luckily, there was no one around. I whispered "close", and walked away quickly. I didn't really use this special power of mine, until it became absolutely imperative to do so. I feared if I used it too often, I would exhaust it and it was a major convenience, as well as an ego boost. Though, I was rather proud of it, I also didn't tell anybody about it. I feared they would not understand and treat me like a nutcase. Also, something within me told me that I was not supposed to discuss this with anybody.
All of this had started when I was fourteen years old. I had gone to my Nani's place during my winter vacations. My annoying cousin brothers had come, as well. One of them had found my diary, lying on my bed. Back then, I used to pour my heart and soul out to my diary, with all honesty and dedication. I loved my diary. She was my best friend. And I had written to her all about Karan. He was my crush and four years senior. My brothers on finding my diary, had shamelessly read everything and just to trouble me had locked it in their suitcase and had told me that when they got back to Dehradun they would take it to Karan and show everything to him. I didn't know if they meant it or not, but I was terrified out of my senses. I begged them to give me back my diary. But they wouldn't relent. I dared not complain to my grandmother, for I feared she would start inquiring about the contents of it. My brothers had also hidden the key of their suitcase away, somewhere. One day, I sneaked into their room, while they were playing cricket in the garden, with a stone in my hand. I was going to try and break the lock. I hit the lock several times with the stone. I tried different angles. I yanked off my hair pin and tried to open the lock with it, like they show in movies. My hair pin broke. I could feel my heart break, too. Finally, I sat down on the cold floor and cupped my left hand around the lock and looked at it with eyes filled with tears.
"Please open," I begged it, hopelessly.
The lock clicked open. I couldn't believe what had just happened. Forgetting all about the diary, I said, "Close." It closed again. And then when I said "Open", it reopened. At first I thought it must be a magic lock. But I decided to try my luck one more time. I turned towards the washroom door and said to it, loudly and clearly, "Open." It opened itself. So that's how I procured my diary and discovered my special power. But it wasn't just Open and Close. I could make any object do anything, just by asking it to. For a long time, I was the cricket champion of my school team, because I would take all the catches in the world, just by asking the ball to "Fall into my hands." But then eventually, I began to fear that I might end up wasting my power in frivolous things and I must conserve it for emergencies. Also, I feared if I attracted too much unnecessary attention, somebody would find out my little secret. Now this power only seemed normal to me. I had grown up with it. And though it had helped me out in many sticky spots and I was proud of it, it had not really made any major difference to my extremely regular life. At least so far.
So I walked towards my building and got into the elevator. My 2 BHK flat was on the fourth floor. I entered into my flat and looked around myself. This had been my den, and I had lived here alone for five years now. I was a successful author, and I wrote a weekly column for a magazine. Somehow, living independently helped me work better. I was twenty two and already famous among the reading circuits of big cities in India. I went to Dehradun- my home-town, twice a year and I loved being home, with my family. But I also knew that while I was learning to write I had to venture into the big bad world, all by myself. Lately my life had been pretty slow and monotonous. I had just completed my Masters from TISS and other than seeing my weekly column on Saturdays, I had nothing really to look forward to. I also didn't have any muse for a new book, and no love life whatsoever. My recent break up had been nearly as meaningless as the relationship I had been in. I didn't care for the guy and he didn't care for me. The trouble was that now I was beginning to doubt the existence of "love", in itself. I had always loved the idea of love. My first two novels were entirely about romance, but by and by the excitement towards romance had started ebbing away. Hence, my last novel had been a scientific thriller. And well, I feared this latest break up of mine would kill the excitement entirely.
I sighed and was just about to go into my room to change into my night clothes, when I remembered I had left my car parked in front of Mr. Mehta's house, in the afternoon, who- being the kind gentleman that he was- had realised that I was in a rush and let me do so. I picked my keys up from the table, locked my house and sprinted across the lobby towards the elevator. However, just when I was about to reach the elevator, I felt something strange and extremely slippery below my feet. I lost balance, tripped and fell face front.
