Chapter 2: The Elevator Between

2:47 PM. Seventh floor, going up.

Maya presses 8 and watches the button light up like a tiny amber star. Her phone shows three missed calls from David. The presentation folder in her hand feels heavier than it should.

Floor 7... Floor 7... Floor 7...

The elevator shudders to a stop. Not at 8. Somewhere between.

She presses 8 again. Nothing. The emergency button. Nothing. The display shows no number at all—just a soft, blinking dash.

Maya sinks against the mirrored wall. Through the gap between floors, she can see part of the seventh-floor hallway and a sliver of the eighth. Two worlds, neither quite reachable.

She opens her phone. No signal.

Of course.

2:52 PM. Still between.

The folder contains her resignation letter. Three paragraphs explaining why she can't continue as David's business partner, carefully worded to sound professional rather than personal. No mention of the things he said last Tuesday. No mention of how he looked at her during the investor meeting.

She'd planned to slide it under his office door and leave. Clean. Efficient. Cowardly.

The elevator hums quietly, a sound like distant conversation.

2:55 PM.

"You know," says a voice, "sometimes being stuck is exactly where you need to be."

Maya looks up. A woman in a maintenance uniform sits cross-legged in the corner. She wasn't there before.

"Are you here to fix the elevator?"

"Depends what's broken," the woman says, smiling. Her name tag reads Alex - Between Floors Specialist.

"The elevator is broken," Maya says slowly.

"Is it?" Alex glances at the display. "Looks to me like it's working perfectly. Got you exactly where you need to be."

2:58 PM.

"Where's that?"

"Between floors. Between decisions. Between who you were when you got on and who you'll be when you get off." Alex pulls a thermos from somewhere and pours two cups of coffee that smells like morning hope. "Want to tell me about the folder?"

Maya finds herself talking. About David. About the company they built together. About trust that cracked slowly, then all at once. About resignation letters and exit strategies and the fear of starting over.

"But mostly," Maya says, surprising herself, "I'm afraid of the conversation. Of seeing his face when he realizes I'm really leaving."

Alex nods. "Hard conversations have a way of finding us in elevators."

3:03 PM.

"Why elevators?"

"Think about it. You're traveling between worlds—literally between floors—but you're not there yet. You're suspended. Time works differently in that suspension."

Maya looks at her phone. Still 3:03.

"Some elevators," Alex continues, "are magic. They don't just move you between floors. They move you between versions of yourself."

The coffee tastes like courage.

3:07 PM.

"What if I'm making a mistake?"

"What if you're not?"

Maya closes her eyes. In the darkness behind her lids, she sees herself walking into David's office. Not sliding papers under doors. Actually talking. Actually saying the words she's been practicing for weeks.

"The thing about thresholds," Alex says softly, "is you can't cross them halfway."

When Maya opens her eyes, Alex is gone. Just the empty coffee cup remains, still warm.

3:09 PM. Floor 8.

The elevator doors open with a gentle chime.

Maya steps out, folder in hand. David's office is down the hall. She can see him through the glass wall, phone pressed to his ear, probably calling her.

She doesn't slide the folder under his door.

She knocks.

3:12 PM. Inside.

"Maya! Where have you been? I've been calling—"

"I need to talk to you," she says, setting the folder on his desk but not opening it. "About us. About the company. About what happens next."

David puts down his phone. Really looks at her for the first time in weeks.

"Okay," he says quietly. "Let's talk."

3:15 PM.

Twenty minutes later, Maya rides the elevator back down. The resignation letter is still in the folder, but it's different now. They both are.

The conversation had been hard. Necessary. Real.

As the elevator passes the seventh floor, she thinks she hears the faint sound of maintenance work—someone humming while they fix the space between things.

The doors open at the lobby. Maya steps out into the afternoon light, folder lighter in her hand, ready for whatever comes next.

Behind her, the elevator returns to normal service.

But some passengers, if they listen carefully between floors, can still hear the echo of honest conversations waiting to happen.

// END EPISODE 2

A peak behind the scenes at the first draft for the chapter image: