The car rolled down a narrow dirt road that wound through endless green steppe, the tall grass swaying in the warm wind like a living sea. Sophie held the wheel with easy confidence, her fingers tapping against the trim in rhythm with some tune only she could hear, while David sat beside her, staring out the window in bemused wonder.
The sky above was clear and blue—but in it shone two suns. One was bright and golden, like the one from their world; the other smaller, tinged with orange, like a constant companion. That was the only sign they weren't home. Everything else looked familiar—grass, sky, even the faraway hills—like someone had copied their reality and simply added an extra star.
After an hour's drive they spotted a roadside diner—a shabby little house with a battered awning, beneath which sat several cars that looked suspiciously like old models from their own world. A faded sign read Burger-Hut, and the smell of fried meat, onions, and fries drifted out. Sophie slowed the car, her stomach growling—after their mad tumble through realities, hunger struck with merciless force.
"Let's eat," she suggested, killing the engine. "Who knows when we'll find the next place."
David nodded, still distracted by the twin suns overhead.
Inside, the diner looked utterly ordinary—plastic tables, worn-out chairs, a chalkboard menu listing prices in an unfamiliar currency. A couple of locals, in jeans and shirts, barely looked up as they walked in. David and Sophie ordered burgers and cola, then sat by the window with the steppe stretching outside.
They attacked the food hungrily. Sophie bit into her burger, juice running down her fingers, while David tore off huge mouthfuls, swallowing barely chewed. Their hunger was primal, as if their bodies demanded fuel after being hurled between worlds.
Between bites, David finally spoke, his voice lit with that spark of intellectual excitement that always burned in him when mysteries were on the table.
"You know, Sophie," he began, wiping his mouth with a napkin, "I've read so much about this. When it all started—the visions, the shifts—I dove into books. First the medieval stuff, witchcraft and sorcery. A lot of nonsense, of course: witches boiling frogs with herbs, moonlit rituals to summon spirits."
"You really think fairy tales hold the answers?" she asked, chewing with interest.
"Listen. I was hunting for a kernel of truth—maybe the ancients glimpsed something real, an energy, the fabric of reality itself, but described it in myths. I didn't find much, only vague mentions of 'gates between worlds' opening through powerful emotions or sacrifices."
"The emotions part sounds about right," Sophie nodded, eyes bright. She took another bite, a drop of ketchup splattering onto the table.
"Then I moved on to modern physics," David continued, his eyes gleaming. "Parallel realities—that's science now. Everett's many-worlds interpretation of quantum mechanics: every time a choice is made, the universe branches, spawning new copies."
"So there are infinite universes?"
"Yes. In his view, yes. Then there's string theory—worlds layered in multidimensional space, separated by thin membranes."
"And what about portals?"
"In some models, they could exist through wormholes—space-time tunnels bent by gravity or energy. But for that to work, you'd need colossal power, something like a black hole or… well, something on that scale."
"And strong emotions might be that energy?"
"That's the only explanation that fits. Still—none of the sources say portals can be opened by a crazy witch whose entire body is basically one giant erogenous zone."
Sophie snorted. Laughter burst out of her, sharp and ringing. She tried to hold it in, but a smear of ketchup streaked across her nose, leaving a bright red spot that only made her laugh harder. She leaned back in her chair, wiping her nose with a napkin, tears of laughter shining in her eyes.
"Oh, David," she gasped between giggles, "are you serious? A witch made of erogenous zones? That's how you see me?" Her cheeks flushed pink, her eyes alight with that familiar mix of tenderness and mischief.
David grinned, reaching across the table to wipe the last streak of ketchup from her nose with his thumb.
"Am I wrong?" he teased. "You open portals with nothing but your… well, you know. If physicists knew, they'd rewrite all their theories."
Sophie laughed again, placing her hand over his. Outside, the two suns blazed in the sky, but at that moment the world didn't feel alien at all. It felt theirs—full of mysteries and laughter.