Before opening the door, Tomas always stood in the corridor for a few seconds.
That was an unwritten custom of the Institute.
Not because you needed to prepare for the conversation.
But because no one wanted to be the first to look the returnee in the eyes.
The corridor was quiet. Behind the frosted glass came the muffled hum of ventilation. A clock without a second hand hung on the wall. It was never in a hurry.
A file lay on the desk.
Without a photograph.
Just a surname.
A. Varnas
Expedition 214.
Returned after eleven minutes.
Journey duration by ship time — two years.
Tomas read the last line.
“First conversation not conducted.”
He froze.
He had never seen such a note.
The first conversation was mandatory. Always.
For everyone.
No exceptions.
He turned the page.
There was only one sentence there.
“Refused to speak with psychologists. Requested someone else.”
Tomas smiled quietly.
That did happen sometimes.
People often didn’t want to talk after flights.
He was already reaching for the door handle when he noticed one more sheet.
It was filed in backward.
No date.
No signature.
Just one line.
“If he is the first to ask whether you have ever dreamed of a place you have never been, end the conversation.”
Tomas stared at the sentence for a long time.
Then laughed.
Silly.
Someone’s failed joke.
He opened the door.
The office was almost empty.
A man sat by the window.
With his back turned.
Hands on his knees.
He didn’t turn around.
“Mr. Varnas?”
No answer.
“I’m the psychologist, Tomas Žilinskas.”
Then the man very slowly raised his head.
Without turning around.
“You’re not the first.”
“What do you mean?”
“A psychologist.”
Silence.
“How many have there been already?”
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe five.”
“Maybe fifty.”
Tomas felt a strange irritation.
The file clearly stated he was the first.
“The file…”
“…says you’re the first.”
Finally the man turned around.
His face was completely calm.
Only his eyes looked tired.
Not from lack of sleep.
From something older.
“Don’t argue with the file,” he said. “It always wins.”
Tomas opened his notebook.
“Let’s start with a simple question. How are you feeling?”
The man was silent.
Then he asked:
“Have you ever come home and felt like something had been shifted just slightly?”
“I’m sorry?”
“A chair.”
“A cup.”
“A book.”
“Nothing you could prove.”
“Just enough that for a moment you’d think: but I left it differently.“
Tomas said nothing.
“After the first trip, that’s how you feel about your home.”
“After the second…”
“And after the second?”
The man smiled.
Very faintly.
“…that’s how you start feeling about yourself.”