The Umbrella Shop with No Door

Between a bookstore and a bakery, Yuma noticed a narrow shop he had never seen before. It had a window full of umbrellas, but no door.

Every umbrella in the window was white, closed neatly, and had no price tag. Yuma pressed his hand against the glass, but it felt as solid as any ordinary wall.

An old woman stopped beside him. “You don't open that door,” she said. “It opens for people who lost one.” Yuma remembered losing a small white umbrella as a child, years ago.

As Yuma looked again, one umbrella in the window opened by itself, slowly. Behind the shop, a faint green light flickered once, like a door somewhere far away.

The next morning, the narrow shop was gone. A shoe store stood there instead, looking as if it had always been in that spot.

That night, Yuma found a closed white umbrella leaning against his front door. He had not bought one. He picked it up carefully and brought it inside, thinking of the umbrella he had lost long ago.