“They want you to pick that one,” he said.
“Which one?” she asked.
“The yellow one.”
She counted. Six white doors, one yellow.
She watched him scrutinize the doors, then set his shoulders, open the third white door from the right, and stride through.
The door shut itself with a heavy click. She never saw him again.
She sat down on the floor and pondered the yellow door. She considered the others.
After quite a long time had passed she picked herself up, turned the knob, opened the yellow door, and stepped through.
The door closed slowly behind her with the softest of creaks.
If there had been anyone else lingering in the room of doors and listening very carefully, that person might have heard in that moment a delighted little laugh behind the yellow door.