The Gate on Alder Street

Priya had always left the iron gate at the end of her driveway unlatched during the day. The narrow lane beside her house was useful for deliveries, moving furniture, and the occasional visitor who needed a place to turn around. It was never meant to become a public lot.

Unfortunately, her neighbor, Graham, had decided otherwise.

Graham had a habit of telling his guests they could park in Priya’s driveway, even though there was plenty of room on the street and extra space in his own driveway. Priya had asked him more than once to stop. He always gave the same breezy answer: she had all that room anyway, so what was the problem?

The problem was that it was her property.

For a while, Priya fantasized about petty revenge. She imagined locking the gate and disappearing for a few days, leaving Graham’s guests stranded, forced to sit with their bad decisions until they could retrieve their cars. She even considered telling them flatly that they were not welcome at all.

Then the answer arrived in a way she never expected.

One evening, Graham threw a party. Music thumped through the thin summer air. As expected, cars began filling Priya’s driveway. Someone, in a stroke of idiocy worthy of a tragedy, decided the best solution was to park there and swing the gate shut behind them.

Priya discovered the problem when the night grew late and the guests began leaving. The gate would not open.

It had been broken for weeks, maybe months. It could slide closed, but reopening it required a brutal combination of strength and timing, as if the whole thing were held together by stubbornness alone. Priya had never been able to afford the repair, and until now, the flaw had mostly been an inconvenience.

Now it was a trap.

Graham came over, annoyed and embarrassed, and asked her to help. Priya looked at the gate, then at her injured arm, then back at him.

“No,” she said. “Two people won’t do it, and I can’t help anyway. If you can’t get that gate open, I’m calling the police and reporting trespassing.”

Graham’s face changed at once.

It was too late to summon a crew of helpers, and too late to argue convincingly. Priya held her ground. She told him she would wait until morning, but only if he came back with enough people to fix the gate properly.

The next day, Graham returned with a repairman.

By afternoon, the gate rolled smoothly for the first time in ages. Graham paid the entire bill himself, and he never again sent anyone to park in Priya’s driveway.

Priya had her gate back, and with it came something better than revenge: the simple, satisfying ability to close it whenever she pleased.

After that, her driveway stayed shut.