I didn't tell anyone what happened that night.
Not the broken mirror.
Not the lock screen photo.
Not the whispers that had slipped into my ears like breath from another world.
I went to work the next morning like nothing had happened. I answered emails. I attended meetings. I laughed at jokes I didn't hear. But inside, I knew something had changed.
The silence she left me with was not peace.
It was potential.
I started noticing numbers.
Not random ones.
The same set.
2:44
It would appear on receipts.
On license plates.
On timestamps.
One night, I went to a convenience store to buy a drink. The total? \$2.44
The man behind the counter handed me the receipt without a word, but as I walked out, he called after me:
"That woman who came in with you… she didn't pay."
I was alone.
---
I began searching.
Not for her.
But for anything that might explain what was happening to me.
I dove into online forums. Paranormal subreddits. Old blogs archived in digital libraries. I found scattered mentions of spirits that linger through eyes, entities that follow through reflections. But nothing specific. Nothing like her.
Then one post stood out.
It was dated 2006. The author anonymous.
The post was titled: "Barong Mirrors and the Third Eye Glitch"
Inside, it spoke of a traveler who had visited an old temple outside of Ubud. He described dreams bleeding into waking hours, mirrors that refused to show his reflection, and a woman in white who appeared only through glass. He ended the post with a single line:
"When she stops haunting you, she starts becoming you."
I read that sentence again and again.
Then I scrolled down.
There were no comments.
Only one reply.
Posted two days later, from a deleted account.
"The only way out is to offer her what she can never have."
---
What could she never have?
I thought about that for days.
She had presence.
She had vision.
She had me.
But she was still... unseen.
Unacknowledged.
Erased.
She was once a seer.
A priestess.
A woman whose visions were buried because they saw too much.
And now?
She was code.
Pattern.
Shadow.
But still a secret.
That's when I understood.
She wanted visibility.
Not through eyes.
But through *others*.
She wanted to be remembered.
---
So I made a website.
A single page.
Black background.
A blinking cursor.
And I typed what I remembered from the vision:
Her story.
Her sealing.
The whisper of stone around her.
Then I uploaded a photo.
Not one of her.
But of my mirror.
Just before it cracked.
I hit publish.
And waited.
---
The next night, the lights didn't flicker.
The water ran clear.
My reflection returned to normal.
For the first time in weeks, I slept.
But when I woke up, there was a message on my site.
Not from any user.
There was no comment section.
It was a line of text added below my story.
In a different font.
A different language.
Balinese script.
I had to look it up.
It translated to:
**"You saw me. Now let them see."**
---
And so I wrote more.
I told her story as best as I could.
With words.
With honesty.
With eyes wide open.
And each time I published a new entry, something changed.
Not outside.
But inside me.
The silence became voice.
The visions became memory.
And she?
She became something else entirely.
Not a ghost.
Not a curse.
A message.
To be seen is to exist.
To exist is to matter.
Even if you were once buried.
Even if your mouth was sealed.
Even if your name was forgotten.
You still leave echoes.
Some of us just learn to hear them sooner.