seen at 11.07

at 11:06, my phone buzzed like it had somewhere to be. not a notification. not a call. just a single, impatient vibration, the kind you get when your battery is dying or your hand is shaking. i wasn’t touching it. the screen lit up on its own. my lock screen showed the time in clean white digits. 11:06 then it flickered. a tiny stutter, like the phone swallowed a frame. 11:07. i blinked hard. the time snapped back to 11:06 like nothing happened. i laughed under my breath, because if i didn’t laugh, i’d have to admit i was freaked out by a rectangle of glass. i unlocked it. her chat was already open. not on the home screen. not in my recent apps. open, like someone else had tapped it for me. the last message was mine, from a minute ago. me: i’m sorry. please don’t disappear on me again. i hadn’t meant to send that tonight. i’d typed it earlier and left it sitting in drafts like a loaded gun. but it was sent now. delivered. sitting there like a confession i couldn’t unsay. under it, the read receipt hadn’t appeared yet. i watched the bottom of the screen the way you watch a door when you know someone’s behind it but they refuse to knock. the rain outside dragged itself down my window. my lamp painted my room in warm, sleepy light. everything looked soft enough to forgive me, except the chat. then the minute changed. 11:07. the status updated with surgical calm. seen at 11:07. no reply. just that. the worst part wasn’t the silence. it was the precision. like she had set an alarm just to read me and leave. i locked my phone. opened it. locked it again. childish. useless. my thumbs hovered over the keyboard anyway. me: why do you always do it at 11:07? i didn’t send it. i stared at it until the letters looked ugly. because i already knew the answer i didn’t want to accept: maybe she wasn’t doing it on purpose. maybe i was the one giving meaning to a coincidence because it hurt less than believing she simply didn’t care. i dropped the phone onto my bed and let it sink into the blanket like a stone. and that’s when it buzzed again. one vibration. short. controlled. i picked it up too fast. a message appeared. from her. no typing bubble. no warning. it was just… there. her: don’t send anything else tonight. my chest tightened so fast it felt embarrassing. i typed back before my brain could negotiate. me: you’re awake. seen. no reply. then another message from her arrived, like she was choosing what i was allowed to know. her: i’m not “awake.” i’m only here for one minute. i swallowed. me: what does that mean? no reply. but the time on the top of my screen ticked forward. 11:08. and the chat went quiet again like someone cut the wire. i stared at it, stunned, waiting for a miracle i didn’t deserve. my phone buzzed again, softer this time. not from the chat. from my gallery. a new file. i hadn’t taken any photos. i opened it. the image was grainy, like it was pulled from a security camera. my bedroom. my bed. my phone glowing on the blanket. the angle was wrong. too high. like someone was standing by my window. in the photo, on my phone screen, the chat was open, and a new message bubble from her was visible. her: tomorrow. 10:12. stairs behind the library. my throat went dry. i snapped back into the chat app, fingers shaking. me: how did you send that photo? seen at 11:07. i stared at the “seen” line like it was mocking me now, like it had always been mocking me. i typed again, slower. me: are you even real? for a second, nothing. then, at the bottom of the screen, the typing bubble appeared. three dots. it lasted exactly one heartbeat. and vanished. no message. just the time at the top, calm and innocent. 11:12. i sat there in the rain-sound and the lamp-glow, holding my phone like it might explain itself if i gripped it hard enough. tomorrow. 10:12. stairs behind the library. and the thing that kept drilling into my head, louder than the rain: if she only existed for one minute… why was she using that minute on me?