244

By Sarah de Caen

It began like any other Tuesday. Fluorescent lights hummed above her, sharp and white. She stood in the supermarket queue, tired, scrolling through her phone, when a man behind her said quietly, “Two-four-four.”

She turned. He was older, his face kind but distant, eyes amber like autumn. “Sorry?” she asked. The man smiled faintly. “You’ll remember.” Then he walked away, no groceries, no goodbye — just gone.

Her stomach tightened. She didn’t know why, but the number clung to her, echoing through the ordinary.

At home, she pulled out an old notebook — the one she’d once filled with patterns and number fragments of something she used to believe in. There it was, scrawled across a page she didn’t remember writing: 244. Her handwriting, her ink. A circle drawn around it, and beneath: When you hear it again, follow it.

Her pulse quickened. She shut the book. Too strange. Too much.

That night, she dreamed of a garden lit by starlight. Seeds shimmered in the dark soil, each whispering softly. One glowed golden — marked 244. She reached for it, as she heard the stranger’s voice, gentle, steady: “You planted this long ago. It’s time to grow.”

She awoke with a  gasp,  the clock blinking 2:44 a.m. The room was still — but not empty. The scent of earth lingered faintly in the air, and on her bedside table lay a single yellow seed.

Her breath caught.

By dawn, she was outside, barefoot on damp grass, the seed in her palm. She didn’t question how it came to be there. She only knew she had to plant it. Kneeling, she pressed it into the soil and whispered, “Two… Four… Four.”

Something shifted — not in the earth, but in her.

Weeks passed. Life continued, yet a quiet strength grew inside her — a sense of direction she hadn’t felt in years. And then, one morning, when the light hit the garden just right, she saw it.

A small sprout pushing through the soil. Golden leaves unfurling, catching the sun.

She smiled, heart swelling, then froze — the shape of the leaves forming something unmistakable. Three digits. 244.

And just for a moment, in the glass reflection of her window, she saw the man again — smiling from behind her shoulder.

Then he was gone.

Author Note: This story explores the subtle ways destiny can guide us — through chance encounters, symbols, and quiet moments of recognition. It reflects my belief that the universe often nudges us toward growth when we are ready to embrace it.

By Sarah de Caen