2:17 at My Door
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Video Transcript
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I live in a quiet apartment building—too quiet. So when footsteps started stopping
outside my door every night at 2:17 a.m., I noticed. No knock.
No key. Just standing there. On the fifth night, I opened the door. Nothing.
Only a paper on my mat: I’M JUST CHECKING IF YOU’RE STILL YOU.
More notes followed. In my mailbox. On my fridge. YOU MOVED DIFFERENT TODAY.
WHEN DID YOU STOP REMEMBERING YOUR MOTHER’S VOICE? I changed the locks. Set up a camera.
At 2:17, my phone buzzed: motion detected. The hallway was empty—until the
camera shifted. Slowly. My own face filled the screen, smiling.
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