Chapter 6: The Algorithm's Echo

The weekend was too quiet. 

For most people, quiet meant peace. For Selena, it was dangerous. Quiet meant thinking. And thinking meant remembering. 

No matter how many times she tried to distract herself washing dishes, rearranging the bookshelf, watering her plants her mind kept circling back. 

Cassandra’s voice from earlier in the week still clung to her, sharp and cold. 

"That’s why he’ll never really see you." 

It wasn’t the words that hurt most. It was the way Cassandra had said them. Like a fact carved in stone. Like she wasn’t just predicting the future she was promising it. 

Selena pressed her lips together and kept dusting the shelf. But under Cassandra’s voice, another memory pushed its way forward. 

The one from the washroom. 

The flicker of the light. The blur in the mirror. That prickling on the back of her neck that said she wasn’t alone. 

She had told herself it was nothing just her imagination. But the truth was, she still didn’t believe herself. 

By late morning, she gave up on chores. 

She turned on the tap, letting the tub fill with hot water. The steam rose quickly, curling up toward the ceiling. She poured in lavender bath salts and watched the crystals dissolve into the water. 

When the tub was ready, she stepped in. 

The warmth wrapped around her instantly, sinking deep into her muscles. Her shoulders relaxed. She slid lower until the water reached her chin. 

Her hair fanned out like dark silk, floating gently on the surface. 

She closed her eyes. For a while, there was only the sound of water shifting and the faint hum of the pipes. The scent of lavender made her head feel light, soft. 

But the thoughts came back. They always did. 

She saw Damien on the rooftop again—the way the wind had moved through his hair, the way he’d looked at her that night, like she wasn’t just another face in the crowd. 

That word he had used. Refreshing. 

And then… nothing. Weeks of nothing. 

No greetings in the hallway. No casual conversations. Just Damien walking past her as if they had never met. 

And Cassandra, always nearby, smiling that knowing smile. 

Selena exhaled slowly and slid lower into the water until it covered her ears. The world went muffled. 

Across the city, Damien sat in his penthouse, the skyline stretching beyond the tall glass walls. 

Normally, Saturdays were for work. Reports, meetings, calls something always needed his attention. But today, the laptop on the glass coffee table was open and ignored. 

His phone was in his hand. 

He scrolled through I*******m without much interest. The feed was the same as always: business events, glossy photos, motivational quotes. All polished. All predictable.

Then, a photo made him pause. 

It was from a junior partner at a rival firm. Not someone he cared much about, but there were mutual connections. Out of habit, Damien tapped the “mutual friends” icon. 

And there she was. 

@Selena.Monroe.Art. 

Her profile picture wasn’t corporate or staged. It was warm, casual. Her face was clear, lit by soft light. 

Damien hesitated for a second, then tapped her profile. 

It was nothing like the feeds he was used to. No rigid curation, no empty captions. It was… alive. 

A photo of her in a worn university sweatshirt, paint streaked on her cheek, leaning over a half-finished canvas. The caption read: Lost in the lines. This piece feels like flying. 

Damien read it twice. He knew exactly what she meant. That moment when the rest of the world fades away and only the thing you’re creating matters. 

He scrolled further.

A short video of her laughing as she fell out of a handstand on the beach. Another of her and friends on a hiking trail, rain damp and smiling. Close-up shots of her sketches and watercolors splashes of color that looked like they might spill out of the frame. 

Her world felt real. Untamed. 

His own world was the opposite perfect but sterile. 

Cassandra’s voice drifted back to him. She’s just an intern. 

But her profile told him she was something else entirely. 

His thumb hovered over the message icon. He didn’t contact employees this way. But the space between them felt wrong. Too wide. Too silent. 

He tapped. 

In Selena’s apartment, the bathwater was starting to cool when her phone chimed on the counter. 

She almost ignored it. But then she glanced over. 

The name on the screen made her sit up straighter. 

@DamienRothOfficial sent you a message. 

Her heart thudded hard against her ribs. 

She reached for the phone with wet fingers, careful not to drop it. She opened the message slowly, almost bracing herself. 

Apologies for the direct message. I stumbled upon your profile. Your art is quite striking. 

Her art. Not her work. Not the company. Her. 

Another message arrived before she could process the first. 

It was unexpected. And refreshing. Unlike most of what I see on this platform. 

That word again. Refreshing. 

Her breath caught. 

She typed, trying to keep her tone neutral: Thank you. I appreciate you taking the time to look. 

His reply was quick. Indeed. A rare quality. I’m curious what inspired the “Lost in the lines” piece? 

Selena stared at the question. 

He remembered the caption. He wanted to know more. 

Part of her wanted to tell him everything the late night she painted it, the music that had been playing, the feeling of being on the edge of something too beautiful to keep. 

But another part of her remembered the flicker in the washroom mirror. The prickle at the back of her neck. 

If she answered, she would be letting him in.

If she didn’t… she might never know why he had reached out now, after so many silent weeks. 

Her fingers hovered above the screen. 

The apartment around her felt colder now. The bathwater had lost most of its warmth. The steam had thinned, leaving only faint wisps in the air. 

She began to type. 

But before she could send it 

The bathroom light flickered. 

Once. Twice. 

Her head snapped up. 

The shadows shifted against the tiled wall, stretching in strange directions. For a second, she thought she saw movement in the mirror. 

Her phone vibrated again. 

I’ll be waiting for your reply.