So Far No One Has Found the Number Inside the Eye
The statue in Greenwood Square had always drawn attention, but not because of its beauty. It stood with a solemn expression, its right eye slightly larger than the left, giving it an uncanny, almost watchful gaze. Locals whispered that if you stared into that eye long enough, you’d see something — a number hidden deep in the painted iris. No one knew who started the rumor, but it spread like fire through generations.
Some believed the number was part of a lost code — perhaps left by the sculptor who vanished a week after unveiling the statue. Others said it had to do with a secret society, or a buried treasure somewhere beneath the square. Whatever it was, people came from all over to examine it: students with magnifying lenses, photographers zooming in pixel by pixel, even skeptics who ended up staying longer than they meant to.
Mara remembered the statue from her childhood. Her grandfather used to lift her up so she could peer into that strange eye. “Look closely,” he’d whisper. “One day you’ll understand.” But when he passed, he left behind only a note with five cryptic words: “The answer lies in the eye.” That sentence followed her for years like a riddle she couldn’t solve.
Every year on his birthday, she returned to Greenwood Square. She’d sit on the bench across from the statue, sipping coffee and staring into the eye that had haunted her dreams. She tried everything — adjusting angles, waiting for certain times of day, even researching paint aging. But nothing ever revealed a number. Just the same cold, painted stare.
One summer, a group of digital artists tried scanning the eye with thermal imaging. They found layers of older pigment beneath, possibly hinting at restoration work. But again — no number. No code. Just guesses. Some began to doubt the story entirely, calling it a myth built from grief and repetition. But Mara couldn’t let it go. It felt personal. Like something unfinished.
She began interviewing elderly locals, hoping for clues. One woman remembered hearing a child once shouted out a number — “Twenty-one!” — then burst into tears. Another claimed the statue wept during a thunderstorm in ’89, though no one believed her. Everyone had a version of the tale. But no one had proof. Just stories. Always stories.
Then, one rainy morning, Mara stood in front of the statue again. She didn’t bring tools or cameras. Just herself. And for the first time, she didn’t search for the number. She simply stood there, letting the rain fall. And somehow, she realized — maybe the number wasn’t meant to be found. Maybe it was a symbol. A reminder. That not all mysteries have answers. And not all grief can be solved.
So far, no one has found the number inside the eye. And maybe no one ever will. But they still come — people searching for connection, for closure, for meaning. And maybe that’s the real secret: the number isn’t in the eye. It’s in the hearts of those still willing to look.
