They say she lives in places where people pause — but never for long.
Under temple trees.
On benches no one names.
In the last empty corner of a courtyard no one sweeps.
She doesn’t speak.
She doesn’t touch.
She just… watches.
Not with eyes of warning.
Not with a list of rules.
Just with presence.
Like the sky.
Like time.
People who sit near her report feeling something — not chills, but a settling. Like someone sees them… and doesn’t need them to change.
No matter what they carry.
Or why they stopped walking.
Or how long they sit.
The Spirit Who Watches doesn’t count your breaths. She just honors that you took one.
And sometimes, when the light shifts just right, you might see a silhouette behind the pillar.
Or a flicker near the edge of the prayer mat.
Not to scare.
Just to say: “I see you.”
And it’s okay.