It started with a creak beneath my feet. I was pacing the hidden room, lost in thought, when I noticed one of the floorboards felt loose. I knelt down and pried it up, expecting to find nothing but dust and old nails. Instead, I found a small, brass key and a folded scrap of paper with a single word: "Look."

I spent the next hour searching the room, running my hands along the walls and tapping for hollow spots. Finally, behind a faded tapestry, I found a tiny keyhole. My heart was pounding as I slid the key in and turned it. The wall shifted, revealing a narrow window I had never seen before.

The glass was cloudy with age, but I could just make out the garden below, bathed in silver moonlight. Roses climbed the fence, their petals glowing pale in the darkness. And there, moving among the flowers, was a shadow. It was too far to see clearly, but I knew it was her—the girl with the red umbrella. She was walking slowly, as if searching for something, or someone.

I watched for what felt like hours, afraid to move or even breathe. The girl paused beneath the window and looked up. For a moment, I thought she saw me. My skin prickled with goosebumps, and I pressed my hand to the glass. She raised her umbrella in a silent greeting, then turned and disappeared into the night.

I sat by the window long after she was gone, trying to make sense of what I had seen. Was she a ghost, a memory, or something else entirely? The diary I found yesterday mentioned a secret window, a place to watch and wait. Maybe this is what my great aunt wanted me to find—a way to see the past, or maybe the future.

Tonight, I feel closer to her than ever before. The house is full of secrets, but I'm starting to believe they're meant for me. I wonder what else is waiting to be discovered, just out of sight.

Tomorrow, I'll return to the window at midnight. Maybe she'll come back. Maybe this time, I'll find the courage to open it and let the night air in.