Chapter 24 – The Light in Her Eyes
The afternoon sun bathed the small park in golden warmth, the wind carrying soft whispers of children laughing, leaves rustling, and distant bells from a street vendor’s cart. Erica sat on a bench beneath a sakura tree in bloom, a hand on her lap, the other gently tracing the texture of the petals Jepoy had plucked and placed in her palm.
She was quiet—quieter than usual. As though holding something delicate inside.
Jepoy sat beside her, arms stretched behind his head, eyes closed as if soaking in the sun’s calm. But he felt it too—the silence, the tension she didn’t speak aloud.
“I saw a flicker again,” she said suddenly, almost a whisper.
Jepoy’s eyes opened immediately. “What?”
She turned her face to him, hopeful, cautious. “Not colors. Just… shapes. Shadows, I think. It was blurry. But I could tell where the light was coming from.”
His heart skipped. “That’s… that’s amazing, Erica!”
But her expression didn’t reflect joy. It was tangled with doubt.
“Does it scare you?” he asked gently.
She nodded. “Sometimes. I got used to the dark, to navigating life with my hands, my ears, my heart. But now... if my sight really comes back, what will I see?” She paused. “Will I still recognize the people I’ve come to trust?”
He understood her fear. Sight, to most, was a blessing. But to her, it had become something unfamiliar. A world she once knew but no longer relied on.
“You’ll see me,” he said softly, “the same way you always have.”
She turned her head, eyes blank but smiling. “You really think so?”
“I know so.”
There was a beat of silence.
“I don’t want to forget how I’ve come this far. I don’t want my old world to erase what this new one taught me,” she said, almost to herself. “Losing my sight forced me to feel more, love deeper. If I go back… will I lose that, too?”
Jepoy reached for her hand, warm and familiar. “No. Because those things aren’t tied to blindness, Erica. They’re tied to you.”
Tears pooled in her eyes.
He pressed a kiss on the back of her hand. “If your sight returns… I hope the first thing you see is something beautiful.”
She smiled through her tears. “Like what?”
He leaned closer, teasing, heart racing. “Like me.”
She laughed, a sound that melted into the breeze.
“But seriously,” he added, lowering his voice, “if you ever look at me and see someone different… someone less worthy, someone less than what you imagined—”
“I won’t,” she interrupted.
“But if you do,” he continued, “just close your eyes again. I’ll still be there. The Jepoy who reads Korean letters upside down, who burns your toast, who watches you sleep even when you snore.”
“I do not snore!”
He grinned. “You don’t. But if you did, I’d still love you.”
That last word hung in the air like a heartbeat.
Erica stilled.
“You said—”
“Yeah,” he interrupted softly. “I said it.”
Silence.
Then she whispered, “Say it again.”
He reached out, cupping her cheek so gently it felt like the wind.
“I love you, Erica.”
And for the first time in what felt like forever, she felt something more powerful than fear—certainty.
She reached up and touched his face—his nose, his cheekbones, the curve of his lips. Her fingers painted his features in her mind once again.
“I want to see you,” she said. “Someday. With my eyes.”
He pulled her into his arms, burying his face in her hair.
“I’ll wait,” he said. “Even if it takes forever.”
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