It was one of those sweltering July afternoons where the air smelled of fresh asphalt and the sweet scent of the local bakery. The town square was buzzing with its usual rhythm: mothers picking out produce, men discussing the morning news over coffee, and kids darting between the shopfronts.
Moving through the crowd was Katie, an eleven-year-old girl with messy hair and a faded blue dress that looked like a thrift-store find. She was barefoot, walking with a strange, quiet confidence, her dark eyes scanning the world as if she could see things others missed.
People mostly ignored her. A few shoppers frowned at her bare feet, and some turned away, but Katie didn’t seem to care. She walked slowly, searching for something—or someone. Her gaze drifted over the faces of the tourists and the locals sitting on the park benches.
Suddenly, she stopped. Sitting on a wooden bench under the shade of a large oak tree was a boy. He wore a crisp white polo shirt and khakis that looked expensive, standing out against the casual crowd. He wore dark sunglasses that hid his eyes. He sat perfectly still, hands resting on his knees, his head tilted slightly as if he were trying to piece together the world through sound alone.
Katie approached the bench. Her steps were light, but the boy sensed her presence. He turned his head toward her.
“Hi,” Katie said softly, taking a seat on the edge of the bench.
The boy startled. He clearly wasn’t used to strangers approaching him.
“Hello,” he replied tentatively. “Are… are you talking to me?”
“Yeah,” she said simply. “Why are you sitting here all by yourself?”
The boy gave a small, sad smile—a look that didn’t belong on a child’s face.
“Because even when there are people around, I’m still alone. I can’t see them. I’m blind.”
Katie studied his face for a moment. “What’s your name?”
“Ethan,” he said. “And yours?”
“Katie.”
“Nice to meet you, Katie,” Ethan said, his smile growing a bit more genuine. “You’re the first person today who just talked to me instead of looking away or whispering to someone else.”
“Why would I look away?” Katie asked. “You’re just a boy who can’t see yet.”
“Yet?” Ethan repeated, a spark of curiosity in his voice. “What do you mean?”
Katie tilted her head, listening to something only she could hear.
“I can help you,” she said with such conviction that Ethan sat up straighter.
“Help me?” He sounded skeptical, but there was a flicker of hope. “My dad has taken me to the best specialists in the country. They all said the same thing: it’s permanent. How could you help?”
“I’m not a doctor,” Katie said calmly. “But there are things beyond what doctors know.”
“Are you talking about religion?” Ethan frowned.
“I don’t have a name for it,” she whispered. “I just know that today, I’m allowed to give back what you lost. I can feel it.”
Ethan remained silent. He felt a strange, unexplainable trust toward this girl with the quiet voice.
“What if you’re wrong?” he asked quietly.
“What if I’m not?” she countered. “Isn’t it worth a try?”
A few yards away, near a newsstand, a man in a sharp business suit watched them. This was Alex, Ethan’s father. He always kept a close eye on his son during their outings. His face was tight with a permanent sort of grief. He couldn’t accept that his only son would never see the world. He had bought Ethan those sunglasses more for himself than for the boy—he couldn’t bear to look at the vacant stare that reminded him of his own helplessness.
He noticed the scruffy girl talking to his son and grew suspicious. He started to move toward them, his hand instinctively reaching for his phone, ready to call security if she was bothering the boy.
On the bench, Katie reached out toward Ethan’s face.
“Can I?” she asked softly.
Ethan froze, his heart racing. “What are you going to do?”
Comments are closed.