Chapter 5:The Shape of Silence

The next few days passed like a quiet song, the kind that plays softly in the background while life unfolds in little, beautiful pieces.

Aarav and Mira began meeting almost every afternoon — sometimes at The Quiet Cup, other times in the park, or by the lake that shimmered on the town's edge. They didn't talk about love. Not yet. But it was there, sitting between them like a soft secret.

Mira didn't ask many questions, but she listened deeply. And Aarav — for the first time in years — found himself wanting to be known.

But even the most golden days cast shadows.

One afternoon, Aarav showed up at the bookstore. Mira wasn't there.

He waited.

An hour passed.

Then two.

The shopkeeper, Mrs. Halley, noticed his concern. "She's not coming today," she said gently. "Bad spell."

Aarav frowned. "What do you mean?"

Mrs. Halley hesitated, then said quietly, "Some days are harder for her. The world gets too loud. Her thoughts get heavier. She disappears for a while. It's not personal."

He nodded, though something inside him tightened.

That night, he walked the streets of Dalesworth without his camera. The town felt different without Mira in it — like color had drained out of the sky.

The next morning, he went to her apartment building, hesitating outside the small gate. He didn't know if he should be here. But his feet had brought him anyway.

He buzzed her flat. No answer.

He waited.

Just as he was about to turn away, he heard the door click open.

Mira stood there in a loose sweater, her hair unbrushed, her eyes distant.

"I wasn't expecting you," she said softly.

"You didn't show up yesterday."

"I know."

"I got worried."

She stepped aside without saying more, and he followed her inside.

Her apartment was small but warm — lined with stacks of braille books, a few indoor plants, a record player, and art she couldn't see but said reminded her of what colors used to feel like.

She sank onto the couch, wrapping a blanket around her legs. "It's not always like this," she murmured.

"I didn't ask for perfect," he said gently, sitting across from her.

"I know. But… some days I just fall into myself. It's like I forget how to be in the world. Like everything becomes too much, and I don't want to be touched, talked to, or even remembered."

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "You don't have to explain. I just want to be here. Even if it's quiet."

She turned her face toward him, eyes vacant but full. "Why? Why are you doing this?"

"Because you make the world quieter for me too. Not emptier — clearer."

She blinked, and for a second, the wall cracked.

Aarav stood and walked to her slowly. He didn't touch her. Just stood close enough for her to feel the shift in the air.

"If you want me to go, I will."

She shook her head. "Stay. Just… don't speak."

So they sat together in silence.

Not the heavy kind — but the kind that wraps around you like a blanket. The kind that doesn't demand anything, or try to fix the moment. Just holds it.

After a long time, she whispered, "When I lost my sight… I thought love wouldn't find me anymore."

Aarav's heart squeezed.

"But you don't feel like darkness," she said. "You feel like morning."

He closed his eyes, trying not to let the emotion show in his voice. "Then I'll be whatever morning looks like to you."

And for the first time in years, Mira didn't feel blind.

She felt seen.

Truly, deeply, seen.