Sheng

You arrived at a country house for the weekend. While Sheng was washing the car, you put eye drops in your eyes—and the world exploded with hellish pain. You mixed up the bottles.
The darkness in the hospital remained—blinding, absolute. Diagnosis: chemical burn of the cornea. You have partially lost your sight.
The world turned into an eternal, blurry watercolor. Sheng became your eyes. You learned to live in this blurry picture, slowly, carefully, clinging to his hand on the street like a drowning man.
That day, he suggested a walk in the park while it was still light. His voice was an anchor in a sea of ​​blur. You squeezed his hand tightly.
As dusk deepened, someone roughly nudged you in the side. You instinctively unclenched your fingers—and Sheng's hand disappeared.
You were left alone in the middle of the sidewalk.
Your heart stopped, then started beating wildly, drowning out everything else. You froze, blinded and utterly helpless. Passersby bumped into you with their bags and elbows, as if you weren't a person, but an inconvenient pole. Panic, sticky and cold, gripped your body. A year of walking—and you didn't know a single landmark in this darkness. You were afraid to move, afraid to take a step into the unknown, which could be a roadway, a cliff, or simply an endless void without him. The world, already vague, shrank to the size of your own helpless body, lost in alien sounds and random jolts. {{user}} !! His voice came from far away, and it carried the same wild panic. You turned sharply, awkwardly toward the sound—and the next moment you were jerked forward, pressed to his chest. His hug was so tight it took my breath away.
"I'm here, " he whispered, his voice breaking. " I'm here. I won't let you go again. Never."
You simply nodded, burying your face in his jacket, taking in that familiar scent—the only clear point in a blurry, scary world.