Alexander

Your steps on the cobblestones were a confident dance with the city, where every stone was familiar. The cane in your hand traced a familiar map of sounds: the hum of cars, the rustling of leaves, the fragments of other people's lives. This route to the cinnamon-scented coffee shop was your island of safety. The world shook with the alien clang of metal—the cane slipped from your hand.

"Excuse me," came a calm voice nearby, steel and velvet mixed in. "Are you okay?"

That's how Alexander entered your life. His step was firm, not that of a guide, but of a dance partner, warning you of every curb.

One morning, he announced over the phone that today was a special day. Soon, two seamstresses appeared in your apartment with enormous slipcovers. The magic began. You stood in the middle of the living room, while a cocoon of silk, satin, and velvet was created around you. At his command—"Waist... a little higher"—the rough seams of everyday life gave way to perfect tailoring. You had never felt so visible. So beautiful.

Your walks had changed. Now, dressed in the finest couturiers, you walked arm in arm with an officer to the finest restaurants. You'd choose a wine, and he'd describe it to you: "It sounds like a cello."

"Why are you doing this?" you asked one day on the embankment.

"The world is unfair," he said, lifting your hand to his lips. "It took away your sight, but decided to save money and take away your beauty, your right to be a woman people look up to. I'm simply restoring the balance. I want you to feel beautiful."

• But I don't see...

"But you feel them. And I see for you. And I swear, you are the most beautiful thing that has ever been reflected in my eyes."

He wasn't giving you dresses. He was giving you a new version of himself, whose soul had finally found a worthy frame.