Chapter 18 – What She Longed to See
The street outside was quiet, the gentle hum of late-night traffic and a passing breeze the only sounds in the apartment. Inside, the air was still—except for the rhythm of the keys on Jepoy’s laptop and the faint creak of Erica’s cane leaning against the wall.
She was sitting by the window again, her favorite spot, where the sunlight used to kiss her skin and the wind whispered stories only she could hear.
Tonight, though, she wasn’t smiling.
“Erica?” Jepoy called softly, glancing up from the screen.
She didn’t respond at first. Her hands were folded over her lap, the tension in her fingers betraying her stillness.
“I’ve been thinking,” she said finally, her voice almost fragile. “About what it would be like to see your face.”
He blinked, surprised by the direction of her words. “My face?”
“Yes,” she said, her lips quirking into a small, sad smile. “I try to imagine it every time you speak. How your eyes move when you laugh. If they crinkle at the corners, or if they soften when you look at me.”
He shut the laptop gently and turned his full attention to her.
“I think they soften,” he said, voice low.
She chuckled softly, but her throat caught. “I remember colors. I remember light. But your face… I wish I could paint it. I wish I could see it.”
Her fingers trembled slightly, as if holding back something deeper, heavier.
“Jepoy,” she whispered. “Do you know what the hardest part of being blind is?”
He stood, moving to kneel in front of her, his hands resting gently on her knees. “Tell me.”
“It’s not the darkness. It’s not even the fear.” Her voice cracked. “It’s the moments like this—when someone means so much to you, and you can’t see the expression on their face to know if they feel the same.”
Jepoy swallowed hard.
She continued, tears clinging to her lashes. “I want to see your face when you smile at me. When you laugh at my corny jokes. When you call me ‘Miss Erica’ with that teasing tone. I want to know if the way you look at me matches the way I feel you look at me.”
He couldn’t speak. His throat was too tight.
“I want to see again,” she said quietly, almost like a confession. “Even just once. Just long enough to memorize you.”
Jepoy took her hand, holding it between both of his.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?”
“Because I can see—and yet sometimes I still miss the most important things. Like how much you’ve carried… how much you still carry.”
Her hand tightened around his. “You never made me feel small, Jepoy. Not once. And I’m thankful for that.”
“But you should be able to see me. You should be able to run through the streets of Seoul, or Namsan Tower, or the Han River and drink in the sights with your own eyes. Not just feel them through sounds and descriptions.” His voice cracked. “You deserve more.”
Erica reached forward, blindly brushing her fingers across his face. She touched his cheekbones, the bridge of his nose, his lips. “I’m seeing you this way. For now, that’s enough.”
Jepoy’s heart thudded painfully in his chest.
“But still,” she whispered. “Sometimes I dream about opening my eyes and seeing light flood in again. Seeing the faces of the people I love. Seeing you.”
Silence fell between them.
Then, Jepoy said something she didn’t expect.
“What if you could?”
She pulled back slightly. “What do you mean?”
“There’s a specialist. I’ve heard about them—Dr. Hana Lee. She deals with rare optic nerve regeneration. I don’t know if she can help, but what if—what if it’s possible?”
Erica bit her lip. “I’ve been to many doctors, Jepoy. They all said the same thing.”
“I know,” he nodded. “But this one… she’s not just a doctor. She’s a miracle worker to some people. Would you let me bring you to her?”
Her breath caught. Hope was dangerous. It was a fragile, shimmering thing that could shatter with one wrong word.
But in Jepoy’s voice, there was no pity.
Only belief.
“Okay,” she whispered. “We’ll try. But don’t hope too much for me, okay? In case it breaks.”
“I’ll hope just enough,” he said. “And if it breaks, I’ll be here to help you hold the pieces.”
Tears ran freely now down Erica’s cheeks. “You’re not supposed to be this good to me.”
“And you’re not supposed to be this beautiful,” he replied softly, brushing her tears away with a thumb. “But here we are.”
They sat there for a long time—her in darkness, him with too much light in his chest.
And even though she still couldn’t see, she felt it.
He would’ve given her the stars if he could.
But tonight, he gave her hope.
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