I can heal your eyes, sir. The words dropped into the still air like a pebble into deep water soft, almost fragile. The blind man was stunned by what happened next…

But I saw her checking her watch. She doesn’t stay long, just long enough to make a few calls and be seen. Um.

Thomas shifted slightly, his fingers tightening around the bench’s edge. You said something yesterday, about feeling when someone changes. How does that work? Jada sat down beside him.

He could hear the rustle of her coat too thin for the season, maybe worn through at the elbows. I don’t know, I just, sense things. It’s like, there’s a part of people that glows inside.

And sometimes that glow gets dark or cold, some people flicker, some people burn bright and then go out. Thomas was silent. You, she said slowly, your glow’s quiet, but steady, like it’s been buried under a lot of dust.

He laughed softly, a sound that surprised even him. Dust is about right. She shifted closer.

Do you remember what it was like before? Before the accident? Before everything? When you were happy? He wasn’t ready for the question. It hit him like a forgotten song on an old radio familiar. Intimate.

Painful. I don’t know, he said honestly. I remember moments.

Laughter with my son when he was little. Judith. Back when we were.

Real. My work used to mean something. We built things.

Created. It was simpler then. You miss that? Yes.

There was silence. Then she asked, what would you do if you could see again? Thomas tilted his head, considering. I used to think I’d want to read the news, watch the market, get back to work.

But now, I think, I’d want to see people’s faces. Just to know if they match their words. Uh, Jada didn’t speak for a while.

Then she said, sometimes people’s faces lie. He turned toward her voice. But yours doesn’t, does it? She didn’t answer that.

Instead, she asked, can I show you something? He hesitated. What do you mean? Not something you look at. Something you feel.

She gently took his hand, turned it palm up, and placed something into it. It was small, round, cold at first, then warming in his grasp. He ran his fingers over a trough texture, a thin string attached.

It’s a stone, he said. Sort of. It’s from the creek under the bayou bridge.

I wrap them in cord, I find. I give them to people who need something to hold when they feel lost. He squeezed it gently.

It’s beautiful. You can’t see it, she said. I don’t need to, he replied.

She smiled. He could hear it in her breath. Just then, Judith’s voice rang out, cheerful but firm.

Thomas, ready to go, love? Thomas froze. Jada whispered. Don’t tell her about me.

Not yet. She’s not ready to know what you know. He nodded slightly.

She slipped away again, like the breeze through the trees, gone before Judith reached the bench. Have a nice time? Judith asked, placing a hand on his shoulder. He turned to her, smiled faintly.

Yes, very. She seemed pleased. Good.

I’ll make us dinner tonight. Something simple. Steak? Sure.

Ugh. But all he could feel was the small stone in his pocket, and the warmth of a child’s voice that knew more about him than the woman who had shared his life for thirty years. That night, Thomas stood at his window, facing the blur of city lights he could no longer see.

He whispered to no one. I think I’m starting to believe. It rained the next morning.

Not the kind of thunderous downpour that drowns the city in chaos, but a slow, steady drizzle that blurred the skyline and made everything feel quieter. Judith complained softly as she pulled the umbrella from the coat closet, muttering something about her suede shoes and the inconvenience of wet weather. Thomas said nothing.

He merely listened to the rain, to the tension in her voice, to the sound of the world shifting around him in ways he couldn’t see but had learned to read. As usual, she led him down to the car, buckled his seatbelt with polite detachment, and barely spoke on the way to the park. When they arrived, she hesitated.

It’s wet, she said. Do you want to skip it today? No, Thomas said too quickly. I’d rather go.

A pause? Then, all right, just don’t catch cold. She brought him to the bench, brushed off the rain with a cloth from her bag, and placed the cane beside him. Fifteen minutes, she said, then walked off toward the far hedge, umbrella tapping against her shoulder like a metronome.

Thomas sat in the drizzle, feeling the chill bite into his skin. He didn’t care. He reached into his coat pocket and ran his fingers over the rapstone Jada had given him.

The cold texture had a grounding effect. It reminded him that yesterday hadn’t been a dream. Footsteps approached light.

Careful. The unmistakable sound of small feet avoiding puddles. You came, he said without turning.

I promised, Jada replied. Besides, I don’t mind the rain. It makes people move slower.

They don’t notice me as much. He smiled. Clever.

She sat beside him, and for a while they said nothing. The sound of rain on leaves filled the silence. Then Jada spoke.

Can I ask you something strange? Stranger than a little girl offering to heal a blind man? She giggled. Fair point. He waited.

Have you ever felt light? Thomas turned slightly toward her. Felt it? Not seen it? Yeah, she said. Like, not with your eyes, but with your skin or your chest, like something warm moving through you.

He considered. Maybe once. Years ago, when my son was born, I was holding him, and I remember feeling something inside me crack open, like sunlight through a window I didn’t know was there.

Jada nodded slowly. That’s it. He didn’t ask how she understood something so abstract.

He just accepted that she did. I think people carry light, she continued. Some carry more than others.

Some lose it. Some never find it. And you? He asked.

I don’t know. She said softly. I think I see it in others more than I feel it in me.

There was a sadness in that. A loneliness too mature for her age. You’re wrong, he said.

You carry a lot more light than you realize. She didn’t respond. But he felt the bench shift slightly as she leaned closer.

Your wife, she said carefully. She’s not just taking your company. I think she’s scared of you getting better.

Why? Because if you do, you might leave her. Thomas said nothing. The thought had crossed his mind.

Uninvited. Unwanted. But it was there.

Not out of spite. Or revenge. But from clarity.

From waking up. Jada, he said. What do you want from all this? She was quiet for a long time.

I don’t know, she said finally. Maybe I just want to matter to someone. Even for a little while.

You do, he said firmly. She nodded, though he couldn’t see it. Then she reached for his hand again.

I want to try something. Just trust me. He offered his hand without hesitation.

She placed both of hers around it. Gently. Firmly.

Close your eyes, she said. He almost laughed. But obeyed.

Now breathe. He inhaled. Slow and deep.

Think of that moment you told me about. Your son. That light.

Had did. And then something shifted. It wasn’t magic…