Esha adjusted her scarf as she stepped out of the art gallery, her mind still tangled in the chaos of her latest exhibit. Her cane tapped lightly on the cobblestones, navigating her familiar route. She liked her routines—they kept the unpredictable world at bay.

But today was different.

Turning a corner too quickly, she collided with a solid frame. The impact sent her sketchbook tumbling to the ground, papers scattering like fallen leaves. She stumbled, but strong hands caught her waist, steadying her before she could fall.

"I'm so sorry," came a voice—deep, warm, and rich, like the sun cutting through a cold morning.

For a moment, the world held its breath.

Esha froze, her hands gripping his arms instinctively. Her senses sharpened—the faint scent of sandalwood, the crispness of his shirt under her fingers, the steady rhythm of his breathing. She couldn't see him, couldn't even picture him, but something about his presence was electrifying.

She tilted her head upward, an unusual ache stirring in her chest. For the first time, she felt an unexplainable need to see someone.

"It's okay," she managed, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Your sketchbook," he said, letting her go to crouch down and gather the scattered papers. His movements were careful, as though the sketches were sacred artifacts. He stood and handed them to her, his touch lingering for a fraction of a second longer than necessary.

"These are... incredible," he said, his tone laced with awe.

Esha tightened her grip on the sketchbook. "Thank you," she replied, her guard going up instinctively. Compliments were familiar, but his felt different—sincere, unfiltered.

"I'm Aarav," he introduced himself. "A photographer. I guess I have an eye for beauty."

Esha wanted to scoff, to retreat behind her usual walls, but instead, she found herself asking, "Do you capture faces or moments?"

He grinned, though she couldn't see it. "Moments, mostly. But faces have their own stories."

Esha’s heart clenched. If only she could see those stories. If only she could see his.

Something shifted in her then—a flicker of curiosity, of longing. For years, she’d told herself she didn’t need to see anyone to know them. But in that fleeting moment, Esha realized she desperately wanted to see Aarav. Something in her heart wanted him if only he could see her desperate heart which was hidden in the mist of isolation and longingness of stories that he could see in those faces.

"I’m Esha," she said finally, her voice softer now. "And I paint stories."

"Then we’re not so different," Aarav replied, his voice light but layered with meaning. "Maybe one day, we’ll exchange them."

As he walked away, Esha clutched her sketchbook to her chest. For the first time in years, the blank faces in her mind didn’t feel like enough.

And for the first time, she felt a spark she didn’t want to extinguish.

Esha sat at the café table, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the rim of her coffee cup. The murmur of voices and clinking of cutlery created a comforting hum, but her focus was on the man across from her. Aarav.

Their second meeting had been unexpected—he had insisted on showing her some of his photographs. Yet now, instead of the charming warmth she remembered from their first encounter, Aarav's energy was tense, his jaw tight, and his fingers tapped restlessly on the table.

"Aarav, is everything okay?" she asked, her voice tentative yet curious.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Esha, can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

He leaned forward, his voice low but heavy with emotion. "What is it like? Not seeing faces? Not recognizing anyone? Does it… does it make life easier?"

Esha stilled, his words cutting through her like a sharp blade. She didn’t expect the question—or the bitterness laced within it.

"No," she said honestly, after a pause. "It doesn’t make life easier. It’s... isolating sometimes. Why are you asking me this?"

Aarav’s hands curled into fists on the table. "Because it feels like no one ever truly sees me. Not my parents, not my so-called friends, not anyone. I grew up being everything they wanted—a good student, a promising photographer—but no one ever bothered to see me. The real me. They see a version they like, not the person I am."

Esha’s chest tightened at the rawness in his voice. "Aarav—"

"I thought photography would help," he continued, cutting her off. "I thought if I captured people—moments—they’d stop and actually see the world for what it is. But even that feels... hollow. It’s like I’ve been screaming into the void, waiting for someone to look at me, really look at me, and say, ‘I see you, Aarav.’ But no one does. Not even you."

The accusation stung, though Esha knew it wasn’t fair. "That’s not true," she said, her voice firm.

"Isn't it?" Aarav’s gaze burned into hers. "You can’t see my face, Esha. You can’t see anyone’s face. So how can you say you see me?"

Silence fell between them, thick and suffocating. Esha’s fingers tightened around her coffee cup as she tried to find the right words.

"I may not see faces," she said quietly, "but that doesn’t mean I don’t see people. I see the way you care so deeply it’s almost unbearable. I see the way your voice trembles when you talk about the things you love. I see the passion in your words and the pain you carry in your silence. Aarav, I don’t need to see your face to know you."

Her words hung in the air, a fragile truth offered without expectation. Aarav’s fists loosened, and his expression softened, though frustration still lingered in his eyes.

"I just…" he began, his voice cracking slightly. "I just want someone to see all of me. Not pieces. Not what’s convenient."

Esha leaned forward, her voice steady and resolute. "Then let me. Let me see you, Aarav, the way you want to be seen. But you have to let me in."

His eyes met hers, and for the first time, he felt the weight of her words. She couldn’t see his face, but somehow, she saw through him more clearly than anyone ever had.

And for the first time, Aarav let himself hope.

The small garden behind Esha’s studio was lit with golden lanterns, their soft glow casting warm light on the stone bench where Esha and Aarav sat. The evening was quiet except for the hum of crickets, and for once, neither seemed in a rush to speak.

It was Aarav who finally broke the silence.

"You said people questioned your character," he began, his voice hesitant but gentle. "What did you mean by that?"

Esha’s fingers tightened around the hem of her shawl, her body stiffening at the question. She had never told anyone the whole story—never trusted anyone enough. But something about Aarav, about the way he waited patiently without pressing, made her want to try.

"I was nineteen," she started, her voice trembling. "There was this man... someone I thought was a mentor. He... attacked me one night when I stayed late at the gallery." She paused, drawing a shaky breath. Aarav’s fists clenched, but he stayed silent, giving her space.

"I managed to fight him off," she continued, her voice growing colder. "But in the struggle, I hit my head. Hard. When I woke up in the hospital, everything was... different. I couldn’t recognize anyone. Not my parents, not my friends. And instead of supporting me, they..." Her voice cracked. "They accused me of lying. Of making it up to ruin his reputation. Even my own family thought I was to blame."

Aarav’s heart ached at her words. "Esha..." he whispered, but she shook her head.

"I don’t need pity," she said, her voice steadier now. "That’s when I decided to stop trying to see faces. If no one would see the real me, why should I see them? I focused on my art instead. It was safer that way."

The silence that followed was heavy, yet Aarav could feel the strength beneath her words.

"I get it," he said finally.

Esha turned her head toward him, surprised. "You do?"

He nodded, running a hand through his hair. "Not in the same way, but... my parents were always about achievements. Good grades, prestigious awards, making them proud. Love was conditional—if I succeeded, I was the perfect son. If I failed, I wasn’t worth their time. It’s why I threw myself into photography. It was the one thing I could control, the one place where I could be myself."

He sighed, his voice tinged with bitterness. "But even that didn’t matter. They still saw what they wanted to see—a trophy, not a person."

Esha reached out hesitantly, her hand brushing his. "I’m sorry," she said softly.

He turned his hand over, intertwining his fingers with hers. "Don’t be. Meeting you... it’s the first time I’ve felt like someone actually sees me. And I want to give that back to you."

Her breath hitched, the warmth of his touch grounding her. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, I’m not giving up on you, Esha," he said firmly. "You’ve been through so much, but you deserve to live fully. To see the world again. If there’s any chance—any chance at all—that we can find a way to help you, I’ll be there every step of the way."

Esha shook her head, her voice trembling. "Aarav, it’s not that simple. There’s no cure for what I have."

"Maybe not medically," he admitted. "But what if it’s more than that? What if it’s about trust? About letting someone in enough to help you heal?"

She wanted to argue, to push him away like she always did. But the determination in his voice and the warmth in his eyes—though she couldn’t see them, she could feel them—made her pause.

Over the next months, Aarav kept his promise. He accompanied her to specialists, encouraged her to try new therapies, and patiently guided her through moments of frustration and doubt. His care, his love, and his unshakable belief in her began to chip away at the walls she had built around herself.

One day, as she worked on a new painting, she realized something had changed. The shapes in her mind were sharper, clearer. Slowly, she began to recognize features—not perfectly, but enough to bring a tearful smile to her face.

When she looked at Aarav for the first time, truly looked at him, her breath caught. His face was imperfect, rugged, and undeniably real.

"You’re beautiful," she whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Aarav pulled her into his arms, his voice thick with emotion. "No, Esha. You are."

And in that moment, they both realized that their scars didn’t define them. Together, they had found the courage to see not just the world, but each other—fully, deeply, and without fear.