The letter arrived on a damp Thursday morning.
Petunia had opened it while Harrison ate his breakfast, carefully spreading butter on a slice of toast. She read it twice, her lips pressed into a thin line. When she finally looked up, her expression was difficult to read.
"Harrison," she said, folding the letter neatly, "your headmaster wants to take you somewhere tomorrow. A... special school."
"A different school?" Harrison asked, pausing mid-bite.
"Yes," Petunia replied. "For children like you. Gifted children." Her voice softened on the last words, as if she didn't quite know how to say them.
Harrison frowned. He didn't feel particularly gifted. But he nodded all the same.
---
The next morning, Harrison was dressed in his neatest clothes and seated in the back of the headmaster's car. Mrs. Cartwright sat beside him, her cheerful voice filling the silence as she described the school they were heading to.
"It's a place where everyone learns at their own pace," she explained. "The teachers are specially trained, and the classrooms are smaller. You'll meet other kids who love to learn, just like you."
"Are there other blind kids?" Harrison asked.
"Yes," she said. "And some with other challenges. But every student there has something special about them. Something that makes them stand out."
Harrison nodded, gripping his cane tightly. He wasn't sure if he wanted to stand out.
---
The school was tucked away on a quiet street, its grounds sprawling with neatly trimmed hedges and wide-open spaces. As they walked through the front gates, Harrison could hear the faint chatter of children and the rustling of leaves in the breeze.
"This way," Mrs. Cartwright said, gently guiding him forward.
They met the school's principal, a soft-spoken woman named Dr. Meredith Walsh. Her voice was kind but carried a quiet authority. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Harrison," she said. "We've heard wonderful things about you."
He flushed slightly. "Thank you, ma'am."
Dr. Walsh led them on a tour of the school. They visited bright, airy classrooms where students worked on advanced puzzles and equations. In the art room, the smell of paint and clay filled the air. Harrison heard the hum of a 3D printer in one corner and the soft laughter of a group of kids discussing their creations.
"Here, everyone learns in their own way," Dr. Walsh explained. "Some students are like you—very skilled in one subject. Others are talented in ways that aren't as easy to measure."
"What kind of ways?" Harrison asked.
Dr. Walsh smiled. "You'll find out."
---
The library was the last stop on the tour.
As soon as they entered, Harrison was struck by the hush that enveloped the room. The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of old paper and polished wood.
"This is one of our most treasured spaces," Dr. Walsh said. "Our students often spend hours here, exploring, learning, and imagining."
Harrison felt his way along the edge of a table, his fingers brushing the smooth surface. Mrs. Cartwright described the room to him—the towering bookshelves, the cozy reading nooks, the sunlight streaming through tall windows.
But Harrison wasn't listening.
Something was different here.
In the darkness that had always surrounded him, a flicker of light appeared. It was faint, like the spark of a match in the distance, but unmistakable. And it wasn't just any light—it was violet.
He froze, turning his head toward the source.
"Harrison?" Mrs. Cartwright asked, noticing his hesitation.
"There's something..." he murmured, his voice trailing off.
"What is it, dear?"
"I don't know," he said slowly. "It's... nothing."
But it didn't feel like nothing.
The spark pulsed once, faintly, and then vanished, leaving the darkness behind.
---
As they made their way back to the front office, Harrison couldn't shake the image from his mind. For as long as he could remember, his world had been a void—an endless, unchanging blackness. But now, for the first time, there had been something else.
Something new.
Back in the office, Dr. Walsh and Mrs. Cartwright knelt beside him.
"What do you think, Harrison?" Mrs. Cartwright asked. "Do you like the school?"
Harrison hesitated, gripping his cane tightly. The day had been overwhelming—so many new sounds, new voices, new possibilities. And then, there was the spark.
"Yes," he said finally. "I think I'd like to come here."
Mrs. Cartwright smiled, patting his shoulder. "That's wonderful to hear."
"We'll make the arrangements," Dr. Walsh said, her voice warm. "Welcome to your new school, Harrison."
---
That night, as he lay in bed, Harrison couldn't sleep.
The day replayed in his mind—the voices of the other children, the feeling of possibility that had filled the air. And then there was the library.
What had he seen?
He closed his eyes, even though it made no difference, and tried to picture it again. The spark had been so brief, so faint, but it had been real. He was sure of it.
For the first time in his life, Harrison felt something stir deep within him. It wasn't fear or doubt.
It was curiosity.
And that curiosity burned brighter than any spark.
