They were strangers. They were blind. They were males.
Letters in Braille brought James and Parker together.
In a society where they were disregarded as useless and rejected as lovers, will they accept each other? In a society that told them they...
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When James was seven years old, he learned that everyone's excitement was shown through their beautiful eyes. He cried because he thought, with his broken eyes, he'd be expressionless forever. Then, his teacher organised the pen-pal arrangement. He reached for his first letter in Braille with confusion and tears, as he could finally express himself through embossed paper and his fingertips.
The first message James received was an introduction to a newly-born friendship that continued on for twelve years. Letter after letter, he also wondered what his secret friend looked like. Before he would fall asleep, he'd look up at the ceiling– seeing nothing but shades of black and– different physical traits his pen pal could have. Whether it'd be blonde hair or red hair, curly hair or straight hair, blue eyes or brown eyes– it wouldn't have mattered. His final thought would be: I'd still love them all the same.
Every letter had a star-shaped sticker on the bottom right-hand corner. James loved touching it, feeling the smooth vinyl, conceiving different colors in his imagination– different colors he'd used to see when he was little, before he lost his vision.
The next day, he was certain that the person, who he had practically knew for years, was the one he would love forever. "I think I've fallen in love with this person," he told his teacher.
His teacher did not agree. She told him that he did not truly love the person– that the person was male.
He was in shock. However, he apologised, "I'm sorry. I meant... I think I've fallen in love with him."
His teacher slapped him and prevented the boys from ever writing letters to each other.
Heartbroken, he planned to meet the person he had fallen for since a child.
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It was a dimly lit cafe named Tealicious. The blackboard walls were chalked with detailed designs, but James couldn't see it. He was more eager to meet the boy.
The boy.
He wondered if the boy knew.
His friend directed him to the table she picked and left. The table wasn't really a table, too thin in width. He listened to the scraping of a chair, directly in front of him, graze back against the wooden floors among the thunderous chattering in the cafe. He heard him sat. He's here.
After a few minutes of silence, he felt a pair of soft hands on his face. The other boy gasped. Slowly, James began to tear in fear of rejection.
"Hi." The other boy's voice was a bit coarse.
"Hi," James greeted back. He heard the other boy inhale deeply.
"You- you're a guy."
"Yeah," he breathed. "My name's James."
"Oh. I'm Parker. Weird we never mentioned names."
As more silence left their conversation awkward, James decided to admit, "My teacher hit me." He quietly chuckled, "I told her... I've fallen in love with the person I was writing to."
There was a short pause and, before James could continue, Parker confessed: I did too.
