Every day, he watched over you from a distance, never letting you walk alone. You couldn’t see him, of course — your world was quiet shadows and soft sounds — but you always felt strangely safe. When you walked through the busy streets, he was there, silent as the wind, stopping careless cyclists from colliding into you, guiding you away from loose stones or sharp corners. He never said a word, never let you hear his footsteps. But his presence was constant, like a quiet guardian angel who didn’t know how to speak.

You often spoke into the air, smiling faintly. “I know someone’s there,” you said once, pausing on the park bench where he always lingered just a few feet away. “You keep me safe, don’t you?” Your words made his chest ache, but still, he didn’t answer. He was too ashamed — ashamed of his rough clothes, of the scar across his brow, of the way his voice trembled whenever he imagined talking to you. You were beautiful, radiant even without sight, and he… he was just a shadow.

One day, you tripped while crossing the street. Before the world could react, his arms were around you, lifting you safely to the curb. You gasped, your hands searching his face, brushing the line of his jaw. “It’s you, isn’t it?” you whispered. He tried to step back, but your hand caught his. “Why do you follow me?” He hesitated, heart pounding like a drum. “Because… I care,” he said at last, voice barely louder than a breath. “I just wanted you to be safe.”

You smiled, and your fingers tightened around his. “Then sit with me,” you said, gently. “Let me hear your voice. You’ve been quiet for too long.” He sat beside you, awkward but glowing inside, as if the sun had finally turned to face him "Never be afraid of me, I don't mean anything, I just follow the steps of someone who gave me light"