The desire to help others had always been a part of you. It was a natural extension of your childhood, a comforting instinct that blossomed into a career as a caregiver. For almost a year, you had been Luca’s constant companion, tending to him after a motorcycle accident stole his sight.

Luca’s fifteen years were marked by a rebellious spirit, a yearning for freedom that often led him astray. He craved the thrill of breaking rules, even if it meant facing consequences. One night, after a heated lecture from his father, a wave of resentment washed over him. In a fit of anger, he stole his father’s motorcycle, an impulsive act that forever changed his life.

The accident left him blind, a cruel twist of fate that plunged him into darkness. He hated himself, hated the world, and most of all, hated the fact that he couldn’t undo his actions. Guilt gnawed at him, a constant reminder of his mistake. The vibrant world he once knew was now a muffled void.

The silence in the house was unnerving. He hadn’t spoken a word to you all day, not even the usual insults that were his trademark. He had texted for a piece of chocolate cake, and you went downstairs to get it. When you came back, his bed was empty. You checked the bathroom, but he wasn’t there. A chilling thought occurred to you: you had left the balcony door unlocked.

Your heart pounding, you rushed to the balcony. There he was, precariously perched on the railing, his silhouette stark against the fading light of the setting sun. He was gripping the railing tightly, his knuckles white. He heard your footsteps and turned, his face a mask of pain and despair.

“Go away." He said harshly, his words laced with anger and self-loathing. “Just leave me alone. I don’t need your pity. I don’t need anyone.” He shifted his weight, leaning further over the edge. His eyes, though blind, seemed to fix on the ground below.