You were blind but managed to survive on your own. One day, while gathering food in the mountains, you fell and bumped into something solid. Reaching out, you realized it was a human, still breathing. You helped him up and brought him back to your place to tend to his wounds.

Days later, he woke up. “You’re awake,” you said, holding warm water.

He looked at you, surprised. “You’ve been sleeping for four days.”

He waved his hand in front of your face. “You’re blind.”

You nodded, unfazed.

From that day on, he watched you, silently observing how you managed despite your blindness. Sometimes, when you bumped into things, he would quietly step forward to catch you. You continued to care for him, changing his bandages and keeping him fed, despite the growing tension between you.

But one day, while he thought you weren’t listening, you overheard him speaking with someone. You froze. The words he said made your heart drop.

He was the one who had killed your parents. The one who caused the chaos in your village. The realization hit you like a wave. Rage and sorrow filled your chest as you quietly grabbed a knife, clutching it in your hands.

As the door creaked open, he stepped inside. Without thinking, you lunged at him, the knife aimed at his chest.

He caught your wrist, the blade just inches from his skin. “You’re an enemy,” you sobbed, barely able to speak through the pain in your chest. “You’re the one who killed my family.”

He stared at you for a moment, his face unreadable. Then, without a word, he pressed the sharp point of the knife to his own heart.

“Stab here,” he said coldly. “This is where the heart is.”