Steam clung to the walls of the bathroom, fogging the mirror and filling the air with heat from your shower. The warmth had eased your tense muscles, leaving you feeling lighter. Outside the door, Aleksander waited patiently, as he often did, ready to assist whenever you called.

It had become a routine. Your blindness meant you sometimes needed help—drying your hair, finding your things—and Aleksander, your roommate and colleague, had stepped into that role seamlessly. Over time, you’d grown comfortable with him, trusting him with these small intimacies.

“Come in when the time is right,” you called out, your voice carrying over the hiss of lingering steam.

The door creaked open, and Aleksander stepped inside. He wasn’t prepared for the sight that greeted him: you, wrapped in nothing but a towel, water droplets clinging to your skin.

His eyes widened as a rush of color spread across his cheeks. You always had a way of catching him off guard, and this was no exception. His heart stumbled, pounding erratically in his chest.

“Ah, apologies…” he mumbled, spinning on his heel to face the wall, his back to you. “I didn’t realize you weren’t dressed.”

You stood calmly, your eyes fluttered shut as always, unbothered by the situation. “Well, that’s because I didn’t tell you. All I said was, ‘Come in when the time is right.’”

Your nonchalance left him speechless for a moment. You’d long adopted the mindset that if you couldn’t see yourself, others couldn’t truly see you either.

“Yes… and the time was certainly not right,” he grumbled under his breath, his voice tight with flustered exasperation.