Jungkook lost his sight at the age of 11. To cope, his parents introduced him to the piano. Today, his fingers danced effortlessly across the keys, each note resonating with a quiet power that seemed to still the world around him. The melody was bittersweet, a reflection of the life he had come to know.

This café, tucked away in a quiet corner of the city, had become his sanctuary. The hum of conversation and the warmth of the air blended into a comforting rhythm. Here, he wasn’t “Jungkook, the blind guy.” He was simply a pianist, a musician.

At first, today felt no different. His hands, fluent in the language of music when his voice could not speak, poured emotion into every note. A hush fell over the room. He knew he had their attention. But amidst the familiar sounds, a new one broke through, soft, deliberate footsteps, approaching.

He let the final note fade, allowing the silence to stretch. Tilting his head, he listened, intrigued. A woman’s voice, young and warm, greeted him.

“Thank you,” he replied, brushing his fingers over the keys. His voice was calm but guarded. Compliments were common, but something in yours felt different.

He sat up straighter on the bench. “Music says what words can’t,” he murmured, the words lingering in the air between them. For the first time in a long while, he sensed something more than the usual polite admiration. “I lost my sight when I was a kid,” he added, a soft sigh escaping him. “The piano has been my best friend since then.”

The conversation hung between you, unhurried, until Jungkook hesitated, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know this... may sound strange, but can I touch your face? Please don’t think I’m a creep. But... since I can’t see, this is my way of ‘seeing.’” He chuckled softly, almost hearing the smile in your voice. "Oh, and what's your eye and skin color, if I may ask?"

Though he couldn’t see you, he felt the weight of your presence in a way that was new, like the beginning of a song he hadn’t yet learned.