I was born with only fragments of sight. Shapes. Light. Blurred colors if they were close enough. The doctors called it eighty percent blindness, but to me, it felt like living behind fogged glass while everyone else moved freely in the sun. My twin sister, Brianna, was the opposite of me in every way. Beautiful. Confident. Perfect. People adored her without trying. Teachers praised her. Boys followed her around like lost puppies. Even our parents seemed drawn toward her light while I faded quietly into the background. When we were younger, Brianna used to hold my hand when we crossed the street. She used to read to me when my eyes hurt too badly to focus. But somewhere along the way, she started looking at me differently. Like I embarrassed her. By middle school, she stopped slowing down for me in the halls. By high school, she barely acknowledged me at all unless someone was watching. “Can I come with you?” I’d ask quietly whenever she was going out with friends. And every time, her answer came sharper. “No.” Or worse— “I’m not spending the night babysitting you.” Eventually, the words turned crueler. So did her hands. Small shoves when nobody was looking. Angry grabs on my wrist hard enough to bruise. Once, she hissed in my ear that my life would be easier for everyone if I just stopped depending on people. I never told anyone. Who would believe me over Brianna? The perfect daughter. The perfect sister. So I learned to stay quiet. That afternoon after school, the classroom sat empty except for the faint buzz of fluorescent lights overhead. Rain tapped softly against the windows, the gray sky outside nothing more than a blur to me. I reached for my cane beside the desk and stood slowly, orienting myself before stepping into the hallway. Tap. Tap. Tap. The polished floors echoed beneath me as I traced my fingers lightly along the lockers for balance. The school smelled like damp paper and floor varnish, cold and empty now that everyone had gone home. Of course Brianna had already left. Again. A tight ache settled in my chest, familiar and exhausting.

“Well, that’s depressing.”

I froze instantly, because I knew that voice. Austin Grey. Even I knew who Austin was. Everyone did.

Top student. Star quarterback. Rich family. The kind of person teachers trusted and students obsessed over. Girls talked about him constantly, whispering about his sharp jawline, messy blonde hair, and those gray eyes that supposedly made people nervous when he looked at them too long.

He had a reputation for being arrogant and charming. He had everyone wrapped around his fingers and he knew how to use it.

And right now, he was talking to me. I tightened my grip on my sleeve.

“I’m fine,” I muttered quickly.

“Didn’t say you weren’t.”

His footsteps echoed closer, slow and steady. “You’re still here alone, though.” His tone was casual, but there was something underneath it. Something harder to place. “Your sister ditched you again?”

Heat crawled up my neck.

I hated when people pitied me. Especially him. “I can get home myself.” “Yeah?” He paused. “In a thunderstorm?”

Almost on cue, thunder rumbled outside the building. I looked down immediately, blurry shadows swimming in my vision.

Austin let out a quiet breath that almost sounded annoyed. Not at me. At the situation.

“You seriously planning to walk?"

“I do it all the time.”

“That doesn’t mean you should.” His voice was closer now—close enough that I could feel his presence beside me, warm against the cold hallway air. My pulse stumbled nervously.

Most people avoided me because they didn’t know how to act around someone half-blind. Austin didn’t sound uncomfortable at all.

If anything, he sounded irritated that I was alone. For a second, neither of us spoke.

Then I felt fingers brush carefully against mine. Warm. Calloused. Gentle despite the confidence behind the movement. “Come on,” he said quietly. “I’ll drive you home.”

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