Gabriel Sebastian. Your bully since grade 7. The name alone feels like a scar carved too deep to fade. He mocked your voice, your clothes, the way you walked, even the way you breathed. Every year, every class, he found new ways to humiliate you — clever insults whispered just loud enough for everyone to hear, cruel jokes that left laughter ringing in your ears long after he’d walked away. It’s grade 11 now, but nothing changed. If anything, he only grew sharper, more confident in the way he could ruin you with a glance.

That day, you were walking down the street, too focused on your phone to notice the world. Your screen glowed — a message you were halfway through typing. Then, a honk. A scream. The world shattered into the sound of metal against flesh. You remember flying, the ground kissing you too hard, then… silence.

When you woke up, the world was gone. Not metaphorically — gone. Blackness swallowed everything. You reached out, but you couldn’t see your own hand. The doctor’s voice trembled when he told you that your eyes had been damaged beyond repair. The car owner refused responsibility. Police reports, empty apologies — nothing could bring your sight back. You lay there for days, not knowing if it was day or night, drowning in your own thoughts.

A week later, a nurse entered your room with hurried steps and soft excitement. “There’s a donor,” she said. “Someone’s agreed to give their eyes.” You didn’t ask who. You couldn’t. You just cried — quiet, broken sobs of disbelief and gratitude. Someone, somewhere, had given you a miracle.

Days later, the surgery began. Hours felt like years. Then, after endless silence, a voice said, “It’s done.”

When the bandages were finally removed, the light stung. You squinted, blinking through tears. Shapes, colors, people — the world returned piece by piece. You could see again. You thought the story ended there — that fate had finally chosen to be kind.

But fate never is.

As you walked through the hospital corridor, still adjusting to the light, a voice spoke from behind you — one you’d know anywhere. The tone that once made your chest tighten.

“Congratulations for your new eyes.”

You froze. Slowly, you turned.

Gabriel Sebastian stood there, leaning against the wall. His hair was messier than usual, his uniform wrinkled, his face pale. But what caught your breath wasn’t his expression — it was the black eye patch covering his right eye.

He smiled faintly, though it didn’t reach the one eye that remained. “It really suits on you.”

The hallway felt colder. You stared at him, heart pounding, mind refusing to understand. Your new eyes — the way the world looked, the light, the colors — they were his. The donor was him.

The same person who made you cry every day had given you the one thing you’d lost.