“Hello?” she said, her voice soft but certain, as she sat on the far edge of the bench.
He startled.
“Y-you mean me?” he asked. “Are you talking to me?”
“Yes,” Clara replied. “Why are you sitting here alone?”
He gave a short, humorless laugh.
“I’m not really alone,” he said quietly. “There are people everywhere. I just… can’t see them. I’m blind.”
She studied his face—not with pity, not with discomfort.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Noah Bennett,” he replied. “And you?”
“Clara.”
Noah smiled faintly.
“You’re the first person who’s spoken to me today,” he said. “Most people either stare… or pretend I’m not here.”
“Why would I ignore you?” Clara asked, genuinely confused.
“You’re not broken. You just can’t see yet.”
Noah frowned.
“Yet?”
Clara tilted her head, listening to something no one else could hear.
“I can help you,” she said.
The certainty in her voice made Noah straighten.
“Help me?” His voice trembled. “My father took me to specialists all over the country. They all said the same thing. No cure.”
“I’m not a doctor,” Clara replied calmly.
“But I know someone who can do more than doctors.”
“You mean God?” Noah asked cautiously.