In The Arms Of The Blind Don
The scent of my home wrapped around me like an old, familiar blanket—cedarwood, polished floors, faint vanilla from the maid’s diffuser.
We stepped inside and for the first time since it all began, I exhaled fully. I was home.
Blind, but home. Wounded, but alive. It felt great, surreal because I had thought at a point that I was going to die. I thought I would never told Rain in my arms again, I thought I was going to leave the world without seeing Rain’s face, even just a glimpse of what her face looked like.
But I was back here, in my home, with Rain in my arms and it felt great.
Bab Populer