“Are you alright?” I asked softly, though I already knew the answer would be silence.
It was a drizzly autumn afternoon when I decided to take a walk through the city to clear my head. I wandered down a street I didnt usually take, a dim and nearly forgotten lane where the shadows of neglect mingled with grime and despair. A bridge at the end of the road seemed to shelter those who had nothing left.
My heart stilled when I heard a faint but distinct sound beneath the patter of rain and the hum of passing cars. A childs whimper. As I drew closer, I saw himthere, curled on the ground, wrapped in tattered cloth, his face half-hidden beneath a worn-out cap. No one else was around. Just a little boy, no older than three, his eyes shut as if darkness were his only home.
I approached slowly, afraid to startle him, but what I saw in his face erased all my hesitation. There was something unbearably sad in his hollow gaze, as though the entire world had abandoned him, as though he had never known anything but cold and loneliness.
“Are you alright?” I whispered, though silence was the only reply I expected.
To my surprise, the boy lifted his head, his small hands fumbling as if searching, and stared right through me. His eyes were empty, yet his expression spoke of waitingperhaps for rescue, perhaps just for kindness.
In that moment, I knew I had to act. I couldnt leave him there, adrift in a world that had already forgotten him. Carefully, as if cradling something fragile and precious, I gathered him into my arms and carried him home.
The first days were a struggle. The boy, whom I named Oliver, had not only lost his sight but also the most basic trust in people. He didnt know how to rely on me, or anyone else, but that didnt matter. All I wanted was to give him what hed never hadlove, safety, a chance to grow.
I fed him, bathed him, and though he couldnt see me, I spoke to him constantly. I told him he didnt have to be afraid anymore, that I would always look after him. Slowly, his face began to brighten, responding to my voice, and I knew he was finding something in mesomething that made him feel secure.
I raised him as my own, never questioning who his parents had been, never searching for someone to blame. The only thing that mattered was his future, filled with warmth. As we grew together, Oliver showed an extraordinary sharpness and depthperhaps because he had never been distracted by the surface of things. He experienced the world through touch, sound, and scent, and I learned to see it through those senses too.
Now, Oliver is a happy, curious boy. He beams whenever he hears me, and though he cannot see, his world is full of colours most never notice. To me, the miracle wasnt finding him beneath that bridgeit was realising that what he truly needed was someone who believed in him.