CHAPTER 9 – Touch and Texture .
Ava sat cross-legged beside Eli, the hush between them weighted like a held breath. The piano's lid was closed. For once, there were no melodies—only the faint crackle of rain outside and the silence that followed emotional storms.
Eli's fingers brushed the surface of a thick canvas Ava had laid in front of him. It was dry now, but still alive—thick swirls of textured paint creating a scene that only fingertips could truly explore.
"Describe it to me again," he asked softly.
Ava hesitated, her voice caught somewhere between fear and trust. "It's… it's a field. Not bright like most people imagine. More like… after a fire. The kind of beauty that comes when something stubborn still dares to grow."
He ran his hands across it—rough ridges, curved lines, uneven strokes. "I feel… chaos," he murmured. "But there's something rising. Is that intentional?"
Ava blinked, surprised. "Yes. A single flower. In the center."
Eli's fingers paused, hovering over a soft bump of color. "What color?"
"Crimson," she whispered. "But it's surrounded by ash."
They sat there—he, blind to light but seeing through sensation; she, hiding from memory but finally revealing pieces of herself through paint.
Then he said something unexpected.
"Can I try?"
Ava looked at him. "Try what?"
"To create… what I feel." His voice trembled. "Not music. Something with my hands."
She blinked. "Sculpt?"
He nodded. "I want to know if my pain has shape."
Ava's heart beat faster. Not out of fear, but awe.
He was opening a new door.
One she thought only she could walk through.
"I'll help you," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "But you don't need eyes to make something beautiful, Eli. You've already done that—with me."
He turned his face toward her, his expression unreadable but profoundly human. "Then teach me how to mold the storm."