Twenty-Six Doors

CHAPTER 8

“Life isn’t about the breaths you take, but the moments that take your breath away.” - Maya Angelou

Emil gestured to the waitress for the bill.

“All right, you two? Everything tickety-boo?”

“Yeah, lovely, thanks,” Alba replied, her voice warm and content. Emil simply nodded, a quiet smile playing on his lips.

“Ace. Here’s your bill,” the waitress said, sliding the paper towards Emil.

Alba reached for it, following the soft scrape it made across the table—but Emil got there first.

“I’d rather we shared,” she said, her voice calm but firm. The kind of tone that didn’t ask, just quietly decided.

After a brief exchange of polite resistance, Emil relented with a knowing smile. Alba pulled out her card, and Emil did the same. Once the bill was settled, he reached for her hand, guiding her with quiet care as they made their way to the café door.

They wandered without direction, letting the rhythm of their steps and the ease of their conversation carry them. They spoke of favourite bands and comfort foods, of books that had left a mark and films that had lingered long after the credits rolled. Each story peeled back a layer, revealing more of who they were. Alba soaked up Emil’s tales, while he marvelled at the way she experienced the world—not through sight, but through other senses. It was a perspective that felt both foreign and deeply familiar.

Before long, the hum of the nearby park pulled them back into the present. The laughter of children, the distant bells of the park train, the crunch of leaves beneath their feet—all mingled with the soft rays of sunshine filtering through the skeletal branches overhead.

Emil gently took Alba’s hand again, guiding her across the grass, careful to avoid any uneven patches. The ground was soft beneath their feet, still damp from the night’s rain. He spotted a clearing—quiet, tucked away—and stopped.

“This looks like a good spot,” he said. “Like a little haven. Not too many people about.”

He shrugged off his coat and laid it on the grass.

“Put my coat down in case the grass is a bit nippy.”

Alba smiled and let him help her down. She folded her cane and placed it beside her, a silent gesture of trust. Emil settled beside her, close enough to catch the faint scent of her shampoo—something floral, maybe citrus. He closed his eyes and breathed in, letting the moment settle around him.

“You comfy?” he asked, his voice low, almost reverent.

Alba nodded, leaning slightly towards him.

“I’m perfect, thanks. This place is… it’s like a little oasis, innit?”

She placed her hands behind her and tilted her face towards the sun, letting the warmth kiss her skin.

“Mhm…” he murmured, watching her profile, the way the light danced across her freckles.

Emil followed her lead, he lay back, one arm tucked behind his head, knees bent towards the sky. He closed his eyes, and let the sun wash over him. The grass was cool against his neck, and a breeze played with his hair—a bit long, slightly unruly.

Around them, the park buzzed with life—ducks quacking on the lake, or maybe geese; the distant thud of a football being booted across the grass; the hum of nearby chatter. But in their little patch of grass, time seemed to pause.

After a few minutes, he spoke, his voice barely audible.

“Is there… is there a cure for your blindness?”

Alba turned her head towards the sound, her expression calm.

“Yeah, there’s the possibility of a corneal transplant,” she said, her voice steady. “But it’s not easy. Donors are scarce, and the process is complex.”

Emil nodded, absorbing her words with a quiet ache.

“But it’s all good,” she added. “I’ve kind of got used to this world without light.” She paused, then continued. “Thing is, it’s not pitch black like people imagine, y’know? Right now, with the sun on my face, I can see shapes and shadows—bits of contrast that sort of sketch out the world around me.” Alba rolled onto her side. “I can even make out your profile,” she said softly, lifting her arm and tracing the shape of Emil’s face with her finger — a hair’s breadth from his skin, guided by the sunlight.

Her touch was barely there, just skimming the warmth of his skin — but it hit Emil like a wave. The closeness, the tenderness…

“Your profile… it’s strong, but soft,” she murmured, then pulled her hand back and rolled again onto her back.

She wanted—desperately—to cup his face in both hands, to memorise its shape. But it felt too soon. Too much.

Emil turned his head and caught her smiling. Their hands brushed in the narrow space between them, and the spark was unmistakable. The silence wasn’t empty—it was full.

“You told me about your parents and your nan, Marina,” Alba said gently, “but I’ve no idea if you’ve got any siblings.”

“Yep, I’ve got an older sister—Vivienne. She’s married and got a baby… umm… I reckon she’s about eight months now. And a younger brother, Martin—total pain in the arse, but I love him to bits.”

Alba reached out, instinctively searching for Emil’s hand. Their fingers laced together like it had always been meant to happen. She hesitated, then tried to pull away, but Emil held on—gently, firmly.

His initial surprise melted into something warm and steady, and something shifted between them. That small touch had bridged a gap words couldn’t.

Alba felt a strange mix of boldness and vulnerability. It had been instinct—a need to feel him, to reach for something unspoken. But part of her worried she’d asked for too much.

To soften the moment, she kept talking.

“My sister Patricia’s—Trish... well, she’s a proper globetrotter,” she said with a nervous little chuckle. “One year in Russia, then Japan, Thailand, and now she’s off in Indonesia. Our folks have gone to visit her. Next year? Who knows—maybe Mozambique or somewhere random like that.”

Emil laughed, and his laugh folded into hers, light and easy. The awkwardness melted away, replaced by something gentler—trust, curiosity, and that quiet feeling you get when something’s just… starting to matter.

Alba turned her face towards him. His eyes were closed, but he could feel her near—the air between them charged. She gave his hand a gentle squeeze, and he held onto it, needing that touch to anchor him, to remind him this was real.

Her skin, the warmth of her body beside him—it all told him this wasn’t a dream. She was there. With him.

Inside, his thoughts crashed like waves. Why had life been so cruel to someone so full of light? Why her—with all that talent, that courage, that softness? Why should she be the one to lose her sight?

It made no sense. It hurt to even think about it.

But right then, with their fingers intertwined, he realised the answers didn’t matter. Or maybe there weren’t any—which was kind of the same thing.

What mattered was this: the warmth between them, the laughter still lingering in the air, the comfort.

Alba, with her fierce spirit, had shown him that even in the dark, there are flickers of light—moments that shine.

And that was enough to fill him with something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Hope.