Twenty-Six Doors

CHAPTER 9

“Your vision will become clear only when you can look into your own heart.” - Carl Jung

The sun was beginning to lose its warmth, and the sky had melted into a canvas of orange and pink, streaked with the last whispers of daylight. Emil and Alba lay side by side, their hands still intertwined, not moving, not rushing—just staying put in their little bubble, tucked away from the world, the silence between them flowing with ease, like a quiet river that didn’t need words to flow.

As the hours drifted by, the damp started creeping through Emil’s coat, rising up from the grass and settling into their backs like a slow, stubborn chill. Alba edged closer, her arm brushing his, chasing the warmth between them.

Then, almost at the same time, they both shifted—a quiet change in breath, in posture, in the feel of the moment. No words needed. They just knew. The spell had broken. Time to get up.

They’d skipped lunch, and now hunger gnawed at them with gentle insistence. The air was thick with the scent of grilled meats and fried delights drifting from the nearby food stalls. Alba’s stomach gave a loud, unapologetic rumble, and they both burst into laughter, the sound rising like bubbles in the fading light.

Alba unfolded her cane, and Emil helped her to her feet. The momentum brought them face to face, their bodies close, their breath mingling in the narrow space between them. She felt a lump rise in her throat and swallowed hard, trying to steady herself.

Though she couldn’t see it, Alba sensed the shift in Emil’s breathing, the slight tremble in his hands. For a moment, the world shrank to that fragile space between them—to the possibility of a kiss suspended in silence.

“Emi…” she whispered, her voice trembling with a question she hadn’t quite asked.

Emil leaned in, just slightly. His heart was thudding, the decision trembling on his lips, the desire flickering in his gaze. But instead of closing the distance, he stepped back, his voice catching.

“We should grab a bite, shouldn’t we?”

Alba smiled, grateful for the tenderness of the moment—for the restraint, the care, the sweetness of what hadn’t happened. They began walking towards the food stalls, and their hands found each other again, as naturally as breath.

“What do you fancy?” Emil asked, eyes scanning the ground to make sure Alba didn’t stumble as she stepped off the grass onto the gravel.

“Hmm… tell me what’s about,” she said, curious.

Emil stopped and took in the scene.

“Burgers, hot dogs, chorizo rolls, chips… there’s a candyfloss stand, one doing empanadas, and one that looks suspiciously like salads.”

“Yeah, that last one’s a no from me,” she laughed, properly amused.

“I’m going for a loaded hot dog and chips,” he declared.

“And I’ll have a chorizo roll. I’ll nick some of your chips and share my candyfloss,” she grinned.

“Deal!” he said, then added, “And to drink?”

“Beer?”

“Blonde, dark, or ginger like you?”

“Ginger. Always ginger.”

“Brilliant!”

Emil spotted a free table and guided her to sit.

“I’ll be right back.”

This time, he wasn’t going to let her pay half. Not out of pride or principle, but because he wanted the pleasure of treating her—of giving something, however small.

Alba caught his little manoeuvre and settled onto the bench, her fingers brushing the cool metal. The breeze played with her hair; her bun had come undone, and loose strands danced around her face. The sounds of the park filled the space Emil had left behind—but she didn’t feel alone. His presence lingered, like a warm echo.

Her thoughts raced. She wondered about Emil—about how attractive his voice was, and how much more magnetic he might be once he played that instrument her parents had always called seductive. Would it be as captivating as his conversation? As profound as his laughter?

She wanted to keep discovering him—every facet, every story, every dream. There was something about him that pulled her in, something real and unfiltered. But with that desire came the doubts. What if this was just one day? What if the connection faded with the sun or got lost in the rush of days to come? What if her blindness became a barrier a burden?

She shook her head, scattering the thoughts like leaves in the wind. No. She wouldn’t fall into the trap of what ifs. She didn’t want the night to end what was only just beginning. Right there, she was with Emil. And that was

enough. The future was uncertain, yes—but it was also full of possibility.

The rustling of a paper bag pulled her from her reverie. Emil was back, carrying the scent of food and the calm of his presence.

“Here I am…”

“I’m starving!”

“I’m going for the beers.”

“Bang on!”

Alba reached into the bag, her fingers finding the elongated shape of the hot dog, then the chorizo roll. Loose in the bottom were chips and a few sachets she assumed were sauces.

Emil set down two cans of beer and sat beside her, sighing with satisfaction. He checked the packages, then opened hers first, gently unwrapping the foil before tending to his own. Without hesitation, he took a bite of his hot dog, the flavours bursting across his tongue. Alba bit into her chorizo roll, and in unison, they murmured with delight.

“Mmm…”

“Is it good?” Emil asked.

“Bangin’! And your hot dog?”

“Really good. Fancy a try?”

Alba paused, then opened her mouth wide, making Emil laugh. He brought the hot dog to her lips, and she took a bite without shame, sauce smearing the corners of her mouth.

Emil’s eyes didn’t leave her lips—the way her tongue darted out, trying to clean the mess, leaving them glistening. A familiar tingle ran through him, and his gaze darkened with desire.

The need to wipe those remains—to touch her—became overwhelming. He placed the hot dog down, took a napkin from his pocket, wiped his own hands, and then, with trembling fingers, reached for her face. One hand cradled her cheek, the other brought the napkin to her lips.

She flinched slightly at the touch, caught off guard, but didn’t pull away. His fingers, warm and reverent, moved with care, wiping away the sauce as if it were something sacred.

Each stroke was a quiet torment for Emil, who could barely contain the storm inside him. His chest rose and fell, his breath ragged.

“Done…” he whispered, barely recognising his own voice.

“Thanks…” she said softly, her cheeks tinged with pink.

He brought the napkin to his own lips, and the contact sparked something electric. A moan escaped him, low and involuntary. He dropped the napkin and leaned in, unable to resist.

Alba met him halfway.

The kiss was sudden, hungry, a collision of lips and longing. Their mouths moved in a frenzied dance, tongues meeting, breath mingling. The world vanished. There was only this—this moment, this need, this shared surrender.

Emil pulled her close, his hands gripping her waist, feeling her warmth against him. He rested his forehead on hers, kissed each of her eyes, then brushed the tip of her nose with his own. Their pulses slowed, breath steadied.

“Sorry,” he murmured, trying to steady himself.

“What for? I’ve got nothing to forgive you for, Emi,” Alba whispered, her voice a soft caress. “I really wanted to as well.” She spoke, her words wrapped in warmth, her fingertips grazing Emil’s cheek—like tracing a memory she didn’t want to lose.

“It’s just…”

Alba placed a finger on his lips, silencing him.

“Words are unnecessary,” she said, her cheeks blooming with a shy blush.

A smile spread across both their faces—soft, certain, full of everything they hadn’t said.

They returned to their meal, the food now secondary to the sweetness of the moment. The world carried on around them, but for Emil and Alba, time had paused. In that eternal breath between heartbeats, nothing else mattered but the rhythm they shared.