The first rays of dawn seeped through the delicate cotton curtains, painting the room in hues of soft gold and amber. Outside, the chirping of sparrows harmonized with the gentle rustle of leaves swaying in the morning breeze. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of jasmine from the blooming vines that clung to the veranda.
Instinctively, her hands gripped the headrest for support, a motion born of habit.Her brown eyes sparkled as the sun rays danced upon them.she stood up from the bed.She rearranged the bed before moving to adjust the curtains.
The soft glow of sun falled on her face making her look ethereal. As she moves to the balcony.The world unfolded differently for her, not through sight but through the rich tapestry of her other senses. Her fingers glided over the textures of her surroundings, tracing the smooth curve of a vase, the coarse grain of a wooden table, or the intricate embroidery of a cushion. She listened intently, mapping the world through the symphony of sounds the distant hum of traffic, the rustling of leaves.a faint smile formed on her face as she touched the world in her way.she stood there for sometimes.
She descends the stairs, her hand gliding along the railing for guidance.A faint aroma of freshly prepared food wafts into her nostrils.
The warmth of home envelops the room, where Uncle Jackson and his children sit around the dining table, their chatter filling the air. The clink of silverware, the soft scrape of chairs, and the scent of freshly cooked food create a comforting symphony. Aunt Siya moves gracefully around the table, serving each dish with care, her gentle voice guiding her children as they settle in.
Amara, with her keen senses, can feel the subtle shifts in the room the way her uncle's deep laugh rumbles through the space, the playful bickering between her cousins as they argue over the smallest things, their voices light but full of energy. She can hear the familiar rustling of napkins, the soft thud of her aunt's footsteps as she moves about. Though she cannot see, Amara senses it all the love, the warmth, the shared moments of a family coming together for the morning
"Come down quickly, Amara, breakfast is ready," Aunt Siya says in a warm, motherly tone. Amara nods as she settle herself in her chair.
The room is alive with the joyful voices of her cousin sisters, Maria and Aira, as they excitedly call out to Amara. Their words tumble over each other in a rush, eager to share the latest happenings at school. "Amara, guess what happened yesterday!" Maria exclaims, her voice bright with excitement, while Aira chimes in with her own story, her laughter spilling over as she recounts the funniest moment of their day.
Their chatter fills the space with warmth and energy, and Amara smiles, her heart swelling with the comfort of being surrounded by family. Though she cannot see the joy on their faces, she can feel the happiness radiating from them, their voices a blend of affection and enthusiasm. It’s a scene of love, laughter, and the simple, shared happiness of a family gathering around the dinner table.
Uncle Jackson's deep voice breaks through the chatter as he turns to Amara, his tone soft with concern. "How are you feeling, Amara? Everything alright?" he asks, his warm gaze evident even though she can't see it.
His words, filled with care and love, make her feel safe and cherished. She can sense the sincerity in his voice, the way he always looks out for her, even in the bustle of the family.
Amara smiles, her voice light and full of warmth as she responds, "I'm doing well, Uncle Jackson, thank you! Everything's perfect." Her words carry a sense of contentment, the familiarity of home wrapping around her like a comforting embrace.
Amara smiles, her voice light and full of warmth as she responds, "I'm doing well, Uncle Jackson, thank you! Everything's perfect." Her words carry a sense of contentment, the familiarity of home wrapping around her like a comforting embrace.
After finishing the breakfast uncle stood up bends down to kiss the children's foreheads one by one, his lips brushing softly against their skin, a symbol of the love he holds for them. He then turns to Amara, his gaze softening as he cups her face gently in his hands, his eyes filled with affection. "Take care, Amara," he says, his voice warm and steady. He presses a kiss to her forehead as well, a silent promise of his care, before he heads out the door, his footsteps fading into the distance.
Amara stood up, moving towards the kitchen to assist her Aunt Siya, her instincts guiding her to help. But Aunt Siya gently stopped her, her voice filled with affection as she said, "No, don't do this, child. You're like my own daughter, you don’t need to help me like this." Her words carried the weight of years of care and love, as if Amara had always been a part of their family, not just a niece, but a daughter.
The house settled into its familiar rhythm. Amara found herself in the quiet space that was always filled with love, the hum of daily life carrying on just as it always had. Aunt Siya moved about the house, preparing meals and tending to chores, her love for Amara radiating through every small action, every tender moment. The bond between them was unspoken yet understood: Amara was her child in every way that mattered, and she treated her as such, with an unwavering sense of devotion and care.
Amara spends her day in the tranquility of her home, a place where the noise of the world fades into peaceful silence. She finds herself drawn to the garden, the fresh scent of blooming flowers and the sound of leaves rustling in the gentle breeze calling to her.
As she steps outside, her feet softly brushing against the cool grass, her movements are deliberate, each step guided by the memory of the garden’s layout. She moves slowly, her hands outstretched, fingertips brushing against the familiar textures of the plants and flowers she has grown to know by touch. The smooth surface of the stone pathway, the rough bark of a nearby tree, the delicate petals of a blooming rose each sensation paints a picture in her mind, filling the void of her sight with the vivid details only her other senses can capture.
The garden, a sanctuary of peace, becomes her personal space, where she can be alone with her thoughts, feeling connected to the world in a way only she understands. The rustling of leaves and the occasional chirp of a bird provide a soothing backdrop, but it is the quiet rhythm of her own movements, the gentle sway of her hands as they glide through the air, that marks her solitude in the garden. She may be blind, but in this space, she feels completely in tune with the world around her.
This was her life now quiet and serene, marked by simple moments and the steady rhythm of daily routines. After the loss of her parents, Amara had found solace in the peace that surrounded her, the love and care of her uncle Jackson and Aunt Siya filling the gaps where sorrow once lingered. Her life had transformed into something softer, more measured, a life that flowed gently like the stream she could not see but could always hear, its constant murmur providing comfort.
Though she no longer had the bustling presence of her parents, she found herself not overwhelmed by grief. It was as if their love, their essence, had woven into the fabric of her being, remaining with her in the moments of stillness. She didn’t need to mourn their absence constantly; the memories of her parents lived within her, steady and unspoken, like the warmth of the sun on her face.
Her days were filled with peace long walks in the garden, quiet afternoons spent in the warmth of her family, and the steady presence of Aunt Siya and Uncle Jackson. She felt a sense of belonging, and although she missed the connection of her parents, she had come to accept that this was her new reality. The world, though changed, was still full of love, and Amara had learned to find joy in the smaller, quieter parts of life.
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