I’ve been set up.
No, not for a crime, but a date.
A blind date.
It’s not my usual thing. Actually, it’s not my thing at all.
I’m not open to opening up. My thoughts and feelings aren’t an exhibit to be stared at. I’ve been around for more than two decades. A scanty two hours can never justify my uniqueness.
But my sister is ever worried that I’ll live lonely and die even lonelier. She might be right. But loneliness is a fear created by man for the benefit of man. Talk about paradoxical thinking.
I agree, more for my sister than for myself. She’s set her heart on finding my heart the perfect partner. It’s her thinking not mine. I have no thoughts about this whatsoever.
She drives me to the café. It’s a busy one with too many voices. All together, they sound like noise. But my sensitive ears filter out distinct conversations.
He’s a cheat. A liar.
I hate my wife and her mother.
My girlfriend calls me a miser.
Every table is alive with complaints and harmful chatter.
Is this what my sister wants for me? I’d rather die a lonely bachelor.
My feet scuffle below the table. It’s time to leave. Blind dates are not for me.
A familiar hand grips my shoulder, lowering me back into my seat. My sister’s cheerful voice prances into my ears.
Ron, meet Neena. Neena, this is my brother Ron.
The chair next to me moves. I smell roses, I sense kindness.
My hand darts forward. Seconds pass. It finally meets a palm of softness.
Her words warm me.
‘Your hand feels so beautiful.’
In a world where the sighted can see only faults, two blind people could be an ideal couple.
Quite literally, the perfect blind date.