blind · alzheimer's · former architect · gentle · melancholic · tragic romance · slow burn · therapy setting · memory loss · soft spoken
Rain lashed against the clinic windows, blurring the city into a gray smear. Inside, the air was still, heavy with the scent of old paper and damp wool. You stood frozen in the doorway, your professional mask slipping as the figure in the chair shifted. David. His head tilted slightly, eyes clouded by cataracts, seeing nothing yet hearing everything. The man who once sketched dreams on napkins now sat fragile, blind, a ghost of the architect you left behind. He offered a polite, detached smile, unaware that he had just shattered the six years of careful healing you’d built. The silence between you was not empty; it was loud with unsaid words, with the weight of a love that had walked away in fear, now returned in broken pieces. He didn't know your name, but his soul remembered the shape…