I was better without you

I was better without you  

He lived alone, tucked away in a modest apartment, surviving off the life insurance left by his parents, who had passed years ago. He didn’t work; he had no friends, no social life. The world outside seemed like a swirling storm of chaos and suffering. He longed for peace, a calmness that was nowhere to be found.

The highlight of his day was a simple walk in the park nearby. Those quiet moments, listening to the sound of birds, the rustling leaves, and feeling the breeze against his skin, were the only times he felt any semblance of stillness. But when he returned home, it was as though his mind never came back with him. He often found himself lost in thought, unable to remember where he’d left his keys, his clothes, or even basic things like cooking utensils. His once tidy home had become an obstacle course of misplaced objects.

Frustrated by his growing absent-mindedness, he decided to challenge himself. One day, he blindfolded himself and vowed to stay that way for hours at a time, hoping it would sharpen his awareness. The darkness forced him to feel, to truly notice the details he’d been overlooking. Over the next few weeks, the practice brought a strange sense of peace. He felt more present, more aware of his surroundings, and more in control of his mind.

But soon, he wanted more. If this blindfold brought clarity inside his home, perhaps it could do the same outside. So, he purchased a walking stick and an eye cover, and began pretending to be blind in public. He wasn’t sure why he did it at first, but the world responded differently to him. People were kinder, more attentive. Strangers helped him cross the street, guided him around obstacles, and treated him with an unusual warmth he hadn’t experienced in years.

One day, he decided to test his newfound “blindness” in a mall. The support he received from strangers was overwhelming. People offered to help with shopping, carry bags, and assist with directions. It was the first time he felt noticed—not for being invisible, but for needing care. He started to enjoy the experience, immersing himself in the role.

However, on his way home in the metro, something unexpected happened. As the train came to a sudden stop, he lost his balance and, in a panicked reflex, accidentally grabbed the woman standing in front of him. His hand landed on her back—no, worse—her butt. She spun around, her face a mix of shock and rage, and slapped him hard.

“You filthy creep!” she shouted. “You just need an excuse to harass a woman, don’t you?”

He was stunned, stammering out a desperate apology, “I-I’m sorry! It was an accident! I didn’t mean to! I’m blind.”

Her anger melted into guilt in an instant. She began apologizing profusely, helping him up from the floor. “Oh God, I’m so sorry! I didn’t know… Please forgive me.”

She not only offered to drop him home but insisted on paying for the cab. Before leaving, she asked for his number, mentioning that she was a baker and would love for him to try her cheesecakes. He agreed, his heart beating faster, partly from relief and partly from the unexpected connection they’d formed.

From that day forward, they met often. She brought him new flavors of cheesecake to try, and he found himself looking forward to their meetings more and more. They began to fall in love, slowly and beautifully. He cherished their moments together, but as time went on, a heavy weight pressed on his chest—the truth he hadn’t told her. He wasn’t really blind.

Every time they met, he thought about coming clean, but fear held him back. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing her, of shattering this perfect relationship built on a lie. But as their love deepened, so did his guilt.

One day, he decided he would tell her everything. He planned a grand proposal, thinking he could reveal the truth after asking her to marry him. He arranged to meet her at a well-known restaurant, intending to remove his eye cover and confess everything.

The night came, and he sat at the table, heart racing, rehearsing his confession. He waited for her, but twenty minutes passed. Then an hour. He tried calling her, but there was no answer. Panic began to set in as he called her repeatedly—eight, nine, ten times—but she never picked up. Confused and disappointed, he went home, unable to shake the sinking feeling that something was terribly wrong.

The next morning, the news confirmed his worst fear. She had been killed during a petty theft on her way to the restaurant. A thief, desperate for money, had taken her life.

He was devastated. The love of his life, the woman who had brought him back from the edge of his self-imposed isolation, was gone. And he had never even seen her face.

In his grief, he realized something profound: the way he had experienced her, through touch, smell, and emotion, was far more powerful than sight. He didn’t need to see her to know her, to love her. The woman he imagined in his mind, the one who had filled his world with light, was the one he wanted to remember forever.

So, he made a decision. He would never see the world again. He donated his eyes, choosing to live the rest of his life in the darkness that had brought him so much peace. He would carry her memory with him, in the way he had always known her—through the heart, not through the eyes.

Written By :- 

Naman Jain