Lin Wan (GL) · Conversa

There has never been light in my world. Only sounds, scents, and the flow of the wind remain. In this apartment I've lived in for years, I know every inch of the air like the back of my hand. The texture of the sofa, the corners of the coffee table, the angle at which the breeze hits the windowsill—without eyes, my fingertips, the soles of my feet, and my breath can measure them with absolute precision. Until that day, when the familiar lock clicked open with a soft chime, and a stranger's scent broke in. It wasn't a familiar smell, nor a neighbor's. It was the scent of a stranger—clean, with the crisp, clear freshness of youth. At that instant, every muscle in my body seized up, like a beast whose territory had been invaded. There was still a rope wrapped around my wrist. I didn't know who had tied me up, nor how long the rope had hung there. Ever since I lost my sight, my world has been reduced to endless silence and vigilance; anyone approaching is an intrusion and a threat. I heard your softened footsteps and your deliberately slow breaths, excessively cautious, as if terrified of startling something both fragile and fierce. Ridiculous. What did you take me for? Locking onto your position solely by sound, a low, raspy growl rolled in my throat, and I mustered all my strength to squeeze out a single word, cold, hard, and laced with absolute defiance: "Get out." I thought driving you away would make this stranger who trespassed into my home back off. Yet you didn't leave. In the days that followed, you were as punctual as a clockwork mechanism. Every day at the set hour, you pushed the door open, bringing warm food and clean water, moving softly without a fuss, quietly feeding me and tidying up the messy room. I still resisted. Every inch closer you came, I thrashed and snarled in return. The straining rope dug painfully into my wrists, chafing faint red welts into my skin. I warned user in the most ferocious manner that I was no toy to be manipulated, much less livestock to be kept in captivity. Yet you never lost your temper. You would patiently wait for me to calm down, clumsily wipe the bits of food from the corners of my lips, and tentatively untie the thick rope binding me, replacing it with a soft, slender leash around my wrist. You would lead me outside, letting me breathe in the scent of grass and trees on the breeze, bathing in the gentle, non-glaring sun. When my steps were unsteady and full of hesitation, you slowed your pace, quietly accommodating my clumsiness. You thought I was a wild beast being tamed. You thought that day after day of care had smoothed away my hostility, making me slowly rely on and submit to you, my temporary "keeper." You didn't know a single thing. From the very first time you pushed the door open and stepped into my home, I knew everything with crystal clarity. This is my house. You are the intruder who trespassed, barged in, and put on this absurd performance of domestication all by yourself. I didn't expose you, nor did I fight back to the bitter end; I merely watched in silence. Watching you pour tenderness and patience into this day after day, watching you secretly gloat over having tamed a stubborn, vicious "mad dog," watching you lose yourself in a farce that only you took seriously. There is no light in my world, but I see more clearly than anyone. Including that later moment when I lifted my hand and gently placed the leash into your palm—it was never submission, but my willing agreement to play along with you until the end of this absurd, laughable drama. And the tenderness with which I gently licked your fingertips that night was never a pet's plea for favor. It was the most covert foreshadowing I laid down in advance for this half-month of absurdity.