The Blind Desires

Can you crave something you've never seen?

That question echoed in Mia's mind more often than she liked to admit. And lately, it had started haunting her more intensely especially after what she suspected about her brother.

Harry was thirty one. Born blind, he'd never laid eyes on a single object, person, or shape. The concept of color, light, and shadow lived only in his imagination. He resided in a modest apartment with his younger sister Mia a brilliant, sharp tongued barrister who had already made her name in courtrooms at just twenty six. To the outside world, their bond seemed unshakable.

After a major policy shift, the government had begun providing home care support to people with permanent disabilities. Harry, officially recognized as one, was exempt from any work responsibilities. Mia, in turn, was registered as his caregiver, receiving a steady compensation through the national home assistance scheme. The money helped, but it didn't soothe the exhaustion.

There were days tough court days, emotionally draining trials when Mia would come home, throw off her heels, and find Harry reclining on the sofa, fingers dancing lazily over a Braille comic book. And on such evenings, when her patience was thinned to the bone, she'd snap not cruelly, but sharply.

"At least do something around the house when I'm not here," she'd sigh.

He usually did. Dishes. Dusting. Laundry. But the sight of someone always at home, relaxed, dependent and maybe even content gnawed at her. It stirred a complicated cocktail of jealousy, guilt, and pity. She often hated herself for those feelings, especially knowing Harry had done nothing to deserve her frustration. He hadn't asked for blindness. Nature had simply been unfair.

That evening was no different.

She arrived home, hair messy from the wind, shoes aching. They exchanged greetings.

"Long day," Mia muttered, sliding off her jacket. "Court was brutal. I just want to collapse."

"I cleaned the house," Harry offered. "Did the dishes, dusted the closet, even organized the hall a bit."

She looked up, surprised and genuinely touched. "You did? That's... sweet of you. Thanks, Harry."

She retreated to her room with a warm smile.

Harry remained in the hall, sitting quietly. Her occasional barbed comments didn't escape him not even when laced with affection. Despite being younger, Mia held a sacred place in his heart. She was his sight, his protector, his everything. All he ever wanted was to ease her burdens.

The next day, Mia informed him that she'd be late some party, a rescheduled court appearance. For Harry, this meant freedom. He had no guests to entertain, no chores pressing on him. A chance to indulge in his little secret.

He retrieved a book from a hidden compartment behind his room cabinet a well-worn Braille volume titled "Touched by Toes". A private collection of sensual stories and psychological essays around foot and shoe fetishes. Harry cherished it not just for the arousal, but for the intimacy it promised one his hands could read, one his mind could imagine.

Cautiously, he brought it into the hall, reclined on the sofa, and began reading. The stories ignited a strange warmth within him. They gave form to feelings he had no image for. A sensory world he could touch in words. Eventually, comforted and lulled by the stories, he fell asleep with the book tucked beside him.

He woke suddenly to the jingle of keys.

Mia was home. Early.

Panic surged through him. In a frantic daze, he shoved the book deep into the crevice of the sofa, fingers trembling.

"You're back already?" he called out, voice trying to mask his breathlessness.

"Yeah, the party was cancelled," she replied, walking in. "And no hearings today. I cleared my schedule, figured I'd relax a bit. Don't worry about food I'll help you cook tonight. Maybe we can open some beer, chill a little."

Harry exhaled. Relief and tension danced uneasily inside him.

They clinked bottles, laughed, and cooked dinner together. For a while, everything felt normal.

Until Mia stepped into the hall to take a phone call.

She collapsed onto the sofa without thinking, phone still at her ear and something pressed against her hip. Curious, she reached between the cushions and pulled out a thick book in Braille. Something about how it was hidden unsettled her.

Why would Harry shove a book into the sofa like that? she wondered.

She couldn't decipher Braille easily, though she'd learned the basics to communicate better with him. Still, she took out her phone, used an AI reader, and scanned the cover.

"Touched by Toes."

Her eyebrows raised.

What... is this? she thought. A fetish book? Is this what Harry reads when she's not home?

She didn't confront him. She quietly slid the book back, pretending nothing had happened.

Dinner was light hearted, tipsy, and filled with laughter. They said goodnight, and she vanished into her room.

Harry, too, was on his way to bed when something struck him the book.

He spun back to the sofa, heart racing. His hands searched urgently through the cushions.

It was there but not quite where he'd left it. The book sat higher, less tucked.

His chest tightened.

Did Mia see it? Did she read it? Does she know now?

The panic was real, but a single thought calmed him: It's in Braille. And Mia could barely read a sentence without needing a chart.

Maybe... maybe she didn't understand it.

Clinging to that hope, Harry held the book close, retreated to his room, and let sleep carry him into darkness.