A Hidden Truth: Unveiling My Secret on a Date – Story of the Day

Every time Janice saw a message from Colin, her heart fluttered with excitement. Their connection was undeniable, yet she kept a significant secret: she was blind. As their first date approached, she was enveloped by anxiety. Could she maintain her secret long enough, or would Colin discover the truth about her unique world?

The room was dark, illuminated only by the gentle glow of my computer screen. I sat at my desk, fingers poised over the keyboard, a smile hinting at the corners of my mouth. My screen reader’s mechanical voice sliced through the silence.

“Message from Colin: I love that author. One winter, I read nearly ten of his books. ‘Love is War’ is my favorite. What about you?”

A soft laugh escaped as I listened, visualizing his message in my thoughts. My hand reached out, my fingers lightly skimming the keyboard as I carefully selected the right keys to reply.

“Dictate a message,” prompted the computerized voice.

“Good choice,” I started, my tone both light and sincere. “I might’ve picked that one too, but I really loved The Princess’s Favorite. I remember crying at the ending and couldn’t stop for hours.”

“End message. Send.”

As the message sent, a familiar warmth spread through me. Talking to Colin had quickly become the highlight of my day.

We’d only met online a few weeks ago, but from the moment our conversation began, something just clicked. We bonded over our love for books, exchanging thoughts and favorite passages well into the night.

But our topics varied, covering aspirations, fears, and even light-hearted conversations about our favorite pizza toppings.

Yet, there was one truth I couldn’t find the courage to share.

Colin had suggested meeting twice, and each time, I wavered. I crafted excuses about work, last-minute errands, or just being too busy.

But the reality was much simpler and far harder to admit: I wasn’t ready to tell him that I was blind.

As if on cue, my computer spoke again.

“Message from Colin: Wait, you listen to books? You love audiobooks? That’s interesting—I just can’t get into them. I need to hold the book, feel the pages, smell the paper. That’s how I truly enjoy a story. Don’t you feel the same?”

His words were like tiny stones, suddenly heavy in my heart. My smile faltered, my hand clenching ever so slightly as I hesitated over the keyboard.

He didn’t know. Of course, he didn’t know. How could he? Yet, his words held a weight I hadn’t expected, reminding me of the things I couldn’t do, and of how my world diverged from his.

“Dictate a message,” urged the voice.

I drew a shaky breath. “Colin, I have to confess,” I admitted, my voice quivering. “I’m blind. I can’t read regular books, so I rely on audiobooks.”

The revelation hung in the air, raw and vulnerable. Anxiety wrapped around me, my heartbeat racing. What if this revelation changed everything? What if he saw me differently?

“Delete message,” I uttered quickly, overwhelmed by panic.

“Message deleted. Dictate a message,” repeated the machine.

Gathering myself, I chose cautious words. “I just love listening to books while multitasking,” I responded, maintaining a light tone.

“End message. Send,” I whispered, leaning back against my chair. The pressing realization I couldn’t keep hiding loomed.

How could I ever tell him? After years without feeling such a heartfelt connection, the idea of losing this bond due to my truth felt unbearable.

Another chiming notification pulled me from my thoughts.

“Message from Colin: You keep surprising me. Hey, I have tickets to a movie premiere this weekend. Want to come with me?”

My breath caught in my throat, fingers hovering over the keys, shaking with a mix of nerves and excitement.

This was the moment. Avoidance was no longer an option, yet fear persisted, shadow-like and ever-present.

“Yes, I’d love to,” I finally typed. As the message was sent, anticipation and trepidation swirled within me.

Deep down, I acknowledged that I couldn’t conceal the truth for much longer. Still, I held onto a fragile hope that, maybe, things would work out after all.

Living without sight had never been new to me. Over the years, I’d ensured a life of adaptability, mastering tasks once perceived as insurmountable challenges.

I navigated my neighborhood with confidence, hailed cabs without hesitation, and managed my routines with ease.

Yet stepping into the realm beyond the known, like the vast mall with its theater, stirred anxiety within. Its unfamiliarity resembled a minefield, demanding my preparation.

Arriving at the grand establishment two hours early, I clutched my white cane resolutely, attuning to the rhythmic echoes of footsteps and distant chatter of patrons.

Vast space surrounded me, sounds bouncing like eager whispers off the towering ceilings. I approached a nearby security guard, striving to maintain composure as I spoke.

“Hi,” I began, a slight catch in my throat. “I need assistance finding the theater. Practicing the route beforehand would be immensely helpful.”

The guard, an older man, nodded with warmth and understanding. “Of course. Let me guide you there.”

Over the course of his patient guidance through the labyrinthine mall, his instructions echoed as I committed them to memory.

“Twenty steps straight, then a right turn, fifty more steps to the escalator,” I muttered under my breath, the directions cementing within. We reached the theater, and he guided me back to the entrance.

By the second run-through, I was confident in tackling the path alone, though unease twisted in my stomach.

“Good luck, miss,” the guard offered before leaving. “You’re capable of this.”

I extended a faint smile, doubtful my jitters were perceptible. The plan seemed tenuous; how could I disguise my blindness on a date? What if I stumbled? How would I react if Colin noticed?

As the agreed time neared, I lingered outside the mall, sunglasses duskily resting over my eyes, cane covertly stowed away. Each ticking second correlated with a racing heartbeat.

A friendly, inviting voice came to my rescue. “Janice?”

At the sweet sound of his voice—though unfamiliar—I responded with enthusiasm I’d practiced. “Colin!” Pretending to recognize him on sound alone, I extended my arms for a welcoming hug, relief soaring as he reciprocated.

“It’s wonderful to meet at last,” he beamed. “But… sunglasses? Indoors, in this weather?”

Panic flickered. “Oh,” I quickly devised, “My eyes are sensitive to light. I’m accustomed to wearing them often. Hope that’s alright.”

“Not an issue in the slightest,” Colin assured, seamlessly dismissing my fabricated excuse. His casual acceptance provided slivers of comfort, although only momentarily.

As we made our way into the mall, maintaining conversation proved challenging as I began mentally counting steps again. Colin animatedly chatted about the film and its anticipated scenes, yet my attention wavered as my numbering faltered.

My confidence ebbed when we approached the escalator, hesitation escalating to panic as my foot hovered above uncertain ground.

“Wait!” I blurted instinctively, my voice tinted with anxiety.

Colin’s concern surfaced instantly. “What’s wrong?”

Manufacturing a lie, I quickly retorted, “Feeling slightly light-headed. Would you mind helping me to the cinema?”

“Sure,” came his soothing reply as he offered his arm. Warmth from his touch calmed me, yet conscious of the deceit, guilt weighed heavily.

How long could the act maintain? Would Colin soon discern the truth?

With relief, we reached the cinema. Once seated, anxiety subsided, albeit my secret felt impermanent.

Upon the movie’s start, difficulty arose following the purely auditory experience. Explosive sounds and frenetic action made comprehension of the plot elusive.

Colin leaned over, speaking quietly, “That shot’s remarkable, isn’t it? Notice the camera’s angle?”

Feigning knowledge, “Yes, stunning,” I replied nervously, hoping to cease further questioning.

“What strikes you most during this scene?” he inquired eagerly.

Feeling pressured, “It’s unclear. Tough call,” I stammered.

Noticing hesitation, Colin continued encouragingly, “Speak whatever first crosses your thoughts.”

I whispered, trying to maintain composure, “Let’s discuss after we’ve finished watching, alright?”

“Certainly,” he replied, hinting at mild disappointment.

As credits rolled, Colin turned, keen to extract my thoughts. “So, impressions?”

“Impressive,” I cautiously answered. “Excellent visuals.”

He agreed, emphasizing a particular sequence, “Especially when the protagonist escapes the basement—recall?”

Feigning familiarity, “Oh, intense indeed,” I quickly responded.

Pressing, “And during the boat scene?” he queried.

Feigning all-knowing, “Yes, the boat,” I affirmed, warmth escaping my face.

Stern, Colin retorted, “There was no boat, Janice.”

Shame paralyzed me. “Why all the dishonesty?” His quiet tone inquired yet deeply resonated. “You haven’t even looked at me once.”

Desperation welled, “Colin, it’s hm.”

“If that’s true, why avoid me entirely?” he responded, voice firm but tinged with care.

Tremors gathering, my voice broke, “Please listen—”

“No,” he interrupted. “What we built online once felt genuine. Now… how genuine is your interest after this behavior?”

His footsteps echoed as he departed, regret forming wounds I couldn’t mend.

I stumbled out of the theater, fingers brushing against the wall for stability.

Faintly calling, “Colin!” my voice quivered.

“Need a hand, miss?” queried a kind bystander.

“Yes,” desperation cracked my voice. “Seeking the gentleman who accompanied me—Colin.”

“His description?” she inquired.

My truth spilled, “I… can’t describe him. I’m blind,” raw vulnerability seeping.

Gently, she guided me outside, but Colin remained absent from sight.

Heart sinking, my voice grew urgent, “Colin!”

Echoes returned silence.

Slumping onto a bench, hands cupping my face, tears overflowed in the aftermath of our ruined encounter.

The warmth of someone seated beside me caught my attention.

His voice tender, “You’re blind, aren’t you?”

Hesitantly nodding, “Yes,” the truth whispered.

“Then why hide it?” his tone wove compassion.

Disclosure spilled, “Fear drove me,” my voice faltering. “I feared losing you.”

His firm response unveiled empathy, “You wouldn’t have. Honesty aside, deception almost severed us.”

Sincerity threaded my reply, “Apologies,” my tears freely falling. “Could we renew from here?”

Offering a soft smile, Colin assured, “Provided all secrets remain untouched?”

Reigniting hope, “Absolutely,” I promised as optimism rekindled for a first time in far too long.