The ball drops, and cheering fills the small room. Adel walks, carefully, over to me, reddish-brown hair a mess as always. “Hey there, pretty baby,” he says. I laugh, because he’s never seen my face, not once. Being blind means never having to know if it’s a lie or not. “What’s your resolution for the new year?”

I guide him down to the floral-print couch that smells like beer and unfinished basement, and he slips one wiry arm around my shoulders in return. “Do you really wanna know?” I tease, knowing that I’ll answer anyway.

“Maybe I do, pretty baby.”

When Adel hums tonelessly, I lean into him, smiling. “It’s a little stupid.”

“So?”

“To get published.” It is stupid, especially when I say it out loud, but I can tell him only because I know he won’t laugh at me. “In a book, magazine, whatever.”

“Well, I hope that you get published, then. You know I love it when you read me your poems.” There is only honesty in his voice, and that’s one thing I really love about him.

I flush, pleased. “What about you?”

“You know I can’t write, pretty baby.” He laughs.

“Your resolution.” If Adel were anyone else, I would probably hit him on the shoulder, playfully, but for some reason, I don’t. Maybe it’s because I think that he’s more fragile than other people.

He pauses, thinking. I can tell he is, because whenever Adel gets to thinking, he always tilts his head back (like he’s trying to find the answer on the ceiling that he also can’t see), taps his left foot, hums, low-pitched. “Y’know something, pretty baby? I have no idea.”

“You liar,” I joke.

He only smiles.

---

Six months later, we’re at a friend’s funeral. His name was (still is, though, death can’t change names) Chris, and even though they call it an accident, everyone knows it was a purpose. Death by cement truck. “I can’t see,” I gripe. “Everyone’s so tall.” Or maybe he jumped off a bridge and everyone thought he fell. I don’t remember.

“It ain’t that bad not to be able to see, pretty baby.” Adel’s tone is light, but hurt.

“Sorry.”

“Nothing to worry about.” But it is, because I don’t like him when he’s hurt, I like him when he’s free and happy, even though that might be impossible.

---

Three months later. Adel and I are at one of those expensive restaurants on Main Street, the kind where the menus aren’t even in English, to celebrate. “I knew you could do it, pretty baby,” he tells me. The candlelight flickering in those blank eyes makes them seem almost alive when he speaks. “Congratulations.”

My hand finds his under the table, squeezes. “Thanks.” I want to say more, like ‘You’re the only one that’s been here’ or ‘This means so much to me’ or something sappy like that. But I can only convey my feelings through writing. So I say nothing.

---

New Year’s Eve. No parties, no friends, just me and Adel. “What’s on your mind, pretty baby?” he asks. Adel doesn’t need to (but can’t) look at my face to know.

“Did you fulfill your resolution yet?” I don’t even know why I ask that. That isn’t even what I’m thinking about, but it just ends up coming out. It’s the first I’ve thought of it since last New Year.

“How do you know if I even made a resolution?” Playful. He’s always light with his words like this. Only sometimes does he tell me when he’s feeling down. I should probably be lucky he tells me at all. He may be blind, but I can’t see.

I put my hand over his. Mine are cold, like always, and he flinches slightly at contact. “I know you did.”

“Not gonna let me take the easy way out, huh, pretty baby?”

“Of course not.”

Adel pauses. Then, “I wanted to be able to see you.”

I bite my lip uncomfortably, because I don’t know whether I want to smile or cry. “You know you can’t—I begin to say, but stop myself. Take his hands and guide them to my face. “Blonde and green-eyed,” I tell him as I help him explore my features. High cheekbones, the short-cropped hair, the wrinkles when I smile, my lips. And then the scars. “Car accident four years ago. They’ll never heal.” He says nothing, and his hands retreat, come together as if he’s afraid to touch me. I sit back, bitter smile leaking a sour taste into my mouth. The scars are terrible, disfiguring. Long and white and puckered and jagged. It’s been so long since I was pretty.

“It’s not that bad.”

Even though I hear myself laugh (hollow laughter, the remedy for nothing), I feel tears prick the corners of my eyes. I don’t even know why I’m laughing, but I find it hard to stop. “They are, Adel. They’re horrible.”

Now it is his turn to laugh. “Don’t be silly, pretty baby. I can’t even see them.”

I don’t know what to say, and all I can do is cry as he pulls me close.

The ball drops, and we fall in love all over again.

---

Some of you might have read this, if following me on DA. For those of you who haven't, here it is, for the first time. I hope you enjoyed it.