He froze.
He could see.
The room appeared before him in every detail. Ruslan looked around in confusion, unable to believe what was happening. Joy, fear, and disbelief swirled inside him. But then, dizziness struck, his body weakened, and he lost consciousness.
At dawn, Ruslan woke up in his bed. Everything was as it had been before. Darkness once again enveloped him. With bitterness, he realized that it had only been a dream. His attempts to recall the events of the previous night were interrupted by Rimma—she had come to check on him.
"How are you feeling?" she asked gently.
"Thank you, I’m fine. But you know, I had a strange dream…"
Ruslan described everything in detail. Rimma listened, her eyes wide, a shiver running down her spine.
"Ruslan, that’s impossible! You described your room in complete detail!" she exclaimed.
"Really?!" Ruslan was astonished.
"Yes! But you’ve never seen it before, have you?"
Ruslan sighed heavily and gave a wry smile.
"Of course not. I’ve been blind since birth."
"Exactly… So how could you see something you’ve never seen before?" Rimma whispered in bewilderment.
"Think—when did it happen?" she asked thoughtfully.
"Right after you and Ibrahim left," Ruslan replied.
Rimma fell into deep thought, then suddenly said:
"I want to figure this out. Do you mind if I come over at midnight?"
Ruslan nodded. He wanted to understand what was happening to him, too. He waited for the night with both anticipation and anxiety. But, without realizing it, he fell asleep—exhausted by everything that had happened.
He woke up as dusk was settling outside. Feeling hungry, he quickly ate a sandwich and went up to his parents' room. Pressing his cheek against his mother’s pillow, he tried to soothe the pain of his loss. Suddenly, a noise came from downstairs.
Ruslan tensed. Slowly, feeling his way, he made his way down to the living room.
"Who’s there?" he called out sharply.
"It’s me. Sorry if I scared you," a familiar voice replied. "I went to your room, but you weren’t there, so I came looking in the living room…"
"What time is it?" Ruslan asked.
"Eleven already."
"Really? I didn’t even notice how time flew by. Let’s go upstairs," he suggested.
"Let’s go," Rimma agreed.
Lately, Ruslan had been feeling an odd sense of unease in Rimma’s presence. Something about her made him restless, filled him with strange excitement, but he couldn’t understand what it was. Now, a slight chill ran through him. Trying to distract himself, he asked:
"How’s Ibrahim?"
"I don’t know. Actually, I don’t want to know," Rimma replied curtly.
"Did you two have a fight?"
"Let’s not talk about him… I don’t even want to think about him."
"So he hurt you?" Ruslan turned toward her.
Rimma hesitated, then finally admitted:
"I was disappointed in him. He turned out to be rude and short-tempered…"
She told him about their last meeting—how Ibrahim had lost his temper, spoken harshly, and never even apologized, never realized his fault.
Rimma stood with her head lowered, even though she knew Ruslan couldn’t see her face. Then, slowly, she lifted her gaze to him—and froze.
Ruslan stood there, pale, his face twisted in pain. Suddenly, a wild, piercing scream tore from his chest. He clutched his head in his hands, his expression contorted in sheer agony.
Rimma stood paralyzed with fear. She had no idea what was happening.
Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, Ruslan fell silent. Slowly, he turned to her… and looked straight into her eyes.
His gaze was no longer vacant. It held surprise. Wonder.
He could see.