It simply existed, as if the emptiness had decided, just this once, to admit it wasn't empty.

Sals is at the edge. His stick is gone. The dark behind the blindfold is total. He has no reference point, no ground to read, no direction to lean into. He is simply exposed. Then something shifts. Not a rescue. Not a sign pointing anywhere. Just a current of warm air, carrying a faint trace of something he cannot name. It does not ask anything of him. It does not move him toward safety or warn him back from danger. It arrives without agenda and stays without demanding to be understood. The emptiness, for one quiet moment, acknowledges itself as something more than empty. That is all. But it is enough to break him open before his mind can decide whether to allow it. You have probably known a moment like this. A place of total exposure, no tools left, no story to hold onto. And then something small arrives, uninvited, without explanation. Not comfort, exactly. More like company. What did you do with that moment when it came to you?