Dr. Haar whispered, “Justin, in two weeks, we’ll restore her vision.”

“Great.”

His face lit up.

According to my studies, Ophthalmology had improved dramatically. After a successful operation, many blind people started learning how to see, a complex process that took place in the brain and optic nerve. In many cases, those who were born with this disability struggled more than accident victims because the act of organizing shadows, light, shapes, and moving objects took a lot of time, effort, and patience.

“By the way, this morning, a colleague told me you repaired three databases, did an excellent job.”

“Thank you.”

“Word is getting around.”

I thanked him for the compliment.

We entered a room and stopped next to a bed.

In it, a twenty something woman with bandages over her eyes, cheeks, and arms, groaned.

I cringed, shocked by this repulsive sight.

Dr. Haar paused, a concerned expression on his face. “Tammy, what’s new?”

“My face and arms hurt, but it isn’t as bad as yesterday.”

“Progress. Glad to hear it.”

He introduced her to me.

I offered a forced smile, my shoulders tensed, trying to adjust to her appearance.

Tammy flinched.

Dr. Haar blinked. “Are you all right?”

Her chin jerked. “The pain will go away soon. Thanks for asking.”

Dr. Haar nodded, his brow contorted. He glanced to the right. “Someone brought you roses.”

“Yeah, my mom did that this morning.”

Dr. Haar remarked, “Wonderful. We’ll talk later.”

Tammy’s jaw twitched. “I’m counting on it.”

The doctor and I left.

He whispered, “A firefighter rescued her moments before flames destroyed the room she was in.”