B-L-A-C-K

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p a r t · i : b e y o n d · t h e · b l a c k n e s s

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Trapped…

Dark…

Suffocating…

At first there was only blackness. A void. Absolute.

So dark…can't see…

I felt so alone. My world was endless, and no one was there to help me.

Alone…abandoned…isolated…

There were others. Others who tried to help. But there was no way I could let them know how I felt. Because here, in the void, everything was so quiet.

So silent…so black…

And nobody understood me. And I could understand nothing.

I had no voice, no sight, no hearing. I had eyes, but couldn't use them. I had ears, but couldn't use them. I had words, but didn't know any.

And my world grew darker.

Just black…

It was the unspoken that I understood. Whether or not matters were spoken of out loud made no difference to me. I couldn't hear, after all. But this remained heavy in the air, a dark, forbidding aura that struck me deep in the blackest recesses of my heart. After all, darkness delights in company.

Whether or not I meant to understand this, understand I did. For barely at the age of three, my mother was driving me back from the doctor. All this I barely remember, the colours of that world a long lost memory too bright to be brought back in this bleak world of shadows.

It had been raining. And my mother, in a hurry, had lost control of the car. We had crashed.

My mother barely escaped with her life. That much we gave thanks for. But I came off worse. My sight and hearing were gone forever, trapping me in a null void, cutting me off from the world as suddenly as I had been brought in.

My mother had been saved. My eyes were the price of her life. My ears, the price of mine. And suddenly, in a flash, I faced a world of shadows, of heart-wrenching blackness, a world of complete solitude.

I longed for a horizon. A light in the darkness. A beacon of hope in a world of torment and shadows. Perhaps one guiding hand to lead me forward through the forests of doubt, of loneliness and confinement.

And then, after twelve years of blackness, of praying for deliverance, it came. Unexpectedly. In a flash.

And I found myself in a stranger's arms.

Where is the light?

My mother had led me gently forward. I, being almost animal in my instincts, stripped of sight, sound and human comprehension, was feral in my reception of this stranger. Everything about him was different. His smell. His aura. The way he felt, as I reached out with the palm of my hand and felt his face, to make sure he was there.

I felt hair, thick and soft, a forehead, smooth warm skin, eyebrows, and then I paused, frowning –

In place of eyes, he had thick hard plates of some sort. I was afraid. I recoiled back into my mothers arms, shrieking wildly, I remember.

Then I sensed his laughter, and then, gently, he reached for my hands, and put a strange object in them.

My hands were roving around them, feeling, trying to understand… There were two thick, hard plates, and they were connected, and there were two long sticks attached to them. What was it for, I wondered?

I felt the stranger place his hands around mine, and put the strange object on my face, the two plates covering my eyes, the sticks hooking back over my ears, so that it wouldn't fall off. It was some sort of eye protection. I liked it.

The stranger took my hand and brought it to his mouth. I was afraid again, at first. And then I felt him do something. I felt his lips move, and felt the air of his breath on my fingers. I tried to imitate it, tried to move my lips in the same way, to get the air out of my mouth the same way he had. I put my other hand over my mouth and tried.

"Teacher," was the word he tried to teach me that day. Confused and alien to human speech, I could only manage some distortion of "teach" before I completely recoiled into my fear, my hole, my pit of despair and darkness. He seemed satisfied enough.

Tea…teach…teache-…

Later on, he tried to teach me other things. He taught me words like "spoon", "cake", "plate", "napkin"… He took me out into the grounds and put my hand under the fountain. I screamed. I had always been afraid of this, this strange thing that was cold and wet and flowed around heedlessly. It scared me. I was afraid of it. Once I had put my head in the fountain and I had tried to breathe, and I couldn't breathe. It was as though the darkness had come alive, and was truly strangling the life out of me. Ever since, I had been afraid.

"Water," he said into my hand. "Water. W-A-T-E-R…water."

I nodded, not really understanding.

He showed me other things. He let me fall to the ground, and feel and smell the grass. He let me feel the soft feathers of a bird. After much toil, he taught me how to eat properly, with the metal stick things.

I was slowly understanding relationships. Relationships between thorns and pain, water and thirst, birds and flight. But one was alien to me.

Words and meanings.

After long days of struggle, I finally learnt the alphabet. With my fingers, I could show the letters of the alphabet, while reciting them in my mind.

B…L…A…C…K…

But I still could not understand. I identified the cloth-like napkin as "spoon", while wrongly calling the plate "cake". I was confused between table and chair, between grass and flower…

Finally, he got angry. Grabbing my hand, with me thrashing and fighting with every fiber of strength I had, he led me to the fountain. Then, he lifted me bodily and literally threw me into the fountain.

I screamed and thrashed, feeling my clothes get wet and my body grow cold. I tried to scream, but I was choking, trying to fill my lungs with air but the air wouldn't come – the darkness was alive, it was moving, it was…

I paused. Understanding flickered in my brain. Lifting myself, I breathed in properly, clearing my nostrils of the stuff that flowed down the fountain, onto my hands, head, body, everything. I put out my hand. The stuff trickled down my palm. I was beginning to remember. I was beginning to understand…

"Wa…wat…wa…"

He heard me. His shock was evident, I could sense it as he rushed toward me. But I didn't care, I was too busy in my revelation as I suddenly understood, in a flash, what this stuff was.

Excited, I could see the word in my mind. Racking the alphabet in my mind, I struggled to spell the word with my fingers.

W…A…T…E…R…

Water…

I was beginning to understand. I could sense the stranger's excitement. Me, I wasn't just excited, I was delirious in my joy. To me, it wasn't just a word. It was the first sign of a pathway, a cobblestone in a pathway out of the darkness. A beacon of hope, hope for a future.

Together, we stumbled out of the fountain. I, barely being able to walk, slipped and fell onto the ground. It was different, everything was different. The feel, the smell, everything was familiar.

"Gra…" I managed, before signing with my fingers, somewhat faster than before. G-R-A-S-S…grass.

I could sense others approaching. Suddenly, I could recognize them. I turned to one, and ran my palm down her face. There were tears in my eyes, and in hers too, as I realized I knew her…I knew her all along…

"Mo…" I struggled with the word, not being able to hear it. Relying only on the rush of air and shape of my mouth. In my mind, the word was clear.

Mother…

The tears were coming down harder. I was crying too. I felt myself being pulled into an embrace, and I knew I understood. I was beginning to understand, that everything in this world had a name, and every name belonged to something with an identity, a purpose in life.

There was another. I understood, with the same sort of painful revelation, who exactly he was.

"Fa…"

Father.

The tears were coming even harder. And then I realized what a gift I had been given. The gift of comprehension. Of understanding.

I turned to the stranger who had helped me. No longer was he a stranger. He was something else. Not Mother. Not Father. But someone else entirely. I trusted him with my life, I respected him to a fault. But what word could I use to describe him?

Suddenly remembering our first meeting, I stumbled forward. Running my hand down his face, making sure he was the right one.

"Teach…er…" I struggled slowly. But I was learning.

I sensed a smile on his face. He placed his hand on my arm, and moved his fingers, in the alphabet I knew. His fingers spelled out a word I had heard somewhere before, a word I knew vaguely.

S…A…K…U…R…A.

Sakura.

Then he gestured to me, and the meaning was clear. I was Sakura. My name was Sakura.

Why do I remember that day so vividly? I don't know. Maybe it was the day of changing, an alteration in the path. It was the start of another journey, a path toward a greater good. A new light. A means to combat the darkness that enveloped my life.

He was the light. He was the guiding hand that led me on unsteady, tottering feet one shaking step after the next, coaxing me gently out of the shadows. He was different from everyone else, my Teacher. He didn't impose himself on me, but rather, waited for me, to come out on my own, to grow at my own pace and to face the world when I was ready for it.

And he imbibed within me a fresh thirst for knowledge. No longer did I struggle in understanding the meaning of things. In time, I came to recognize grass from flower, plate from spoon, muffin from cake. I grew more independent, mastering the alphabet my Teacher had taught me, and even more so.

"Hands," he had signed to me, "are the voice of the silenced. They are the words of the blind, they are the poetry of the deaf, the music of the mute. Raise it as a sword, clench it in a fist for strength. Feed someone in kindness, slap them in retaliation. Point the way to God, or sometimes, even the door."

Years passed. I grew from a mentally challenged teenager to a young woman mature above her years. The bond between my Teacher and I grew stronger. At times, we didn't need to sign to each other to understand the other. He taught me more. My knowledge grew, my thirst for knowledge sated somewhat as I mastered Braille. I was remarkably interested in areas of the arts and sciences. Astronomy was a favourite subject for me, as well as literature. Debating was a pastime, and often, hours would fade away in the face of our silence, nothing but the rapid motion of our fingers belying complete stillness.

One day, he was remarkably still. I chattered, if it were possible to chatter in sign language, nonstop about different poems which I had read in some of the Braille volumes in the study. Before long, I realized his trepidation. Concerned, I asked him what was wrong. He took his time in replying.

"Science and literature…two polar opposites," he signed slowly, in no particular rush. "One glorifies the miracles of human faith. The other demeans them, turning human wonders into technological facts. Yet without either, life would be very different."

I motioned for him to go on. He did, at length.

"Though with science, necessary developments such as medicine and technology have improved tremendously over the years. Yet, it is the glorification of human hope that lets us believe in the impossible."

I frowned. That last word – it was unfamiliar. I asked him, and I could sense his smirk as he explained the new word.

"Impossible," he signed. "It is a new word, one I did not dare to teach you before, and for good reason. This word implies the sheer incapability of anything. Science says your ability to understand limited expression was impossible. They said that you would never be able to communicate with others. It was, to them, impossible."

I frowned, hating the word.

"I say differently," my Teacher continued onward, "because I believe in the impossible. When science says something is impossible, human hope, faith and perseverance can say otherwise. And it is true. Through hope, faith and perseverance, you have become literate. Sakura, you are a miracle of human life. And always remember that. Science says something is impossible, because science has no soul, no persistence to reach a goal short of the ultimate. Human strength can achieve what science deems impossible. Remember, Sakura. You can achieve the impossible, if you have three things…"

I nodded, my fingers moving with my Teacher's.

Hope…

Faith…

Perseverance…

"These are three words with which you can fight the darkness," my Teacher said. "I do not blind myself to your suffering, day by day. But you are strong, Sakura. You are my miracle. Let us show the world, once and for all, what human willpower can do."

I frowned. "What do you mean?" I asked with my fingers.

There was a pause, before his fingers moved deftly. "I was thinking that maybe, now is the time for you to attend an educational institute. I have a friend who is the administrator of a very good university. If you agree, I could get you enrolled in university –"

I jumped to my feet, angry. Did no one understand? I was disabled, handicapped. I was blind. I was deaf. Without the use of an interpreter, my fingers would form useless symbols, useless to anyone who did not understand. I was inferior, forbidden to walk in the light, my world filled with shadows and darkness.

It was as though the ground had swallowed me up. Lost to me were the brightness of knowledge and self-respect, taught to me by my Teacher. Instead, trapped in the darkness of my own world, I was the frightened child of three years old, in the body of a nineteen-year-old woman. The world was black again, the shadows stifling…

Black…pitch black…that is all you are ever destined to be…

They were closing in…the darkness was closing in…

Science says it is impossible. Give up now, Sakura. You will never walk the path of light as others do. You are substandard, incomplete. What can you possibly hope to accomplish?

The voice was right. I was a handicapped girl, what could I possibly do amongst others my age, whose bodies and minds were full and whole? Who could see the light and hear the music? Who could recite all the words of the world without the use of paltry sign language? What could I, a scrawny, incomplete handicap, do, with science and the odds glaring at me at every step?

…you can achieve the impossible, if you have three things…

My Teacher. His words were a knell in my head, a warning to the demons of darkness, to keep them at bay.

…these are the three words with which you can fight the darkness…

What were they again? I forgot so quickly, I was ashamed of myself. Then my fingers remembered and I recited them in my head.

Hope…

Faith…

Perseverance…

I calmed down. The darkness faded. My Teacher was still sitting there. It was as though none of this had ever happened.

I took a deep breath.

"May I continue?" my Teacher asked.

I nodded, feeling ashamed of myself. What had I done? My Teacher meant nothing but good. He was not one to take decisions in haste. By God, the day I ceased to trust my Teacher would be the day I died. If I stopped trusting him before then…I shuddered to think what might become of me.

He continued placidly. "I understand your apprehension. Nevertheless, I have full confidence in you, Sakura. If anyone can show the world what human hope can do, it is you."

I was still doubtful.

"Tell me, Sakura," my Teacher's fingers moved gently, "do you really wish to be treated with sympathy and caution all the time? Do you really wish to be seen as a handicapped person?"

I shook my head fiercely. Yet…wasn't that how I thought myself? Somewhere deep within me, I was still aware of myself as a handicapped person. If I were to change others' perception of me, I would have to change my own. I vowed to myself never to let the darkness overwhelm me again.

"Then this is the first step toward equality, Sakura. By studying at a university for what society calls normal people, you can prove that science isn't everything. You can live life on hope, faith and perseverance."

I paused, thinking. Thinking of Mother, and Father, and my Teacher, who had worked so hard to see me this far. After all, I was in no position to refuse him this, when he had already done so much for me. Also, the idea sounded tempting – a smack on the face for those smug doctors who stood there repeating "Impossible. Impossible."

"We can do this, Sakura," he motioned. "You can do this. I have faith in you. I always have."

Somehow, at times like these, I felt very emotionally worked up. I don't know what came over me, but at the time, I was feeling so very full of emotion, that I just wrapped my arms around him and sobbed.

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Months passed, and we didn't speak of this again. Maybe my Teacher didn't have as much faith in me as I thought he did. Or maybe he was waiting for the right time. Or maybe, his friend would not even contemplate the idea of a deaf-blind student in his university.

That would be too…impossible.

Tomoyo came back from boarding school. Tomoyo, my cousin who lived with us. She had been away in England for six years, and I sensed a reservation about her when she returned. As though by becoming literate, I had distanced myself from her somehow.

I remember when I was little, I put my hand to Tomoyo's face and had touched beauty. I knew I would see the world through her eyes, hear its music through her ears. The two of us were devoted to one another. She fed me when Mother was not there. She would wake me up in the middle of the night and ask if I wanted water. She would even try to let me play with her friends. She cared for me so much.

That was what made the distance slightly hurtful for me. Perhaps it was the thought that we no longer had only the other that cooled her manner toward me. Either way, I dismissed it and went about as usual.

Finally, my Teacher gave me an answer.

"Sakura," he began, "after much persuasion, I finally have arranged an entrance interview for you. To go to university."

My mouth dropped. It was happening so fast. My fingers began to move, but he cut me off.

"I have told him that you want admission in arts, not sciences," he signed, I could sense a smile on him. Ever since I realized that science deemed me an impossible case, I had lost all liking for it. What use was science for me? A bunch of doctors in lab coats standing there, shaking their heads at me? They were precious little help to me anyhow.

It was through my Teacher and his efforts that had made me what I was that day. Through hope and stories and arts, I had the gift of belief. I had the weapons of hope, faith and perseverance, and I would use them until I graduated. And even after that.

It was a dream my Teacher and I had shared.

"Your world is black," he had told me once. "To you, black is unforgiving. It is the color of the blind, the silence of the deaf. The shade of inferiority. But to the rest of the world, black is the color of knowledge, of enlightenment."

I had laughed at that.

"I am serious," he continued seriously after my laughter had subsided. "When the students of university graduate, they wear a special graduation robe. Do you know what color it is? Black."

I raised my eyebrows at that.

"One day, Sakura, I want to see you in that graduation robe. It would be a dream come true. And a slap in the face for those doctors who thought you were an impossible case. What do you say?"

I had nodded enthusiastically.

That had been two years ago. Now, I would take the first steps to enlightenment. My dream of graduating, wearing the black robe.

And my Teacher would be there, watching proudly. Our dream would be fulfilled.

And my world would no longer be black.

Beyond the darkness…you can do this, Sakura…you cannot see the light or hear the music, but you can choose to see further beyond the blackness of your world…one step at a time…

So the next week, my Teacher took me to a place, I could only assume was the university. Stepping into the lawn, I could smell a different sensation in the air. Everything had the scent of books, of old musty leather-bound volumes sitting in a dusty corner of a library.

The scent increased as I stepped into the wide entrance. I could tell the entrance hallway was enormous. And rich. And old. The entire building smelt like an old dusty library.

I loved that smell.

My Teacher led me down several hallways, up a staircase, where we spent quite some time climbing them, because I was never too careful on them. Finally, we turned down one more hallways and entered a wide room.

I could sense my Teacher saying something, and then he signed to me, "They are asking you to sit."

I nodded. "What about you?"

My Teacher hesitated slightly before answering. "They will ask you a few questions. And they do not want me to interpret. Someone else will be interpreting for you. Is that alright?"

I paused, ice crawling down my spine. My Teacher…wouldn't be able to interpret. That was reasonable. Obviously, they wouldn't want a bias. But…the thought of doing this without him was like…

Going through life blind? Or deaf? You have already braved so much, Sakura. A small thing like this should be no problem for you.

I took a deep breath and signed. "Yes. It's alright. You'll stay here, won't you?"

The answer was immediate. "Of course."

With that, I groped for the chair and sat. The chair was comfortable, cushioned generously, and I took a few deep calming breaths.

Hope, faith, perseverance…I recited to myself. Hope…faith…perseverance…

I sensed someone sit down in the chair next to me.

"Hello, Sakura," the person sitting next to me signed on my arm. "My name is Meiling. I will be your interpreter today. Are you ready?"

I nodded. "Yes."

There was a pause, while the questions were being asked. Finally, Meiling started to sign something to me.

"Why do you wish to study?" she translated to me.

I paused. Why did I wish to study? Did they want to sit here all day?

"I wish to become enlightened," I signed, aware that all eyes were on me. "I wish to study, so that I can live with dignity, and with independence…and to be alive."

There was really no need to say more. I waited patiently, while Meiling translated and interpreted the next question.

"How many oceans are there in the world?" she signed to me.

I frowned. This was an easy question. However, I decided to answer with what I felt in my heart.

"To me," I signed, "every drop of water is an ocean."

I felt the tension in the room rise. Meiling's fingers signed to me again.

"They want a straight answer," she said.

I paused.

"There is really only one ocean," I signed. "However, it is divided into four parts: the Pacific, Atlantic, Indian and Arctic. Some would even consider the Antarctic Ocean to be a fifth ocean."

I supposed my answer was sufficient, for Meiling asked for no more clarification.

"If you were in Japan, what side of the earth would America be in?" she asked.

I frowned again. A visual question for a blind student who wished to study art. The irony here was laughable. Nevertheless, I thought and nearly laughed at my answer.

"The world is round," I signed, smiling. "America could be on any side, really."

It continued in this vein for some time. I suppose my own true fault was giving cryptic answers when they really wanted a simple answer. But to me, I was basking in the glory of being in the limelight. I would say and people would listen. For once, people would be interested in what I had to say.

And finally, it was the last question.

"What does knowledge mean to you?" Meiling signed.

I furrowed my brow, thinking. Oh, knowledge meant so much to me! How could I possibly weave it into words? How could anyone describe the meaning of knowledge in mere words?

"Knowledge is everything," I signed. "Knowledge is spirit, wisdom, courage, light and sound. Knowledge is my Bible, my God."

I paused. How could I describe it any other way?

"Knowledge," I continued, "is my Teacher."

There was another pause.

"Okay, Sakura," Meiling signed. "Thank you for your efforts. If you could wait a few minutes while the professors confer. Syaoran will be joining you then."

I paused. Syaoran? Who was he?

But Meiling had already got up and left.

Those few minutes felt like an eternity. And I felt my nerves racing. Who was this Syaoran? I felt queasy around strangers. Meiling was different. She had been kind.

I shrugged it off. But my heart was still racing.

The next thing I knew, my Teacher was signing on my arm.

"Well, Sakura, that was very well done," he said to me.

I smiled. "Thank you."

To my delight, he sat down beside me, rather than the Syaoran person Meiling had referred to. Who was she talking about, anyway? Would my Teacher know?

"Teacher," I asked before I could stop myself, "do you know who Syaoran is?"

I sensed surprise from him.

"Of course I do," he signed back. "That's me."

I was puzzled, and then understanding washed over me. Teacher couldn't be his name. That was my name for him…if it was a name. Obviously the world called him Syaoran.

"How did you know?" my Teacher pressed.

"Meiling told me," I replied. Suddenly, I was beset with another question.

"How did Meiling know?"

There was a pause.

"Meiling is my cousin," he signed. "Technically, the interpreter was not supposed to know either you or me, but they selected Meiling to interpret, who turned out be my cousin."

I smiled.

"How does Meiling know how to sign?" I asked.

There was a pause. I had the feeling I was straying into foreign territory. I realized how little I actually knew of my Teacher. In almost five years, had I ever bothered to find out his name? Or if he had family? Guilt washed over me.

"Meiling lived with us when we were growing up," my Teacher signed. "I had four sisters." There was another pause. "Two of them are blind-deaf."

I nodded. "So does everyone in your family know how to sign?"

Another pause.

"Yes," he answered finally. "My mother, the butler, and all the servants knew. But Meiling and I were the best."

I frowned. "What about your father?"

Another short pause. "He died when I was little."

I paused, horror sinking in. "I'm sorry…" I vowed to myself not to press him further. I didn't need to know, it was obvious from his hesitation.

Surprisingly, that hurt more than I'd expected it to.

"And I suppose you want to know about my other two sisters?" my Teacher continued, surprising me.

The hurt vanished as soon as it arrived.

"Well…if you want to." If it were possible to stutter in sign language, that was what I was doing now.

"All four of my sisters were born blind-deaf. The two eldest were sent into the mental asylum, and passed away there. They couldn't have been any older than ten years old."

Is that why he felt so strongly about blind-deaf people? Is that why he had so much faith in me?

"And then," he continued, "I was also born blind-deaf."

"What?" I was shocked. I had never pictured my Teacher as a blind-deaf.

"But I had an operation, and had my eyes and ears restored," he continued. "And since then, I have been helping others less fortunate than I."

He paused abruptly.

"What? What is it?" I asked. I was intrigued. This was a side I'd never imagined to my Teacher.

"Sakura," my Teacher started, and I could sense a big smile on him, "You really are my miracle."

I blushed. "Why do you say that?"

"The administrator of the university has just spoken with me," he said. I sat up straighter, instantly alert. "And you have been accepted into this university."

My mouth dropped. I blinked my useless eyes once. Twice. My stomach was doing turns, my heart beating faster than its normal rate. My face broke into a smile. I wanted to shout, sing out loud, do a crazy dance…anything. It didn't matter if it was in front my future professors.

So that exactly what I did. Well, the first two were impossible for me. But I did jump to my feet and do a crazy dance. Believe it or not, I was so happy, I didn't care what I looked like, I just danced around madly, I was so happy.

I felt a hand on my arm.

"What are you doing?"

I signed back thoughtlessly.

"You can see, can't you? I'm dancing."

"Yes, but why?"

I smiled joyfully.

"Because I'm happy! No, I'm ecstatic! No! I'm on cloud nine in seventh heaven!"

I sensed his laughter, and felt my face go warm.

Huh? Why was I blushing?

"But for now, you might hurt yourself," his fingers were talking to me. "Come, Sakura, it's time we took the good news home. I think I owe you a present."

I was thrilled. "Really?"

"Yes. But first go home. I'm sure your parents will be thrilled."

That's it, Sakura. One foot in front of the other.

Mother and Father were thrilled. I could feel it in the air.

"And then," I signed enthusiastically, "they asked me a visual question! Imagine that! They gave me a visual question…and I'm blind!"

I felt Mother's fingers on my arm. "Go on," she signed.

I beamed. "And then, I answered, and I really wanted to see the look on their faces! Imagine! A blind student answering a visual question!"

Tomoyo was sitting next to me, I think she was drawing. I faced her, smiling.

"Tomoyo, can you believe it? Now I can go to school too!"

There was no response. Confused, I reached out to touch her, to see if she was there, but instead I felt –

"Teacher!" I was squealing in sign language. "You came!"

"Of course," he replied.

I grinned ear to ear like an idiot. "How about my present?" I stretched out my hand blindly (how ironic), trying to reach for where I thought the gift might be.

He put it in my hands. I jumped, excited, before examining it. It was long, thin, like a long stick that curved on one end…

"What is this?" I asked, frowning.

His answer was immediate. "Your friend for life."

I dropped it as though it was a poisonous snake. "I don't want to be dependent on this," I signed furiously.

His answer was somewhat rougher than before.

"This will not make you dependent. It will help you become independent. Understand?"

From that day on, I used a seeing stick to walk. At first it was difficult, learning which direction to walk. But gradually, I grew more independent. I learned to walk by myself outside the house. That was an important lesson learned, for once I went to university, it would be harder to depend on my Teacher the whole time.

At first I had been confused as to how I would understand the lectures. Then, my Teacher clarified. Not only would he sit in class with me, he would translate for me while the professor talked.

I remember my first day of school clearly. Everything was different. I had never been used to large crowds of people, mainly because I had spent the first fifteen years of my life at home, alone. Still, I found myself in the midst of a huge classroom with at least a hundred other people my age. My senses were in disarray, I was unaccustomed to being in anything other than total stillness. The flurry of movement in the room, however, was distorting my senses. I couldn't sense my Teacher sitting beside me.

And that made me feel very vulnerable.

The professor began with an open debate over a poem he read out. My Teacher translated, but no line was worth mentioning, except one, which jolted out painfully in my mind.

…Yet with my eyes I see dreams…

"I object!" I signed, standing up. "The eyes don't see dreams! The mind does! With the mind, dreams are made. I don't have eyes, and I still dream!"

I sat down in what I hoped was a dignified manner.

Probably by the end of the class, the professor's opinion of me had raised ever so slightly since the beginning of the class.

Why do I remember that class so well? I don't know, but something about the poet's ignorance struck me deep. From then on, my debates were passionate, seeking to enlighten other privileged students about the ideas from another perspective. Some found it interesting. Others simply were drowning in their own ignorance. Once, Teacher and I had been walking in the lawn, when someone had bumped into me, knocking my books to the ground. I had been so angry at him, I simply lashed out at him in a furious tirade with my fingers.

"Can't you see!" I demanded. "If God gave you eyes, and you don't even use them, then maybe you should have ended up like me!"

Teacher had translated to me.

"He's sorry," he signed.

"Sorry isn't enough!" I signed explosively, but I relented and let the poor boy live.

Always, the value of what one doesn't have exceeds every other worldly possession. In my case, I felt that something as simple as sight or sound, was a priceless marvel, yet others took them for granted. But then, I had my Teacher, and that was a gift worth sight and sound ten times over.

As days turned into weeks, and weeks slipped into months, and months turned into years, I felt something within me awaken. Something strange and uncalled for. Something I read about every day in the literature I was assigned, yet never really expected to ever experience.

As the bond between my Teacher and I grew, I started having other feelings, strange fluttery feelings that I couldn't really describe. At first, it seemed strange. After all, he was my Teacher. But he was the only male I knew that genuinely cared for me, apart from Father, and the only one I trusted with my life. He had made me what I was today. Besides, who else was I bound to find? I was a blind-deaf girl who had no way of communicating, save through complicated finger movements. Who would want that sort of burden on them? All the things that happened in books, the cheerful, passionate stories I read in class, seemed a world apart, in a world of light and sound and colour. These things would never have a place in this void of redemption and second chances.

At times I resented my fate, but over time I accepted destiny's blows and satisfied myself with what I could do. I could enjoy the sense of attraction to my Teacher, or simply lie prostrate against life's mishaps.

And so I chose. I chose to walk toward the light, to love my Teacher, not just as a student would, but as a woman would too. My logic was that life came once, and even if I could experience this one-sidedly, then at least I could experience it.

Unfortunately, not everything was this easy. Exams were a constant nightmare for me. Once I got past the first hurdle of studying for them, there was the question of writing out my essays. Teacher got me a Braille typewriter, but I was such a slow typer, barely managing 10 words a minute. There was no way I could complete a 2000 word essay within the given time limit of one hour.

Perhaps I could have complained. Perhaps they would have made concessions for the university's first ever blind-deaf student. But that wasn't how it worked. I intended to do this the way any normal student would. If a normal student would fail under said circumstances, then I would have to fail too.

And that was exactly what happened. I failed. Not one subject, but all of them.

And what then? Did I fall to my knees helplessly, wondering if I could ever do this, or curse unintelligibly at my handicaps and simply give up?

No. Far from it. My Teacher and I laughed. Normal people celebrate success, but we celebrated failure. After all, what was failure? Only the first step toward success?

But when I failed my exams the next year, and the year after that, my Teacher's celebrations were not so magnanimously full-hearted. He grew worried, wondering if this was indeed too much to ask of me. And I felt ashamed, that I couldn't fulfill our dream.

"You must learn how to type, Sakura!" he told me irritably one day. "And fast, too! A 2000 word essay in one hour, tell me, how many words should you be able to type in one minute?"

I frowned. Math was my weakest subject, but still I answered.

"34," I said sullenly.

"And how many can you type in one minute?" His questions were growing increasingly pointed.

I faced my feet. "10…sometimes 11…"

His admonishing could have been less sharp had he used words and I been able to hear.

"That's not enough, Sakura! 10 words in one minute! How can you complete a 2000 word essay in one hour if you can only type 10 words a minute?"

I tried to calm him. "Enough, Teacher. I will practice hard. I promise you I will be able to type 34 words a minute by the time Christmas comes."

If life was kind, I would be able to keep every promise I made. Sadly, my life was a tapestry of ruined moments and broken promises. The one I made to my Teacher was another one of those. Though I practiced long and hard, by the time Christmas came around, my typing speed had increased to only a rate of 20 words a minute.

"Not good enough," he signed, disappointed. "I have to admit it, Sakura. There may be no hope for you after all."

I froze, my heart sinking. Was my Teacher giving up hope?

"It seemed wonderful at first," he continued, not noticing my fallen face. "But maybe it is time to come to terms with reality. You are a blind-deaf girl. Maybe that's all you'll ever be."

That was the darkest day of my black life. I cried all that night, unwilling to believe that my Teacher, so poignant in his winged words of hope, had turned his back on the light.

And that night was the blackest of any I had been through. All that night I repeated three words, words my Teacher had given me.

Hope…

Faith…

Perseverance…

On and on, again and again I repeated them, through the darkness, clinging to the last thread of light, my last link to the outer world, the last of the light my Teacher had given me.

I felt betrayed. How could he do that to me? Just walk away from all we had dreamed of? From everything we had worked so hard on? Years and years of hard work and heart-wrenching progress, just to throw it all away?

I sat up, wiping my tears. If Teacher thought I couldn't type fast enough, I would show him. I'd prove to him once and for all that I could do anything a normal person could do – except see and hear and talk, of course.

Carefully getting out of bed, I groped for my stick and made my way to the desk, where my typewriter was. Maybe I couldn't time my words per minute, but at least I could practice. If I couldn't sleep, I might as well do something useful at least.

Months passed in this manner. After classes, I would go straight into my room and practice typing. If Teacher asked me any questions, I typed them out. If I had any questions, I typed them out. Gradually, I stopped using signs to communicate, and instead, communicated only through the Braille typewriter. My typing rate increased. 25 words…27 words…29 words…30 words…

I was getting so close, and yet, the hallmark of 34 seemed to elude me. No matter how long I practiced, I could never reach that goal. It was so…elusive.

31 words…32 words…

Finally, as spring turned warmer and days grew longer, the day dawned bright with me dancing around squealing excitedly.

"Teacher!" I actually cried, not knowing how the words sounded while leaving my mouth. "I did it! 34 words!"

For once, he didn't seem so cool and composed, the reservation he kept about me since Christmas. As a matter of fact, I sensed his laughter. I felt my face split into a wide grin. I'd done it! I'd reached my goal! And I'd shown Teacher what a fool he'd been to lose faith in me. And I told him that.

"Teacher, you are very foolish," I signed reproachfully. "Don't you know that I can do anything once you give me the time? How could you give up so easily, when I haven't yet?"

I sensed his expression going very somber.

"Sakura," he said, "have you ever heard of reverse psychology?"

I nodded, confused.

"You still don't understand, do you?"

I shook my head, wondering where he was going.

I sensed his laughter.

"Tell me," he said, "had I not given up on you, would you have been so motivated to type faster?"

I frowned.

"Of course I would!" I replied, furrowing my brow. "I was trying so hard, and you knew it!"

"But it wasn't enough, was it?" my Teacher asked. "No, in order to truly be motivated, it had to be a serious matter. I never lost faith in you, Sakura. I only said that so you would truly put your heart and soul into your typing."

My mouth dropped in indignation.

"What?" I asked huffily. "You mean, you weren't going to give up on me? You never thought I failed you?"

"Sakura," his words seemed very serious, and I could discern this even without hearing, "I would never give up on you. And you can never fail me. Not when you've already done so much."

It wasn't fair, how he could make me feel so ashamed in one minute, and then so elated and proud the next. It wasn't fair, the power his words had over me. It wasn't fair, I thought crossly. Nothing in life was.

"Tell me something," my Teacher said, "how could you so easily believe that I had given up on you? Have you so little faith in me?"

I covered my face with my hands, trying to think. But it had all seemed so real! His words, they were sharp and edged with reason, and his disappointment had been evident – how could he dare to toy with my feelings like that?

"Never do that again," I signed firmly. "It was cruel and you never scared me more in my life. Promise me you'll never give up on me, no matter what."

His answer was immediate.

"I promise."

-

After mastering the skill of typing, my marks began to climb steadily upward. My essays were complete, well-worded, and I could feel my spirits rising as I typed away madly on my essay during the exam. I handed it in proudly, with one minute left in the exam, feeling elated as I left the room, handing in a complete essay. My heart curled around itself in anticipation. This was my last chance. If a completed essay could not earn me a pass, then nothing could.

My Teacher assured me that I needn't worry, but I could feel the tension in his fingers, in the air. All around me, everything was suddenly more anxious. Often, I paced around heedlessly, just waiting for the exam results to come out. Never had I so eagerly anticipated the results…as much as I dreaded them.

But then, lo and behold, the fruits of our labour ripened clearly and beautifully, as Teacher signed onto my arm that I indeed, had passed.

If we had celebrated failure, then what was our response to success? I was dancing in joy, and to my surprise, he was too. Yes, cool, calm, collected Teacher was actually dancing as madly as I was!

"I'm so proud of you, Sakura!" he said to me, and I could feel the joy in his motions. "You've made me so proud!"

And before I knew it, he had chastely kissed my forehead, and I felt myself turn warm, as blood rushed to my face.

It didn't mean anything…I recited slowly in my mind. He was just so happy…

But something had changed. I could feel it. It must have reflected in my blank, empty face, because Mother took me aside that day I returned from university, and we sat together in her room.

It had been a long while since I had even talked to Mother. Had I remembered what it was like to see, I would have described the scene. I could describe the warmth of the room, the soft feel of the cottony bedsheets beneath my fingers, but as for the look on Mother's face, I would never know.

"How do you feel about your teacher, Sakura?" she began cautiously.

I was startled by her question. "What do you mean?"

A pause. "How do you feel when you're around your teacher?"

I was totally unprepared for her question. "Well…I like him a lot, Mother. I feel very…safe when I'm with him."

I could sense Mother nodding gravely. "Go on."

I blushed as I continued. "And…I trust him. With my life. Over Christmas, he told me he was giving up on me and – it tore my world apart. I didn't know how I managed."

"Yes, he told me about that," Mother signed. "I was worried about how that would affect you."

"I'm fine, Mother. I really am," I assured her. "Is there anything else you want to talk to me about?"

"Yes," she said, taking me by surprise. Her questions had been very strange, I found.

"Your father and I have a very strange past," she said, startling me again. "I was a student in university, and he was a young professor. That was how we met. And now, I think I see history repeating itself."

I felt my stomach churn. "What do you mean?"

"Oh Sakura," came her response. "I'm your mother. You can try hide your feelings from the world, but I know how you feel when it comes to your teacher."

I swallowed. "How do you know?" I asked.

I could sense her smile. "I can see it in your eyes. They may be blind, but they are still the windows to your soul. You really love your teacher, don't you?"

I froze. She read me so well, almost as well as my Teacher did.

"To tell the truth," I began hesitantly, "I don't know. I love him as a teacher and as a friend. He is my mentor, my guide, my path to the light. I can't describe the way I feel about him – I trust him beyond anything, he is my God."

Another pause. I wondered what Mother was thinking.

"Sakura, maybe I should have talked about this earlier," she said, and I sensed a great weariness about her. "But you are a young woman now, and I knew that sooner or later, being in such close relation with your teacher, it was bound to happen."

I was confused by Mother's reaction.

"All I want you to know is," Mother continued, "that Syaoran is a good man. You couldn't have chosen better. I can tell he is very fond of you."

I blushed.

"And if you're worried about your father's reaction, or mine, then don't be." She paused. "We both support this completely."

-

The years turned, quicker than ever. On my twenty-sixth birthday, celebrations were somewhat subdued, for I was still in my third year of university. I had failed the second year once before, and was redoing the third for the second time.

"It takes as long as it will," my Teacher said calmly, and I continued working at my very slow pace.

Meanwhile, something was wrong with Tomoyo. I could feel it. The distance between Tomoyo and I was growing rapidly, and I didn't know why. I could sense a tension in the air, between Mother and Tomoyo, and a reservation about my Teacher as far as Tomoyo was concerned.

Then finally, it came. The day I would have dreaded above all, had I ever believed it was coming. The day that very nearly put an end to all my dreams.

I woke up to find a letter by my pillow. I struggled to a sitting position and ran my fingers over the smooth surface of the paper. It was a letter in Braille. Obviously it was for me.

Dearest Sakura, I read.

The time has come when I can no longer stay in your home. Circumstances beyond my control make it impossible and improper for me to remain. By the time you read this, I will be back home in Hong Kong.

Don't cry, Sakura. I know this is cruel, and it will hurt, but you have been strong countless times before, and I have no doubt you will continue to do so. Please don't throw away all your successes. Please don't let the darkness consume you. Please keep walking toward the light. You owe me this, if nothing else.

Remember Sakura: you will always be my miracle.

With love,

Teacher

I froze. It couldn't be true. It just couldn't. Teacher couldn't leave me. He just couldn't.

This was some cruel joke.

Yes…a joke.

A bloody unfunny one, but a joke.

I reached for my seeing stick, and stumbled down the stairs, into the dining room, where I could sense Mother and Father.

"Where's Teacher?" I demanded.

There was no answer.

"Where's Teacher!" I demanded again, feeling my face heat up.

Why weren't they answering? It was obvious this was a joke. Maybe Mother and Father didn't know about it. I held out the letter with a trembling hand.

"Who wrote this?" I asked.

It was as though the air had stopped moving. I felt footsteps approaching, and felt Mother's touch on my arm.

"Your teacher did," she signed to me.

I shook my head furiously. "Tell me the truth!" If I could scream in sign language, that was what I was doing.

"I am," Mother signed. "Sakura…he left."

I dropped the letter. Stumbling backward, I shook my head, signing madly.

"No. You're lying! He can't be gone!"

And before anyone could expect it, I had screamed at the top of my lungs, whether intelligible or garbled, I screamed. Screamed for my Teacher, for my light. Screamed for the return of all my dreams.

But it was too late.

He had left.

Tear poured down my sightless eyes, down my cheeks, to the floor. He was gone. Teacher was gone. Oh God, it was all falling apart, everything. Without my Teacher, I was nothing. Without him, I had no light.

Without him, my world was black.

And for the first time in years, the demons returned. Gone were Teacher's hopes and ideals. Gone were the last of the rays of light he wove with his words. Instead, I was trapped in my own blackness; a blackness so vivid, not even Teacher's weapons of hope, faith and perseverance could penetrate it.

I was trapped.

Again

And this time, there was no way out.

-

How long I stayed in my black pit of despair, I don't remember. Whether it was a day, or a week, or a month, it made no difference to me. All I remembered were the demons of darkness, whispering words to me.

…born for blackness…

You will never escape the void.

No matter how hard you try, you will never escape it…

I had tried to fight them, tried oh so hard. Crouching, I tried to repeat what Teacher had taught me.

And so I repeated his words, on and on, trying to brave this like any other demonic nights.

Hope…

Faith…

Perseverance…

…

Hope…

Faith…

Perseverance…

…

…

Hope!

Faith!

Perseverance!

…

But in the end, all I had was my own suffocating blackness.

Teacher, where are you?

-

It took me awhile to break out of my pit of despair. At length, I had the courage to read the letter again. My hand stopped at the last phrase.

Remember Sakura: you will always be my miracle…

My heart skipped a beat. What would he think of me, lying low, prey to my own darkness?

Why would he care? A voice at the back of my head demanded. He left you alone, Sakura, he gave up on you, he broke his promise…

No, I shook my head, trying to shut it out.

He lied to you, it continued. You owe him nothing.

"No!" I screamed. Teacher cared about me. I was sure he did. And he must have left under some compulsion. He couldn't have willingly left.

Not without saying goodbye.

Tears welled up in my eyes again, and I brushed them away.

He believes in me…

Hope welled in my chest.

He has faith in me…

I could feel the demons receding, their long claws of terror and anguish fading back into the darkness.

He hasn't given up…

I got up unsteadily to my feet.

Then neither will I.

-

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D i s c l a i m e r:

I own no characters of Card Captor Sakura. All characters mentioned are property of CLAMP. I reap no profits and intend no copyright infringement. So there.

-

A / N :

Well, this has taken me simply ages to write! It's very obviously based on the Hindi movie, Black, which in my opinion, is greater than this trifling thing I've written up here. I hope it does some justice to the movie at least. I took the liberty of altering the plot slightly, but overall, it's been the most intense thing I've ever written.

The next parts won't be from Sakura's POV, but the plot does progress. Mind, they won't be as lengthy as the one above, hopefully, which seems to be the longest single chapter I've ever written.

So please review! This is a really challenging piece to write, and I need as much support as I can get! So click the purply-blue button and the next part will come sooner!

- Rimjhim