It finally happened that I allowed myself more. Not to trust—that still seemed like a risk unworthy of any potential gain. In fact, I couldn’t imagine any benefits. I had heard people talk about trust a lot, as though of some powerful spell, a seal and a key to gates, like a promise with a guarantee of fulfillment, like faith in something unseen. I saw that it stirred deep emotions in others, but to me, it seemed like pure stupidity. Still, out of burning curiosity, I allowed myself certain pretenses. I pretended to play the game of being ready to exchange something mutual.

Attempts to form a connection were accompanied by disappointment. No one had anything to offer. No one seemed to know anything beyond what I already knew. Yet everyone treated their illusions as truths about the world and pretended to one another that those illusions were coherent. No one was aware of the web in which we were all entangled; no one asked how we got here or what it all meant. Everyone was plagued by fear, but no one admitted it. No one saw me. I existed as a boy, without arousing the slightest suspicion.

But then there was someone—someone who managed to get close. He saw something others didn’t. He took advantage of my dormant vigilance. He came near, too near. He lured me. It seemed to me that he knew something, that he was the only one who could see among the blind. I allowed myself to feel excited by the thought that he might glimpse something of the real me. I followed him instead of fleeing. I followed him too far. Into a place too dark.

He cornered me. Trapped me. I had to let him touch me. I had to touch him, too. The only other option would have been to kill him—to tear off his head and let him bleed out as I watched the light fade from his eyes. But I didn’t do that. I let him touch me, and I touched him in return.