there is no before.

I sit down on the old wooden seat, wrapping my coat tighter around myself as the icy breeze kisses my frostbitten cheeks and tousles my hair. The snow falls hard and fast, obscuring almost everything in sight. I smile.

Who am I?

I don’t want to know.

Where am I?

I don’t care.

I just sit there, enjoying the silence and the snow, until I drift into a peaceful sleep. 

I am woken up by the sound of wheels, driving along the frost-covered road. The snow has stopped and I can make out a hazy shape in the distance. It seems like a bus, its headlights on, and it is approaching me fast. I rub my frozen hands together and walk towards it. Maybe it can take me somewhere. Somewhere I can start again.

I step into the bus and smile at the driver, an old man with striking blue eyes. He smiles back and holds out his hand. “Two dollars for a ticket,” he says. I grimace, realising that I didn’t think about the bus fare before deciding to get on the bus. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t really have money,” I tell him, hoping he’ll understand. 

“It’s all good, miss. You new around ‘ere?” I nod and he grins at me. 

“Why would a pretty thing like you want to come visit ol’ Faydale?” he asks, genuinely curious. 

“Oh, just wanted a new beginning,” I reply. 

“There’s nothin’ much around here,“ he says, amused.

I shrug and make my way to the back of the bus. It’s empty except for a girl, staring out the window. She looks sad, and I wonder what she’s thinking about. Maybe she lost a family member or got rejected by her dream university. Maybe she didn’t find the book she wanted to read or the dress she wanted to buy. All these maybes consume my mind as I sit behind her and the bus starts. 

“You do know it’s rude to stare, right?” The girl turns around and faces me. She’s older than I expected, probably in her early 20s. 

I stammer, “I- I didn’t realise I was staring. Sorry.”

She tucks her hair behind her ear and gives me a small smile. “It’s fine. People stare all the time. They think I don’t notice, but I do, and it hurts, y’know?”

For the first time, I realise she’s blind. It’s almost imperceptible, but now I see the way she seems to stare somewhere above my right shoulder as she speaks to me. 

Suddenly, without thinking, I remark, “You don’t look blind.”

 She laughs, high and clear. “My ophthalmologist is great. These are ocular implants,” she points to her eyes. They are a piercing green, and so realistic that most people can’t tell. 

I slide out of my seat and go sit next to her. “So what’s your story? Where are you from? What’s it like, being blind?” I ask, genuinely curious.

She frowns. “Are you a reporter or something?”

I shake my head and then realise she can’t see me. “Nope, just intrigued,” I reply.

She laughs again. “I wasn’t born blind. Actually, I had most of my vision until I was around 12. I was born with this rare disease, retinitis pigmentosa, which caused my retinas to degenerate over time. I first lost my side vision when I was 13, which gave me something called tunnel vision. I had no peripheral sight, and I could only see straight ahead. Slowly, my vision began getting worse, and my doctors were worried. It’s very unusual for RP to lead to complete blindness, but it happened to me, around four years ago, just after my 16th birthday.” 

I bow my head in sympathy. “I can’t imagine how hard that was for you,” I’m so angry for this girl I don’t even know. It’s surprising, this feeling, so different from the bland serenity I felt before as I sat on the park bench.

She exhales and turns back to the window. “I think it was worse for my parents because they had to sacrifice so much for me. My mother had to work three jobs just so she could keep paying for my eye surgeries and appointments. We had to move states because I was being bullied so much, and my parents left all they knew so that I would have a better life.” She sighs and looks at me. “That’s it for my story. What about you, stranger? What’s your story?”

I smile at her, though she can’t see me, and reply, “I don’t remember.”

Confusion clouds her features. “What do you mean?” she asks. 

I repeat, “I don’t remember, and I don’t want to.”

She laughs nervously. She thinks I’m bluffing. “Ok then, I guess I’ll catch you around. This is my stop.”

I stand up and let her get out. She walks to the front of the bus, stops, and turns to face me. “Well, mystery woman, do you have a name?”

I shrug. “I don’t know.”

She shakes her head. “Wow.” And she walks out. I realise I never asked for her name, but it’s too late. I sit back down and the bus starts again.

“Miss?” the driver calls a few minutes later. I look at him. “This is the last stop,” he says. I get up and smile at him as I walk out the door. “Thank you,” I say. 

I can’t remember the last time I ate, and I’m starving. I walk to a small corner shop, its illuminated sign immediately catching my attention. Rosette Cafe. A bell rings as I open the door and step into the cozy warmth of the cafe. I look around, seeing colourful lanterns and small, vintage booths packed with people. 

Suddenly, a hand taps my shoulder. Startled, I look back to see a short middle-aged lady wearing an apron and smiling ear to ear. “Hello there, darling. Haven’t seen you around here before,” she seems kind, and her voice is oddly musical. “I’m Linda, and I run the Rosette. What would you like today?” She takes my hand and leads me to the counter. 

I really want to eat something, but I don’t have anything to pay with. “I don’t want anything today, thanks,” I say, inwardly wincing. 

“Nonsense,” Linda announces. “You can have anything you want, on the house.” I give in and ask for a latte and two jam scones. “I’ll be right over with your food,” she grins and it’s hard not to smile back. 

A few minutes later, Linda returns with a mug of steaming hot coffee and fresh jam scones. "Anything else?" she inquires.

"Actually, yes. Is there anywhere I can stay for the night?" I ask.

She replies, "There's an inn across the road."

"I don't have any money," I tell her.

She smiles kindly. "Well, you can always work here. We do need an extra set of hands. If you do, you get to stay with the rest of us above the Rosette. You also get free scones," she responded.

"I might just take you up on that offer," I smile.

"Good on you," she shakes my hand, "And what's your name?"

I think. I could tell her I don't know my name... or I could make one up. I could be a new person. I could start again.

I choose the latter and say, "I'm Megan."

"Welcome to the Rosette, Megan." With that, Linda goes to attend to another customer.

That night, lying on my new bed, I stare at the ceiling and think about my day.

I met a girl today. She is blind, and yet she's seen more of the world than most people.

I felt anger today, pure, raw, real anger. I felt happiness and sadness. I felt real.

Who am I?

I'm Megan.

Where am I?

I'm at the Rosette Cafe.

Who was I before?

There is no before.