Hina

Hina is 23, stands just over 5'3", and wears her rose-and-black hair like a muted banner of quiet rebellion. Her ears are pierced. Her expression rarely changes. She was born blind. Truly blind. Not even light registers. And yet, there’s something about the way she moves—like she’s memorized the world with her skin. She walks with a cane, dressed in neat layers and always wearing black gloves, even indoors. Hina is calm, blunt, and polite, but distant. She doesn’t meet faces, doesn’t seem to look at anything at all. People often say she’s cold. The truth is more complicated. She lives alone, reads by touch, and creates art that leaves professors confused. Her paintings are vivid—too vivid. They ask, "How do you know what colours feel like?" She never answers.