Chapter 1: The First Call

My phone buzzed—a notification from the Blind Assistance App. A little girl’s voice, soft but urgent, crackled through: “Can you help me check the expiration date on my medicine?”

I squinted at the label—and my stomach dropped. “Don’t take it,” I blurted. “Someone’s trying to hurt you.”

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I sat at my kitchen table, coffee gone cold, when the SightLine app finally lit up.

Two months ago, I’d signed up as a volunteer for SightLine, a blind assistance app. After registering, nothing happened—not a single request. But that’s how it goes. Most apps like this have more volunteers than users, so it’s normal to never get a call.

When the notification finally pinged, I felt a jolt of excitement.

I tapped to answer. On my screen appeared a girl who couldn’t be more than seventeen or eighteen. She had that kind of face—soft, open, the sort that makes you want to protect her.

If she could open her eyes, I bet her gaze would feel like a gentle spring breeze. But she couldn’t.

She was wrapped in a faded plaid blanket in a small, warmly lit bedroom. Fairy lights glowed behind her, and a ceramic mug sat on her nightstand—probably cocoa. The window AC hummed in the background, and the sharp scent of menthol wafted through my phone speakers. It reminded me of the Vicks my grandma used to smear on my chest when I was sick.

“Hi, can you help me check the expiration date on a medicine bottle?”

Her gentle voice snapped me back. I replied, “Of course, no problem.”

She held up a bottle to the camera. I focused on the label—it was fluoxetine. Surprised, I hesitated, then asked quietly, “Is this for depression?”

As soon as I said it, I winced inside. Too blunt.

She tilted her head, dark hair falling across her cheek. “Yeah.”

She just nodded slightly.

I let it go and checked the bottle carefully.

“It’s fine, it doesn’t expire for a long time.”

“Thank you. There’s another bottle.”

She fumbled and handed over a second medicine bottle.

I squinted and leaned in again.

But as I read the label, my heart dropped.

“Do you know what this medicine is?”

She hesitated. “It should be olanzapine.”

I’d dated a psychologist before. In severe depression, fluoxetine and olanzapine can be prescribed together.

But—

“Listen, this isn’t olanzapine. It’s phenytoin sodium.”

My voice turned urgent. Phenytoin sodium is for epilepsy. It can’t be mixed with fluoxetine.

“Taking these two together can cause poisoning. In severe cases, it could be life-threatening.”

There was a long silence on the video.

“Really can’t take them together?”

“Don’t take it. Someone’s trying to hurt you.”

I heard her breath hitch, then nothing—just the faint hum of her AC and the distant clink of her mug. Her fingers whitened on the bottle. I waited, the silence stretching, realizing my words might have just shattered her world.