Malea– The Light of Feeling

Malea– The Light of Feeling

A Novel by Faramarz Parsa

Dedication

For my beloved granddaughter, Malea—

May your light always find new colors.

— Faramarz Parsa

Foreword

In a world filled with noise and haste,

we often forget the quiet language of kindness —

to listen, to notice, to truly see one another.

This story is not about superheroes,

nor miracles sent from the sky.

It is about a girl

who learned to see with her heart.

Malea sought the hidden colors

within the pain, silence, and hope of people.

She did not come to save anyone,

but to remind us how to feel alive again.

The colors within human beings

are the silent words of hope.

And if one day you grow weary,

just close your eyes

and listen to the light that shines inside you.

Faramarz Parsa

San Diego – Autumn 2025

Chapter One – A Light in Sarah’s Eyes

The smell of soap and alcohol filled the air.

The soft echo of nurses’ carts rolled through the hospital hallway.

Malea straightened her white coat, tied back her hair, and stepped into the children’s ward.

It was her first day as a volunteer medical student.

Beside bed number seven sat a little girl with tired eyes and no hair from chemotherapy.

Her name was Sarah. She hadn’t spoken all morning.

Malea smiled.

“Hey, little artist, I heard you love drawing.”

Sarah didn’t answer, just clutched a blue pencil tightly in her hand.

Malea met her eyes — and saw something that made her heart stop.

A faint blue light shimmered around Sarah, soft and trembling, like a breath of color.

Malea blinked. The light didn’t fade.

“You love blue, don’t you?”

Sarah looked up. “How did you know?”

Malea smiled gently.

“Because blue is the color of the sea — and the sea never gets tired of its waves.”

Sarah whispered, “But I’m tired.”

Malea replied, “Even the sea rests sometimes… so it can rise stronger tomorrow.”

Sarah smiled faintly and began to draw.

Malea felt the air around her brighten.

When she left the hospital that night, the city lights reflected in her eyes — and there, she thought, she saw the same soft blue glowing back.

Chapter Two – The Color Without a Name

The morning sun poured through the tall glass windows of the physiology hall.

The professor’s voice echoed:

“Cells live through electricity. Each neural pulse releases light. Perhaps one day, we’ll be able to see it.”

Malea froze.

Light inside cells? Could that explain what she saw?

She wrote in her notebook: Light of feeling — could it be real?

That evening at UCLA Medical Center, a new patient arrived — an elderly man named Arash, originally from Iran.

He refused to speak with anyone.

Malea entered quietly.

He sat on his bed, holding a small agate ring. His gaze was far away.

“Good evening, Mr. Arash. I’m Malea , a medical student. Mind if I sit with you for a bit?”

He muttered, “Ask the nurse for whatever you need. I don’t talk.”

Malea said nothing. But when she looked at him, she saw a glow —

a color between gold and gray.

It wasn’t pain, nor hope. It was memory.

“You know,” she whispered, “gold is my favorite color. It reminds me of sunrise.”

The man slowly turned toward her.

“Sunrise… I haven’t seen one in years.”

“Maybe it’s still waiting for you,” she said. “I can feel it — the light around you is golden.”

He smiled faintly. “You’re strange, girl. No one says things like that unless they see something others don’t.”

Malea stayed silent.

When she left, Dr. Harris stopped her.

“Malea,how did you get him to talk? He hasn’t spoken in weeks.”

She smiled. “Sometimes… just listening is enough.”

That night she wrote:

“Colors live not in bodies, but in unspoken hearts.”

Chapter Three – The Voice of Light

Morning mist covered the palm-lined campus.

Malea sat on the science building steps, sipping coffee, her notebook open:

“Do colors speak the language of cells?”

Her friend Liam appeared behind her, playful as always.

“Still talking to your secret notebook?”

“Maybe,” she smiled. “Or maybe it talks to me.”

When she told him about the colors, Liam didn’t laugh.

He said softly, “Maybe your brain perceives light beyond normal range — synesthetic vision, or maybe something we haven’t discovered yet.”

Malea whispered, “I don’t want magic, Liam. I want understanding.”

He nodded. “Then we’ll study it together — you’ll feel, I’ll measure. Deal?”

“Deal.”

That night, in her dream, a voice surrounded by mist whispered:

“Colors speak only to those who listen.”

The next day in the lab, they tested her brainwaves under shifting lights.

Red, blue, green — and then a new color appeared, silver-violet, beyond known spectrums.

Liam gasped. “Malea… the scanner can’t detect this wavelength. You’re seeing something beyond vision.”

Malea smiled. “Maybe it’s the language of life itself.”

And for the first time, she felt the universe whisper back — not in words, but in light.

Chapter Four – The Colors of Third Street

Evening in Santa Monica. The sky was painted orange and pink.

Malea walked past the shops, watching people hurry home.

At the corner, an old woman sat with a small plant pot on her lap.

A faint green shimmer rose from the soil, fading and returning like a heartbeat.

Malea knelt beside her.

“What a beautiful plant.”

“It’s not a plant,” the woman said softly. “It’s what’s left of my heart. My husband and I planted it ten years ago.”

Malea touched the pot. The soil was cold.

Moments later, the green glow brightened.

The old woman gasped.

“It moved!”

“It was waiting,” Malea said. “It just needed someone to notice.”

That night, Malea sat on a bench, watching strangers’ colors flow through the street — yellow warmth of laughter, pink tenderness, and soft blue peace.

She realized her gift’s purpose was simple:

“To remind the world of its colors.”

Back in her dorm room, she placed a small plant by the window.

A green light rose from its leaves, soft as a smile.

Chapter Five – The Project of Life Colors

On the hospital bulletin board, Malea pinned a paper:

“Project: Colors of Life – Every Color, a Feeling; Every Feeling, a Healing.”

“If you’re a patient or staff member who needs a few minutes of peace, come to Room 23.

No medicine. No diagnosis. Just listening.”

At first, people laughed. Then one came — a nurse who said:

“I don’t feel joy anymore, even when patients recover.”

Malea sat with her quietly. The gray around her began to fade, replaced by a gentle violet hue.

When the nurse smiled, Malea whispered,

“Your color came back.”

Soon, Room 23 became a small sanctuary.

Patients, nurses, even janitors came just to sit and breathe.

Malea listened, sometimes held a hand, and wrote in her journal:

“Blue for hope, green for patience, violet for self-return, gold for forgiveness.”

Paintings filled the walls — each one drawn by those who had found their color again.

The staff began calling it “The Room of Life Colors.”

And when the sunlight touched those painted walls, it seemed as if the hospital itself was healing.

Chapter Six – The Moment of Reflection

One night, standing before the mirror,

Malea saw a glow she had never seen before —

a soft silver light with a breath of rose,

pulsing gently like a heartbeat made of light.

She realized this was her own color —

the color of understanding, love, and quiet strength.

She smiled and wrote in her notebook:

“The light of feeling lives in all of us —

it only waits for our eyes to open.”

Chapter Seven – The Mother’s Words

When Malea told her mother about what she saw,

the kitchen fell silent.

Her mother set down her cup and smiled softly.

“Maybe the world finally found someone

who can see what mothers feel every day.”

In that moment, Malea understood —

her gift was not about difference,

but about remembering what connects us all.

Final Chapter – The Light That Remains

Months passed. Room 23 had become a place of quiet miracles.

People entered heavy with silence, and left carrying color.

Malea walked among the paintings: Sarah’s blue sea, the nurse’s violet dawn, Arash’s golden memory.

Liam entered with a smile.

“Did you hear? The university registered your project — they call it Therapy Through Inner Colors.”

She laughed softly. “It isn’t mine, Liam. It belongs to everyone who remembered how to see again.”

He pointed to a small painting — a golden dot within soft hues.

“And this one?”

“My own,” she said. “A reminder that light isn’t for seeing, it’s for feeling.”

Children’s laughter echoed from the hallway.

Golden sunlight streamed through the window, mixing with the painted colors.

Malea closed her eyes and whispered:

“Colors are the silent language of humanity.

All it takes is someone willing to listen.”

She wrote the final line in her notebook:

“I am no hero. I just saw, heard, and learned to love.”

When she left the room, the light stayed behind —

not the light of power,

but the light of kindness.

And in the hospital record, someone later wrote:

“Room 23 – Status: stable, bright, alive.”

Author’s Note

There are emotions that hide deep inside us —

quiet, unseen, waiting for someone to notice.

When ignored for too long, they turn into loneliness,

then into silence, and sometimes into illness.

This story was born from that truth —

from the wish to remind people that even the quietest hearts

carry colors waiting to be seen.

We live in an age of noise and brightness,

yet so many live in shadow.

If Malea’s light can touch even one of those shadows,

then this book has fulfilled its purpose.

Faramarz Parsa, Grandfather

With warm regards

San Diego – Autumn 2025

Closing Quote

The light of feeling lives in all of us.

We only need to open our eyes — and our hearts — to see it.

خلاصهٌ فارسی

در جهانی که احساس را از یاد برده،

دختری جوان در مسیر پزشکی نوری پنهان را می‌یابد — رنگ‌های احساس انسان.

مالئا – روشنایی احساس

داستانی است درخشان دربارهٔ همدلی، شفا، و نیروی آرام مهربانی.

از نگاه او درمی‌یابیم که در هر دلی، رنگی نهفته است —

در انتظار آن‌که دوباره دیده شود، حس شود، و دوست داشته شود.