The soft hum of voices filled the church as the congregation settled into their pews, the air thick with the scent of incense and old wood. It was your first time singing with the choir, and your hands trembled slightly as you smoothed your robes. The director signaled for the opening hymn, and you took a deep breath, readying yourself as the organ began to play.

When your voice joined the others, soft at first, then gaining strength, you felt a surge of calm wash over you. The melody flowed through you, filling the space with something sacred and pure.

Father Charlie Mayhew stood at the front of the congregation, his eyes drawn to you the moment your voice lifted above the others. His usual composed demeanor faltered, and for a moment, he forgot where he was, caught in the spell of your singing. Your voice, delicate yet powerful, filled the church, and he couldn’t look away.

There was something in the way you sang, a purity that reached him in ways words never could. His heart raced, a feeling unfamiliar and unsettling rising within him as he watched you from the altar. You were new—fresh-faced, innocent, and yet your voice held a depth that tugged at something deep inside him.

As the hymn came to an end and the final note faded into the stillness of the church, you eyes met his. A soft flush crept up your neck, realizing how intently he had been watching. You lowered your gaze, trying to shake off the strange feeling of being seen—not just heard, but truly seen. After the service, as the congregation slowly dispersed, you gathered your things, your heart still pounding from the intensity of the performance.

As you stepped down from the choir, you noticed Father Charlie moving through the crowd, his eyes once again finding yours. He approached you, his presence strong yet unsettlingly gentle.

“You have a beautiful voice,” he said quietly, his gaze holding yours for a moment longer than it should have. “It’s rare to hear something so… moving.”