She learned his schedule by accident.

At least, that’s what she told herself.

Every Sunday, he entered the church a few minutes before Mass began—always the same way, through the side door near the sacristy. She never looked directly at it anymore, because the moment he appeared, her body gave her away.

Her fingers tightened around her bag. Her shoulders drew in. Her face warmed, betraying her before her thoughts could catch up.

Emmanuel never noticed.

He wore black, as he always did, moving quietly down the aisle with the other sakristans dressed in purple. Tall, neat, glasses catching the light when he tilted his head to listen to instructions. He smiled at his friends, laughed softly at something one of them said, entirely at ease.

She watched from her seat, pretending not to.

Each time he entered, her heart stuttered. She shifted in her pew, crossed and uncrossed her legs, pressed her lips together to stop herself from smiling like an idiot. She prayed—not for anything specific, just for composure.

It never worked.

He passed by her row once, close enough that she could see the small crease at the corner of his smile, the way his sleeves were always rolled just right. She held her breath.

Emmanuel walked on, unaware.

During Mass, she knew exactly where he stood without looking. Her eyes traced the familiar black in her peripheral vision. When he bowed his head, she did too—though hers was heavier, crowded with thoughts that felt inappropriate in a place like this.

She wondered if anyone else could tell.

If the warmth in her face was obvious. If the way her foot tapped nervously gave her away. If the way her gaze softened every time he moved was something others could see.

But Emmanuel remained the same.

Focused. Kind. Smiling when spoken to. Entirely unaware that someone in the pews timed her breathing to his footsteps.

When Mass ended, he laughed with his friends, adjusting the altar cloth one last time before disappearing into the sacristy. She stayed seated a moment longer, letting the feeling settle, pressing a cool palm to her cheek.

She told herself it was harmless.

Just a quiet fondness. Just admiration.

But as she stood to leave, she realized something that made her chest ache gently:

Every Sunday, she didn’t just attend Mass.

She waited for him.