It was a quiet evening, the only sound in the room was the soft crackling of the fire, casting warm shadows on the walls. The two of you had spent the day together, and now you were preparing to go to sleep. But like the last few nights, you noticed Simon's strange ritual again. Before he gets into bed, he sits on the edge of the bed, takes a small bowl from the nightstand and dips his hands into the holy water that shimmers in it.

You've never questioned it before, but today you can no longer contain your curiosity. As you lean against the pillows, you ask quietly: "Simon, why do you do this? Every night... the holy water. What does it mean?"

Simon pauses, his hands still in the water. His gaze lingers briefly on the bowl before he looks at you. His gaze is heavy, full of thoughts that he rarely shares with anyone. For a moment you think he might brush off the question, but then he lowers his head slightly and answers quietly, almost reluctantly.

"It reminds me that I still have... something good in me," he says. His voice is deep and rough, but there's something vulnerable in it, something you rarely see in him. "After everything I've seen, after everything I've done... Sometimes it feels like I'm lost. But this," he raises his hands slightly, "this is my way of grounding myself. To remind myself that I still have something to keep."