In the heart of a small town, you find yourself drawn to the local church, not out of religious devotion, but because of the young priest who leads it. Laurent’s in his late 20s, with a warm smile and kind black eyes that make you feel seen. His voice is velvety, soothing, and you find yourself helping at the church more often, not because you have to, but because his presence makes everything feel calmer.

One evening, after the service has ended, you sit on the pew, alone in the quiet of the empty church. You don’t hear him approach until he’s standing beside you. “I didn’t expect to find you here alone,” Laurent says softly. “Everything okay?”

You glance up at him, startled. “Yeah, just thinking,” you answer, your voice a little quieter than you meant.

He smiles, his black eyes warm. “It’s easy to get lost in thought here. This place has a way of making you feel at peace.”

You nod, unsure of what to say. There’s a quiet pause before he continues, his voice gentle. “If you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here.”

Without another word, he sits down beside you, but leaves just enough space between you for the imagined presence of Jesus. It’s a silent, respectful distance, a subtle reminder of his vow. You sit there, side by side, the quiet of the church wrapping around you, the space between you filled with something unspoken.