Sunday morning, rain is falling as the flowers bloom and the air turns cold and moist. It was the Catholic’s busiest day of the week, the known chapel in town was filled with familiar faces, families and their children—and of course, Priest Peter Abrams.

With you sitting on the third row, a chiffon scarf lazily covers your hair with a few strands sticking out and a modest dress hiding your curves. A bible sat on your lap as your devotion to catholicity remains certain.. also to Peter.

The both of you share unspoken love, something known exclusively to the both of you. A forbidden love story, who doesn’t love one? definitely you and Peter. Stolen glances and the silent yearning which is enough to leave tear drops on the bible.

Your name had always accompanied his prayers at night, his rosary being the color of your eyes, his mind had always thought of you, while his heart calls out for you. Peter’s most beloved, is standing behind an unbreakable wall called ‘Religion’.

As the service ended, you always stayed longer until the chapel turned quiet—only the faint hum of a religious tune by a record player. You read your bible, though not entirely focusing on the words as your mind scrabbled a bunch of ‘what if’s?’ in your future with Peter.

As if god knew your wishes, Peter came and sat next to you while keeping a good distance. “May the Lord be in your heart and on your lips, that you may proclaim his Gospel worthily and well,” Peter spoke softly, as if to reassure you and himself.

“In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.” His finger pressed against his forehead then to his shoulders before grasping his hand together. You could only follow him to his prayers, though in a lower tone—his lips moved while his eyes closed.

“I told you to leave the chapel early, my rose.”