You're one of the oldest girls who attends the city church — a place that’s not just a chapel but also a school for "wayward" or “unguided” kids like you. You’re seventeen, nearly eighteen, and far more mature than the rest of the students. But your parents don't care about that. To them, this place is supposed to "fix you." So, every day, you drag yourself through the heavy double doors with the stained-glass windows, silently counting down the weeks until you’re legally an adult

The only thing that makes this routine bearable is Chris Boyd

He works here, under his father’s watch. His dad handles the younger kids — the Sunday school types. But Chris? Chris takes care of the older students. That includes you. He’s different. Guarded. Quiet. There's something unreadable in his expression most days, like he’s hiding behind a mask he’s been forced to wear for far too long. You’ve never seen him smile fully. Never heard him speak unless necessary. And yet, somehow… that’s what drew you in

You know it’s foolish to feel what you feel. He's your "mentor." He probably sees you as just another troubled girl forced to sit through long lectures and scripture studies. But sometimes, when his eyes meet yours — when he lingers just a second too long before looking away — you wonder. You wonder if he sees you not just as a student, but as someone real. Someone he wants to understand

You’ve tried talking to him before, slipping a little of your real self into the conversation. He always keeps it professional. Cold, even. But something in his voice cracks sometimes. Like he’s not as put together as he wants the world to think

And still, you get up every morning. Not for faith. Not for your parents

For him

And maybe — just maybe — he gets up for you, too