Wind (a novel)

Crossroads

Stepping out of the café, the cool night air washed over me like a wave.

The city lights twinkled like scattered diamonds against the inky sky, a harsh contrast to the warm intimacy we'd shared inside. The weight of unspoken words hung heavy in the air, like a giant question mark pulsating between us.

"I should find a hotel," I mumbled, pulling out my phone. "Or an Airbnb rental or something..."

Paulo remained silent for a moment, his brow furrowed in thought. "Hotels here can be... expensive," he finally said, his voice hesitant.

My finger hovered over the mobile booking app. This wasn't just about affordability. An unseen force held me back, a fear of blurring the lines between friendship and something more. Paulo, a young pastor, his life dedicated to his ministry, needed to remain above reproach.

Sensing my apprehension, Paulo sighed. "Look," he said, his voice low and serious. "I have a spare room in my apartment. It's late, and finding a safe place at this hour wouldn't be easy."

I knew he was right. Yet, the idea of staying at his place, nestled within the walls that housed his faith, sent a tremor of anxiety through me. My own past, shadowed by wrong choices made, felt like a dark stain that could tarnish the sanctity of his life.

"Are you sure?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

He met my gaze with a determined glint. "Absolutely. You're my guest, Annie. And you're my friend. Nothing more and nothing to worry about."

His words held an unspoken promise, a delicate line we both seemed determined to respect. With a shaky nod, I surrendered to the offer.

θ θ θ

Paulo's apartment was a testament to his simple life. Several versions of the Bible, books on theology, and inspirational books lined his shelves. A worn leather armchair sat invitingly by the window and a simple steel crucifix hung discreetly on the main wall. It was a space that breathed serenity, unlike the storm that raged within me.

As Paulo offered me a spare toothbrush and towel, our fingers brushed, sending a jolt through me that left us both speechless for a moment. The tension crackled in the air, an electric current defying the physical distance between us.

"I... I should get some rest," I stammered, breaking the awkward silence.

Paulo cleared his throat. "Of course. The spare room is the door on the left of the bathroom."

With a mumbled thanks, I escaped to the small bedroom. Sleep, however, remained elusive, my mind tangled with memories of our teenage years and the bittersweet ache of a love cut short. We were young teenagers then, stealing moments between choir practice and youth group meetings, our connection a fragile flame flickering under the watchful eyes of the church community.

Then came his calling, the path leading him towards ministry, a path that demanded his complete devotion. Our teenage romance was deemed an unwelcome distraction, a sacrifice laid at the altar for a higher purpose. I was surprised, but the unspoken goodbye, the ache of a love unfulfilled, lingered even after all these years.

Now, here we were, caught in a web of unspoken desires and the weight of our past. This rekindled connection wasn't just about friendship. The spark in the café, the warmth of his touch, spoke of something deeper, a yearning that threatened to consume us both.

I tossed and turned on the bed, the sound of Paulo's movements in the adjacent room filtering through the thin wall, a constant reminder of his presence. Just as exhaustion began to lull me into a fitful sleep, a loud, insistent knocking on the front door shattered the silence.