Michaella, a gifted writer, finds herself haunted by the memories of a love that slipped through her fingers. As she pens down her heartache and cherished moments with Gabrielle, an architect whose charm and warmth once made her world brighter, she...
Sundays have always been my sanctuary. There's something serene about waking up early, the world still quiet and undisturbed. The first rays of sunlight filtered through my curtains, casting a warm glow that coaxed me awake gently. I lay there for a moment, savouring the stillness before I pushed back the covers and sat up. Today was the day, and I could feel the anticipation humming under my skin.
After slipping into my running gear, I laced up my shoes, and before I knew it, I was outside, breathing in the crisp morning air. The city was still asleep, save for a few early birds like myself, and I relished the solitude. My feet found a steady rhythm on the pavement as I let my thoughts drift. Today's announcement was huge, and though the nerves were there, excitement was the stronger emotion. It was one of those moments where the culmination of all my hard work was about to be laid bare for the world to see.
The run was invigorating, clearing my mind and filling me with energy for the day ahead. By the time I returned home, my skin was tingling from the cool air, and I felt fully awake. I took my time in the shower, letting the hot water work its magic on my muscles. It was only when I stepped out and caught my reflection in the mirror that the weight of the day ahead fully hit me.
I stared at myself, a mix of emotions swirling in my chest—pride, excitement, a hint of nervousness. But mostly, I felt ready. Today was the day I would share with the world a piece of my heart, my soul, my work.
By 9:30, I was dressed and ready, feeling calm and put together. My outfit was a simple yet elegant combination—grey-coloured trousers paired with a soft cashmere sweater, perfect for a Sunday. I grabbed my keys, slipped on my favourite burgundy pair of heels, and headed out.
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The drive to my parents' house was smooth, the streets still relatively quiet. When I pulled up in front of their house, I saw my mom waiting by the door, a warm smile lighting up her face as she saw me.
"Morning, sweetheart," she greeted me as I stepped out of the car, pulling me into a hug. There was something about the way she embraced me that made me feel like everything was going to be alright.
"Morning, Mom," I replied, smiling back. "Ready for church?"
"Always," she said, with a glimmer in her eyes.
We settled into the car, and as I drove us to church, we chatted lightly about family, the latest news, and our plans for the week. It was comforting, this ritual of ours. The way Sunday mass brought us together, gave us a moment of peace and reflection in the midst of our busy lives.
The church was bathed in the soft morning light as we arrived, the tall spires casting long shadows across the ground. Inside, the familiar scent of incense and old wood welcomed us, along with the soft murmur of other churchgoers settling in for the service. We found our usual spot, a pew near the front, where we could see the altar clearly.
