born to die

16

BORN TO DIE ── charlie mayhew.

The church is quiet when I step inside. Early morning light streams through the stained glass, casting soft colors across the empty pews. I've never been here this early, especially on a Sunday, and there's a stillness in the air, like the space is holding its breath.

I take a seat near the front, resting my hands on the polished wood of the pew in front of me. My heart is racing a little— I don't even know why I came so early. Maybe it's because after the food drive and that late-night conversation, I've been thinking about this place, about him, more than I should.

Footsteps echo from the hall behind me, and I glance over my shoulder just as Father Charlie enters. His eyes widen slightly when he sees me, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before it melts into a soft smile.

"You're here early," he says, his voice warm.

I shift slightly, feeling nervous. "I guess I just... wanted some quiet time," I admit, looking back toward the altar, tracing the patterns of light filtering in from the stained glass.

He nods, coming closer and taking a seat a few rows back from me, a comfortable distance that somehow feels respectful. "I understand. Mornings here can be... peaceful."

We sit in silence for a moment, just the two of us in the empty church, and I can feel his gaze on me. I'm not sure if he's watching me out of curiosity or something else. I look down at my hands, trying to steady my breath.

"It's nice," I say finally, "seeing this place without all the noise and movement."

"It is," he replies, his tone gentle. "Sometimes I come in early, too, just to sit here and think." There's a pause, and then he adds, almost as if he's letting me in on a secret, "It reminds me of why I'm here. Why any of us are here."

There's something in his voice that stirs me, something quiet but full of meaning. It's like he's speaking to a part of me I've tried to ignore for a while. I swallow, nodding as I let his words sink in.

"I think I needed this," I say softly, almost to myself. "Just... a quiet place to think."

He leans forward slightly, his gaze sincere. "You can always find that here. You're always welcome, no matter the time."

I look up at him, meeting his gaze, and for a moment, there's a warmth there that feels like it's wrapping around me. I know he means it— there's no expectation, no judgment. Just the quiet understanding that maybe we're both searching for something here.

"Thank you," I murmur, and he nods, a small smile tugging at his lips.

We fall into a conversation, talking about the sort of things that feel safe in the early morning— Time seems to slip away as we talk, the sunlight shifting across the polished wood floors. I feel comfortable, like I could stay here forever.