Finding Us (Christian Interracial Romance)

Where Truth Becomes Love

Cecilia

This evening, the sky is painted in orange and rose when we sit down for dinner in the dining room. The air smells faintly of rosemary and grilled salmon—Jeremy cooked tonight and he's so proud of it. 

"So," he starts between bites. "I've got a random question." 

"Oh gosh," I grin. "Let's hear it." 

He leans back. "Astrology. I know people use it for fun—horoscopes, personality stuff. But lately I'v noticed it everywhere. Even in music videos, brand names, social media posts, and clothing advertisements. Why do Christians say it's wrong? I mean, stars are created by God, right?" 

I set the bottle of  hot sauce down gently and nod. "Good question." 

He gives that little half-smile, like he knows he just opened the door to a sermon. 

"Okay," I begin, laughing. "Here's the thing. God did make the stars—he placed them there for beauty and signs for His glory. But astrology... that's when people start to use creation to define or predict why only the Creator controls. It's not just about stars or constellations—it's about trying to find guidance apart from God. And that's where it crosses the line." 

Jeremy nods slowly. "So, it's like—depending on creation instead of the One who made it." 

"Exactly," I smile softly. "It's subtle, but that's how deception works. Anything that tries to replace the Holy Spirit as our guide—even something that looks innocent—become an idol. People say 'I'm a Virgo, that's why I'm moody' or 'I'm a Pisces, that's why I'm overly emotional and sensitive,' but God already told us who we are. We're made new in Christ, not in the stars." 

He stares  at me for a moment, then exhales. "You have a way of making truth sound like poetry." 

I laugh. "I just talk the way God teaches me." 

********** 

After dinner, we take our bottles of fruit infused water—mines strawberry lemon, his blueberry mint— and sink into the cushions, talking and laughing about everything from movies to experiencing puberty— him becoming a stunning guy that made all the girls swoon over his deep dimples while my chest and hips became fuller, and me getting my belly button pierced in high school. 

Then he asks it. The question that makes my heart bang against my ribs.

"Cecilia... can I ask you something?" 

"Of course." 

He swallows, nervous. "Are you... a virgin?" 

I blink.

It's not a question that surprises me—it's the tenderness behind it. 

"And then," he presses on quietly, "Hannah told me that rumor. That lie about you and the casting director. And I was stupid to believe it." 

There's regret in his eyes—the kind that still hurts him. 

"Four years. It took me five months to forgive you for that since you returned," I remind him softly. "After everything." 

"I know." His voice cracks a little. "But I never stopped feeling guilty." 

I reach for his hand. 

"Jeremy," I speak gently. "I know the truth. And you know the truth. That's what matters the most." 

He swallows. "So... can I ask again? Not out of curiosity or jealousy. Just... honesty." 

I hold his gaze.