What if the saints of old walked among us today-would we honor their triumphs, or whisper about their secrets?
Zarinna knows the weight of hidden truths. Once devoted, now marked by choices she cannot undo, she carries shame like a shadow she cannot...
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ZARINNA'S lids slowly lifted, her gaze immediately captured by the man before her. He had pulled away just enough to leave a whisper of space between them, yet the air still seemed charged with the weight of what had just passed. Her breath, uneven and shallow, struggled to find its rhythm, and a strange mix of warmth and disorientation pooled low in her stomach. Words clawed at the edges of her mind, urgent and insistent, yet each time she tried to form a coherent sentence, it dissolved under the gravity of his presence.
He didn't speak at first, but his gaze—so piercing, so intent—spoke volumes. It was as if he were conveying every unspoken thought, every restraint and desire, every fragment of vulnerability that he could not voice aloud. Zarinna's eyes faltered, her gaze dropping as she drew a slow, shuddering breath, feeling the weight of the moment pressing into her very soul.
Finally, his voice broke the silence, low and gentle, edged with a humility that made her pulse flutter anew. "I... I'm sorry," he murmured, his eyes not leaving hers, laden with the weight of restraint and conviction. The apology carried more than regret—it held the tremor of his internal struggle, the quiet acknowledgment that his feelings, though honest, had burst forth impulsively.
"I'll tell the doctor you're awake," she managed, her voice trembling, brittle with emotion yet laced with careful composure. The words felt absurdly small in the face of what had just occurred, but they were the only bridge she could offer between them. At her announcement, a subtle, knowing smile touched his lips—quiet but laden with understanding and remorse.
She rose to her feet, legs trembling beneath her as if the very act of standing required more strength than she possessed. Every step she took felt amplified, as though the floor beneath her were vibrating with the memory of their fleeting closeness. Glancing over her shoulder, she caught sight of David once more. His head was bowed, gaze fixed on his hands, yet the tension in his posture betrayed the turmoil she knew mirrored her own.
Closing the door behind her, she locked it with deliberate, almost ritualistic care, exhaling a long, shuddering sigh that she didn't know she had been holding. Pressing her back against the solid wood, she let her body sag slightly as if it could absorb some of the emotional weight threatening to overwhelm her. Her mind raced, replaying every fleeting touch, every unspoken glance, every brush of intimacy. What had just happened?
"SO HOW ARE YOUR CLASSES?" Gina asked, taking another bite of the apple she held.
"Ahy," Zarinna groaned, "It's only Monday but I'm like so stressed already." She leaned her head on the table, exhaling heavily.
"Aw," Gina soothed her back, "I understand. You've been literally sleepless for five whole days last week."
Zarinna slowly lifted her head, nodding at Gina's words. It had been two days since David had been discharged, and the relief it brought her was tremendous. But as her mind replayed that night, her chest tightened, and her heart began to race. Oh my goodness... here we go again.
