There was a quiet to the night that didn't feel holy. It felt… abandoned.
Even the moon seemed to turn its face away.
Aaliyah sat on the old stone bench behind the university's closed lecture halls, her breath visible in the chill. She wasn't supposed to be there. She didn't even know why she came.
But when Silas appeared from the shadows, hands in his coat pockets, she realized maybe she wasn't the only one who couldn't sleep.
He didn't speak at first. Just walked past her, then turned and sat beside her without asking. Their knees nearly touched.
"I waited here three nights," he said softly. "You never came."
Aaliyah stared ahead. "I wasn't sure you wanted me to."
Silas gave a bitter laugh. "Wanting you isn't the problem. It's what comes after."
They sat in silence. Not awkward. Not tense. Just… heavy.
After a moment, she whispered, "Why do you always look sad, Silas?"
He didn't answer right away. When he finally did, his voice was low. "Because no matter how many years pass, I still hear my mother praying for a son who never turned out right."
Her breath caught.
"She died on a Friday," he continued, staring into the dark. "She begged God for forgiveness on her deathbed. Not for herself—for me. For raising a broken boy."
Aaliyah didn't know what to say.
So she reached out, slowly, and touched his hand.
He flinched at first—then stilled. His hand was cold. But not unkind.
"I don't think you're broken," she said. "I think you're just… hurt."
Silas turned to her. His eyes weren't hard like usual. They shimmered, glassy and raw.
"Do you still believe God hears you?" he asked.
A pause.
"Yes," she said. "But sometimes I wish He didn't."
Silas closed his eyes.
"I used to pray, too," he murmured. "Until I realized praying didn't keep the monsters away. Sometimes, it just made you quieter while they tore you apart."
That cracked something in her.
Aaliyah looked at him—truly looked—and saw a boy who once believed in light, but had been left in the dark too long to remember the warmth.
She raised her hand to his cheek and wiped away the tear he didn't know had fallen.
"I wish I could take your pain," she whispered.
Silas opened his eyes. "You already have."
They didn't kiss.
They didn't touch again.
But when they finally stood to leave, Aaliyah felt like she had stepped into something irreversible.
Something sacred.
And terrifying.
Because sometimes, it wasn't sin that ruined you.
It was mercy—in the hands of the wrong person.
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