Candles trailed along the walls of a small chapel behind the rose garden, casting undulating shadows on the stone surface. The room was rarely used except for the nuns' private evening prayers, so when Maria took an old iron key from her robe pocket and led Ren inside, it felt like opening a secret world—silent, fragrant with balsam incense, and a thin golden glow illuminating the marble altar.
Ren followed behind, his steps slow, as if he were afraid of tarnishing the sacred aura. Maria bowed to the statue of the Goddess of Light on the altar, then turned, smiling shyly. "I… want to pray together," she whispered. "For your courage." Her cheeks flushed briefly, as if the word "together" carried more weight than it sounded.
They knelt on the cushions in front of the altar. Ren folded his hands, mimicking Maria's movements. The candlelight danced in the girl's honey-brown hair, casting warmth across her bare face. When Maria closed her eyes and began her prayer, her voice was soft, like silk gliding across skin.
Ren didn't close his eyes immediately; he watched the way Maria's cheeks lifted as she inhaled, the delicate line of her jaw quivering as she recited the verse. His fingers hesitated, then moved slowly—touching the back of Maria's hand, lacing their fingertips together.
Maria was a little surprised, her eyes still closed, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she held her breath halfway, then continued praying in a slightly trembling voice. Ren pressed his palm a little tighter, channeling warmth into the gaps between Maria's fingers. He felt his pulse beating fast; so did the beat on Maria's wrist, real under the thin skin.
The prayer was over. Maria opened her eyes, turned her head. Their hands were still intertwined. "Thank you… for accompanying me," she said almost in a whisper, perhaps afraid that the echo of her voice would break the tranquility of the sacred space. Ren smiled back, then—slowly so as not to startle her—raised their hands to his chest, letting them rest on Maria's rapidly beating heart. "May I?" he asked softly, as if asking permission to feel the beat.
Maria swallowed, nodding. Her fingers clasped back, as if afraid to let go. Time slowed; the beat hit Ren's palm, becoming a double beat in her own chest. He leaned forward slightly, bringing his face close to her shoulder—just enough to let his breath brush the line of her neck.
"I want you to know," he whispered, "that your prayers… make me feel worthy."
Maria looked up, eyes wide with a moist sheen. "You are worthy," she stuttered. "The goddess never calls a soul in vain…"
Ren moved his hand, now lightly touching Maria's shoulder—the hem of her white robe shifted, revealing a bit of skin at her collarbone. The touch was so light, but Maria blinked, her cheeks growing red. She didn't resist; instead, her eyelids half-lidded, her lips parted thinly as if she were letting out a breath that had not escaped.
Ren turned his body slightly, now facing her fully. "There is a prayer I have not said," he murmured.
Maria said softly, "What prayer?"
A prayer for courage…and a prayer that this hand would be allowed to stay a little longer, Ren wanted to say. But he only stared deep, letting the meaning hang in the air. Maria nodded slightly—she understood, somehow. As Ren gently rubbed her shoulder, she closed her eyes and let her heavy head rest on his shoulder.
Silence fell, but not an empty silence—it was filled with heartbeats, breathing, and the scent of balsam incense mixed with the scent of rose soap that clung to Maria's hair. Ren felt the side of Maria's face touch his neck; she shivered, perhaps because of the cold stone floor against the warmth of Ren's body—or because of some other feeling she had only half-consciously acknowledged.
They were silent for a few minutes, connected only by their clasped hands and their touching shoulders. Then Maria took a deep breath, straightening her back. Her gaze was a mixture of shame and courage. "Can… you read this verse for me?" She reached for the thin book on the altar, opening it to the page of the protection prayer. Her hands trembled as she handed it to Ren.
Ren took it, his index finger brushing the back of Maria's hand unintentionally. He read the verse slowly, his voice flat but full of warmth, each word dripping like honey in the silent room. Meanwhile, Maria closed her eyes once more, but this time her lips moved soundlessly. She repeated Ren's words in her heart, but the soft sensation on the skin of her shoulder—the touch of Ren's fingers that remained perched—made it difficult for her to concentrate. It felt like warm prayer beads rolling along her spine.
Finished reading, Ren closed the book. "Thank you," he whispered, and returned the book. Maria lowered her head, tucking the book on the altar, but did not let go of Ren's hand. Their eyes met—there was something in the flickering candlelight: gratitude, awe, and also questions. Maria bit her lip, then slowly stood up. Ren stood up, still intertwining his fingers.
"I need to get new candles," he said, pointing to the corner shelf. He moved, but Ren didn't let go, so they walked close together, shoulders touching. Maria lifted two new candles, but as she was about to stick one in place, one fell. Reflexively, Ren caught it—his body bent over Maria, their faces very close as he lifted the candle.
Maria's eyes dropped to Ren's lips, then quickly looked up, her face flushed. The candles were in place, but she was still holding Ren's hand, as if she had forgotten how to let go.
"This is… strange, isn't it?" she said anxiously. "I'm a priest, but—"
"That's not an obstacle to feeling," Ren interrupted softly. He let go of one hand, but the fingers of the other remained joined. "Prayer is love too, isn't it?" He quoted a simple teaching that Maria often read to the village children. The words brought tears to Maria's eyes.
They stood in front of the altar, the new candles lit, the light swaying on their faces. Maria took a deep breath, then leaned forward—not much, just the distance of a breath—but enough to make their heartbeats mingle. Ren raised his free hand, gently touching the ends of Maria's hair at her temple, brushing aside the fine strands that covered her eyes.
Maria closed her eyes for a moment, holding herself back. Then she smiled nervously, lowered her hand, finally—slowly—releasing her grip. "I… have to prepare for morning mass," she whispered. But before she turned, she stood on her tiptoes, kissing the back of Ren's hand briefly, a gesture of reverse devotion. Her cheeks burned as she quickly got up, hurriedly arranging her robes, leaving the room.
Ren stood frozen, feeling the warm imprint of Maria's lips on his skin. He closed his eyes for a moment, storing the sensation away in his deepest memory—a precious suitcase ready to be opened when the dark night tested his patience.
The night air enveloped the palace. In the quiet corridor, Maria leaned against the wall, pressing her hand to her chest. She tried to calm her breathing, but every flash of her mind replayed the hold of his hand, the touch on her shoulder, Ren's murmured prayer… her chest pounded harder. She looked up at the stained glass window depicting the Goddess of Light. "Forgive me," she whispered—but her lips curled into a faint smile, as if grateful for a sweet little sin.
In the dormitory room, Ren lit a short candle, writing in a notebook:
Maria: phase of tenderness. Hand and shoulder accepted. Reaction: agree, ashamed, but not reject. The fire of faith + guilt = the most fragile concrete.
he closed the book, kissed the back of his own hand—Maria's kiss—before extinguishing the flame.
In her tiny bed, Maria fell asleep. But her dream was not about the altar or prayer. She stood in the same temple, the candles dimmed, but Ren stood behind her, his toes almost touching her heels. As the prayer was chanted, his warm hands circled her waist, pulling her slowly until her back was pressed against his hard chest. Ren's prayer voice turned into a roar in her ears, while his lips moved closer to her nape… Maria woke up suddenly, cheeks burning, heart racing.
She covered her face with her hands, but couldn't erase the sweet vibrations that remained.
"Tomorrow… I have to see him again."