It was Sunday. Church day.
I slipped into a white dress with plain sandals. The mirror caught me in a lie—pure, untouched, someone I wasn't.
The color clung to me like borrowed skin. I felt watched, though the room was empty. A shadow flickered at the edge of my vision, gone when I blinked.
"You look so innocent," Gia teased, circling me with her sly grin. Then, with a little twist of her mouth, she added, "But not your personality."
I nearly threw the pillow at her, but she darted away, laughter echoing down the hall. Typical. She always ran before the storm broke.
When I stepped outside, Dad was already waiting, vibrant as ever.
"Let's go," he said. I nodded, sliding my hand into Grandma's, following as if I had no choice but to trail behind.
A rustle behind a fence caught my attention, a shadow moving faster than it should have. My stomach tightened.
Nothing there. Surely.
The church loomed high and white against the sky, its spire piercing the afternoon light like a silent sentinel. Bells rang in solemn tones, each toll vibrating through the air and settling deep in my chest, as if counting the moments I wasn't ready to surrender.
Inside, the space was packed—parishioners murmuring greetings, children fidgeting on polished wooden pews, the shuffle of shoes echoing against the cold stone floor.
I waved when classmates noticed me, though the smile I offered was thin, an effort that barely reached my eyes.
The air hung heavy with incense, a thick, clinging sweetness that tickled my nose and settled in my lungs, making each breath feel both sacred and suffocating.
The candles flickered along the altars, their flames too bright, casting shadows that stretched long and sharp across the walls, bending corners into unfamiliar angles.
The light seemed accusatory, probing, as if it were trying to cleanse me of something I wasn't ready to let go—memories, fears, and secrets I kept buried beneath layers of carefully rehearsed calm.
The polished stone underfoot felt cold, indifferent to the warmth of the crowd, and every echo of footsteps, every whispered prayer, seemed magnified, as though the church itself were listening.
I could feel the weight of the stained glass above me, the sunlight breaking into fractured colors, painting fleeting shapes across the pews and the people around me.
Each burst of colored light hit my skin like a gentle accusation, reminding me that I didn't belong entirely in this world, this ritual, this expectation of faith performed in public.
I adjusted the strap of my dress, feeling the fabric cling too neatly, too politely, to my body.
The smell of wax and flowers, the cool stone, the murmured hymns—they were meant to soothe, to comfort, to connect one to something greater. But for me, they only heightened the sense that I was an intruder, a spectator in a play where every bow and kneel was scripted and I was still learning my lines.
Grandma's hand slipped from mine when she spotted her friends. She pulled me forward, proud and eager.
"This is my granddaughter, Amara," she announced, her voice alight. The women's gazes swept over me; one even touched my cheek with soft fingers.
I bowed politely, but the touch lingered like ash. My pulse fluttered oddly. That sense of being watched returned, subtle but insistent.
When the priest spoke, I tried to focus, to catch some meaning in the cadence of his voice, but the words slid past me like water over stone.
Ritual.
Hymns.
Prayers.
Each syllable seemed heavy with purpose, but my mind refused to anchor itself, wandering into corners of thought I couldn't name.
My body moved on its own—bowed when it should, stood when it must—obedience rehearsed, automatic. The gestures felt hollow, like wearing someone else's skin.
I felt the holy water bead against my forehead, cold and slick, sliding down my temples. It was supposed to cleanse, to purify, but instead it left only a strange chill, a reminder that this world, this practice, was not my own.
The incense curled in the air, sweet and suffocating, wrapping the room in its fragrant haze. Candles flickered along the altar, casting shadows that leapt and twisted across the walls. I wanted to believe in their light, the warmth of their promise, but it remained distant, intangible.
My thoughts floated elsewhere—on the rain outside, on the whispered warnings Mina had once murmured, on the sensation that something older and sharper was watching from beyond the sanctuary.
I felt the brush of a shadow near the pew behind me. I flinched but dared not turn.
I forced my eyes down, hands folded in prayer I didn't feel, and told myself that perhaps belief could come later, when the words finally found their way in. But for now, the ritual was a performance, and I... was just a spectator in my own life.
When mass ended, the crowd spilled outside—a tide of laughter, handshakes, and murmured greetings. Dad thrived in it, shaking hands, smiling, adored by everyone. Mom stood apart, her silence its own fortress. Gia mirrored Dad's brightness; I mirrored Mom's distance.
The sun was too hot, the noise too loud, and I felt like an imposter in my white dress.
"Dad," I said, "I'll stop by Mina's house. I'll be back after lunch."
"Before one," he replied easily.
Gia perked up. "Can I go with Ate—"
"No." Dad's tone sharpened. "You're studying. Finals are next week. And those love letters I found—"
"I already warned her," I cut in before Gia could shrink beneath the weight of his words. The tension hung thick, unspoken but heavy, like the heat pressing against my skin.
Gia's shoulders slumped, but her eyes found mine, a mix of disappointment and defiance. I gave her a small, reassuring nod, the only shield I could offer against Dad's scrutiny.
"Good," Dad said, his voice softening slightly, though the edge never fully left it. "I just don't want either of you distracted from your responsibilities. You know how important this week is."
"I know," I muttered, adjusting the strap of my dress. A flicker in the corner of my vision reminded me: the feeling of being followed didn't vanish.
Gia mumbled something under her breath, a half-hearted protest I ignored. She wasn't going anywhere today, but I knew the spark of rebellion would linger until she found a new target.
I exhaled and turned toward the gate, feeling the sun baking my skin, the noise of the crowd pressing in from all sides.
Each step toward freedom—toward Mina's house—felt like peeling off a layer I hadn't wanted to wear in the first place. My heart jerked as a shadow moved against a passing tree, gone when I blinked.
Dad's gaze followed me, steady and watchful. "Be careful," he called after me.
"I will," I replied, though my mind was already drifting, imagining the quiet streets beyond the chaos, a place where I could finally breathe.
Gia lingered behind, a small smile tugging at her lips, but I didn't look back. I didn't need to. I knew she'd follow the rules today... mostly.