Tracy...
I've always written in the back of my Bible.
Not in the actual holy pages — that would feel wrong. But the soft blank ones they leave at the back, maybe for prayers or names of loved ones.
Mine are full of ramblings.
Dates. Verses. Questions.
And lately, thoughts I shouldn't have.
Tonight, I wrote:
> "She sat by the window again today. I wonder if she always chooses light without realizing it. Her face softens when she's not aware. I never knew someone could speak so loudly without speaking at all."
Then I scratched it out.
Not because it was wrong — but because it was true.
---
At school, I tried not to look at her. I really did.
But she was always there.
In the hallway with her books tucked close to her chest.
At lunch, quietly saying no to whatever wasn't halal.
In the library, head bowed over a book, fingers brushing the spine like it mattered how things were treated.
Sometimes I wondered if she knew how careful she was with everything.
Everyone but herself.
---
Peter asked me again today if I'd changed my mind about being a nun.
He said it like a joke.
Like I'd fallen, or wandered too far off the path.
I laughed.
But my voice cracked halfway through.
---
Later that night, I wrote again.
> "If loving someone is wrong, why does it feel more honest than silence?"
> "She didn't say much today. Just smiled when our hands touched by mistake. I wish she didn't smile like that. I wish I didn't notice it every single time."
I don't know if this is sin or sadness or just something growing that shouldn't have been watered.
All I know is, it's there.
And no one sees it but me.
---