Sunday mornings in the seminary always carried a different kind of silence.
It was not the sleepy quiet of early dawn or the disciplined stillness of study hours. This silence felt heavier, sacred almost, as if the old stone chapel itself was holding its breath before the first hymn began.
Michael stood near the altar with the other servers, adjusting the sleeves of his white alb. The faint scent of incense still lingered in the air from the early preparations. Sunlight streamed through the tall stained-glass windows, casting colored reflections across the polished floor.
He tried to focus on the tasks he had been given.
Hold the Missal. Ring the bells at the right moment. Move carefully.
But the chapel was already filling, and the soft murmurs of seminarians settling into the pews made his thoughts wander.
Then the choir began to gather.
Michael didn't mean to look.
But somehow his eyes drifted toward the choir loft.
Lucas was there.
He stood among the other choir members, his posture relaxed, his dark choir robe hanging loosely over his shoulders. He seemed completely at ease, exchanging a quiet word with another seminarian before the organ began to play.
Michael quickly looked away.
The entrance hymn started.
The choir's voices rose together, filling the chapel with sound that echoed softly against the high ceilings.
Then Lucas's voice appeared among them.
Michael noticed it almost immediately.
It was deeper than the others, warm and steady, carrying through the hymn with a calm strength that made it hard to ignore.
Michael glanced up again before he could stop himself.
Lucas was focused on the music sheet in his hands, singing with quiet confidence. The light from the stained glass brushed faint colors across his face as he sang.
For a moment, Michael forgot where he was.
The priest's voice broke his concentration.
"Michael."
He blinked quickly and stepped forward, realizing he had been standing still too long.
One of the other altar servers beside him nudged his arm slightly.
Michael cleared his throat and forced himself to focus on the mass.
But as the service continued, he found his attention drifting again and again toward the choir.
Each time their eyes met—even if only briefly—Michael felt strangely caught, like he had been seen doing something he shouldn't.
After mass, the seminary corridors quickly filled with movement.
Seminarians poured out of the chapel, their voices filling the hallway with light conversations and laughter as they headed toward the refectory.
Michael stepped into the corridor with the others, still adjusting the sleeves of his robe.
"Nice performance today," Samuel said beside him with a grin.
Michael frowned slightly. "Performance?"
"You nearly forgot to move during the offertory."
Michael rolled his eyes. "I didn't."
Samuel laughed. "You were staring at the choir half the time."
Michael turned his head sharply. "I was not."
Samuel's grin widened.
"Sure."
Before Michael could respond, the crowd in the corridor suddenly shifted.
Someone pushed forward from behind, trying to squeeze through the hallway.
Michael felt the sudden pressure at his back.
He lost his balance.
For a brief second, the floor tilted beneath him.
Then a hand caught him.
Strong fingers wrapped around his waist, steadying him before he could fall.
Michael looked up.
Lucas.
Lucas was standing close, one hand still holding him firmly as the crowd moved around them.
"You okay?" Lucas asked.
For a moment Michael didn't answer.
He hadn't realized how close they were standing.
Lucas's expression was calm, slightly concerned, his dark eyes studying Michael's face.
Michael nodded quickly.
"Yes."
Lucas released him almost immediately as the crowd continued moving.
"Careful," he said lightly.
Michael stepped aside, trying to regain his composure.
But as they walked toward the dining hall, he couldn't ignore the strange warmth lingering where Lucas's hand had been.
Later that evening, the seminary had grown quiet again.
Study hours had ended, and most of the students had already returned to their rooms.
Michael leaned against the open window in his dormitory, enjoying the cool night air.
Samuel was already half asleep on his bed.
The courtyard below lay in soft shadows
Then Michael heard something.
A voice.
Soft singing carried gently through the night.
Michael leaned forward slightly, trying to see.
Lucas was sitting alone on one of the courtyard benches.
A small book rested in his hands as he quietly practiced the same hymn the choir had sung that morning.
The melody drifted upward through the still air.
Michael watched without meaning to.
Lucas's voice sounded different at night—softer, almost thoughtful.
As if he were singing only for himself.
Then Lucas suddenly looked up.
Their eyes met across the quiet courtyard.
Michael froze.
For a second neither of them moved.
Then Michael slowly stepped back from the window and pulled the curtain slightly closed.
But the melody continued drifting through the night.
And long after it faded, Michael found himself still listening.