The first time I noticed him, i thought God sent him to test me. He stood beside the altar, dressed in white, hands folded like a saint who had never sinned, with his fellows altar servers.
The sunlight from the stained-glass windows fell perfectly across his face, made him look unreal.
Everyone was listening to Father Johnson's homily and I wasn't.
My eyes keep staring at him. Again. Again. Again. And again.
I didn't know his name and his age. I only knew that every Sunday, when I came to church, I saw him. He always sit there with his fellow altar servers.
It started as curiosity. Then fascination. Then something heavier. Something i never prayed for.
He never looked at me. Not once. But I could bet with myself that he did notice me, knowing that I always there watching him.
And I was right.
He had notice me but choose not to care. Long before I notice him. And then, it was too late for me to walk away.
Some loves don't save you and some loves ruin you quietly, patiently until you no longer remember who you were before them.
This was the beginning of mine.