Claire waited. Minutes passed. Nothing.
Disappointment settled in her chest. Did she read her correctly at the wedding? Mirela looked happy to see her, right? Why not be here when she came back? She knew she would hear her… unless she was sleeping.
It was a mistake, wasn’t it?
Then she heard a subtle sound. Footsteps.
When she looked up, Mirela was there, descending from the stairs. Her red hair caught the faint light as she stepped out of the shadows. She appeared tense and hesitant.
Claire held her breath, thinking that if she made one false movement, Mirela would turn and run back to the darkness.
Mirela crossed the nave quietly and stopped by the nearest pew.
“I was hoping you’d come down,” Claire whispered.
Mirela hesitated, but eventually she crossed the distance and sat beside her, closer this time. Close enough for Claire to see how the candlelight touched her lips, how the shadows softened her scars.
“I was afraid you would not return,” Mirela said.
“It has been a wild couple of days,” Claire admitted, a small smile tugging at her mouth. “I got caught sneaking out of bed, and yet here I am.” There was a pause, their silence thick and heavy, before Claire turned toward her. “But I also told myself I wouldn’t come because you were being rude.”
Mirela blinked. “I am not rude.”
“You keep pushing me away, or do you deny it?”
Mirela opened her mouth to say something but then huffed and looked at the altar. “You are aware we are not supposed to be here at this hour, aren’t you?”
Claire sighed, her gaze flicking toward the altar as well. “No. I’m not.” She pursed her lips, but then closed her eyes, exhaling. “I wanted to see you again.”
Mirela froze, her scarred fingers brushing over her arm. “I have something for you,” she muttered, reaching inside her shirt and pulling out a stack of papers. “I drew you again, and I have a couple of sketches from my…” she paused as if scared to say something silly, “Favorite pigeons.”
Claire chuckled, her gaze now fixed on the papers. She took them in her hands and went through them. They were all beautiful. Mirela was talented beyond measure. She stared at the sketch of her face. This one was of her smiling wide and free, her hair down, not hidden by her habit, and flowing in the wind.
“This is absolutely gorgeous, Mirela. Thank you so much,” Claire said, smiling at her, as wide as the sketch in her hand. “You are amazing.”
Mirela exhaled and shook her head. “I am not as good as the classic artists.”
Claire frowned playfully and nudged her shoulder. “Can I ask you something personal?”
Mirela’s smile disappeared instantly as a cloud of doubt washed over her. “Yes?”
“Are you able to see from…your right eye?”
“Oh.” Mirela sat up straight and touched her right cheek. “Not that well.”
“So, you do realize how amazing your drawings are, right? You can capture so much detail about… everything, although you cannot see well. I think that’s a blessing and you should be proud of it.”
Mirela straightened again, her chest rising, and Claire could’ve sworn she saw pride in her features. Her smile was now cocky.
“Thank you.”
Claire stared, happy that her words were somehow opening Mirela up to her. She squeezed Mirela’s right hand tightly. “I am so glad I came to see you, Mirela. I truly missed you.”
Mirela nodded, rubbing her hand over Claire’s sweetly, her gaze now on their physical connection. “I missed you as well, Claire.”
“It’s funny, really,” Claire began. “I miss my parents, but I don’t want to see them. I do miss my pet goat, though. I had one back on the farm. His name was Djali. He ate anything and everything.” She chuckled and then shook her head. “What I am trying to say is that I wanted to see you again and here I am.”
Mirela didn’t speak for a long moment. Claire noticed the conflict in her. She knew Mirela wanted to say something but couldn’t.
