Chapter 4: Mass Server

The chapel bell pulled me from sleep at 5 a.m. I’d barely closed my eyes. All night, I’d lain awake replaying Chi-Chi’s fingers on my collarbone, her breath near my ear, the question she’d asked that I couldn’t answer.

What do you want, Amara?

I still didn’t know. But my body knew something. It had been humming since Sunday morning, a low current I couldn’t switch off.

I slipped into the white surplice—starched, stiff, smelling of bleach and incense from last week’s mass. Father Michael had assigned me server duty. “New girls bring fresh energy,” he’d said. I think he just wanted someone who wouldn’t gossip during the Credo.

The chapel was empty when I arrived. Just me and the candles. I lit them one by one, my fingers trembling. The flame caught the wick, and I whispered the prayer Mama taught me: Light of the world, guide my steps.

Then I heard the door creak.

Chi-Chi walked in. She wore a simple blue dress, no makeup, her hair loose around her shoulders. She didn’t look at the altar. She looked at me.

She sat in the front row. Center. Unblinking.

Mass began. Father Michael droned the opening prayer. I swung the thurible, sending incense spiraling toward the ceiling. The smoke curled between us like a question mark.

But I felt her eyes.

Not on my face. On my hands. On my neck. On the way my fingers gripped the chalice when I lifted it for the offertory. On the pulse I knew was visible in my throat. On the slight tremble in my knees beneath the surplice.