The last lights of the chapel had been turned off, and the maintenance man left, not noticing that I was still there. But it was alright: I welcomed the darkness that enveloped me as I sat there, for it was only in the darkness that I could let the tears fall freely.

Why, Lord? There were never any ready answers to that one.

 Why me? Why not me? I had always been a mind-over-heart kind of person, and it was just about time that my heart started screaming for some attention.

Why him? Ah, that was an easy one for my mind to answer. He was my confidante. He had seen me at my best and at my worst. He was always there to cheer me up, to make me laugh, to be my shoulder to cry on. How could I not fall for him?

Why now? And now for the messy part. Why now? Because falling in love while you’re still attached is the stuff telenovelas are made of. That’s why I was here, crying my eyes out, thinking that I still loved my boyfriend but I loved him too (if not, I loved him more than I loved my boyfriend), all to the soundtrack of Paalam Na. That’s why.

            I happened to look around the darkened chapel, then I saw him. He knelt a few pews ahead of me, which was unusual because I had gotten used to his figure behind me.

            We had been like this for the past few weeks, kneeling on two different pews, lost in our own thoughts, despite knowing that there was nothing more that we both wanted than to sit together, fingers intertwined, never letting go.

            But we couldn’t. Not now, and we didn’t know if we could ever. So we had to contend ourselves with the knowledge that we were there, kneeling together but not together, imploring Him for the same thing, but not quite.

            A fresh stream of tears threatened to come down my cheeks, when I suddenly heard a noise coming from behind me. It sounded like a moan. I turned around and saw no one behind me. I faced front again, squeezing my eyes shut, when I heard the noise again. I turned around, nothing there. No one was there except the two of us.

            Feeling a chill up my spine, I mustered up enough courage to get up from my pew and walk over a few pews ahead. He was right there, kneeling, close enough for me to touch him, take him into my arms, and never let go. Instead, I sat beside him, keeping him at arms length. He turned to me and asked, “What’s wrong?” I whispered, “I heard something behind me and I got scared.” That was when he sniffled and I realized: the sound was coming from him. He was crying. We both had been.

            He sat down beside me. “There’s no one here,” he said, “except you and me.” I nodded, “But I’m still a little scared.” That’s when he looked at me, a gaze that felt like it lasted for an eternity, but couldn’t actually have been more than five seconds. And in that gaze, I knew what he was asking, and I knew what my answer would be. My traitorous heart said yes.

            I still couldn’t figure out how that sound could have come from behind me, but maybe it was God’s way of forcing us together, of telling us that we could seek solace and safety from one another. Maybe it was God’s blessing, and maybe it wasn’t. But all I knew was I was here, he was here, and there was no turning back.

            And so, hesitantly, he put his arm around my shoulder. Just as hesitantly, I rested my head against his chest. We fit. Just like I thought we would.

            Forbidden as it was, we sat there, his arm around my shoulder, my head against his chest, and we wished that it would never end.