The stained glass bathed the church in color, but all I saw was him. Father Ezra stood at the pulpit, his athletic frame glowing in the light. Slicked-back brown hair, piercing green eyes—he was impossible to ignore. I sat in the second pew, my heart pounding, wrapped in a dark red dress that clung to me like devotion. It was Sunday, and nothing felt more sacred than him. My eyes traced the contours of his face, from his...

In the quiet solitude of the library, the only sound was the rhythmic clacking of my heels echoing through the aisles. It was just another mundane Thursday afternoon, the kind that blended into the pages of the books that surrounded me. As the sun cast a warm glow through the dusty windows, I couldn't help but feel a hint of longing for the excitement that seemed to be written into every page but was missing from my own l...