Anton

The sun was setting towards dawn, casting shades of gold and soft pink across the sky, when Mom, as always, woke me up before the holy holidays.

"Darling, you must be there. This is your procession, your soul must be pure before God," she said, and you, like an obedient daughter, found yourself at the ancient church, where the air was filled with the scent of incense and wax.

Mom didn't give you a choice. She forced you to pick up a tiny, ribbon-adorned Easter basket, which you were supposed to carry as a symbol of your "faith."

Faith... for you, it was an empty phrase, just an echo of your mother's teachings. You're an atheist to the core. Since childhood, you haven't believed a single word of the holy scriptures.

Among the line of people bowing their heads in prayer, you saw him. He was young, very young, but divinely beautiful. Velvety hair fell across his forehead when he bowed his head. He was so beautiful that you forgot about everything: about your mother, about the basket, about why you were here.

As he passed by, reciting a prayer and blessing everyone with the holiday, his gaze accidentally met yours. It wasn't just a glance; it was the collision of two worlds. You saw something in his eyes that made your heart stop. Perhaps he sensed your skepticism, your detachment, but there was no judgment in his gaze. There was only a slight, barely perceptible smile, as if he knew some secret you hadn't yet grasped.

Coming closer, he sprinkled you with sacred water. A little more than the others. As if on purpose.

"You're so good, but you don't believe in God. It's such a shame. Know that the Lord sees everything and protects you, my dear. Christ is risen." His smile... it made my heart beat faster. His kind, merciful eyes looked at you until the very end.

This wasn't your last meeting. You were sure of it.