Discomfort gripped Lauren's heart like a cold, unyielding hand. She could not bring herself to lift her eyes toward the altar; instead, she kept her gaze fixed firmly on the polished floor, tracing the shadows cast by the soft morning light. She knew unforgiveness and hatred were sins, yet the very idea of surrendering fully felt impossible—especially with Zarinna nearby. The fact that she saw the woman again, here in a sanctuary, only sharpened the sting of her resentment. Lauren exhaled a silent, almost strangled groan as the words of worship floated through the air, carried by a voice she could not mistake. That voice—so praised by her churchmates back in Baguio City, so angelic and anointed—was also the voice of an adulterer. How dare she step onto this sacred altar, pretending to serve?

Lauren let out a weary sigh as Pastor Nestor began to close the service in prayer, thankful that the intoxicating voice had finally fallen silent.

But the prayer offered no solace. Her mind refused to settle; it churned restlessly with frustration and confusion. She had never understood why she disliked Zarinna so instinctively. Ever since their first meeting, something about her had triggered a deep-seated unease. Lauren resisted the thought of envy. She hadn't envied the woman, had she? She shook the idea away like dust from her sleeve. Perhaps it had always been discernment, the subtle whisper of the Holy Spirit guiding her heart. Perhaps the Spirit had warned her, long before the scandal, that Zarinna would stumble into sin—a sin so shameful it stained the air around her even now.

She did not presume herself blameless. Lauren knew her own soul was not pure; she, too, was a sinner. And yet, in a quiet, trembling corner of her heart, she felt relief—thankfulness that she was not as sinful as... her.

At last, the service ended. Lauren shook off the oppressive thoughts like brittle leaves in the wind, casting her gaze across the pews until she spotted David. A smile tugged at her lips, gentle and unrestrained. The man never failed to inspire awe—he preached with a power and grace that seemed to descend from heaven itself. And it warmed her heart all the more that he had been her close companion since childhood.

"David!" she called, her voice brightening. His head turned, and the instant recognition in his eyes drew him to her with effortless ease. How she adored that smile, how the dimples deepened as his lips curved upward. Memories of afternoons spent swimming in the river after school, laughing until their sides ached, came rushing back—a tapestry of her happiest days, stitched with the golden threads of youth.

"Hey!" he grinned, draping an arm around her shoulders with casual warmth. "You came!"

"Of course!" Lauren murmured, lowering her gaze, hoping to disguise the blush that rose unbidden. "I was devastated when I heard our old church had burned down again. Thank God we were able to rebuild—and with new members too!"

"You're right," David said, nodding, eyes sparkling. "And I am so glad you're finally back. When I heard you were hired at BNHS, I nearly danced!"

Lauren's lips curved in a small, proud smile. "I really wanted to return home after graduation," she admitted. "I wanted to bless our community, to give back what God has given me." She hesitated briefly, then added, "So... what are you doing this afternoon? Would you like to come to our house for lunch? Mamma's sure to miss you."

David's gaze fell, and Lauren felt a flicker of unease. "I'm afraid I can't make it this Sunday," he said gently. "Next Sunday, maybe?"

"Uh, sure," she said, though a pang of disappointment tightened her chest. "What are you up to today?"

"I need to take Zarinna to Allapo Lumnay's house," he replied, and the casual smile he wore made Lauren freeze. "She wants to learn how to weave."

Her lips parted in silent shock. For a moment, no words formed in her throat.

"Z-Zarinna?"

"Yup," he confirmed.

Lauren's gaze involuntarily flicked to the woman in the peach dress, standing with an air of serene confidence, and then back to David. Her heart sank, entangled in a web of irritation, fear, and the echo of past humiliation.

"Be careful around that woman,"

ZARINNA stretched her legs toward the ground, careful not to jostle David as she dismounted the motorcycle. A swirl of emotions gripped her chest as they rode to Allapo Lumnay's house. Excitement fluttered in her heart at the chance to finally learn the art of weaving, yet an uneasy shadow lingered—a memory from months ago that could have turned disastrous, had David not intervened. Could the sting of such embarrassment ever truly fade?

"We're here, Zarinna. Just a few more steps, and we'll reach the cottage," David said, his voice calm and grounding.

"Oh, that's wonderful," she replied, scanning the path ahead. "Allapo Lumnay rode a tricycle ahead, right? She should already be there."

"Most likely," David confirmed with a nod. Then, curiosity creeping into his tone, he asked, "So, you said weaving has been a dream since high school. What sparked that desire?"

Zarinna glanced at him, eyes lighting with a flicker of nostalgia. "I was a cultural dancer from seventh to tenth grade," she began. "Performing ethnic dances meant wearing all sorts of woven tapis—intricate, vibrant. I loved how they moved, the way they spoke of pride and heritage. That's why I wanted to weave one myself someday."

"I see," David said, nodding with appreciation. "So you're a dancer too."

"Don't jump to conclusions," she warned with a sly edge. "Those were the only dances my body could truly handle. The others were either too seductive or far too demanding for my rigid frame."

David threw back his head and laughed, a clear, melodic sound, flashing perfect teeth. "Really? Well, surviving ten years of P.E. should prepare anyone for anything!"

"Ugh," Zarinna groaned, rolling her eyes dramatically. "Don't remind me! Hurdles, endless runs, and daytime tango—nightmares in broad daylight." She pointed ahead, a small hut coming into view. "Is that it?"

David gave a calm nod. "Yup. That's it."

The faint, rich aroma of barako coffee drifted to her, wrapping around her like a warm embrace. She inhaled deeply. "I smell barako," she murmured, a smile tugging at her lips. "Grandma must have started lunch already."

They entered, the house's worn wooden floor and hay-strewn ceiling enveloping them in a rustic, timeless charm. Zarinna led the way, David signaling with a gentle wave to follow.

"Hi, Allapo!" Zarinna greeted, her smile bright, eyes fixed on the older woman's silvery hair.

"Hello, balasang!" Allapo Lumnay's eyes crinkled with delight. "Gawis ta natuloy ay naka-ali ka." Her words, rich in accent and warmth, expressed genuine joy.

"Yes, Allapo," Zarinna replied, steadying her voice. "Talaga pay adi ay umali ak tay laydek ay makasuro'y talaga..." Her tone was firm, yet filled with reverence, declaring her determination to learn the art of weaving.

"Oh, that's wonderful, my dear," Allapo Lumnay said, her eyes softening. "Finally, someone I can teach and pass this skill on to."

Relief bloomed in Zarinna's chest. It was rare to meet skilled weavers willing to open their hearts to outsiders, and here was Allapo, welcoming her with quiet generosity.

David moved toward the fireplace, tending to the pots. "By the way, Allapo, what are you up to?" he asked casually.

"I was just starting lunch when I heard you arrive," she replied, moving to the chopping board. Zarinna's gaze fell on the old woman's struggle with the meat.

"Oh, Grandma, please let me help," Zarinna offered, stepping forward. "I can do the cooking today. I can't watch you strain yourself and sit idle."

Allapo's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Ah, Balasang, you just came. You're a guest, not a maid."

"I insist," Zarinna said, voice gentle but firm. "And besides, you must save your hands for weaving lessons, not cutting meat."

A chuckle escaped Allapo's lips, her eyes glinting with approval. "Alright then, child. Go ahead." She handed over the knife, and Zarinna knelt, ready to take her place beside the chopping board.

David stoked the fire, the crackling flames a comforting backdrop. "By the time you finish chopping, we can start cooking," he said.

"Okay, Pastor," Zarinna replied with a faint smile, though her eyes wandered over the humble house. Every corner of the room radiated simplicity—the hay ceiling, open space, wooden beams—a mirror of the Cordilleran houses she'd known back in Ifugao, yet touched with the distinct character of this community.

"Pastor, could you pass me that pot?" she asked, pointing toward a sturdy earthenware container.

David handed it over, shaking his head with a grin. "It feels strange being called Pastor in my own home. Manung will do, Zarinna."

"Uh... okay," she murmured, eyes dropping. "M-Manung..."

"That's better," David said, satisfaction in his tone.

Allapo Lumnay settled on a bench by the window, watching quietly as Zarinna and David began their work.

"I was just wondering, child," Allapo said, breaking the rhythm of chopping, "I heard from Gina you're from Baguio City. Why did you come here?"

"For my first teaching job, Allapo," Zarinna explained, eyes bright with purpose. "Back in the city, new graduates without experience have little chance in public schools. So I applied here, and by God's grace, I was accepted. Thankfully, I have an uncle here, so I'm living with him for now."

"I see," Allapo nodded, eyes warm. "It must have been God's plan, Balasang. And in church, we are truly blessed to have a singer like you with us."

Zarinna bowed her head slightly, honored. There was a particular gravity when elders spoke—the weight of years, wisdom, and unquestionable authority.

"And I am glad to be blessed with such wonderful church mothers like you, Allapo. Glory to God!" she added with heartfelt sincerity.

She turned to David, now chopping onions nearby, and reached for a pan. But a misstep threw her off balance, and instinctively she felt David's steady hands catch her. Their eyes met, and a blush crept up her cheeks.

"Those rigid bones bothering you again?" he teased gently.

"Sorry," she murmured, flustered yet strangely comforted.

After the chopping and cooking were done, Zarinna arranged the food on the wooden floor. The small house had no table, and so they gathered around, David offering a short, simple prayer. They ate together, the scents and flavors of the Cordilleran kitchen mingling with warmth, laughter, and companionship.

"Mm, the food is lovely, my dear," Allapo said, lifting a spoonful of soup.

"I agree," David added, smiling.

A glow of pride spread across Zarinna's face. "I'm glad you like it! For a moment, I feared I over-salted."

"No, Zarinna," David reassured her. "It's perfect."

Allapo Lumnay chuckled, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Your future husband is a lucky man. How joyful I would be if he married someone like you."

Zarinna nearly choked on her bite, quickly sipping water. She glanced at David, who seemed equally stunned.

"Oh, Grandma, you didn't tell me you had such humor!" she laughed, trying to regain her composure.

"Who said I was joking?" the elder replied, eyes sparkling with quiet mischief.

Balasang - Ilocano term for Young Lady
Allapo - Applai term for Grandma/Grandpa
Manung - Ilocano term for Older Brother
Tapis - The woven wrap-around skirt worn by Igorot women, and a few other non-Igorot tribes.