Dedicated to JoellaFantine

With a faint shudder, David pulled the garment-filled pouch from his satchel, double-checking the drawstrings before stepping out of the pastor's office. The sound of the zipper sliding closed felt far too loud in the quiet hallway.

"Ah well," he muttered under his breath, exhaling softly, "it's not like I stole it."

But the thought didn't sit easily.

Or did I? another voice inside him whispered, low and accusing. A cold prickle ran down his spine. Maybe he should've just left the clothes where he found them—hidden safely in the bank by the spring.

No, he argued with himself, tightening his grip on the pouch. If I'd left them there, those men would've found them. God knows what they'd have said—or done.

He paused at the threshold of the sanctuary, centering his breath. His heart was still restless, unsettled. The image of her wouldn't leave his mind.

He had seen her—just for a heartbeat—before she vanished behind the rock and the spray of water. But even in that fleeting glimpse, something inside him had recognized her. His chest had tightened; his heart had jumped as though startled by memory.

It's her.

The woman from Baguio.

He saw it so clearly now: a quiet afternoon, a front yard washed in sunlight, and her—seated by the porch, head bowed, a look of gentle thoughtfulness on her face. Back then, he had paused without knowing why. And in that still moment, the Lord's whisper had come, clear as breath— Her, beloved.

He had prayed about it every night after that. Unsure what it meant. Unsure if he'd only imagined it.

He never expected to see her again—least of all like that: terrified, trembling, hiding in cold water, clutching herself against shame and fear. And yet... when he'd looked into her eyes, even for that brief instant, there had been something there. A cry that wasn't just for help. A deeper kind of pleading—like her soul reaching out.

His heart pounded now just remembering it. He could almost still see her face—pale, innocent, fragile with remorse—and his pulse quickened in confusion.

He shook the thought away, forcing his mind back to the task at hand. This wasn't the time. He had to deal with the laundry first.

He spotted Gina near the pulpit, arranging the Sunday lyrics for the worship team. The soft hum of her singing mingled with the faint scent of wood polish and candle wax. The church was empty, golden light filtering through stained glass, painting the pews in ripples of blue and red. David paused at the back, scanning the room to make sure they were alone before approaching.

"Hey, Sis Gina?" he called gently.

She turned, smiling as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Yes, Pastor? Is there anything you need?"

David hesitated, the words fumbling in his throat. "I—uhm..." He rubbed the back of his neck, realizing how ridiculous this was going to sound.

"Yes?" she prompted, eyebrows raised, a teasing lilt in her voice.

He took a deep breath. "I was wondering if you could... do me a favor."

"Sure," she said easily. "What is it?"

"I'd like to request these clothes to be sent to the laundry."

For a beat, Gina blinked. Then she laughed, the sound bright and disbelieving. "Seriously, Pastor? You made that sound like some top-secret mission." She reached for the pouch, still chuckling. "You could've just said so—"

But the laughter stopped abruptly.

The fabric slipped. A small, delicate undergarment fell to the floor between them.

Silence flooded the room.

David's stomach dropped. His face burned hot. He didn't dare look up—but he could feel Gina's stare on him.

"Uhm... P-Pastor," she stammered, voice caught between shock and confusion. "Why do you have a—?"

"Oh Lord," he breathed under his breath, mortified.

He opened his mouth, searching for words that refused to come. "Okay, Gina—just let me explain—"

Her eyes widened in disbelief. "Did you—? Pastor, please tell me you didn't—"

"Oh, good grief—no!" he blurted, louder than intended. "Gina. Stop. Whatever you're thinking—it's not that!"

The tension in her shoulders eased, though her expression was still a mixture of relief and suspicion. "Then... how?"

David drew a steadying breath. "Listen. Yesterday—"

And so he told her. Everything.

About the spring, the shouts, the men. About the woman who'd been terrified and alone, trying to hide. About the blanket—his grandmother's old ules—and how he'd used it to cover her before leading the men away.

By the time he finished, Gina's expression had softened from disbelief to quiet empathy.

"She was hiding from the men at the spring," he said finally, voice low. David's eyes flicked to the pouch in her hands.

"Oh..." Gina murmured, realization dawning. "Ohh. I get it." Then, after a pause, her eyes went wide again. "Wait—so that means you... you saw her—"

"Oh no!" David interrupted quickly, waving both hands. "Thank God for the bushes—I didn't see... everything." His face flushed scarlet again. Oh Lord.

"One of the men—my cousin, actually—was heading straight for her. I couldn't just stand by. So I borrowed the ules, covered her, and led them away. When I came back, she was gone."

Gina crouched to pick up the undergarment, shaking her head in disbelief. "My goodness... what a day you had, Pastor."

"Indeed," David sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Anyway—thank you for helping. I'm not sure how I'll return them yet, but if she's staying near my grandmother's house, I'll figure something out."

Gina chuckled, clearly amused now by his discomfort. "You're welcome, Pastor. Don't worry—I'll handle this discreetly."

She tucked the item neatly back into the pouch and straightened. "Oh—by the way, Pastor Levi asked about you earlier. He's downstairs in the Pastoral House and would like to see you when you have a moment."

A note of concern tightened David's chest. Pastor Levi? Here? The man had been sick for months, too weak to travel.

"I'll go see him right away," David said. "Thank you, Gina."

"Of course, Pastor. I'll return these to you next time you're assigned here."

He nodded gratefully, managing a faint smile before turning to leave. The moment he stepped outside, the air felt cooler, cleaner—like relief itself.

Lord, he prayed silently as he walked, please let this day be over.

"DAVID!"

Pastor Levi's voice broke through the quiet room, filled with warmth and life that seemed to defy his frail appearance. His eyes lit up, and a smile spread across his weathered face.

"Pastor Levi," David greeted, stepping forward, a relieved brightness in his tone. "It's such a blessing to see you. I didn't even know you were here. How long have you been waiting?"

Levi opened his arms with effort, but the gesture was full of affection. David leaned in and embraced him gently, careful not to press too hard against his fragile frame.

"I've been here since this morning," the old pastor said, his voice soft but sure. "I heard you were preaching today, so I waited until after the service."

David sat down beside him, his heart softening as he took in the man before him. Though age had bowed his back and thinned his hands, Pastor Levi's face still carried the glow of peace—like light that refused to fade.

"Gina told me you wanted to see me," David said quietly. "How are you feeling, Pastor?"

Levi smiled, eyes gleaming like the reflection of candles in still water. "All is well with me, David. Truly well. The joy of knowing I will soon be with my Savior..." He paused, taking a slow breath. "It's a peace beyond words."

David's chest tightened. "P–Pastor, please... don't say that. You still have strength left in you. You still have—"

Levi lifted a trembling hand, silencing him gently. "Young man, there is a time for birth and a time for departure. The Lord gives each of us our season, and mine has been long and full. Eighty-nine years of life, sixty of service—He has been more than faithful. I am content. I am ready."

David lowered his gaze, the sting of tears warming his eyes. He couldn't find words—only the ache of quiet sorrow in his chest.

"What I fear," Levi went on, "is not death, but what I leave behind. Our ministers are few, and the world outside grows louder every day. Without men who burn with conviction, who live with holiness—" he sighed, shaking his head slowly, "—the church may dim... or fade away altogether."

David nodded faintly. "That's true," he admitted. "But God has never failed this church. He won't start now. He'll raise someone—He always does."

Levi's eyes glimmered with something both knowing and tender. "Yes," he whispered. "Someone. Someone like you, David."

David froze. The words hung in the air between them, heavy.

"No... Pastor," he stammered, shaking his head. "I—I'm not that person. I'm just a layman. I'm not even sure I'm worthy to—"

Levi's hand came to rest on his shoulder. "If it is God's will," he said quietly, "then He will make you ready. He never calls without preparing."

David swallowed hard. There was nothing left to say. Only silence. And awe. And fear. And a strange, trembling surrender that began somewhere deep in his chest.

Levi reached out again, placing his palm gently on David's head. His voice, when he began to pray, was low and fervent—each word weighted with the gravity of a man who had spent a lifetime speaking to God.

It sounded like a farewell.

When David finally stepped out of the room, the late afternoon light poured across the corridor, warm and gold. He stopped there for a moment, eyes closed, his heart trembling with the echo of the old man's words.

Oh Lord... I don't know what to think. I don't know what to do. But whatever happens—let Your will be done.