December 2018
Worcester, MA, USA

Once I invite Sylvia to join me in the loft, I wait for her without a word. She glances up the stairs, waiting with her hand upon the railing. Almost as though she's fighting with herself over whether she should meet me. 

It is imperative that she makes the choice. Not me.

"Are you sure I'm allowed up there?" she asks from the bottom step.

"Yes, Sylvia. Come to me."

As she slowly ascends, I take several steps back until we're standing three feet apart like her faith demands. There my muse stands. Right there in front of me. Yet I can hardly speak, my mind swirling with a thousand synchronous thoughts, every single one about her. A thousand confessions chained upon my tongue. A thousand kisses threatening to break free.

All hidden away for her sake.

Good God! I can't believe you're here...

Her hazel gaze pierces right through me, all the way to my soul. To the very essence of me. To the deepest, most sacred place where I've kept my feelings for her locked up for all these years. Even away from myself.

Under the power of her gaze, it's like she's burst open the lid of Pandora's Box, allowing all my emotions to break free. Though I don't possess a religious bone in my body, this moment feels timeless. Almost holy.

My name slips past her lips like a solemn prayer. "Ian..."

"Sylvia..."

"Your music is beautiful," she says in a gentle tone that melts my icy heart. "As always."

"Thank you." An awkward moment of silence falls between us before I gesture toward the organ. "Would you care to accompany me?"

"Here?" Her gaze sweeps over the empty loft. "Now?"

"For old times' sake?"

"Can we do that? In church?"

A soft chuckle slips past my lips. "I rather think God appreciates some different tunes."

Sylvia takes little pixie steps while I lead her toward the organ bench. A million romantic memories flood my mind when I invite her to sit beside me.

"Any requests?" I ask.

Tell me what you need, little raven...

"The Phantom of the Opera," Sylvia says in a determined voice before adding, "Remember when you would sing the phantom's lines?"

When I turn to her, our gazes meet once more. You impish little raven! I know why you've chosen that song...And you dare ask for it in church?

Damn near blasphemous.

Interesting...you've become bolder. And I like it.

No, I love it...I admire it. And I crave everything you have to give.

Not only is that song her favorite organ piece, but it holds special meaning for us. An intimate meaning not many would guess. Charged with electric energy, the tiny amount of empty space crackles between us like the air before a summer storm.

Sylvia's gaze darts to my lips before her gaze meets mine.

Not yet, my muse...

Allow me to set your soul aflame.

Once it is time for the phantom to sing, I tap into that part of myself that remains dormant. Hidden. Caged away from the world, except for her.

"Sing once again with me," I sing with all my strength, "our strange duet."

Her words from our most recent story haunt my mind as though she speaks them aloud. The same way I hear them in her breathless voice during my every fantasy.

My cheeks, burning...

"My power over you grows stronger yet."

My breathing, shallow...

"And though you turn from me to glance behind--"

My fingertips, trailing along the spines...

"--the phantom of the opera is there, inside your mind."

When Sylvia leans a fraction closer to me, it almost ends me. My cheeks burn as though she's set them on fire. And we haven't even touched.

"It's still your favorite?" I say, half-asking and half-stating what I know to be true as I stare straight ahead. I must. Or I swear I will kiss her this second!

Her reply falls as a breathless whisper. "Yes..."

That one word, whispered as in the depths of passion, sends a thousand electrical pulses zinging from my stomach. But I don't dare to show her. Not now. Not yet. It's too soon. It's vital that I keep my cool.

She asked me not to. And I won't.

I won't.

But God help me! Do I ever need her!

"I'm glad you've returned."

"You are?" she asks, her breath catching slightly.

Her words act like a bucket of ice water. My playing halts instantly before I turn to her. "Do you doubt me?"

"I--we--it--" Sylvia takes a deep breath with her eyes squeezed shut. "It's been a long time."

Now that I'm no longer playing the organ, I'm keenly aware of how close she is to me. Her breathing, shallow. Her cheeks and chest, flushed. Just like she told me in our story. Her voice, almost quaking. Thank fuck for this organist cloak, or she would know exactly how she affects me as well.

Jesus! That outfit. Has she worn it to torture me?

She's like a beautiful contradiction of heaven and hell wrapped in a wine colored dress. Focus on her eyes! What is she trying to say?

"My feelings have not wavered," I say because this might be my only chance to convince her to stay.

"They haven't?"

"It is not I who left, but you."

When our gazes lock, she looks away. My heart sinks into my shoes.

Shit, shit, shit! You fucked it up before you even started.

Drawing a fraction nearer, I fight to recapture her heart. Or at least her affection. "But you've come back."

Once again Sylvia braves another look at me. "Yes, I have."

"You're nervous?"

"Yes..."

"Why?"

She turns from me. "I'm not sure."

No, my muse. Please don't hide from me.

"Why are you afraid?" So desperately I want to place my finger gently under her chin and raise her head. But she must decide. She must. Not me. "Why do you look away?"

"It's too much."

"What is?"

"Everything," she whispers. "It's all coming back. All at once. And I can't process my feelings as quickly as I feel them. My brain is a jumbled mess."

Imagine the woman you love feeling such an overwhelming passion, with her emotions burbling so deep inside her, that it floods her every thought. After such an admission, I need all my strength not to reach over and kiss her. But I can't. At least, I shouldn't. Her faith means too much to her.

"Perhaps I invited you to the organ too soon," I say under my breath.

Though Sylvia reaches for my hand, she retreats before I can accept. And my heart deflates once more.

Don't you long for my touch?

Why do you shrink away?

"You did everything right." Sylvia folds her hands demurely, almost as though she wants to keep herself from making an impulsive move. "It is my favorite piece. And your words warmed my soul. I just don't want to..."

She falls silent, casting me a wistful gaze.

Fiery words burn upon my tongue. Tell me what you need, little raven.

"What?" I lean in, dangerously close. So close that I could bridge the gap between us. So fiercely I have to fight the urge. "What don't you want to do?"

"--scare you off," she whispers.

A faint chuckle slips past my slips, almost inaudible. Sylvia fears she'll scare me? No, her words give me hope. My only concern revolves around not scaring her. Not overwhelming her with my own very potent desires I've hidden away for so long.

If only Sylvia would show me that I'm not the only one. If only she would open up her inner world to me. If only I could make her come apart in every possible way. What I wouldn't give to watch her disintegrate into pure bliss.

Heaven isn't a place, but the precise moment when she comes undone in my arms. But only when she's ready.

If she's ever ready.

If she's willing to give us a real chance.

"You haven't scared me yet," I say, my voice pure gravel. "And I've known you for almost twelve years."

"Guys don't want to hear all about emotions and feelings and--"

Don't you dare!

"Do you presume to tell me what I'm thinking because you've taken your cues from other men?" A mixture of jealousy and envy rises up in me against my will, quickly tempered by the fear that I've said too much. "Or because of some societal norm that I should follow against my nature?"

"I--"

"If you want to know what I'm thinking, ask me." Even though I'm afraid my passion will scare her away, Sylvia draws closer. Her gaze, burning straight through me, directly to my heart. "Don't assume you know."

"What are you thinking?" she asks, almost in a defiant tone.

"Right now I'm thinking that if I told you everything I've been thinking for the past twelve hours, twelve days, twelve years, it is you who would get overwhelmed. Not me. So it is I who must be cautious. Not you."

To my absolute shock, her shoulders slump. And she draws the last conclusion I would have guessed. "You hate me for what I've done."

Silence falls between us like a shroud.

Hate? Good God, little raven!

It's taking all my strength not to kiss you right here, right now! Don't you know that? Yet I can't tell you! Because it will scare you away.

But maybe I can reveal it to you, slowly...

"I'd be lying if I said I haven't at times felt disappointed, frustrated, jealous, envious, and possibly even betrayed--but never wrathful or hateful, at least not toward you." I hope she can read the emotions behind my cold words, like she did in the museum long ago. "Nonetheless, you should know the truth. Using your Catholic vernacular, allow me to admit I was referring to a very different 'deadly sin' than any we've mentioned."

"Pride?"

Ha! Really? So that's what you think of me, little raven?

My tone falls flat. "If that's what you choose to believe."

A scoff slips past her lips. "It isn't certainly isn't greed, gluttony, or sloth."

My expression doesn't budge an inch. "Indeed."

I can almost observe how the cogs are turning in her mind as she considers each one. Once the penny drops, her shocked gaze locks with mine. Deep and meaningful. Once again I find the depths and beauty of autumn colors inside her eyes, a mosaic of brown, green, and gold. My God, how I've missed these moments when our minds, our hearts touch.

Finally, she understands.

And it renders her speechless. As though Sylvia can't possibly imagine anyone as studious as me feeling the deadly sin of lust.

"Yes, that's it, my muse--let yourself feel again," I whisper.

Her breath catches in her throat.

"For the record, you don't have to back away when you want to touch me." I extend my open palm between us. "Reach out and touch me."

After a brief hint of hesitation, Sylvia grasps my hand like it's an anchor amid the open sea. Tingles race from my fingertips to my scalp.

"You see?" I whisper, a smile playing upon my lips. "Soon it may feel as natural as breathing."

"There are a thousand questions I want to ask you," she says. "But it's been so long. I don't want to intrude or prod into your personal life. You're a very private person and you don't like people interfering very much."

My muse, you can ask me anything. Anything at all. And I will answer.

"Sylvia?"

"Yes?"

"You are not people," I insist. "We weren't strangers in college, and I don't want us to be strangers now. Different rules apply to us."

"Then why have you acted like a stranger for all these years?"

"Because that is what you asked of me." I try my best to hide my emotions behind a guise of pure nonchalance. "And I respect you too much to force my affection where it isn't desired."

"I never asked you--"

Don't you dare--!

Once again envy rises in my heart. "You married another man."

She purses her lips, and guilt floods me. But she must realize!

"Of course you asked me to stay away," I say in a firm tone, "not with your words, but with your choice."

"But--"

"Or would you have me chase you into adultery?"

She meets my gaze. "Never."

"Very well, then." My fingertips graze hers. "But now you are free. And you've returned to me of your own free will, free to leave at any time."

"I don't want to leave."

Those five words set my heart on fire.

I swear, I didn't know I had the courage to keep my cool at that moment, with every cell in my body wanting only her. But I do.

"I don't want you to leave either." Wait a minute! "But where is Ariana? Won't she be worried about you?"

"What time is it?" she asks, wide-eyed.

Astounded, I glance at my fitness watch. "About an hour since the concert ended."

"What?"

Leaping to her feet, Sylvia runs to the railing and peers down to find the chapel empty. In an instant, I stand beside her because she's like a magnet, drawing me close to her.

"How long are you staying in the States?"

"Three weeks," she replies. "Until January 6th."

Thank goodness. Long enough to rekindle our affection...

"That means we can meet again?"

When Sylvia smiles, it illuminates her from the inside out. And it makes me the happiest man alive. "Yes..."

"What would you say to a walk in the Boston Public Garden?" I suggest. "Or along the Esplanade? You used to enjoy that stroll."

"I'd love to, Ian."

A hidden caveman inside me pounds his chest in victory. Until it takes all my strength to hold him in check and remain calm.

"The twenty-first at noon?" I suggest. "We could grab a bite to eat or some coffee later if you want?"

"Perfect!"

"Then it's a date," I say before cringing internally and adding, "if it's not too bold of me to say?"

"No, it's a date." She places her hand confidently on top of mine, and my heart swells with pride. "Definitely."

At that, I take a little risk. Lifting her hand, I kiss the air above her knuckles. Like I used to do while we were courting. Sylvia used to love it.

Judging by the muted squeak that slips past her lips, not much has changed!

A genuine smile sweeps across my features. "I shall see you then, my muse."

Her cheeks flush crimson. "See you then."

Gripping the railing, I stare in awe as Sylvia leaves with short, quick pixie steps towards the double wooden doors of the chapel. How many times will she flee from me before she decides to stay in my life forever? It takes all my strength not to run after her, sweep her into my arms and kiss her with all the passion I've suppressed these past eight years.

But we need to go slowly. It's what she asked of me. And I respect her wishes.

Exhaling a sharp breath, I make my way to the train station and board the next one to Boston. As soon as I sit in a quiet corner, I begin meditating once again, staring out at the inky darkness.

With my best friend away, visiting her family for Christmas, it would have been so easy to invite Sylvia back to my apartment. To give in to desire. Kiss her breathless. Satisfy her every wish. Not only her body, but her mind. Her heart. She doesn't crave physical affection as much as other forms, and I want her to feel wholly and completely loved in every way.

I've waited for eight years. I'm more than ready.

I love her.

After all this time, my feelings haven't dimmed. They've grown stronger.

But I'm not sure she's ready for that kind of intensity. In fact, I'm fairly certain she isn't ready. Not with the trepidation she showed me today.

If I can wait eight years, what's another few days, weeks, or months? I'd wait another eight years as long as we could commit to making it work.

Sylvia is here. With me.

She's chosen me.

Once again, the ghost of her touch lingers upon my fingertips. But this time, it gives me hope. Hope that I can once again win her heart.

___

Word count: 2,509
Total word count: 33,314/40,000