The evening was quiet, wrapped in a hushed kind of stillness that only autumn could bring. The crisp air

kissed Dylne’s face, a gentle caress that seemed to tug at something deep inside her, something she had left behind long ago. She sat, cross-legged on the soft, dew-covered grass, her brown overcoat draped over her frame, its woolen texture rubbing against her skin as the breeze passed through. The trees around her swayed, their branches bare, stripped of their summer leaves, but still alive with the whispers of the wind. The sky above was a canvas of fading golds and purples as the sun dipped lower, casting long, golden rays over the scene.

Dylne let her eyes close for a moment, feeling the soft rustling of the grass beneath her and the cool touch of the evening wind on her cheek. She breathed in deeply, the scent of earth and autumn leaves filling her lungs. It was peaceful here, a quiet haven in the midst of the world, but within that peace, there was a tension—a subtle, magnetic pull that she couldn’t explain. She could feel it, tugging at the edges of her thoughts, calling her to something she hadn’t thought about in years.

Her thoughts drifted, unbidden, to a time long ago—a time when she was just a young girl, fresh out of high school, her world a blur of books and lessons and youthful uncertainty. Father Maverick had been a constant figure in those days, though not in the way most people would expect from a priest. He wasn’t just the vice principal of their school; he was a presence that lingered, shadowing every corridor, every classroom, every conversation. His eyes, always sharp and calculating, seemed to look past the surface of things, as though he could peer into the very heart of a person.

She had known him as both a teacher and a priest, though his role as a priest was more of a whispered legend among the students. He didn’t wear his faith like a badge of honor, as many of the clergy did. Instead, he embodied it quietly, with an intensity that both intimidated and fascinated those around him. His words—whether in the classroom or in the chapel—were deliberate and often cryptic. There was always an air of mystery surrounding him, a sense that he knew more than he let on.

Dylne had always felt that draw to him, an almost magnetic pull, though she could never quite figure out what it was. He had been kind to her in ways that were different from others—understanding, patient, yet always with a certain distance. She had admired him from afar, more than she had ever let on, but there had been no chance to explore that feeling, for their paths had never truly crossed beyond the walls of the school. After graduation, Father Maverick had disappeared from her life, the corridors of the school growing quieter without his presence.

Now, sitting on the cold grass with the autumn wind wrapping around her, Dylne’s mind wandered back to those days. She could still see him standing in front of the classroom, his hands clasped behind his back, his gaze sharp and unwavering. There was always an air of mystery around him, something she couldn’t quite grasp. But it wasn’t just the mystery of his role as a teacher that haunted her; it was the deeper, almost spiritual quality he carried as a priest. It wasn’t uncommon for him to speak of matters of faith, life, and purpose, and even at a young age, Dylne had found herself drawn into the depths of his words. His sermons were never simple. They were layered with symbolism and meaning, leaving her with more questions than answers, and yet, she couldn’t stop listening.

Her fingers brushed the soft fur of Aciscars, her black-and-white cat, who lay curled up next to her, its green eyes shining in the dimming light. Aciscars was an odd name, even for a cat, but it was a name Dylne had chosen years ago, when she had found the stray kitten at the old church near her high school. The kitten had been alone, hiding beneath the stone steps, and Dylne had felt a strange kinship with it, as though fate had brought them together. She had taken it home that day, naming it after the ancient word for “watcher” in some forgotten tongue, though she often joked that it was just a fancy name for a cat who preferred to nap in the sun.

The clock tower in the distance, its silhouette now dark against the purple sky, struck the hour, the deep, sonorous chimes ringing through the evening. Dylne’s heart gave a small flutter, though she couldn’t have said why. The night was drawing near, and something—some intangible feeling—hung in the air. The final strokes of the clock echoed in her ears, each one seemingly pushing her closer to the moment she had been waiting for.

Christmas Eve.

There was something about this night that felt different, something about the air that whispered of things unsaid, of promises yet to be fulfilled. She had been waiting for this night for years, even though she had no clear reason why. It was as if time itself had bent, shifting in strange ways, and tonight was the culmination of it all.

She knew she had to be here. She didn’t understand why, but the sense of urgency was undeniable. Midnight was approaching, and with it, something was about to happen.

She glanced at Aciscars, who was staring off into the distance, its fur rippling in the evening breeze. The cat’s gaze seemed fixated on something—something beyond the trees, beyond the town, beyond the world around them. Dylne followed its stare, her breath catching in her throat as she noticed a figure moving in the distance.

It was a man, tall and cloaked in dark robes, his features obscured by the shadows of the night.

Father Maverick.

His presence was unmistakable, even from a distance. The mysterious, almost otherworldly air about him had not changed in all these years. Dylne’s heart pounded in her chest as she rose to her feet, her legs trembling slightly beneath her, though she could not tell if it was from the chill in the air or the anticipation that seemed to rise from deep within her.

The clock struck midnight.

And the Christmas Eve she had waited for, the night she had never fully understood, finally began.

The chill of the evening deepened as Dylne stood, her breath rising in thin wisps in the cold air. The quiet around her had grown heavier, more palpable, as though the world itself had held its breath, waiting. Her heart raced with a strange anticipation, a feeling that hummed through her veins like electricity. She couldn’t see him yet, but she felt him—his presence—a quiet weight pressing against the edges of her awareness.

Aciscars, usually so calm and aloof, seemed restless. The cat shifted uneasily at her feet, its green eyes wide, its body tense. Dylne crouched slightly, her hand hovering near the soft fur of its back, trying to comfort it, but Aciscars didn’t seem to want her touch. Instead, it hissed quietly, a low, guttural sound that sent a shiver up Dylne’s spine. She looked down, and her heart skipped a beat—Aciscars was staring intently into the shadowed forest, its fur standing on end, as if sensing something that she couldn’t see.

Her eyes followed the direction of the cat’s gaze, but the trees were silent. The shadows had lengthened as the last light of the sun disappeared beyond the horizon, leaving only the cold, dim glow of the moon to cast eerie light on the surroundings. The wind had picked up slightly, rustling the dry leaves on the ground, but even that sound seemed muted, as though nature itself was waiting.

Dylne’s pulse quickened. She swallowed hard, trying to shake off the mounting tension in the air. Something was here, something close. Her breath quickened as her gaze shifted between the dark outlines of the trees and the open space in front of her. A distant feeling of being watched crept over her, but when she turned, there was nothing but the lonely stretch of grass and the fading light.

But then—just for a fleeting moment—she thought she saw it.

A shape.

A shadow flickered in her peripheral vision, as if something—someone—had passed just beyond the reach of her sight. Her heart jumped, and she spun around, but the spot where the shadow had been was empty. The trees loomed large, their branches bare and silent, like ancient sentinels standing guard. There was no movement, no sign of life.

Still, the air felt thick with it—his presence.

It was as if the world had paused in time, holding onto a secret just beyond her understanding. The wind shifted, carrying with it the faintest trace of something familiar—something she couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t the scent of the earth, or the crispness of autumn; it was deeper, more elusive, like incense lingering in the air after a long-forgotten prayer. Dylne took a slow, hesitant step forward, drawn by the invisible pull that tightened around her chest.

She glanced down at Aciscars again, whose eyes were locked onto the same spot as before. The cat’s tail flicked nervously, its body low to the ground, as though preparing to flee or pounce. Dylne could feel it—the hair on the back of her neck prickling, a weight settling in her stomach. Every instinct in her body screamed that he was near. But the trees were still, and the wind no longer carried the whisper of a voice, only the rustle of dead leaves.

Her feet moved almost without her knowing, carried forward by the unexplainable urge to get closer to that feeling. She stepped lightly, her brown overcoat trailing behind her, swishing softly with each step. The quiet of the night wrapped around her like a shroud, and though her mind screamed for answers, for clarity, her heart beat steadily, trusting in something older, something deeper.

Another gust of wind whipped through the air, and this time, it carried with it a faint sound—a whisper, barely audible, as if spoken just beyond the veil of the trees. The words were too faint for her to make out, but the voice… it felt so familiar. She froze, her heart racing.

Father Maverick.

The realization hit her like a bolt of lightning, though she had known it all along. He was here, near, just out of sight. The energy around her seemed to crackle with the weight of the moment, her mind spinning as fragments of memories returned. She could remember the faint scent of incense in the chapel, the echo of his voice as he spoke the liturgy during Mass. But this—this was different. This was not the man she had known from the past. This was something else.

The wind shifted again, colder now, brushing against her cheek with a sharp, almost imperceptible touch. It was like a sigh, a soft exhale from the very earth itself. Dylne’s gaze darted back to the trees. The shadow was there again—just on the edge of her vision, a fleeting movement like a whisper in the dark. She reached out, her fingertips grazing the rough bark of a nearby tree, grounding herself in the reality of the moment.

But when she looked back, the figure was gone.

She blinked, and for a second, she wondered if it had been a trick of the mind. The night was thick with shadows, and her senses were playing tricks on her. She closed her eyes, trying to steady her breath, trying to make sense of what was happening. But in her chest, the feeling grew stronger—a sense of being drawn into something, a presence too real to deny.

Aciscars let out a low, soft meow, the sound barely a whisper in the quiet of the night. Dylne crouched down to scoop up the cat, cradling it in her arms, as though seeking comfort in the small, warm body against her. But even as she held the creature close, the tension in the air remained. The space between the trees seemed to stretch, dark and empty, waiting.

She could feel him still, lingering on the edges of her senses. Father Maverick was near. And though she couldn’t see him, she knew without a doubt that this was no accident. This moment had been coming, building toward this night. She could feel the invisible thread connecting her to him, tightening with each passing second.

She stood there, in the quiet of the night, her heart beating in time with the unseen forces around her, and waited for whatever was to come next.

Dylne took a steadying breath, her pulse still racing. She could feel Father Maverick’s intense gaze on her, a mixture of familiarity and distance. In the quiet between them, her mind scrambled for something to say, something that would mask the turmoil twisting inside her. Before she knew it, her old habit resurfaced—a math question, just like she used to ask him in school whenever she needed an excuse to talk to him.

“Father,” she began, her voice still shaky, “can you explain… If we have a series where the sum of the terms is increasing, but the sequence of individual terms itself doesn’t have a common ratio or difference… how do we define convergence?”

The question tumbled out, half-formed and nervous, but it filled the silence. Father Maverick’s expression softened, ever so slightly, as he listened to her. She thought she saw a glint of amusement in his eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. He nodded, as though he’d been expecting something like this, his face returning to that composed, formal demeanor that she remembered so well.

“Convergence of a series can be complex, Dylne,” he answered, his tone even, the low rumble of his voice filling the empty space between them. “If the terms don’t have a consistent ratio or difference, you look to the behavior of the partial sums. If, as you approach infinity, the sums approach a finite limit, then you have convergence. But the conditions must be examined carefully, depending on each case.”

His explanation was straightforward, exact, with none of the warmth she had once longed to see from him. It was almost mechanical, as if he were simply following a script. Yet the familiarity of his voice, the cadence of his words, stirred something deep within her.

For a moment, Dylne tried to focus on what he’d said, but it felt distant, technical, like a mask. Her heart pounded in her chest, loud and unrelenting, drowning out the carefully composed explanation. She hadn’t come here for a lesson. Not tonight. The question that had haunted her for so long, the one she’d buried deep in her heart, suddenly surged to the surface, impossible to contain any longer.

“Why didn’t you come back?” she whispered, her voice breaking. “You said you would. You told me you’d come before I graduated. But you didn’t. You just… left.”

Her words seemed to hang in the air, heavy and filled with years of confusion and quiet hurt. She forced herself to meet his gaze, the storm of emotions in her chest breaking free. She had been waiting for him that entire last year, hoping that he would return, that she would see him one last time before she stepped into a life without the certainty of his presence. But he had disappeared, leaving her with an ache she had never fully understood.

Father Maverick’s expression shifted—almost imperceptibly. For a brief moment, she thought she saw a shadow of regret pass over his face, but he remained composed, his voice measured as he replied.

“There were… obligations, Dylne,” he said carefully, each word placed as if chosen for its weight. “I was assigned to handle matters in a distant province. They required my full attention, and I had to see them through. The nature of my work often calls for this kind of duty. I didn’t choose it, but I am bound to follow.”

Dylne’s hands clenched into fists as she took in his words. She knew that his work as a priest and a teacher often took him away, but this explanation felt hollow somehow, as if there was more he wasn’t saying, something deeper beneath his formal tone. She wanted to press him, to demand the truth, to ask if he ever thought about her, or about the promise he’d left unfulfilled.

She glanced down, her vision blurring as memories of waiting, wondering, and hoping washed over her. She wanted to believe that he hadn’t simply forgotten her, that she hadn’t been just another student he’d left behind without a second thought.

“But you… you didn’t even say goodbye,” she murmured, her voice trembling. “You knew how much I—” Her words faltered, the sentence unfinished.