The bell for morning Mass hadn't even finished echoing through the stone hallways of St. Celeste's when Amina's eyes snapped open. She wasn't awake because of the bell. She wasn't awake because Clara's alarm was buzzing under her pillow like a trapped bee.
She was awake because of the phone.
The forbidden phone hidden in the pillowcase, pressed under her ear like a second heartbeat.
The secret felt hotter than her skin, heavier than her blanket, louder than the morning hymns that seeped through the dorm walls. Every time she blinked, she saw Leo's face behind the chapel—his half–smirk, his calm eyes, the quiet way he said:
"I don't want Saturday to be our only day."
Amina didn't care how early it was. She needed to see if he'd texted.
But she couldn't—not yet.
Not with twenty girls stretching, yawning, gossiping about nothing in particular.
Not with the nuns floating by the doorway, checking skirts, checking beds, checking souls.
She kept the secret warm in her fist and forced herself to breathe normally.
Classes dragged.
Every subject.
Every hymn.
Every forced prayer.
Every lecture about purity, obedience, modesty, control.
Amina's hands wouldn't stay still.
She kept dragging her pen up and down the same page.
Kept glancing at the clock.
Kept feeling the outline of the phone's plastic body pressing against her thigh under her skirt.
Clara noticed.
"You're spacing out again," Clara whispered during literature. "Is he hot or hot?"
Amina kept her eyes on her notebook. "Stop."
"That's not an answer."
"I'm concentrating," she snapped.
Clara smirked. "On him or the homework?"
Amina didn't reply.
Because the truth hung heavy behind her ribs:
Both.
Neither.
Everything.
At break, she finally slipped the phone out under the table.
One new message.
Her heart flipped.
Leo:
I bet you're checking this even though you shouldn't.
A laugh escaped before she could stop it.
Amina:
You think you know everything?
Leo:
No. Just everything about you.
Her breath caught.
Leo:
Are you alone right now?
Amina looked around.
Girls everywhere.
Nuns watching like hawks.
The courtyard loud and bright.
Amina:
Definitely not.
Leo:
Then I'll ask later. Wait for me.
The words curled around her spine like warm fingers. She locked the phone and shoved it back into her skirt pocket before anyone could see.
Clara raised a brow. "You look like you just saw God."
"Shut up," Amina hissed, but she was smiling.
Everything was going fine—normal, almost—until Sister Lucía called them over after choir practice.
Her expression was gentle.
Too gentle.
The kind of gentle that meant trouble.
"Girls," she said, folding her hands. "I hope your transition here is going well."
Clara blinked innocently. "Perfectly, Sister."
Amina felt sweat gather at the back of her neck.
Sister Lucía's gaze slid to her—sharp, searching, unsettling.
"You seem… distracted lately," she said softly.
Amina's stomach twisted.
She tried to swallow, but her throat felt lined with sand.
"I'm fine, Sister," she managed.
Lucía nodded slowly, too slowly.
"As long as there are no outside influences disrupting your spiritual realignment."
Amina froze.
Did she know?
Had she seen them yesterday?
Had someone told her?
Clara's elbow nudged her sharply, but she couldn't focus. All she could think about was the little phone pressed against her thigh, the way Leo had said "We won't get caught."
Lucía's gaze was burning through her. "Good. I trust you both will make wise choices."
When she finally walked away, Clara turned to Amina with wide eyes.
"You're dead," she whispered.
"I didn't do anything," Amina hissed.
"You're still dead."
Quiet Hour used to be peaceful.
A break.
A chance to breathe.
Now it felt like torture.
Every page of her textbook blurred together. She couldn't focus on a single word. She kept replaying Sister Lucía's voice in her mind—soft, suspicious, knowing.
She waited until Clara was asleep before she dragged the phone out.
Amina:
You said you needed to ask me something.
He replied in seconds.
Like he'd been waiting, too.
Leo:
Not here. Not like this.
Tonight. Midnight.
Old courtyard behind the chapel. Gate doesn't lock.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
Midnight.
Behind a chapel.
Alone with him.
Amina:
Leo, that's too risky.
The sisters check the halls. If they see me—
Leo:
They won't.
I've been there. Cameras don't reach that far.
Just come. Please.
Please.
That single word ruined her.
She stared at the screen for a long time before typing the only answer she knew she would give:
Amina:
I'll come.
Dinner.
Study hall.
Night prayers.
Dorm lights dimming.
Amina felt her heartbeat in her wrists.
Clara brushed her hair, watching her through the mirror. "You're acting like a criminal."
"I'm not doing anything," Amina said too quickly.
Clara put her brush down. "Just… be careful, okay? I don't want you dying or expelled or murdered by nuns."
Amina forced a shaky smile. "I'll be fine."
Clara stared for a beat longer, then crawled into bed.
Within minutes, she was asleep.
Amina wasn't.
When the final lights snapped off and the last footsteps faded from the hallway, Amina slipped out from under her blankets.
Her pulse pounded in her ears.
She moved slowly, quietly, holding her shoes in one hand.
She prayed nobody opened their eyes.
Prayed no nun walked by.
Prayed her heart wasn't loud enough to give her away.
She crept down the hallway, down the stairs, past the portraits of saints illuminated only by moonlight.
Every shadow looked like a person.
Every floorboard creaked like a warning.
But she kept going.
Because he was waiting.
The night air slapped her cheeks with cool sweetness when she stepped outside.
Cicadas buzzed.
Palm leaves rustled.
Everything smelled of damp stone and summer.
Amina made her way around the chapel, toes sinking slightly into the old dirt path. She found the rusted gate, half-open exactly as Leo described.
She slipped in.
And froze.
Leo was already there.
Sitting on the stone ledge.
Hood up.
Knees apart.
Head tilted toward the sky, like he'd been waiting for her forever.
He noticed her before she spoke.
His lips parted with relief.
"You came."
Amina swallowed the breath stuck in her throat. "Yeah."
"Good," he murmured, standing. "I wasn't sure you would."
"You asked," she said softly. "I wasn't going to ignore that."
Leo stepped closer, the shadows wrapping around him like invisible hands. He stopped just close enough that the air between them seemed to hum.
"You shouldn't be here," Amina breathed.
He smirked slightly. "Neither should you."
She looked up at him.
He looked like trouble wrapped in softness, wrapped in danger, wrapped in something she didn't have a name for yet.
"What did you want to ask me?" she whispered.
Leo's expression shifted. The smirk faded. His shoulders rose and fell with a slow breath.
"Amina…" His voice was rough, lower than she'd ever heard it. "There are rules I'm not supposed to break."
"What kind of rules?" she asked, heart pounding.
"The kind that involve girls. And secrets. And showing up at Catholic schools after midnight."
He paused before adding:
"The kind you made stupidly easy to break."
Amina's chest tightened. "Leo…"
"I'm telling you this because it's not casual for me," he said quietly. "You're not casual for me."
Her breath faltered.
He stepped even closer, enough that she felt the warmth of his body through the air.
"You're something I'm not supposed to want," he murmured.
"But I want you anyway."
Her lips parted.
Her pulse slammed.
He didn't touch her.
Didn't kiss her.
Didn't even reach out.
And yet it felt like everything in her was leaning toward him.
"Leo," she whispered, voice shaking, "what are we doing?"
"I don't know," he said truthfully. "But I know I don't want to stop."
The night was so still it felt like it was holding its breath for them.
Amina realized she wasn't shivering from cold.
She was shivering from him.
From all the things she wasn't allowed to feel, wasn't allowed to want, wasn't allowed to do.
"Same time tomorrow?" he whispered.
She nodded before her mind caught up.
And Leo's smile—small, slow, warm—looked like it might ruin her.
Her walk back was worse than the walk there
Every step back to the dorm felt heavier.
The world felt different.
Her heart felt different.
Her chest felt too full, like she had inhaled a storm.
When she slipped into bed, breathing fast, Clara's sleepy voice floated through the dark:
"Amina…?"
Amina went still.
Clara turned over. "Were you out?"
Amina swallowed. "…No."
Clara mumbled something incoherent and rolled back over.
But Amina stayed awake.
Thinking about him.
Thinking about tomorrow.
Thinking about the ending she didn't know was coming.