Max strode into Georg's office, adjusting his coat as he took in the sight of his friend sitting behind his desk. He had barely stepped inside when he smirked knowingly. "Let me guess," he said, stopping just before the desk. "This is about why you called me here. You've finally decided to tell me everything."
Georg leaned back in his chair, lips twitching with amusement. "Nope," he said simply, then gestured toward the seat across from him. "Sit."
Max raised a brow but obliged, settling into the chair and straightening his necktie. "Are you about to make some grand revelation, then?" he teased, his tone light.
Georg remained silent for a moment, tapping his fingers idly against the desk. Then, instead of answering Max's taunt, he asked, "Maria?"
Max, who had expected something else entirely, blinked in surprise.
"I know you've been talking to her," Georg continued, twirling a pen between his fingers. "You gossip almost as much as Lilian."
Max let out a chuckle, shaking his head. "Maria is still in Switzerland," he answered.
Georg hummed, letting that sink in before asking, "Is she going to stay there forever?"
Max shrugged, leaning back in his seat. "If it were up to her? No," he admitted. "She was worried about her choir before she left. Those children mean too much to her to abandon them."
"Well," Georg said, straightening up in his chair. "That's why I called you here."
Max tilted his head, intrigued.
Georg pulled open a desk drawer and retrieved a check, sliding it across the polished wood toward Max. "It's for Maria's choir," he said simply.
Max picked it up and read the amount. His eyes widened. "This much?" He let out a low whistle. "I thought you hated Maria."
Georg leaned back, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. "Hate is a strong word." He shrugged. "I really liked the choir."
Max eyed him skeptically.
"Their voices," Georg continued, staring at nothing in particular. "They were beautiful."
Max smirked, folding the check and tucking it into his coat. "Right. The choir."
⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻
Maria stood on the bridge overlooking the Aare River, the crisp Swiss air brushing against her cheeks. In her hands, a letter from Max trembled slightly as she reread a particular line:
"Georg said the voices of your choir are beautiful."
Her breath hitched, and she lifted her gaze to the sky, eyes shining with emotion. "He really said it, Jesus." she whispered in wonder. A delighted laugh escaped her lips as she clutched the letter to her chest. "Didn't I say that my choir would bring back the lost sheep to You?"
Lowering her gaze, she looked at the bank cheque stapled to the letter, her fingers gently rubbing against the paper as if she could feel the sincerity behind it. Georg had sent this from his heart—she was certain of it. Smiling, she lifted the cheque and pressed a soft kiss against it before carefully folding it back.
Some time later, Maria returned to the bridge, her steps light and purposeful. This time, she carried a small woolen bag in her hands. She ran down to the riverbank, her breath coming in exhilarated bursts. With a joyful gleam in her eyes, she looked down at the bag, then with a flick of her wrist, she tossed it into the river.
The water carried it away swiftly, and Maria's smile only grew as she watched it disappear into the current. She stepped closer to the river's edge, crouching down to run her fingers through the cool water. Around her, people swimming in the river cast curious glances her way, but Maria didn't notice.
The only thing she felt was the joy overflowing in her heart.
⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻
Father Norman stood on the train platform, scanning the arriving passengers with anticipation. The moment he spotted Maria stepping down from the carriage, a sense of relief settled in his chest. After a month in Switzerland, she was finally back in Tyrol. He had waited long enough to see the effect of her time away.
They walked together toward the church, the cobbled streets familiar beneath their feet. The priest turned to her, his voice casual but laced with curiosity. "Did you hear any news from him while you were there?"
Maria's expression remained serene. "No."
Father Norman studied her face, searching for any flicker of hesitation. "Did you even try to find out? Did you ask someone about him?"
Maria shook her head, her steps never faltering. "No."
The priest hummed thoughtfully, then after a moment, he said, "I remember you had a small woolen bag hidden behind your books." He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, careful with his words. He knew what had been inside—the sinner's rosary—but Maria never realized he had known. And he had no intention of telling her.
Maria stopped walking and turned to face him fully, her blue eyes calm and unwavering. "I threw it into the river."
Father Norman barely suppressed the small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He repeated her words under his breath, as if to savor them. Then, with a quiet nod, he said, "You're healed."
And for the first time in a long while, he truly believed it.
⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻
Frau Nina's sewing machine hummed steadily until the sound of the door creaking open made her look up. The moment her eyes landed on Maria, she gasped, her hands flying to her chest.
"Maria!" she cried, standing up so quickly that her chair nearly tipped over. She hurried toward the young woman, wrapping her in a tight embrace. "I thought I'd never see you again."
Maria let out a soft laugh. "Don't say that," she chided gently.
Pulling back slightly, Frau Nina took a moment to look at her properly. She searched Maria's face as if trying to measure how time and distance had treated her. Then, unable to resist, she pulled her into another embrace, holding her even tighter.
When they finally broke apart, Frau Nina cupped Maria's face briefly before asking, "Are you here to stay?"
Maria nodded. "I am."
A relieved smile spread across Frau Nina's face as Maria took a seat. But the moment of joy was quickly interrupted when Maria added, "I still have to go back to the convent."
Frau Nina's expression fell. "Can't Father Norman at least let you stay in Tyrol until the end of the week?" she asked, her voice almost pleading.
Maria shook her head. "I simply can't. I'm worried about my choir—I need to see how the children are doing."
Frau Nina sighed but nodded in understanding. Still, she couldn't hide her disappointment.
Maria reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. "But now that I'm back in Austria, I'll visit you as much as I can."
That promise was enough to bring a smile back to Frau Nina's face. "You'd better," she teased, brushing a stray curl from Maria's forehead.
Frau Nina led Maria to the kitchens. setting a steaming cup of coffee in front of Maria before gathering up the younger woman's bag. "I'll take this to your room," she offered.
Maria smiled in gratitude. "Thank you, Frau Nina."
With a nod, Frau Nina carried the bag down the familiar hallway and into Maria's small but cozy room. Setting it on the neatly made bed, she reached inside, pulling out a few pieces of clothing to help Maria settle in. As she did, something unexpected caught her eye—a wooden rosary with a gleaming metal cross.
She held it up, tilting it in the light streaming through the window. The craftsmanship was delicate yet sturdy, the wood smooth from years of handling. A frown tugged at her lips. She had never seen Maria with this rosary before.
Curiosity piqued, Frau Nina called out, "Maria?"
A moment later, hurried footsteps approached before Maria appeared in the doorway, her expression questioning. Then her eyes landed on the rosary in Frau Nina's hands.
Frau Nina lifted it slightly. "Where did you get such a beautiful rosary?"
Maria froze, her lips parting slightly. For a moment, she said nothing, only staring at the object. Then, with a slight stutter, she finally answered, "I—I got it as a souvenir from Switzerland."
Frau Nina turned the rosary over in her fingers once more before remarking, "It is beautiful, but I still prefer a fully wooden one. A sign of humility, you know. Owning something so grand just because it is beautiful... it doesn't feel quite right."
Before she could say more, Maria reached out and swiftly took the rosary from her hands. The suddenness of her reaction startled Frau Nina, but she said nothing, merely watching as Maria clutched the rosary tightly in her palm.
A silence settled between them, thick with unspoken thoughts. Then, Maria finally spoke, her voice quiet but firm. "Please, don't tell Father Norman that I brought this."
Frau Nina's eyes narrowed slightly, sensing something beneath Maria's words.
Maria glanced down at the rosary, running her thumb over the cool metal cross. "You're right," she murmured. "It is beautiful. And I... I don't want the priest to know I have it. He might get upset."
Frau Nina studied her carefully, searching for something Maria wasn't saying. Then, after a brief pause, she closed her eyes for a moment, as if making a silent decision, before nodding.
"I won't say a word," she promised.
Maria exhaled, gripping the rosary just a little tighter.
⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻
Maria stepped through the convent doors back in Vienna, her heart weighed down by an unfamiliar heaviness. The familiar scent of candle wax and aged wood surrounded her, but for the first time, it didn't bring the comfort she expected.
She made her way to her small room in silence, her footsteps soft against the stone floor. Once inside, she carefully set her bag down before turning toward the simple wooden cross mounted above her bed. It had always been there, steady and unchanging, a reminder of her devotion.
Stepping closer, she lifted a hand and traced the edges of the cross with her fingertips. "I feel guilty," she admitted softly. "Lying to Frau Nina... to Father Norman."
She swallowed, closing her eyes for a brief moment as she tried to push the weight of that guilt away. "But I wanted to come back here," she reasoned, as if saying it aloud would make it true. "Because this is my home."
Her hands pressed together in prayer, her posture straightening with renewed determination. Here, in the convent, she could silence the distractions, the temptations. Here, she could strive for the holiness she longed for.
Maria exhaled slowly, her fingers grazing the cross once more. "I may have lied to them," she whispered, "but I'm not lying to You."
And yet, as the words left her lips, the weight in her chest did not lift.
⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻
The solemn stillness of the church wrapped around them as Frau Nina walked alongside Father Norman, her fingers anxiously twisting the fabric of her skirt. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the stone walls, the scent of incense lingering in the air.
"I feel like Maria hasn't been herself," Frau Nina murmured, her voice heavy with worry. "I know I'm not her mother, but a mother's intuition doesn't deceive. Something is happening to her."
They reached the pews, and she lowered herself onto the polished wood, while Father Norman remained standing, his hands clasped together in thought.
"Please, don't speak like that," he said gently. "Maria is devoted. She has returned to where she belongs."
But Frau Nina shook her head. "I won't be able to bear it if she goes astray."
Father Norman met her gaze with steady reassurance. "There is no danger of that." He hesitated, a thought stirring in the depths of his mind, though he did not voice it aloud. Hadn't Maria told him she threw the sinner's rosary into the river, where she wouldn't be able to get it back?
He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Please, don't worry."
Frau Nina let out a slow breath, but the unease in her chest did not lift. She rose from the pew, offering the priest a small, uncertain nod before making her way toward the great wooden doors.
As they neared the heavy wooden doors of the church, Frau Nina suddenly stopped. Her hands clenched in front of her, and she took a slow breath before turning to face Father Norman.
"There's something I must confess," she said softly.
The priest tilted his head slightly, urging her to continue.
"I saw a rosary in Maria's bag."
The gentle smile on Father Norman's face vanished. A chill ran down his spine, but he quickly masked his reaction.
"A rosary?" he whispered, his voice careful, measured.
Frau Nina met his eyes, searching for something within them. "She told me it was a souvenir, but..." She hesitated. "There was something in her face, something that told me there was more to it."
For a moment, silence stretched between them. Then Father Norman forced a small, reassuring smile. "Ah, the rosary," he said smoothly. "Of course, I know what you're talking about."
Her eyes widened slightly. "So it's true?" she asked. "You already knew?"
He nodded, and she let out a relieved sigh. "I felt suspicious when Maria asked me not to tell you, but now that I know she was honest with you... it puts my heart at ease."
The priest maintained his gentle smile, though his mind reeled. He could not let his expression falter.
"Go home, Frau Nina," he said kindly. "And take care of yourself. Take care of Maria as well."
Frau Nina clasped his hand, pressing a grateful kiss to it. "Thank you, Father," she said, her voice filled with newfound hope. "You've given me reassurance again."
With that, she turned and made her way toward the doors, stepping out into the fading light of day. Father Norman watched her go, his smile vanishing the moment she disappeared from sight.
Maria had lied to him.
Father Norman remained still, his hands clasped tightly together. His mind churned with unease—his efforts to rid Maria of the sinner's hold had failed. She had thrown the rosary into the river, so she claimed, but now he knew the truth.
Daniel, the sacristan, must have noticed the tension on the priest's face, for he approached cautiously. "Father, do you need anything?"
The priest barely turned to him, his voice strained. "I need silence."
He exhaled sharply and clapped his hands together, murmuring to himself, "Her going away hadn't solved anything." He closed his eyes. "My God... how do you solve a problem like this?"
Daniel tilted his head. "Father... are you speaking to me?"
"Ah, Daniel." The priest shook his head, his expression troubled. He turned and began pacing slowly down the nave, his voice quiet yet intense. "A priest knows how to show God's existence, instill fear in the faithful, guide them along the paths to heaven and away from hell. And yet..." His fingers twitched at his sides. "None of that means anything."
Father Norman stopped in front of the altar. His knees bent, and he sank onto the front pew, bowing his head. The flickering candlelight cast shadows across the revulto before him.
"All the knowledge I have," he whispered, almost as if confessing. "None of it helps me hold onto a sheep that strays." His throat tightened. "Because it strays toward another religion."
The priest's eyes remained locked on the altar. "One I do not understand," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "And it is because I do not understand... that I cannot break it."
A long silence followed. Then, almost reverently, as if the truth had finally surfaced from the depths of his soul, Father Norman whispered,
"Love is also a religion."
⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻
Despite knowing the dangers of wandering alone at night, Maria slipped out of the convent, her heart pounding in her chest. Every step she took through the dimly lit streets felt both reckless and inevitable, as if an unseen force was pulling her toward him. She had ignored it before—prayed for it to disappear—but tonight, she could no longer fight it.
She pressed herself against the cold stone wall of an alleyway, breath shallow, peering out cautiously. Across the street stood the Edelweiss, the club Georg owned, its golden letters catching the faint glow of the streetlamps. But Maria's eyes weren't drawn to the entrance. Instead, they lifted to the upper floor, where Max had told her Georg lived.
There. A balcony, its doors open. A soft glow from within spilled onto the curtains, making them flutter gently in the night air. Maria's fingers curled into the fabric of her cloak as she waited, her pulse a drumbeat in her ears.
Then—a shadow moved.
A figure stepped into the light, and even if she do not see his face, Maria knew.
He stood with his back to the balcony, his broad shoulders tense beneath the robe draped over them. For a moment, he was still, then his hands reached up, untying the robe's belt. The fabric slipped from his shoulders, revealing the sharp lines of his arms, the shape of his torso cast into stark relief against the warm light.
Maria's lips parted.
She should look away. She should turn back. But she couldn't.
Her breath hitched as she clutched her cloak tighter around her. The night air was cold, but her skin burned.
And still, she watched.
Georg finished fastening the last few buttons of his shirt when he suddenly froze. Slowly, his head turned toward the balcony.
Maria's breath caught in her throat.
She should have left the moment she saw him. Should have never come at all. But now—now she could see his silhouette moving closer to the balcony, as if he knew someone was there.
Maria took a step back.
Then another.
The moment Georg reached for the curtains, she turned and fled.
⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻
Back in the convent, Maria shut the door to her room with more force than she intended. She stood there for a moment, her heart hammering, before her eyes lifted to the cross above her bed.
She huffed out a breath. "My legs took me there," she told it, as if explaining herself.
Shrugging off her cloak, she muttered again, "I always take walks."
That was true. She did take walks. But tonight... tonight had been different. Before she had even realized it, she had ended up there. Watching. Waiting.
She rubbed her arms, suddenly restless, pacing the small space of her room. "Why?" she whispered harshly to herself. "Why did I—why do I still—"
Her hands curled into fists at her sides.
She stopped, gripping the back of the wooden chair at her desk. Her gaze flickered up to the cross once more, but this time, she looked away just as quickly—ashamed, almost, as if she couldn't bear for God to see the expression on her face.
A quiet whisper left her lips.
"Does he still come here... or has he forgotten about me?"
⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻
"Sometimes, I still get the urge to go to the convent," Georg admitted, his voice quiet in the early morning stillness.
Marie walked beside him, her hands tucked into the folds of her coat. The city was only just beginning to wake, the streets still damp with the night's lingering cold.
"To step into the chapel where she prays," he continued.
At the next lamppost, Georg stopped, leaning against it. Marie lingered on the other side, watching him.
"Why?" she asked.
He smiled, just a little. "For nothing," he said. "Just to remember."
Marie didn't press further. Instead, she followed his gaze as he looked up at the sky, still dark, the sun only a whisper beneath the horizon.
By the time the sun had risen, Georg found himself standing at the convent gates.
It had been so long since he had last come here. The sight of the chapel was both familiar and foreign, a place he had once entered freely and yet now hesitated before.
Before stepping inside, he stopped at the ornate stoup just outside the entrance. Dipping his fingers into the cool holy water, he made the sign of the cross—an old habit, muscle memory from years past.
Then, with quiet steps, he entered the chapel.
The moment he did, he saw her.
Maria stood at the altar, adjusting a bookstand, unaware of his presence.
Georg stopped at the doorway.
For the first time in a long while, he didn't know whether to step forward or turn back. He hadn't known she had come back.
Georg stood in the chapel, watching as Maria moved about the altar, working alongside another nun. She carried herself with quiet purpose, her hands steady as she placed a Bible on the bookstand.
Then, as she lifted her hand away, her eyes met his.
For a moment, the world around them seemed to fade. No chapel, no altar, no other presence—just the two of them, caught in a silence that spoke more than words ever could.
Maria turned quickly, glancing at the nun beside her as if to remind herself of where she was. Without hesitation, she resumed her tasks.
Georg took slow steps forward and settled into a front pew. He didn't look away. Not as she moved with quiet precision, not as she finished her work and turned towards the side of the chapel to leave.
As Maria neared the north transept, her gaze flickered to him once more—a brief, fleeting glance—before she looked away.
Then she was gone from his view.
Georg exhaled and let his gaze drift up, settling on the large cross and the revultos before him. He sat still, surrounded by the echo of his own thoughts.
He slowly turned his head, his gaze settling on Maria.
She had stopped at the chapel doors, watching the other nun leave. For a moment, she hesitated, her fingers gripping the fabric of her habit. Then, as if deciding something in an instant, she turned—not to leave, but to step toward the confessional.
Georg watched as she disappeared behind the curtain, slipping into the center compartment without a word.
His heart pounded. He hadn't planned for this. He hadn't even known she was back. And yet, here she was—so close, yet still unreachable.
Georg rose from his seat, feeling the weight of the sacred space around him. He wasn't doing anything scandalous, not yet. But every step toward the confessional felt like stepping closer to something dangerous, something he couldn't walk away from.
Kneeling in the booth, he leaned in, his breath steadying as his eyes traced the dark lattice. He couldn't see her, not fully, but he hoped—prayed—that she was looking through, that she could feel his presence as much as he felt hers.
"Maria," he whispered.
Silence.
He knew she was there. He knew she was listening.
And so, at last, he spoke the words that had burned in his chest for too long.
"I love you."