Georg sat behind his desk, his fingers tapping impatiently against the wood. The low light of the lamp cast long shadows across the room, but it did nothing to ease the tension pressing against his temples.
He was starting to regret it—his promise of staying sober.
How he wished for a drink, just something to take the edge off. But instead, he was here, trapped between two women who wouldn't stop prying.
"I'm fine," he said, deliberately, trying to dismiss them.
Lilian didn't look convinced. "Are you sure? You don't look—"
"I said I'm fine."
Marie leaned against the desk with a teasing smirk. "Then come with us. Big Boy's performing at the club tonight."
Georg turned away, his jaw tightening.
Marie sighed, exchanging a look with Lilian. "I told you," she muttered. "I told him to stop messing with Sister Maria. Every time he pokes the nun, something happens to him."
At the mention of Maria, Georg's grip on the edge of the desk tightened.
The pain was already there, simmering beneath the surface, but their words only made it worse. He tried to swallow it down, to let it pass, but they wouldn't stop.
Then suddenly, it snapped.
He shot up from his chair, his voice sharp and raw. "You want to know something?" He glared at them, his chest rising and falling heavily. "I will never fall in love."
The room fell silent.
Georg's fists clenched. "I will never do so because love only brings me suffering."
The women stood quietly, watching him.
His voice dropped lower, but it carried no less weight. "Anyone who says I've been in love before is lying."
Lilian turned to Marie, realization dawning on her face.
Marie, usually quick with a quip, stood frozen, her teasing smirk gone.
Because no matter what Georg said, they both knew.
Men like him never admitted their true feelings.
But women? They somehow always knew.
⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻
Maria folded the last of her garments, pressing them into her bag with slow, deliberate movements. The weight of Father Norman's presence behind her was suffocating, his gaze heavy, unyielding.
She felt more like a child being watched than a woman making a choice for her own future.
"What's with that look?" the priest asked, his tone sharp with expectation.
Maria didn't answer.
She only kept packing, her fingers moving through the motions, but her heart wasn't in it. The thought that he had decided everything for her—again—without asking, without even considering how she felt, left her chest tight with quiet resentment.
"Have trust in me," he urged, his voice softening. "I've always known what's best for you, haven't I?"
Maria swallowed and kept silent.
She reached for a stack of books on her desk, carefully placing them into her bag. And then—there it was.
A small woolen bag, worn with age, peeking out from underneath.
She hesitated.
Slowly, she picked it up, the familiar texture rough against her fingertips.
Behind her, Father Norman's voice cut through the silence. "Take it," he said, watching her closely. "It must be important to you. Perhaps it will help you understand everything."
She turned the small bag over in her hands, her pulse quickening.
The priest stepped closer, lowering his voice. "We always end up understanding," he murmured. "Always."
A pause.
Then, as if correcting himself, he turned away.
"Well... not always."
⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻
Maria stepped onto the familiar soil of Tyrol, the crisp mountain air filling her lungs. The journey had been long, but she had barely taken a moment to rest before making her way to Frau Nina's house.
She knocked, waited, then, realizing no one was home, let herself in.
The quiet of the house was comforting. Slipping into the kitchen, she found the coffee pot and poured herself a cup, savoring the warmth between her hands.
She was nearly finished when the front door creaked open.
Maria turned just as Frau Nina stepped inside, her eyes widening in surprise.
"Maria?"
Before Maria could say a word, the older woman crossed the room in quick strides, pulling her into a tight embrace.
"Oh, my dear girl," Frau Nina murmured against her shoulder. "I've missed you."
Maria closed her eyes and hugged her back, allowing herself, just for a moment, to feel the comfort of home.
⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻
The engine rumbled to a stop as Georg pulled up in front of Jakob's house. The street was quiet, the lampposts casting long shadows over the cobblestones. As he sat there, hands gripping the wheel, he watched the older man step out onto his porch, locking the door behind him. A suitcase in one hand, a smaller bag slung over his shoulder—Jakob was clearly heading somewhere in a hurry.
Georg stepped out of the car, calling out, "Jakob."
The man turned, momentarily surprised to see him. He gave a short nod but didn't slow his pace. Instead, he kept walking down the street.
Georg followed.
"My sister," Jakob said abruptly, his voice tight. "They sent her to the hospital. No idea what happened, but I need to get there as soon as possible."
Georg hesitated for a moment. "Do you need a ride?"
Jakob shook his head. "I already have a ticket." Then, without breaking stride, he shoved his suitcase toward Georg. "Hold this."
Georg caught the suitcase as Jakob rummaged frantically through his smaller bag, muttering to himself about whether he had remembered his ticket. The only sound between them was the rustling of paper and fabric as he searched.
Georg tried again. "I need you to—"
Before he could finish, Jakob let out a breath of relief, pulling the ticket from his bag. He held it up as if it were a prized possession, nodding to himself.
Georg breathed deeply. He hadn't come all this way to be ignored.
The air felt colder than before as Jakob slipped his ticket back into his bag. He barely spared Georg a glance as he said, "I can't attend to you right now."
Georg clenched his jaw, frustrated. Jakob was already distracted, already looking past him, waving down a taxi that was approaching from down the street.
As the car pulled up, Jakob turned, snatching his suitcase from Georg's grip without another word. He moved quickly, reaching for the taxi door, but Georg wasn't done yet.
"No one has returned my rosary," Georg said, his voice steady despite the turmoil in his chest. "No one has appeared, no one to prevent me from going through what I'm going through."
Jakob sat inside the car while Georg talked. He turned back, leaning slightly out of the open window. His eyes crinkled, amused but knowing. "Cheer up," he said. "The woman of your destiny has arrived."
Georg's frown deepened, his stomach twisting at the words. "Is it her?" His voice was firm, but there was an edge to it—an unwillingness to hear the answer he dreaded. "Sister Maria?"
Jakob's answer was simple, final. "Yes. It's her."
Georg's breath hitched, but before he could say anything else, Jakob tapped the side of the taxi. "We can go now," he told the driver.
The taxi pulled away, leaving Georg standing there, frozen on the sidewalk. He couldn't believe it. He didn't want to believe it.
But the moment hung in the air, undeniable.
⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻
The familiar hum of the club outside his office felt distant as Georg leaned against the window, staring out at the streets of Vienna. The city was alive as ever, oblivious to the storm brewing inside him. Jakob's words wouldn't leave his mind.
Maria. Destiny.
He exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face.
A sudden knock interrupted his thoughts, and before he could answer, Karl stepped in. "Captain, can I borrow five schillings?"
Georg barely looked at him, motioning towards his desk. "Right drawer."
Karl grinned as he strode over. "You know, I've got a good feeling about this game. If Rapid Wien wins, I'll be up double. Maybe more."
Georg turned to his tea trolley, pouring himself a coffee. The bitterness would do nothing to clear his thoughts, but at least it was something solid. "I need to make a decision," he said suddenly.
Karl glanced at him while fishing through the drawer. "What kind of decision?"
Georg hesitated. For a brief moment, he almost said it. Instead, he shook his head. "I can't say."
Karl finally found the coins and pocketed them. "Alright, well... if I win, I'll pay you back. If not, take it out of my salary."
Georg huffed a quiet laugh, more out of exhaustion than amusement.
With a casual wave, Karl left, and silence filled the room again.
Georg sank into his chair, staring at the desk. Jakob's words repeated in his mind.
The woman of your destiny has arrived.
He drummed his fingers against the wooden surface, then clenched them into a fist.
Destiny or not, he needed to figure out what to do next.
⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻
The crisp mountain air wrapped around Maria like a gentle embrace as she sat beneath the shade of an old pine tree. The world felt different up here—quieter, softer, removed from the weight of everything she had left behind.
A rustling in the grass caught her attention, and when she looked down, a stray cat stood a few feet away, its fur mottled with shades of brown and gray. Its green eyes studied her, cautious yet curious.
Maria stilled, not wanting to startle it. "Come here," she murmured gently, holding out her hand.
The cat hesitated before slinking closer, rubbing its small body against her fingers. A faint smile touched her lips as she let it nuzzle into her palm.
"You're lucky," she whispered, stroking its soft fur. "You don't have to make choices. You don't have to wonder if you've made the wrong one."
The cat purred in response, settling beside her.
Maria leaned her head back against the tree trunk, her eyes drifting to the sky above. The clouds moved slowly, unconcerned with time or consequence.
"How agonizing it is," she sighed, "to decide all the time."
⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻
The moment Maria stepped through the door, Frau Nina's sharp eyes were already on her.
"There's something on your mind," the older woman said without preamble.
Maria stiffened but kept her expression neutral. "It's nothing."
Frau Nina wasn't fooled. Her keen gaze locked onto Maria's face, and she lifted a finger in warning. "You have never told a lie. Not to me, not to anyone."
Maria hesitated, caught between the truth and the unbearable weight of it. Her fingers curled into her skirt as she struggled for composure. Then, with a fury she couldn't contain, the words tumbled from her lips.
"Father Norman wants me to move to Switzerland," she said, her voice tight with frustration.
She turned on her heel and marched toward the kitchen, as if putting distance between them could lessen the storm brewing inside her. The thought of leaving, of yet another decision being made for her, sent a wave of resentment coursing through her veins.
Maria reached the window, staring out at the familiar scenery, her breath uneven.
Behind her, Frau Nina followed, her voice edged with disbelief. "And what about me?" she asked, softer this time. "Are you going to abandon me here?"
Maria stayed silent. She didn't know what to say, not when she felt so torn between duty and the only home she had left.
Frau Nina's breathing grew ragged. The tremble in her voice, the fear in her words—it shattered something in Maria.
Maria turned and saw the woman's face, stricken with emotion. Without thinking, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her.
"I won't abandon you," she murmured.
Frau Nina clung to her, sobbing into her shoulder, the weight of their bond pressing between them.
Maria shut her eyes. Her decision was made.
"I'll tell Father Norman," she said firmly. "I'm not going."
⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻
"You're not going?" Father Norman's voice was measured, but the weight behind his words was unmistakable.
Maria stood firm. "No, Father. I can't leave Frau Nina. She's been like a mother to me."
The priest exhaled sharply. "Can't you spend a month or two away from here? Just to clear your thoughts?"
Maria shook her head. "When I told her about it, she nearly had a heart attack. What if something happens to her while I'm gone?"
Father Norman's expression darkened. "So, you're staying because of the old woman?" His voice dropped. "Or is it because of that sinner?"
Maria flinched. "Don't say that, Father."
His eyes bore into her, searching for something—hesitation, doubt, anything he could use to sway her. "You've let him take hold of you."
Maria straightened, holding her ground. "I promise, I won't go near him again. I'll live as I always have—focused on Christ and my choir."
Father Norman folded his arms. "He's going to your convent to arrange a Mass."
"He can go," Maria answered, unwavering. "But I won't let him get close to me."
A bitter smile ghosted over the priest's lips. "But you already have."
Maria's heart pounded.
"He's turning you into someone else," Father Norman pressed. "Don't you see it?"
Maria held his gaze. "No, Father." Her voice was steady. "I remain the same."
The priest continued, his voice slow and deliberate. "You've thought about him for a long time." He took a step forward. "You pray, you meditate, you work—and still, he finds a way into your thoughts. He disrupts your focus." His brow arched. "Isn't that right?"
Maria stumbled for an answer. "I do think about him," she admitted, then quickly added, "but with a purpose."
Father Norman tilted his head.
"I wanted to do a miracle," Maria pressed on, her voice gaining strength. "And he was my miracle."
A deep frown settled on the priest's face. He let her words hang in the air before speaking again. "Do you find yourself wondering how he lives?" His voice was quiet, almost coaxing. "What is he doing right now?"
Maria's expression tensed. She hesitated, but honesty compelled her to nod. "Sometimes."
A knowing smile tugged at the corners of Father Norman's lips. He clasped his hands together, nodding as if she had just proven his point. "The allure between virtue and vice," he said, "is as ancient as time itself."
Father Norman's expression remained impassive as the knock echoed through the room. Maria stiffened, her breath catching in her throat.
Daniel stepped inside, his voice calm but expectant. "Father, there's a call confirming two tickets to Switzerland for tomorrow."
Maria's stomach twisted.
Father Norman turned toward the door. "Give me a moment," he said, then shut it before Daniel could say another word.
The silence between them thickened, stretching unbearably as Father Norman slowly faced Maria again. His eyes gleamed with fervor, his hands clasped tightly in front of him.
"This is it," he said, his voice strong, unwavering. "God is giving you a moment, Maria. A moment to choose between Him and the worldly life." He took a step forward, watching her intently. "Make your choice now."
Maria's head bent, her mind whirling. The weight of the choice settled heavily on her shoulders. She felt the pounding of her own heart, the pull of something deep inside her—something she didn't want to name.
Seconds passed. Then, in a voice just above a whisper, she said, "I'll go."
The words felt final.
Maria barely had time to process her answer before Father Norman's face lit with a triumphant smile. He did not hide it.