You can watch a narrated version on YouTube via this link, or just below this post.
The moment he walked into the hall, I felt my breath hitch. I had seen him countless times before — during services, at rehearsals — but that day, something was different. His voice carried through the room like warm honey, smooth and commanding, filling every corner with melody and purpose.
I tried to focus on the song sheet before me, but it was hopeless. My eyes, traitorous as they were, kept finding their way back to him — the subtle way he smiled when giving directions, the soft crease between his brows when the tenors missed a note.
I found it nearly impossible to take my eyes off him all through the practice. He stood there — tall, confident, his voice deep and steady as he led the tenors. Every time he smiled, it was as though the whole room lit up.
So, when I caught him grinning at something one of the female singers said, my blood boiled before I could stop myself. It wasn’t logical — I barely knew him — but the annoyance burned through me anyway.
Before my better judgement could intervene, I marched straight up to him. He turned from the girl, surprise flashing across his undeniably handsome face.
“Can I speak with you for a minute?” I said sharply, then turned and stormed off before he could reply.
To my surprise, he followed without a word until we reached the courtyard just outside the practice hall.
When I was sure we were alone, I fixed my gaze on him, hoping to look intimidating — though my heart was pounding.
“Well?” he asked, a small, amused smile tugging at his lips. He looked a bit flustered, and that gave me a tiny spark of satisfaction.
“What do you want to talk about?” he added, still watching me with those honey-brown eyes.
I had planned to be polite. Truly, I had. But the moment his eyes locked with mine, all my rehearsed words flew out the window.
“How could you?” I demanded.
He frowned. “How could I what?”
“How could you treat my friend so terribly and still have the nerve to flirt with another girl?”
“Wait—what? Who’s your friend? Flirt? What are you talking about?”
“Don’t act like you don’t know what I mean,” I snapped.
He took a moment, then his brows furrowed. “Are you talking about Brittney?”
“Of course! Who else?”
He sighed. “First of all, I don’t flirt with anyone. I’m simply polite. And second, I don’t see why you’re angry that I respectfully turned down someone I don’t have feelings for.”
“Respectfully?” I scoffed. “You crushed her confidence!”
He crossed his arms. “What did you expect me to do? Pretend to like her and waste both our time because she believes I would eventually fall for her?”
I hesitated — Brittney hadn’t told me that part. “Well… I just think there are gentler ways to reject someone.”
“Like how?” he asked, his voice calm but curious.
“You could tell her she’s beautiful, that you’re honored by her feelings — you know, something to soften the blow.”
He tilted his head. “Would you believe me if I said I did exactly that? Or would you just find another reason to villainize me?”
“If you did, Brittney wouldn’t have come back crying,” I shot back.
He sighed deeply. “If telling her she’s beautiful, and that any man would be lucky to have her — but that I already have my heart set on someone else — makes me cruel, then I don’t know what wouldn’t be.”
My mouth fell open. “You said that?”
“Yes,” he said simply. “And the person I like clearly hasn’t noticed yet.”
“Have you told her how you feel?” I asked, curiosity replacing anger.
“Not yet.”
“Well, I hope she rejects you,” I said, crossing my arms. “Then you’ll know how Brittney feels.”
“With her temperament, I wouldn’t be surprised if she did.” he said with a smirk.
“Do I know her?” I asked, leaning forward.
“Oh, you definitely do.”
“Who is she?”
“She’s standing right in front of me.”
I turned, expecting to see someone behind me — but the space was empty. When I faced him again, he raised an eyebrow. Then it hit me.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said, laughing nervously.
“I am not.” he said simply
“Why… when… what?” I stammered. “How could you say that knowing my friend likes you?”
“I was going to tell you anyway,” he said softly. “It’s just unfortunate she confessed first.”
“What am I supposed to do with this?” I demanded.
“You could start by going on a date with me tomorrow,” he suggested with a grin.
I blinked. “You’ve gotta be joking?”
“I have never been so serious. I mean, I understand that you might not like me very much, but you don’t know me yet, so I ask for a chance to change your mind.”
“Firstly, I don’t dislike you,” I began carefully, my heart beating a little faster than I wanted to admit, “but I can’t say I reciprocate your feelings. I’ve never thought of you that way. Perhaps it’s because I knew how much Brittney likes you—that knowledge made it impossible to even consider you in that light.”
He tilted his head slightly, a small amused smile tugging at his lips. “Well then,” he said softly, stepping closer, “ Would you please allow me to win your love?”
Before I could think of what to say, he reached for my hand—his touch warm, deliberate. My breath caught.
“For a man who claims he doesn’t flirt with women,” I managed, though my voice trembled more than I liked, “you’re really showing off your skills.”
He chuckled, that calm, confident sound that somehow made my stomach twist. “But I’m not flirting,” he said sincerely. “I truly like you.”
“I’m going to have to speak to Brittney about this,” I said, pulling my hand back, trying to ground myself. “I wish you hadn’t put me in this difficult position.”
He only smiled—calm, knowing. “Whatever the case may be,” he said, his voice low but steady, “can we meet here tomorrow? Then you can either turn me down, or we can take a walk into town. And please…” His eyes softened. “Don’t turn me down because you think I should be with Brittney and not you. That’s just silly.”
With those words, I watched him walk away—tall, composed, and undeniably magnetic. The late afternoon light traced the edges of his silhouette, and for a moment, my heart began to race.
It was thrilling—and terrifying.
Whilst I was caught up in the rush of it all, uncertainty began to creep in. How was I supposed to tell Brittney? She was really hung up on him. She’d pointed him out to me the very first day I joined the choir—“that’s him,” she’d whispered, eyes glowing, “the one who can sing, play almost every instrument, and never misses a single service.” Everyone called him the church’s most eligible bachelor.
Now he had just asked me out.
When I returned to the small caravan room Brittney and I were sharing for the week-long choir camp, the air felt heavy. We were all preparing for a big concert, but the energy in our space was anything but musical.
Brittney was still lying in bed, in the exact position I’d left her that morning. Her blonde hair was tied in a messy bun, and her eyes were swollen and red—clear signs she’d been crying again.
“Hey, girl,” I said softly, stepping inside. “I’m back. Are you okay?”
“Of course not,” she snapped, blowing her nose hard into a tissue. “I just don’t understand why he wouldn’t at least try to like me back.” Her voice cracked as fresh tears welled up.
I took a deep breath, torn between compassion and dread. Should I tell her? Or just let it go?
“Arggh, this is not a soap opera!” I muttered under my breath, pacing a little.
“What’s wrong with you? Are you going nuts now?” Brittney asked sharply, giving me a side-eye.
“There’s something I’ve got to tell you, Brit,” I said finally.
“Please don’t start with any of your encouraging speeches. I really don’t want to hear it.”
I decided her attitude came from pain, so I ignored it.
“I think I need to tell you why he turned you down.”
She frowned, narrowing her puffy blue eyes at me. “And how would you know that?”
“Well…” I began, guilt prickling under my skin. “I was so angry at him for making you feel that way that I… confronted him.”
Her eyes widened. “Why on earth would you do such a thing?”
“I know, I know. I acted on impulse,” I confessed quickly. “I saw him talking to Teresa and thought…”
“Teresa?” Brittney interrupted, sitting up a little. “Is she the one he likes? Then I have nothing to worry about.”
I blinked, unsure what to make of that. “You knew he likes someone else?” I asked.
“Erm, yeah,” she said, shrugging. “He mentioned something like that yesterday, but I didn’t want to hear it.”
“I thought you said he rudely shut you down.”
“Duh. Don’t you think it’s rude to talk about another woman when someone’s confessing their feelings?”
“Not if that woman is the reason for the rejection,” I replied, arching a brow.
“Well, I thought it was absolutely demeaning,” she cried, throwing her hands in the air. I began to doubt how truthful her version of the story really was.
“I just think Teresa’s way too young for him,” she continued, voice rising. “She’s still in university, and even though she’s technically an adult, he’s too old for her. He needs to realize how bad it makes him look—chasing after little girls!”
“It’s not Teresa he likes,” I said exasperatedly, suddenly feeling defensive on his behalf.
“Oh, what a relief,” she sighed. “Well, who is it then?”
I hesitated, biting my lip.
“Are you telling me or not?” she pressed impatiently.
At that point, I’d had enough. “He said he likes me,” I blurted.
She froze, eyes wide. It took her nearly a full minute to process the words, so I quickly added, “He asked me on a date, too.”
“What?” Brittney yelled, springing upright. “You? He chose you over me? Are you kidding me?”
I frowned, not liking her tone. “First of all, he didn’t ‘choose’ me over you. He simply likes me—that’s all there is to it. Second, what in the world do you mean by that?”
She gave a short, bitter laugh. “I mean, look at you. Look at me. Why would he reject me… for you?”
I stared at her, stunned into silence, but she wasn’t done.
“I mean, you’re okay,” she said, waving her hand dismissively, “but compared to me, you don’t stand a chance. I mean no disrespect, but surely you know what I mean.”
“I don’t know what you mean at all,” I said evenly. “Please, enlighten me.”
She smirked slightly, as if she were stating a simple fact. “I mean, I’m what people usually call beautiful. Blonde hair, blue eyes—what else could a man want? You, on the other hand…” she gestured vaguely, “you’re an acquired taste. With your dark skin and curly hair… I’m sure there’s a man out there who’d appreciate that.”
Her words hit me like a slap, cold and unexpected. I stared at her, speechless, wondering how I’d missed this side of her before—this shallow, cruel part.
Finally, I took a long, steadying breath and replied with calm clarity, “Well, by your very own logic, he is that very man—the one who appreciates exactly what you call an ‘acquired taste.’”
Then I turned and walked out of the room, my heart heavy but certain of one thing:
I was going on that date—regardless of how my so-called friend felt about it.
That confrontation feels like a lifetime ago.
I glance across the living room now, where my husband — the same man who once turned my world upside down — is playing the piano while our three children dance around him.
Sometimes, I still wonder how differently my life would have turned out if I’d chosen loyalty to the wrong friendship over listening to my heart.
As for Brittney… I never saw her again after that camp. Last I heard, she moved to another city.
But I’ll always be grateful she revealed her true colours — because if she hadn’t, I might have missed my forever.
THE WRITTEN FAITH 
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