Come as you are.

The day came, The day of the meeting where Arthur life after his little exile will be examined arrived. It came calm but too suspicious to trust. The sky was too blue, the wind too gentle. It was the kind of morning that made you wonder what storm had passed or what storm was still hiding behind the horizon.

Auther had dressed in his old priest’s attire.

Not out of fear. Not even out of nostalgia. But out of something deeper—a strange desire to present himself as a whole man, wearing both who he was and who he had become. The black clerical shirt, the white collar—it all still fit. But it didn’t feel like armor anymore. It felt like memory.

Isabella stood at the door, watching him straighten the cuffs.

“You sure you want to go alone?” she asked.

He looked at her, love deep in his eyes. “If I go alone, they’ll see I’m not hiding behind you. If I go alone, they’ll know I’m choosing this.”

She nodded, stepping closer, pressing the scarf he gave her weeks ago into his hands.

“For strength,” she said.

He wrapped it around his wrist like a blessing.

The road to the diocese felt longer than usual. Every step toward the town center whispered memories—his first sermon, his ordination, his exile. The chapel came into view, tall and old, its windows catching sunlight like glass prayers.

But just as he neared the chapel gate, a familiar figure stepped out of the shadows.

“Catherine?” he breathed.

She was as elegant as ever, clad in a muted navy gown and a delicate veil around her hair. Her eyes—hazel and always watching—met his with a strange mix of curiosity and hurt.

“I heard you were coming,” she said.

Auther hesitated. “I didn’t think you’d be here to see me.”

She smiled, faintly. “ I needed to.”

Catherine had once been his confidant,his friend, and once, long ago, nearly more. Before Isabella. Before the calling had deepened into isolation.

“You broke something, Auther,” she said, voice low. “Not just rules. You broke people’s trust. Mine included.”

“I know,” he said. “And I carry it every day.”

There was silence between them. Then, she stepped closer. “But maybe… it wasn’t all for nothing. I’ve seen what you’re doing now. With the chapel. With the people. They say you listen differently now.”

“I learned how,” he said. “The hard way.”

She looked past him, toward the church doors. “Don’t forget who you used to be.

I won’t,” he said softly. " I'm different now".

She gave a small nod. "I see". “Go in. They’re waiting.”

And like a ghost of his past offering reluctant blessing, she stepped aside.

Inside, the air was cool and smelled of incense. The walls wore silence like robes. Two other clergymen sat at the long table in the small adjoining office—Bishop Matthew, a stern-faced man with piercing blue eyes, and Father Clement, round-bellied, kind-hearted.

Auther bowed slightly. “Thank you for seeing me.”

Matthew nodded. “Sit, Auther.”

No title. No honorific.

Just his name.

He sat.

The silence between them stretched, measured.

“We’ve heard things,” Matthew began. “About where you’ve been. About whom you’ve been with.”

Auther didn’t blink. “I assumed you would.”

“Are they true?”

“Yes.”

“You’re no longer celibate?”

“No.”

“You’re living in sin?”

He paused. “I’m living in love. With truth. With repentance. With joy.”

Bishop Clement looked up at that.

Matthew pressed his fingers together. “You know the rules, Auther. The vows.”

“I know them. I honored them. Until I realized that following them blindly was breaking me in ways God never intended.”

Matthew raised an eyebrow. “You’re blaming God?”

“I’m blaming silence,” Auther said. “I stood at the altar every Sunday preaching love while starving for it. I held people’s hands through suffering, funerals, marriages… and yet denied myself the one grace I preached.”

Clement leaned forward. “And this woman? Isabella?”

Auther’s chest swelled at her name. “She’s light. She’s fire. She didn’t pull me from God—she reminded me of Him.”

“She’s the reason you abandoned your post.”

“She’s the reason I didn’t die inside it.”

Another long pause.

Elijah finally spoke. “We asked you here not to shame you. But to listen. And perhaps… to ask forgiveness.”

Auther’s breath caught.

Matthew nodded slowly. “The Church is not beyond repentance. We’ve made idols of our laws. And maybe we’ve forgotten the people beneath the robes.”

“You’re not the first priest to fall,” Clement added gently. “But maybe you’re the first in a long time who stood back up with honesty instead of shame.”

“What now?” Auther asked.

Matthew folded his hands. “We can’t reinstate you. Not as before. But… the community still speaks of you with respect. If you wish to serve, in some form, there are paths.”

Auther blinked. “You’re offering me something?”

“Not a pulpit,” Clement said. “But perhaps a place. A role. The bookstore chapel has been empty. People gather there now, quietly. They ask questions. They miss your voice.”

A small tremor ran through Auther.

“They’d accept me?”

“They already have,” Clement said. “We only needed to catch up.”

---

Auther walked home in a daze, the letter from the bishop folded in his palm. He barely noticed the market or the sky. Only when he reached the edge of their cottage did he feel his chest again. He saw the garden first—Isabella bent among the rosemary.

She turned when he neared.

“You’re back,” she breathed.

He dropped to his knees before her, clutching her hands.

“They listened,” he whispered. “They didn’t curse me. They didn’t exile me again. They asked me… to serve.”

Tears rimmed her eyes. “How?”

“At the old chapel near the bookstore. People have been going. Without sermons. Just… questions.”

“And what will you do?”

“I’ll answer. I’ll love. I’ll listen.”

She pulled him into her arms.

And for the first time, neither of them felt like fugitives. They felt chosen.

------

Later that evening, as they sat on the porch, the weight of the day slowly dissolving into the scent of baked bread and the hum of crickets, Isabella leaned her head on his shoulder.

“Do you think it’ll ever be normal?” she asked.

Auther smiled softly, brushing her knuckles with his thumb. “No. But I think it’ll be beautiful.”

She chuckled. “That’s fair.”

They watched the sky turn orange and purple, a silent fire burning down the heavens.

Then Isabella reached into her pocket and pulled out a small folded note.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“A letter. From Catherine. She left it with a woman who came to buy herbs today. Said it was for you.”

Auther opened it slowly.

It says;

Auther,

The world is smaller than we pretend it to be. You and I both know that unfinished things tend to find their way back.

I watched you today—not as a woman scorned, but as one who remembers. Who knows what you were capable of before all this.

You speak of love and light. But I wonder, will it hold when the dark comes again?

Be careful, dear Auther. The past doesn’t die. It waits.

We’ll see each other again.

–"Catherine"_

Fear gripped him after reading the letter but he didn’t want to scare Isabella.

Auther read it twice. Then folded it carefully and placed it in the same wooden box where he kept his precious calling letter from years ago.

He didn’t want anything to ruin his new mood especially not Catherine.

It was a new calling now.

And this time, he answered it freely.