Amina sat at her desk in the last period of the day, barely hearing a word the teacher was saying about Spanish grammar. All she could think about was the schedule pinned to the inside of her locker:
Monday — Confirmation preparation, 4:00 PM
Location: St. Celeste's Chapel
Instructor: Sister Lucía
She wasn't nervous about studying.
She was nervous about sitting in a church for an hour pretending she was fine.
Pretending she believed everything she was supposed to.
Pretending she hadn't broken every rule last night.
Pretending she didn't feel something she had no name for yet.
Clara nudged her with an elbow as the bell rang. "Ready for holy class?"
"Absolutely not," Amina muttered.
Clara snorted and stuffed her books into her bag. "At least you won't fall asleep. Sister Lucía has that voice that sounds like your sins are being pulled out of you."
"That's exactly the problem."
Students flowed down the hallway in two lines:
One heading toward sports, and the other—mostly girls—toward the chapel for Confirmation class.
Amina was in the second group.
Her stomach rolled.
The chapel doors were tall, wooden, and intimidating, carved with saints and angels whose eyes seemed to follow her. Sister Lucía stood at the entrance, hands folded neatly.
"Amina," she said with that gentle-but-deadly tone. "I expect your full attention today."
Amina swallowed. "Yes, Sister."
Lucía's nod was small but loaded with meaning.
Inside, the chapel glowed with soft afternoon sunlight pouring through stained glass. Everything smelled like incense and polished wood. Girls sat on pews, murmuring to each other or flipping through their booklets.
Amina slid into a seat near the middle.
Not too front.
Not too back.
Just invisible.
Clara wasn't with her — Clara was doing volunteer hours in the library today — so Amina felt unusually alone.
Maybe that was the point.
Sister Lucía took her place near the altar, holding a Bible and a binder full of lesson notes.
"Today," she began softly, "we will speak about intention."
Chairs creaked as the girls shifted.
"Every choice you make," the nun continued, "reflects who you are becoming. Confirmation is not simply a ceremony. It is a declaration that you choose God, even when temptation surrounds you."
Amina stiffened.
Temptation.
The word slid through the pews like cold wind.
"Temptation can look like many things," Lucía said. "Disobedience. Dishonesty. The company you keep. The urges of youth. Running from what is sacred."
Amina's throat tightened.
It felt like those words had a target — and it was her.
Lucía's eyes flicked to her for just a heartbeat.
Not long enough to call out.
Just long enough to make Amina's chest burn with guilt.
"Open your booklets to page seven," Lucía instructed. "Begin the reflection questions."
Amina flipped hers open.
Question 1:
What personal habits have been distancing you from God?
She stared at the blank line.
Her pen hovered uselessly.
Everything she wanted to write was too real:
Lying.
Sneaking out.
Breaking rules.
Wanting someone the church might never approve of.
Wanting a life that doesn't feel suffocating.
She clenched the pen tighter.
She couldn't write any of that.
Not here.
Not where the walls listened.
Not where the wrong sentence could end her entire life at St. Celeste's.
So she wrote:
"I need to work on consistency in prayer."
A safe lie.
Everyone's lie.
She moved on to Question 2.
How can you strengthen your faith in moments of weakness?
Her pen trembled.
She blinked hard, forcing the sting out of her eyes.
But what if weakness feels like the only time she's alive?
She scribbled something vague.
"By practicing discipline and focusing on God's guidance."
Safe.
Predictable.
Empty.
Amina closed her eyes for a moment, letting the chapel's quiet wash over her. It didn't soothe her.
It made her feel more exposed.
More wrong.
More trapped.
Footsteps creaked up the aisle.
Amina didn't need to look up to know who it was.
"Your booklet," Lucía murmured.
Amina handed it over, hands shaking slightly.
The nun scanned her answers, her expression soft but unreadable.
Then she crouched slightly, lowering herself to eye level.
"Amina," she whispered, too quietly for anyone else to hear, "I'm glad you're trying."
Amina looked down. "I am trying, Sister."
Lucía studied her for a moment — not with anger, not with suspicion, but with a kind of sadness that made Amina's chest ache.
"Trying is good," she said. "But running from yourself will only exhaust you."
Amina's breath hitched.
"It's okay," Lucía added. "You don't have to tell me everything. But don't lie to yourself."
She handed the booklet back and walked away.
Amina stared at the open pages.
The words blurred.
She wasn't sure if she wanted to cry, scream, or run.
When the session finally ended, the girls filtered out slowly. Some chatted, some laughed, some looked thoughtful.
Amina stayed seated until most were gone.
Her hands felt cold. Her stomach was tight. She felt wrung out, like the class had squeezed every secret bruise she'd been hiding.
As she stood to leave, someone touched her arm.
It wasn't a nun.
It wasn't Clara.
It was Rosa, a girl from the year above — quiet, sincere, one of the few who seemed genuinely devoted rather than forced.
"You okay?" Rosa asked gently.
Amina nodded automatically. "Yeah. Just tired."
Rosa smiled faintly. "Confirmation class can feel heavy at first. It gets easier."
Amina tried to smile back, but her voice cracked. "Does it?"
"For most people," Rosa said. "But… if your heart's fighting something, it helps to talk."
Amina's breath stilled.
She didn't reply.
Rosa squeezed her arm once — comforting, not judging — then walked off.
Amina stared at the door.
Talking wasn't an option.
Not yet.
Not when she didn't even understand herself.
__________________
The sun was setting, painting the courtyard in orange and pink. Students hurried to dinner or extracurriculars. Nuns gathered near the office, discussing schedules.
Amina walked slowly, hugging her books to her chest.
Her mind replayed everything:
Sister Lucía's voice about temptation.
The reflection questions.
The guilt she shouldn't feel.
The truth she couldn't write.
The secrets she was already drowning in.
By the time she reached the dorm, her legs felt heavy.
Inside, Clara was sprawled on the bed, reading a magazine.
"So," Clara said without looking up, "did Sister Lucía drain your soul?"
Amina dropped her books and sighed. "Pretty much."
Clara glanced at her. Her expression softened instantly.
"Oh. Wait. You actually look… upset-upset."
Amina sat on her bed, burying her face in her hands. "I just… I don't know what I feel."
Clara shut her magazine. "Do you want to talk about it?"
Amina shook her head.
Clara didn't push — which somehow made Amina more grateful than anything.
"Dinner?" Clara offered after a minute.
Amina nodded. "Yeah. Let's go."
Once the day ended and the dorm lights dimmed, Amina lay awake staring at the ceiling.
Confirmation class played in her mind over and over.
Not the rules.
Not the expectations.
Not even the guilt.
Just the question:
What personal habits are distancing you from God?
Her chest tightened.
Across the room, Clara snored softly.
Amina turned her face into the pillow.
The phone under her mattress vibrated once.
She froze.
Then reached for it with trembling hands.
Leo:
You alive?
Amina smiled weakly into the dark.
Amina:
Barely.
Leo:
Rough day?
Amina:
Yeah. Confirmation class.
Pause.
Then:
Leo:
Do you wanna talk about it?
Her throat tightened.
Amina:
Not right now.
Just… stay up with me?
Leo's reply came instantly.
Leo:
Always.
Amina exhaled softly.
Her chest loosened just enough to breathe.
Not healed.
Not okay.
Not even close.
But less alone.