Somewhere Quiet

Chapter 6:Not Like Other Girls

I didn't stop walking until the noise of the sanctuary faded into a dull, distant murmur.

My sneakers squeaked against the cold tiled floor of the rear hallway as I pushed open the heavy wooden door leading into the church's old archive library.

It was a small, dusty room filled with wooden bookshelves, stacks of old hymnals, and a single stained-glass window casting soft amber light across the floorboards. Almost nobody ever came back here during setup hours. It was a relic of the church's past, forgotten behind the modern media booth and digital mixing consoles.

It was completely, blissfully silent.

I let the heavy door thud shut behind me and leaned my back against a tall mahogany shelf, letting out a long, shuddering breath. My knees felt weak. I let myself slide down until I was sitting on the floor in the shadows, pulling my knees up to my chest and pressing my face against my clipboard.

Idiot, I chided myself mentally, my eyes burning with hot, embarrassing tears. You absolute fool. Did you really think twenty minutes alone at seven in the morning meant anything? He’s Elijah. Brenda is Brenda. Of course, he's going to say yes to her.

I squeezed my eyes shut, taking deep, shaky breaths to force the tightness out of my throat. I just needed five minutes. Five quiet minutes in the dark to gather my pride, wipe my face, and go back out there to finish my logistics job like a professional. I couldn't let Joy or Sister Grace see me crying over a boy who probably didn't even know what color my eyes were when the lights were fully on.

I hadn't even been in the room for three minutes when the brass door handle clicked.

I froze, holding my breath, assuming it was an elder looking for an extra communion tray or a stray microphone cable.

Instead, a tall figure slipped through the narrow opening, quickly pushing the heavy wooden door shut until the latch caught with a soft thud. He leaned the back of his head against the wood, letting out a heavy, bone-deep exhale that sounded like pure exhaustion.

My heart nearly stopped in my chest.

Elijah!

He hadn't noticed me tucked into the dark aisle between the second and third bookshelves.

He was alone. He reached up, tugging at the collar of his black hoodie as if the fabric were suffocating him, before dragging both hands down his face with a weary groan. The smooth, effortlessly confident choir lead, who had been holding a metallic blue bass ten minutes ago on stage, looked completely drained.

I shifted slightly, my sneaker squeaking against the polished floor.

Elijah’s head snapped up instantly. His dark eyes widened as he locked onto me sitting on the floor in the shadows.

"Oh," he breathed out, startled. "I . . . I thought the room was empty."

"I'm sorry!" I blurted out, scrambling to my feet and clutching my clipboard like armor, my face burning with a fresh wave of mortification. "I can leave—I was just leaving, I swear—"

"No, wait—don't," he said quickly, stepping forward with his hand outstretched in a halting gesture.

The raw, almost pleading tone in his voice made me freeze mid-step.

Elijah glanced back at the oak door, as if genuinely terrified someone—like Brenda or one of the choir members—might have followed him down the hall, before looking back at me with a sheepish, apologetic smile.

"Please don't go," he murmured, his voice dropping into a quiet, raspy register that sent a shiver straight down my spine. "It's complete chaos out there. I just. . . I needed five minutes away from the noise before my head exploded."

I blinked, processing his words. "From . . . Brenda and the smoothie lounge?"

Elijah let out a soft, exasperated chuckle, running a hand over the back of his neck as he leaned against the bookshelf opposite mine. "From all of it. The chatter, the loud questions, people making plans for me without asking . . . everyone expecting me to always be 'on' and smiling. Sometimes it feels like I can't even take a breath out there. Every time I turn around, someone wants a song choice, a rehearsal schedule, or an answer to something I didn't plan."

I stared at him.

The sting of jealousy that had driven me out of the sanctuary completely evaporated, replaced by a strange, profound realization.

I had assumed he loved the attention. I had assumed he enjoyed having Brenda and the ushering girls hover over him like adoring fans. But watching the heavy tension slowly drain from his broad shoulders in the quiet amber light of the library, the truth hit me:

He was overwhelmed.

He wasn't a player who wanted "all the girls on his plate." He was just a tired guy searching for a quiet corner to catch his breath, exactly like I was.

"I know the feeling," I said softly, my voice cutting through the stillness. "Sometimes the crowd is . . . way too much. That's why I like the logistics side of things. Spreadsheets don't talk back, and binders don't demand anything from you."

Elijah looked up at me, a genuine, quiet warmth softening his dark features. The defensive armor he usually wore around the youth department seemed to melt away, leaving behind someone much more real, much more human. He took two slow steps toward my corner, stopping beside the old wooden study desk.

He looked down at me, his dark eyes gentle, searching, and entirely focused on my face, noticing the faint traces of the emotional storm I had just been hiding from.

"You know," he said softly, his voice dropping an octave as he recalled our morning meeting by the side doors, "When you opened that door for me at 7:15 AM, you looked at peace. But out there in the sanctuary, you always look like you're bracing for an impact."

My breath hitched. "I'm just . . . I'm a quiet person, Elijah. I like the background."

"There's a difference between choosing the background and hiding from the world," he replied gently, taking another step closer.

The dusty air between us suddenly felt charged with electricity that had nothing to do with church soundboards or electrical cables. He was standing close enough now that I could see the subtle fatigue in the corners of his eyes, yet his gaze held a quiet, steady intensity.

"Finally, somewhere quiet," he whispered, a faint, lopsided smile touching his lips. He slowly lowered himself down onto the floor right across from me, resting his long legs comfortably against the edge of the wooden bookshelf. "Mind if I sit here?"

"I... no. Of course not," I managed to whisper, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

For a long moment, neither of us said anything. We just sat there in the quiet amber glow of the archive library, two opposites wrapped in the silence we both desperately needed, miles away from Brenda, the choir, and the noisy chaos of the world outside.

"So," Elijah started after a quiet stretch, resting his arms on his knees as he looked over at me with genuine curiosity. "What were you hiding from back there? Besides Brenda's dramatic exit strategy?"

I felt a slight blush creep up my neck, but the easy, non-judgmental tone in his voice made it impossible to stay defensive.

"I wasn't hiding," I mumbled defensively, though we both knew it was a complete lie. "I was . . . auditing the acoustic isolation of the rear archive corridor."

Elijah let out a rich, genuine laugh—a warm, resonant sound that bounced softly off the old book spines. "Auditing acoustic isolation? Right. And I suppose I was just inspecting the historical integrity of the wooden floorboards."

"Well, you did look like you were running for your life," I pointed out, a small, playful smirk breaking through my shyness before I could stop it.

"Fair enough," he conceded, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Guilty as charged. Sometimes the weight of keeping everyone happy gets a bit too heavy. My brothers back home always tell me I take on too much responsibility in the choir, but someone has to keep the harmony together."

Hearing him talk about his family—the tall, striking brothers who walked into church like royalty, reminded me of how different our worlds seemed on the surface. Yet sitting here on the dusty floorboards, sharing quiet breaths in the dim amber light, the distance between us felt entirely bridgeable.

"You don't have to carry it all by yourself, you know," I whispered, surprising even myself with the boldness of my words.

Elijah stopped smiling. He turned his head fully toward me, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made me catch a breath. In the quiet sanctuary of the library, away from the prying eyes of the youth assembly and the constant glare of expectations, it felt like the rest of the world simply ceased to exist.

"Maybe," Elijah murmured softly, his gaze dropping briefly to my lips before rising back to meet my eyes. "Maybe I just needed the right person to remind me of that."