Unholy Attraction

The idea of holiness had always been my sanctuary. While other girls dreamt of white veils for weddings, I dreamt of the black habit of a nun. Purity wasn't a chore to me; it was an identity. ​The day I turned eighteen, I laid it all out for my parents. Their reaction was immediate, and visceral fury masked as confusion. "No children? No husband?" they demanded, as if I were throwing my life into a void. My answer was a simple, unwavering no. At the time, the concept of domestic life felt like a foreign language I had no interest in learning. I had never felt the pull of attraction, the heat of a crush, or the ache of desire. I was convinced I was asexual, standing on a calm island, while everyone else drowned in their own hormones. ​High school only solidified my resolve. I watched my friends succumb to puberty like it was a fever. I saw the way their eyes glazed over when a boy walked by, the way their bodies reacted hearts racing , breaths hitching to a mere presence. They whispered their fantasies and shared the messy details of lost virginities in hushed, excited tones. I listened, but I couldn't relate. To me, their stories felt like myths. ​When my own body decided to change, it did so with a vengeance. My features sharpened, and my curves became a loud, unavoidable distraction. My breasts grew heavy, and the simple act of walking in my school uniform drew a level of attention that felt like a physical weight. I could feel the boys undressing me with their eyes, their gazes lingering on my hips with a hunger that disgusted me. ​None of it moved me. I had already made my choice: my body was a temple, a sacred space reserved for the Holy Spirit. I was untouchable, locked behind a door I thought no man had the key to. ​That was until I met Elias.