In between sundays

Take this instead

Chapter Three: You Can Take This Instead

It was another Sunday. The kind that felt too familiar, yet I kept waiting for something small to happen. Philemon — the dark one — came in a bit late, looked around, and asked quietly if someone was on the seat beside me. I said no, and he sat down. Simple, but somehow my heart had already decided to notice it.

The preacher called out a Bible verse, and I couldn’t find it quickly, so I turned to ask him. He didn’t know either, but without hesitation, he asked the person sitting next to him. That tiny gesture made me smile to myself. It wasn’t much, but it was something. A kind of kindness that didn’t need words.

Then Pastor called me to record the choir before he started preaching. My heart sank a little. I didn’t want to leave that seat — not because anything had been said, but because just sitting beside Philemon felt strangely right. There was a quiet comfort in our silence, the kind that doesn’t ask for attention.

I got up slowly and walked to the front. I held my phone up, recording the choir as they sang. My mind wasn’t really on them though; it kept drifting back to that seat, that nearness.

Like that first Sunday when he had asked that girl for my name, when he was staring at me while I was recording — I thought I felt his eyes again. But maybe it wasn’t his eyes at all. Maybe it was mine looking for his. I’m not sure.

When the choir finished, I was supposed to continue recording Pastor’s ministration, and that was when Peter came.

He walked up softly, his presence sure but gentle, and said, “Let me help you.”

I gave him my phone, without saying much. It wasn’t the first time he had caught my attention — Peter, the light-skinned one, the one I’d always had a crush on. I used to think my type wasn’t black guys, but lately I wasn’t even sure what my type was anymore. Because if I’m being honest, Philemon — dark, quiet, calm — had been the one sitting beside me, making my Sundays feel less empty.

Still, Peter helping me made me feel seen in another way.

After the service, I went to hand Pastor the attendance list. Pastor called Peter over, asking him something, and that’s when I overheard — he’d lost his phone. I don’t even know why it made me feel sorry, but it did. Maybe because I had just seen him helping everyone, or maybe because I was beginning to pay too much attention to things that shouldn’t matter.

When everything was over, I thanked him for helping me earlier. He smiled a little and said something like “it’s okay” or “my pleasure.” I can’t remember which one, but I remember the tone — calm, unbothered, and warm.

As everyone started packing up chairs, I went back to get my bag and my mum’s. I tried to sit on one of the plastic chairs, but it was already being moved. Just as I almost lost balance, Peter — still carrying a chair — turned and said softly, “You can take this instead.”

He placed the chair down for me, and I sat, trying not to overthink it.

It shouldn’t have meant so much, but it did. Maybe because none of my crushes had ever liked me back, or maybe because I wasn’t used to being noticed this gently. For once, I felt both happy and sad — happy because someone saw me, sad because I didn’t know what to do with that kind of feeling.

I didn’t know if it meant anything. Maybe it was just another Sunday. But something about it changed how I saw myself.

And maybe, that’s where things begin — not loudly, but in the quiet corners of a church, between glances, verses, and borrowed chairs.