The sound of guitar strings being tuned, gentle chatter, and the shuffling of feet filled the church garden. The sun cast golden light over the old stone walls and flowering bushes. Lynette stood just outside the group, clutching her guitar case a little nervously.
"Lynette!" one of the youth group captains called out with a smile. "Come over, we're starting the warm-up."
She smiled back, walking toward the group, still unsure if she belonged here. She hadn't even stepped into this part of the church in years. But now, here she was, guitar in hand, being welcomed like she had always been a part of it.
Rowan was already there, seated on the low stone bench with a small notebook, jotting down chords. He didn't look up, but she could feel his eyes flicker to her briefly when she walked by. Mysha, sitting beside him, narrowed her eyes. Again.
"Okay, everyone," the captain clapped, "we'll rehearse 'This I Believe' first. Lynette, would you mind leading us again?"
A few heads turned. Someone muttered, "She's good, actually."
Lynette gave a small nod and opened her guitar case. The moment her fingers hit the strings, something shifted. Her voice rang out clear and steady, full of quiet confidence. She didn't think about the eyes on her. She didn't think about Mysha's jealousy or Rowan's unreadable expressions.
She just thought about her mom's smile from the night before. Her grandfather's humming. Her grandmother's soft hands. Toto's sleepy tail thumps.
And she played for them.
When the song ended, there was silence. Then, scattered applause. Even Rowan, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, gave a slow nod of approval, though his expression was unreadable.
As they took a break, a few members came over to talk to her. Joke with her. Laugh with her. They were starting to treat her like she belonged.
"This is how it starts," she thought, sitting under a tree sipping juice. "One small step at a time."
From across the garden, Rowan glanced her way. Something in her had changed; her eyes weren't cold anymore, and her smile wasn't forced.
"Who are you now, Lynette?" he wondered. "And where were you hiding all this time?"
Meanwhile, Mysha stood beside him, arms crossed, her gaze sharp.
This girl is not going to steal the spotlight, she thought bitterly. Not again.
The warm afternoon breeze rustled the pages of Lynette's song notebook as she jotted down a few lyrics of her own, hopeful, vibrant words she never thought she'd write again.
Lynette's laughter echoed through the church hall like sunlight breaking through a cloudy day. She was more radiant than ever, cracking jokes, making silly impressions, and pulling playful faces that had even the shyest kids giggling uncontrollably. The youth group, who'd always known her as the aloof, cold outsider, were now discovering a side of her that felt like a breath of fresh air. For the first time, Lynette felt… seen. And not for being rebellious or mysterious, but for simply being herself.
"Why didn't we know you were this funny before?" one of the girls gasped between fits of laughter, clutching her side.
"I was undercover," Lynette winked dramatically. "Part-time rebel, full-time comedian."
After a while, she walked to her bag to drink water. She unscrewed her bottle cap, lifted it to her lips, then her gaze landed on Rowan.
He was leaning against a wall, arms crossed, quietly observing everyone. A wound curved gently across his cheekbone, a scratch still raw.
Lynette's smile faded.
He wasn't always like this, cold and brooding. She remembered him as someone who smiled easily, laughed during prayers, and someone with a warmth that drew people in.
Then, like a thunderclap, memory slammed into her.
She was in her dorm when she saw the news. Rowan's photo had flashed across her phone screen. He had been hit by a truck… right after starting college.
Dead. So young. So sudden.
Lynette's breath caught. Her chest tightened. She stared at him now, alive, breathing, unknowingly walking toward the same tragic fate.
Her fingers trembled slightly. "He's going to die…" she thought. "Unless…"
She looked closer at the scratch on his cheek. Her legs moved before she could think. She crossed the room and stood in front of him, holding out her pink water bottle. Rowan blinked.
"...What are you waiting for?" she said, softly but firmly. "It's water. For you to drink."
Rowan took it, confused but wordless. He took a sip.
Then, she pulled a small bandage from her pocket. Pink. With little white flowers.
He froze.
"For your cheek, idiot," she said, rolling her eyes. "Are you really this stupid? Want me to put it on for you?"
Rowan's ears turned red. Flustered, he grabbed the bandage from her hand and turned away quickly without a word.
Lynette watched him walk off in a nervous rush, baffled.
"What's with him?" she mumbled to herself, amused. "First he stares like I'm a ghost, then bolts like I'm one."
She smirked, whispering to herself with a little shake of her head, "Teenagers…"
But deep inside, her smirk faded into a sigh. Because this time, she knew something no one else did.
And a thought came to her, "Can I save him from his tragic fate?"
Under the shade of the big tree in the church garden, music floated on the breeze. Laughter, soft harmonies, and the occasional burst of off-key singing echoed into the golden summer air. The late afternoon sun filtered through the branches, casting playful patterns across the grass where Lynette and the others practiced.
Every day, they gathered here, laughing, learning, and singing. The once unfamiliar faces slowly became warm, familiar. Lynette gave all she could, guiding the younger ones with patience, harmonizing with the shy voices, clapping along with the rhythm like she had done for her students in another life.
Rowan watched her sometimes from the side, a quiet frown hiding his curiosity, while Mysha grew increasingly tense at every compliment Lynette received. But for now, it was peace and joy.
From a distance, the old stone path leading to the priest's quarters creaked with slow steps. Father Lucca stood watching them, arms crossed, a subtle smile gracing his lips. His eyes lingered on Lynette, her energy, her warmth, her presence.
Then, as the song came to an end, Father Lucca approached under the tree with a slow, steady pace. In his hand, a plastic bag, inside, ice creams, already beginning to sweat from the summer heat.
"For the champions of tomorrow's youth trip," he said with a wide grin.
The group cheered, some jumping in joy. "Thank you, Father!"
He chuckled. "Don't thank me, thank the Lord. I'm just the delivery guy."
As the kids distributed the ice cream and the air filled with sticky sweetness and laughter, Father Lucca turned to Lynette.
"Lynette," he said softly. "Would you mind coming to see me in my office for a moment?"
The air shifted. Every movement paused. People blinked. Some exchanged glances. The silence was almost comical.
His office?
Not the garden? Not the prayer hall?
Even Rowan looked up from his cone.
Lynette stiffened. "Y-Yes, Father."
Aron, noticing her expression, leaned in and whispered, "Don't worry. He's not that strict. Maybe he just wants to talk since you've been gone so long."
She nodded slightly, reassured just enough to steady her legs.
Inside the office, Lynette sat across from Father Lucca, her fingers clenched tightly around the hem of her shirt. The air smelled like incense and old books. A soft, golden light from the window cut across the desk.
"So," Father Lucca began, voice kind, "how are you feeling? Are things... settling in?"
Lynette forced a small smile. "Yes, better than expected."
Silence fell between them. Awkward. Suspicious.
Then he leaned back in his chair and looked at her with something deeper in his gaze. "Lynette," he said gently, "I know who you are. You're not from this timeline."
The words dropped like stones.
She froze. Her breath caught. Not a single word came through her mouth.
"What… what did you just say?" she whispered.
He tilted his head, reading her expression with surprising softness. "You heard me."
"How do you know that?" she asked, voice trembling. "Who are you? Are you—are you like me?"
Her sudden rush of panic, confusion, and questions tumbled out, but Father Lucca just smiled.
"You're smart," he said. "But no, I'm not from another timeline."
He paused.
"I once lived a life full of regret. One day, I woke up and everything was different. Not like you, not a full reset, but I got a moment. A choice. And I took it. Since then, I've learned to listen."
"Listen to what?" she asked warily.
"To the things that I have not seen. To God. And one night, in a dream, He showed me someone who would come to this church carrying a heavy weight. Someone who was given a second chance."
He smiled again, warm and fatherly. "And then I met you."
Lynette stared at him, mouth slightly open. "You expect me to believe that, Father?"
He chuckled. "Not really. You caught me, I just wanted to see if you would admit it, I was like you before and then got a second chance."
"You've been trying so hard to hide it. But I saw it in your eyes the first day you walked back in."
She lowered her head, her voice barely a whisper. "So… what now?"
"Now?" Father Lucca stood, brushing the folds of his robe. "Now, you live that second chance. And if you ever need help, guidance, or just a place to breathe, you know where to find me."
As he opened the door to leave for evening prayer, he looked over his shoulder.
"And Lynette? Sometimes the life we dream of doesn't come true. But something better always waits, if you're brave enough to stay on the path."
He winked. "Have fun on the trip tomorrow."
And just like that, he was gone.
Lynette sat alone for a moment, staring at the now-empty doorway, her mind a whirlwind.
Maybe she wasn't as alone in this second chance as she thought, and showed a relieved smile.