Between The Pews

The fellowship hall smelled like lemon cleaner and warm bread from the kitchen, the kind that clung to your sleeves no matter how many times you shook them out. Nia stood near the folding tables where the choir schedules were taped down, her fingers already sticky with the cheap peach-scented lip balm she kept in her pocket for rehearsal nerves. The music folder lay open in her hands, but her mind kept drifting to the same place - Caleb Brooks, somewhere beyond the door to the choir room, somewhere she couldn’t see yet.

She told herself she was ready. She told herself she’d only ever be ready if she kept her eyes on God and her heart on the words. The Youth Choir & Church Anniversary was only a few days away, and tonight they were tightening harmonies until they sounded like one voice instead of a bunch of teenagers trying to be brave. Nia wanted to do her part well. She wanted to belong. And - quietly, stubbornly - she wanted Caleb to notice her in a way that didn’t feel like something she’d invented in the dark.

“Nia, you’re standing like you’re waiting for someone to call your name,” Mariah said, sliding in beside her with a half-smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Mariah’s braces flashed when she grinned, and then she shifted her attention to the door. “He’s in there already.”

Nia’s throat tightened so fast it surprised her. “Who?”

Mariah lifted her chin toward the choir room door. The latch clicked every few minutes as people came and went, warm air breathing out around the crack. “Caleb. I saw him pull up earlier.” She lowered her voice, though the room was loud with laughter and the thump of someone testing a tambourine. “He’s been hanging around like he’s checking things.”

Nia forced her fingers to turn a page in her folder, flattening the paper. “He helps sometimes,” she said, the words automatic, like she’d practiced them in her head. Caleb did help. Caleb did care about church. Caleb did not - could not - mean more than that.

But her desire to be connected, to be seen, to be affirmed, rose anyway. It rose like a hymn she couldn’t stop humming even when she tried to talk herself out of it.

Mariah nudged her shoulder. “Don’t act all holy and innocent. If he’s watching, it’s not just for the music.” Her gaze flicked around the hall, as if the walls themselves were waiting to hear gossip. “People have been saying you and Caleb - ”

Nia cut her off before the sentence could finish, because she couldn’t afford to give it breath. “I’m just a choir member.”

Mariah’s smile thinned. “Sure.”

Nia pretended she didn’t hear the rest - pretended the rumor wasn’t already a thread wrapped around her wrist. She was tired of being tied to what other people thought. She was tired of her own heart betraying her with hope.

When the music director called for the sopranos to line up, Nia moved with the others toward the choir room. The hallway outside was cooler, air-conditioning doing its best to fight the humidity that clung to the building. As she pushed through the door, she felt the temperature change against her cheeks - heat from bodies and music, the faint sting of old wood and dust, and the sharp scent of dry erase markers.

Caleb stood near the back wall, half in shadow, holding a binder like he’d done it a hundred times. He wore a button-up shirt rolled to his forearms, and there was something about the way he stood - steady, attentive - that made the room feel quieter around him. He looked up as soon as the director began assigning parts, and Nia caught the brief sweep of his eyes. She didn’t know how to breathe properly when she realized he’d come in with his attention already on her.

She lifted her chin to sing, not because she was fearless, but because she couldn’t afford to look down at her own feelings.

The first notes came out of the room like a prayer being spoken fast - girls testing pitch, adjusting, listening to the harmonies lock together. Nia sang her line cleanly, her voice bright enough to be heard over the shuffle of shoes and the scrape of a chair. The words in the anthem were familiar, but tonight they felt sharper, like each syllable carried a question.

Can You see me?

Caleb didn’t react like a stranger watching. He didn’t just glance and look away. He watched like he was studying the way she placed her sound, like he was memorizing it. When she shifted to the second verse, his gaze followed her without him seeming to try.

Nia’s joy sparked - hot and sudden - then stuttered when she remembered Mariah’s words. People would notice. People always noticed. And Caleb’s attention could become something they used, something they turned into a story with sharp edges.

During the chorus, Nia’s breath hitched on an unexpected note. The sound wobbled just enough that the director’s eyebrows lifted.

“Again,” the director said, clapping once sharply. “Sopranos, keep it steady. You’re almost there.”

Nia swallowed and tried to reset her focus....