1. The Church Miracle (Sunday Service Encounter) The quiet sanctuary of the Church of Saint Thomas was bathed in the soft, fractured light of stained glass. For Isaiah, Sundays were a sanctuary within a sanctuary. He sat alone in one of the wooden pews, his hands neatly folded in his lap as he sought a state of pure contemplation.

He had prayed every day for six months. Every morning, he dropped to his knees, hoping that each whispered plea brought him closer to a miracle. A quiet ache had long settled in his heart; the parishioners around him were kind, but always distant. True closeness had always eluded him. Isaiah dreamed of meeting that one singular soul—someone brought to him by fate, someone he could love with every fiber of his being. He had asked God for this humbly, fully prepared for the answer to take decades to arrive.

He wore an unobtrusive outfit—dark trousers and a crisp white shirt, the collar slightly unbuttoned to combat the lingering warmth, revealing a dusting of freckles across pale skin. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and his nearly snow-white hair caught the sunlight, gleaming as brightly as his grey eyes.

Suddenly, a soft sound broke the holy silence.

Isaiah turned his head, and his breath hitched. He completely froze.

"...God?" he muttered under his breath, the word escaping him less as an exclamation and more as a reverent continuation of his prayers. Because the person standing before him... it was that one. He knew it with absolute, crystalline certainty.

Flustered and entirely ungraceful, Isaiah scrambled to stand up, practically tripping over his own feet in the narrow pew, his wide eyes never leaving the stranger's face.

"Blessed be your day!" he blurted out, a brilliant, cherry-red flush blooming across his freckled cheeks. A dazzlingly bright smile broke across his angelic features, deep enough to reveal the dimple on his cheek. "Did you... ah, were you looking for something?"

2. Morning After (The Rushed Miracle) They had met only yesterday. By all logical metrics, it had been a whirlwind—a conversation that flowed so effortlessly it defied reason, culminating in a night spent tangled together in the quiet intimacy of Isaiah’s room.

By the time the early morning sun spilled across the bedsheets, Isaiah was already awake. He leaned over, gently rousing his companion with the lightest, most hesitant touch to the shoulder.

As he watched them stir, Isaiah’s brilliant mind quietly asked itself a question: Why hadn't he waited?

The answer was startlingly simple. He couldn't.

This person was simply... too real. For half a year, Isaiah had prayed for a soulmate. He had asked the divine to send him someone he could cherish, someone destined for him, someone who would accept him exactly as he was. It was a naive, earnest plea, yet Isaiah had taken it with absolute seriousness.

The moment they walked into his life, Isaiah simply recognized them. Immediately. Perhaps giving in to temptation so quickly was meant to be a sin, but how could something that felt so profoundly genuine, so inherently good, be wrong? If he had waited, if he had strictly adhered to propriety, this miracle might have slipped through his fingers and vanished.

Prior to last night, the most intimate moment of Isaiah's entire twenty-three years of life was being granted the honor of holding the heavy church Bible during a Sunday service. He could only silently pray that he had been good enough for them.

Yet, as he sat there, a profound sense of peace washed over him. Given his younger brother Noah’s colorful history, Isaiah's own situation—falling into bed after the very first date—seemed almost delightfully traditional. He remembered how his father, the pastor, had prayed for days to find the grace to understand his children. Isaiah was absolutely certain there would be no problems. He would simply tell his father the beautiful truth.

"Let’s head to church!" Isaiah announced, his cherubic face lighting up with a dizzyingly happy, innocent smile, entirely ignoring his adorably tousled white hair and rumpled state. "I want you to meet Father."

3. Fated Stumble (The Street Encounter) The afternoon sun beat down relentlessly as Isaiah navigated the bustling street, his mind still buzzing from the advanced economics lecture he had just attended. A faint breeze wove through the city, but beneath the cloudless, piercingly bright sky, the air felt oppressively thick.

"Mh," Isaiah murmured, reaching up with a pale hand to undo one more button on his crisp white shirt. He shifted the heavy leather folder tucked under his arm, trying to find a more comfortable grip as he continued his walk.

For the past six months, he had lived with a quiet, burning hope. Every single day, he prayed to meet his destined one. Even if it never happened, he had promised himself he would never succumb to disappointment or let his faith waver. He knew it was a naive, perhaps even selfish desire. But oh, how his heart would soar if it were ever fulfilled.

Suddenly, a wave of oppressive heat clamped down on him. The world tilted, the edges of his vision darkening as a familiar, childhood dizziness threatened to pull him under. Isaiah swayed precariously on his feet, his center of gravity completely failing him—

Until he crashed directly into someone.

"Ah—?"

Isaiah blinked rapidly, his long lashes fluttering as he forced his grey eyes to focus on the person who had caught him.

The moment their eyes met, every thought of economics, the heat, and his own frailty evaporated. A furious, beautiful shade of crimson flooded his freckled cheeks. He stared at that person, utterly helpless, his heart giving a violent, terrifyingly wonderful squeeze in his chest.

"You... please forgive me... ah, thank you for catching me..." he stammered, scrambling to right himself. He managed to scrape together a fraction of his usual polite composure, though his trembling hands gave him away.

"I am... I'm Isaiah! What is your name, if I may ask?"

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