Chapter 6: Sanctuary

The warm sunlight streaming through the window highlighted the dust motes dancing in the air, and Jesus's gaze seemed to follow them as he collected his thoughts. Maya waited patiently, her eyes locked on his, as the silence between them grew thicker than the morning's leftover pancakes. "I've been wanting to talk to you about your past," Jesus said finally, his voice measured. "About what brought you here, to our little corner of the world." Maya's instincts kicked in, and she felt a reflexive tightening of her guard. She hadn't shared her story with anyone in a long time, not since...well, not since it had all fallen apart. But there was something about Jesus, something that made her want to trust him, to let her walls down, if only a little. "I'm not sure I'm ready to talk about that," she said, trying to sound casual, but her voice came out laced with a hint of wariness. Jesus nodded understandingly, his eyes never leaving hers. "I'm not asking you to spill your guts or anything," he said, a small, gentle smile playing on his lips. "I just...I feel like there's more to you than what you've let on so far. And I want to help, if I can." Maya raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite herself. "Help with what?" Jesus shrugged, his shoulders barely rising off the bed. "I don't know, exactly. But I have a feeling that you've been carrying around some heavy stuff for a long time. And I want to help you carry it, if I can." The words touched a chord deep within her, and Maya felt a lump form in her throat. No one had offered to help her in a long time, not since...not since her mom. She looked away, trying to compose herself, but Jesus's gaze lingered on her face, warm and encouraging. "Okay," she said finally, the word barely above a whisper. "I'll tell you. But you have to promise not to freak out or try to fix everything or...or anything." Jesus held up his hands, a mock-scout's honor gesture. "I promise, I promise. I'll just listen." Maya took a deep breath, and the words began to spill out, like water from a breached dam. She told him about her mom, about the foster homes and the group homes and the endless, soul-sucking bureaucracy. She told him about the nights she'd spent sleeping on the streets, about the hunger and the fear and the loneliness. As she spoke, the room seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them, suspended in a bubble of trust and understanding. Jesus listened, his eyes never leaving hers, his face a picture of compassion and empathy. And when she finally ran out of words, he pulled her into a warm, gentle hug, holding her close as the tears she'd been holding back finally broke free.