Caleb - Damned If You Do, Damned If You Don’t

I was praised for not reaching out to Aika for a long time. 

Not to her, not even to my own family. Because of that restraint, I was granted a brief reprieve from my spiritual fasting.

 As if longing for connection could be switched on and off like a reward system.

My interactions were still monitored closely. The only woman I was permitted to speak with was Miho-san, who arrived one afternoon to deliver food and seemed personally offended by my existence in a half-starved state. She was strangely insistent that I, in particular, help her carry several oversized boxes from the café.

‘You haven’t eaten properly,’ she said, thrusting a paper bag into my hands regardless. ‘And don’t argue. You look like a ghost.’

I told her I didn’t need anything, but that I would help, on the condition that there were no media people around, no curious onlookers, no one at all.

I managed a smile that fooled neither of us. ‘I’m fine.’

She snorted loudly, deliberately enough that those nearby could hear. ‘You priests are all the same. Starving yourselves and calling it holiness.’

I didn’t correct her. I ate the sandwich as I followed her toward the café, flanked by other trainees who may have been there to help, or to monitor me, or both. I no longer cared to guess.

Once we arrived, Miho-san distributed the heavier boxes to the others, sending them ahead toward the church. As we were about to leave, she caught my sleeve and tugged me back.

‘Caleb,’ she said briskly, ‘there’s one more box in the back. You go ahead, boys.’

The others moved on without question. I followed her into the storage area without complaint. The moment we were alone, she grabbed my arm urgently and whispered.

‘Aika is here. Alone. She’s probably near her apartment. With your cat.’

That was all I needed to hear.

Before I could think about who might notice my absence, who might be watching, or how this would look if it became another spectacle, I was already moving.

I stood across the street from her building, half-hidden beneath the shadow of the convenience store awning, keeping my distance carefully measured. Far enough that I wouldn’t be seen. Far enough that I wouldn’t be tempted to knock on her door. Far enough that I could convince myself this was restraint rather than cowardice.

The church had been chaos. Endless summons, closed-door meetings, quiet looks heavy with implication. Words like prudence, discernment, and image were spoken often and meant little. My phone had been confiscated for a time. Fasting was encouraged. Reflection was mandated. Distance was assumed.

They didn’t need to tell me to stay away from her. I had already decided. I would not become another man who complicated her life. I would not be another presence that invited danger into her world.

I told myself that watching from afar was enough.

Then I saw a man lingering near her apartment entrance. Then another. Then a third.

At first, I nearly dismissed it. One man standing too long near the stairwell. Head lowered, phone in hand but not scrolling. Probably waiting for someone. He nodded subtly at someone who passed by. Until it was clear that they were interacting with each other and that there was system going on.

My body went cold. My heart began to pound in a way I hadn’t felt since childhood.

I watched as Aika entered the building, Bingo trotting faithfully at her heels, a small bag slung over her shoulder. She looked tired. Smaller somehow. A thought pierced me without mercy. Were you not eating properly, Aika? Was this my doing?

The man straightened. He followed her. Not close enough to draw attention. Not far enough to be coincidence.

From where I stood, I caught the glint of metal at his back, the unmistakable shape of a blade tucked into a sheath beneath his shirt. Every instinct I had screamed at once.

I didn’t think. I didn’t pray. I moved.

I crossed the street quickly, keeping to the shadows, closing the distance in long strides. The man quickened his pace as well. I saw his hand slip into his pocket.

That was it.

The world narrowed into a single, absolute directive. Get her out.

I reached her just as the man was about to. I grabbed her.

It was probably all too fast for her. But it was a matter of life or death in that instance, from my point of view.

My arm wrapped around her waist. My hand covered her mouth. I pulled her back sharply, turning us into the stairwell, my body already positioning itself between her and the threat.

‘Quiet,’ I hissed. ‘Aika. Quiet.’

She fought. Her terror struck me like a physical blow. The way her body went rigid, the way her breath shattered against my palm, the sound she made, like an animal caught in a trap. My heart split open.

I carried her anyway. I moved fast. Each of my step was calculated. Keep Aika safe. Keep Aika safe. That was the only thing in my mind.

I heard Bingo hiss. I heard the man shout behind us. I stopped, turned and placed myself squarely between them. The man hesitated. I did not.

He eventually left after some empty threats from me.

Aika’s body shook violently. Her eyes were wide and unfocused, terror flooding her features in a way that had nothing to do with the man who had followed her and everything to do with how I had touched her.

I let go immediately, but even that came too late.

I dropped to my knees in front of her. The concrete bit through my trousers. Bingo pressed against her legs, purring desperately, grounding her in the present in a way I no longer could.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said, the words spilling out in a rush that sounded too much like excuses. ‘I saw him. I panicked. I didn’t think. I should have said your name louder. I should have—’

She couldn’t hear me. She was somewhere else. I had done this.

In trying to save her, I had become another source of fear. The irony was unbearable.

‘I swear to you,’ I said hoarsely. ‘I would never hurt you. Never. I would tear myself apart first.’ My hands clenched at my sides so I wouldn’t reach for her again

She nodded faintly, believing me and still fighting to survive the moment all at once. Bingo rubbed against her again, insisting on the now, insisting on here.

I bowed my head.

‘I failed you,’ I whispered. ‘I forgot that protection without gentleness can still wound.’

I stayed where I was. I didn’t touch her again. I didn’t justify myself. I didn’t ask for forgiveness I hadn’t earned.

I simply stayed, grovelling in regret as I watched the woman I loved tremble because I had acted without thinking.

And for the first time since I had left the church grounds, since I had chosen action over obedience, I understood the full cost of both.

Saving someone is not enough.

You have to save them without breaking what they are already struggling to hold together.

And despite everything I had done, I no longer knew if I had earned the right to stand near her at all.