In the time before I truly understood what it meant to meet someone who could stir your soul, I was cynical about love and novellas like, "Romeo and Juliet". I thought them both fools, to have lost their beautiful lives for .... what is it called again?..... Love? Yes, just a second-hand emotion, I had come to that conclusion a long time ago.
Then in Cyprus, while seeking peace and solitude, I found "it" instead.
I had gone to a small, coastal church for Sunday mass. A little place by the sea, white-walled and tranquil, with scent of freshness in the air and I felt so at peace as I took a seat at the back, grateful for stillness.
That was when I saw her.
She was sitting a few pews ahead, partially hidden by the head of others. Her back was straight and her posture, graceful, hands clasped and eyes closed in prayer. The morning light from the window poured onto her hair, casting a soft halo and giving her an almost angelic glow.
I was spellbound.
Not just by her beauty, but by her grace. My heart thudded in my chest, like a bird in a cage, desperate for liberty.
I felt like she was someone connected to my soul. The world stood still as our eyes met. It was just for a fraction of a second, but I was dazed, something had just shifted.
It was as if we had known each other in another life, and in that moment, both of us remembered, reconnecting....
In that instant, the notion that love didn't exist, was utterly obliterated. It wasn't a mere attraction—it ran deeper. It could only have been love.
After the service, I sought her out. I found her again near the corridor where candles glowed against carved ancient stones of Christ The King and The Saints. She was touching a carving of The Virgin Mary, lost in thought.
“Hi,” I said, my voice unsteady.
She turned. “Hi.”
“I saw you in there… and....em .... thought I should just say hi. ” I was tongue-tied because I stammered badly.
She smiled. “Are you fond of talking to strangers in church?”
“No....no...not exactly.” she was teasing me, I knew.
She laughed. “Well, you don’t feel exactly like a stranger.”
“Really? Well, I’m Dave.” I said quickly, as I extended my hand for a handshake.
“Mabel” she replied.
"Nice name." I murmured as I lifted her hand gently to my lips.
We walked along the corridor, and then out into the courtyard, where we sat on a low wall overlooking the sea, its waves crashing rhythmically against the shore. We talked like we were old friends reunited, about everything and nothing. But she cleverly dogded any conversation edging towards something personal, redirecting it with a laugh.
“There’s something peaceful about this island,” she said.”
“It's a very beautiful place,” I smiled, looking at her.
She laughed. “I'm so comfy with you, I can't believe I've been chatting with a "stranger" for this number of hours.”
“That's because you don’t find this kind of connection often.” I whispered softly, looking deeply into her eyes.
“I feel it too,” she whispered back. “And that scares me a little. Because I'm not ready for commitments now.”
When the sun dipped into the sea, painting the sky in orange and fire, she stood.
“I have to go.”
“Will I see you again?” I asked, heart heavy.
She touched my hand. “I hope so. But if not…I'll always remember this.”
“I already do.”
She smiled, kissed my cheek, and walked away. I watched until she disappeared down the path.
I didn’t chase her. I just let her go. We were two people tethered by a moment.
All I had was her name—Mabel. But somehow, a part of me left with her.
I returned home but I couldn't move on, I couldn't stop thinking about her. I searched for her on Facebook, Instagram and TikTok, and in photos of Cyprus tagged by tourists, but nothing came up. It was as if she belonged to that moment, and that moment alone.
Then, two years later, while attending an art exhibit in Austria, I turned a corner and froze.
There she was. In the flesh.
Mabel. My Mabel.
I grew numb. The palpitations of my heart were so intense, they frightened me.
She was standing by a painting of a church, by the sea.
Our church.
The church in Cyprus.
“Mabel?” I breathed.
She turned, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Dave?”
I couldn’t believe it. The girl from my dreams, now in flesh and blood.
We stood there, just staring at each other, taking in every tiny detail of the person we had both missed in different ways. And then she laughed, the same tingling sound I remembered. She stepped into my arms without hesitation, taking her place like she always belonged there.
“I thought you were a dream,” she whispered against my shoulder.
“I thought you were just a figment of my imagination.”
She was an artist and many of the paintings and artworks featured in the exhibition were hers. Here in the gallery, I understood her more — through her artworks, graceful, guarded and full of depth.
We sat at a café that evening, talking for hours, catching up on everything life had brought our way since Cyprus. She had moved to London the year before, while I was in Austria for a corporate course sponsored by the company I worked for.
The connection—the stillness, the spark, the feeling, nothing had dimmed. It still warmed my heart like it did years back. Yes, it was exactly the same.
“I painted that church in Cyprus, thinking about you the whole time." she said softly.
“I never stopped thinking about you,” I said, reaching for her hand. “And this time, I'm not letting you out of my sight.”
We began seeing each other often. Weekend visits, long phone calls, and shared dreams. We were being given a second chance by the universe, it seemed, and I intended making the most of it.
One morning, it was Christmas, I could hear the bells as the snowflakes fell softly outside her apartment. I looked at her across the breakfast table and said, “I want to come home to you for the rest of my life.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “I’ve waited to hear those words since the church.”
Six months later, we were married. A small and quiet ceremony with just close friends and family. And yes, we went back to Cyprus for our honeymoon. We were at that little church again. The origin of our love. We sat in the pew, holding hands and looking into each other’s eyes.
That moment, two years ago, wasn’t a fleeting one after all.
It was the beginning of everything.
And in the time after… I couldn't remember what it was like to live without loving, without having given my heart away to someone else.
Image is AI generated.
🌸My Motto is: work at making yourself proud of yourself.🌸
Thank you very much for taking time to read me. Have a wonderful day!
