Many Lovers joined together to love one Beloved, who filled them all with love. Each one carried his Beloved fully in his heart, with gratifying anxiety, and felt a pleasant tribulation of this.

Ramon Llull, The Book of the Lover and the Beloved, verse 3

When Danny stirs the first time Alex wakes from his light doze. The small jerks of the hand Alex is holding are enough to draw him back to full awareness. Spasms pull through Danny's body when he buries facedown into his pillow, his hands close together in front of his chest as if they were still tied up. His screams are soundless. He is gasping for air and his legs twitch in a fruitless running motion.

Alex observes quietly. He lets go of Danny's hand to contemplate Danny's apparent agitation. He knows it is a nightmare and he can clearly see the distress in Danny's features. Alex feels uncertain. He always does. It is as if he is trapped behind a glass wall. He can watch the world, analyse, and understand it. He recognises the emotions, even feels them deeply inside himself. And yet—he never knows how to react. He wants to reach out by touch or word, but years of punishment and repression has taught him not to show his sentiment. So he watches instead, curious and sad, because he knows Danny is scared and in pain.

But Danny senses him. He is aware of the other human being kneeling beside him. A human being who has touched him with soft hands and carefully, tenderly, cleaned his body. Danny is asleep, caught up in his terrifying dream, but he turns toward this other presence, reaches out with bound hands and grasps for help. He cannot scream—he is trying—but no sound emerges. His fingers curl into tough fabric, pulling it close. He curls his body around the other, a silent plea to hold him, safe him.

Surprise is replaced by tension when Alex slowly places his arms around the trembling body, not knowing what is expected of him or how the other will react. He desperately wants to let down his own defences.

When Danny pulls him even closer, whimpering into his shoulder, something finally breaks. Instinctively, Alex hugs him tightly into his embrace. He begins to whisper soothing nonsense into Danny's ear. The convulsions begin to ease immediately. Alex continues to murmur prayers and psalms, committed to memory long time ago. Thoughtless, he presses small kisses to Danny's bald head as he feels him go limp in his arms. Warmth is spreading inside Alex. He pushes himself awkwardly up on the small bed, leaning against the wall with Danny clasped firmly against his chest, Alex's legs spread out on either side of Danny. He manages to pull the blanket on top of both of them without disturbing Danny further. His own heart beat slows as he cocoons both of them safely against the rest of the world.

On the other side of the wall, Molly is meditating in deep prayer. She has heard the commotion, expected a knock, but the adjacent room has fallen silent again. Her eyes are closed and she repeats the same verse over and over again, chanting it quietly.

"Whatever makes the love of the Lover grow remains to be loved in me."

Her breathing is slow and deep. She kneels on the cold stone, relaxed. Her mind is fixed on the words, only a small part remains alert to any sounds from the outside world. She enjoys the peaceful silence of the monastery; the praying brothers in the small chapel too low-pitched to disturb the serene tranquility in this part of the building. Molly lets her mind run free around the sentence, the words, the questions and answers, which come to her involuntarily.

She lets her mind connect the verse with the face of Father Michael. Mike. A smile shows on her face, unbidden but not unwanted. Her life is shown to her, from the first moment she can remember; her mother, heartbroken, handing her—a small, malnourished child—to a stern nun; the following years rushing by in a blur. After all, she is heeding Mike's words.

Forgive, so you can love; love, so you can forgive.

Instead, she dwells on the very first time she saw him. When he came and took her with him. So many adventures they have had together, before they were told to come here. She has to disguise herself, become the monk who has taken the vow of silence. She knows Mike was concerned back then, but she relishes the freedom the disguise offers her. She has become one of 'them'. She is no longer 'the odd one out'—the woman nobody knows how to place in this hierarchy of men. She is, as she always has been, the shy, reliable assistant of Father Michael.

Mike has never treated her differently. To him, she is his most valued assistant, his dearest friend. Sometimes, they will cuddle each other. Because she still has bad days, when memories will haunt her, old stories and insults surface in her mind. And sometimes, very few times, Mike will need her to cuddle him.

She forces her thoughts down another road. She wants to understand the notion of love, of loving another human being, of loving God. Mike has given her the small book, the only treasure she owns. It is old and well-worn, and she knows it has been Mike's for a long time. There is one verse for every day of the year. One verse, to contemplate each day. She has been through all the verses three times already. And still, the idea of love eludes her. She has heard the other nuns lament the pain of their desires. They have told her about their elated feelings for God, their all encompassing love for Him. She has never felt that way herself. She wondered for many years if something was wrong with her. But then Father Michael visited the cloister. He knew as soon as he saw her. He always knows. She wonders how he does it. She knows he talks with God and God answers him. But knowing who belongs to whom—she has asked him once, how he did it. Mike sent her a sad smile.

"I think it is because I have never loved. And never will. I can see it in others. I can see, who they are seeking and when they have found the one."

Mike deliberated a short while.

"Sometimes," he hesitated. "Sometimes, I can even see how many other lovers there will be in their live."

"But," she was confused. "I thought there was always just the one true love. Your one and only soulmate."

At that, Mike smiled an even sadder smile.

"That is what people want you to believe, isn't it? The idea of two halves of the one whole? But, what if you are whole? Or—what if you need not one but several other halves to become one?"

She was confused.

"How about God?" Mike continued, trying to explain it to her. "Can They just love one?"

"No," she answered. "But He is God. He loves all of His creation."

"And They tell us to love all of Their creation as well."

Mike winked at her, now with the broadest smile possible.

As befuddled as she was then, Mike refused to give further explanations. She has wondered—and still wonders—if she could have the same gift. Or is it a curse? She frowns. Changes her focus once more. Alex. The young man who studies the old documents and scriptures with Brother Jeremias. Her mind lingers on the events earlier today. The way he washed the grime off the bruised and beaten young man on the table. Not once did he hesitate. A new, hitherto unknown feeling blossoms inside of her. She knows. Suddenly, she knows with unhesitating certainty. She smiles widely, opens her eyes and looks upward.

"Thank you."

She takes the small book and rereads the whole first verse. A profound sense of satisfaction flows through her body and mind. It feels like a tingle running across her skin. She closes her eyes and kisses the book. She goes to bed, knowing the knock she has been waiting for will not come.