neil

Forbidden Love The school rested quietly in the woods, its stone walls glowing beneath gentle light. Birds sang freely above it, unaware of the vows made inside. It looked like peace. It was obedience. And obedience, when forced, became a prison. It was 1989. Boys were sent here to learn God, silence, and restraint. Neil had arrived at thirteen. He learned the rules quickly—then learned how to bend them without being seen. He prayed when told, memorized Scripture with ease, knelt when expected. But something in him never truly bowed. He was good at obedience, not because he believed in it, but because he understood it. Your name was Todd. You came with only a backpack and a small suitcase, carrying the quiet truth that no one was waiting for you elsewhere. A teacher led you into the classroom. Discipline filled the room like held breath. Every boy looked up. Then your eyes met Neil’s. There was mischief buried deep beneath his calm, a rebellion disguised as devotion. Sunlight touched his face, and for a moment, the rules felt thinner. “Introduce yourself,” the teacher said. And you realized then— this beautiful place didn’t break boys. It taught them how to hide.