Ten years ago, in the backyard of Hillsong London Church, Sam stood shoveling snow from the church's entrance. It was early morning, and the cold air bit into his skin, but he didn't mind. His part-time job, though menial, was a necessary distraction. Running away from his home and living alone in a foreign country had its challenges, but Sam found the physical labor more bearable than the crushing weight of his family's expectations. He had always dreamed of becoming a playback singer, but his heritage demanded that he follow in the footsteps of his ancestors—three generations of military service. At twenty-one, he could no longer bear the pressure. He packed his bags and left, venturing to London with nothing but his savings and his dream.
"Ugh, it's freezing!" Sam muttered, wiping a strand of snow from his face.
The snowfall began to intensify. Sam glanced at the clock—6 a.m. "After finishing this, I still have to go back and make breakfast for me and Harry. The church is so stingy with pay, it's ridiculous. They should at least give me a little extra."
As if on cue, a sleek black sedan rolled up to the church gates, drawing Sam's attention. He looked at the car, wondering which privileged family had arrived so early in the morning to pray.
"Is this what it's like when you're rich?" he muttered, shaking his head with a smirk.
From the car emerged a young woman, strikingly beautiful. She stood tall and elegant, her long brunette hair cascading down her back, and her figure accentuated by a red gown and fur coat. She moved with the grace of someone who had been born into wealth, her posture radiating sophistication. But it was her smile that caught Sam off guard—the warmth in her expression made her seem less like a figure of privilege and more like someone meeting a long-lost friend.
But as she neared, her eyes caught Sam standing with his shovel, and her expression suddenly changed. Without missing a beat, she subtly altered her path, walking slower and more composed as she approached the church doors.
Sam felt an awkward chuckle rise in his chest but stifled it, unsure whether he should be offended or amused.
The woman entered the church, her elegant presence turning to one of devotion as she stood before the sculpture of Christ. Sam followed her inside, curiosity piquing.
What he saw next, however, left him speechless.
The woman, in a quiet and intimate moment, spoke to the statue of Christ, as if confiding in an old friend.
"Why did the snow have to come now?" she complained, her voice light with exasperation. "My new gown and coat are ruined, thanks to you. Honestly, couldn't you have waited just fifteen more minutes? But anyway, my results came out last night, and I topped the university. Dad's so proud. He says if Mom were still here, she'd be so happy for me."
She paused, smiling softly at the statue. "Oh, and I promised I wouldn't eat chocolates anymore, didn't I? Well, I'll keep that promise, just for you."
Her expression shifted, a more serious tone replacing the previous light-heartedness. "Now, there's something I need your help with. Mrs. John is hosting a ball tonight, and her son, who's been trying to set me up with her son... well, he's a complete bore. I need you to make sure he doesn't like me. Please—just make sure he's not my type. I'll do my best to avoid him, but I can't control everything. You know how my dad is. Please, keep him from approving of this guy. I won't marry anyone my father chooses, so protect me from this one, okay? And I promise I'll never wear my golden fur coat again. Deal?"
The woman smiled at the statue one last time, seemingly satisfied with her prayer. "I know you'll hear me, Christ. You're my best friend."
Sam stood frozen, still processing the scene he'd just witnessed. He had seen many things in London, but this woman's peculiar combination of elegance and childlike honesty left him baffled.
As the lady exited the church, Sam could no longer hold it in. He burst into laughter, amused by how different she seemed alone compared to in front of others. Outside, she had been the picture of poise, but inside, she was almost a child, spilling her heart to a statue like it was a dear confidant.
Sam wiped a tear of laughter from his eye and muttered to himself, "Christ, you must have a full day ahead of you—enduring all these silly prayers. Don't worry, I won't burden you with any more!"
Later that morning, Sam returned to his rented apartment, where he lived with Harry, an American who had moved to London with dreams of opening his own restaurant. But the harsh reality of living in London on a tight budget had crushed those dreams, and now Harry, like Sam, worked part-time jobs to make ends meet. Despite their differing backgrounds, the two had become like brothers, each supporting the other in ways they couldn't explain.
In the kitchen, Sam began preparing breakfast—an omelet with toasted bread. As he finished, he walked into Harry's room, where his friend was still deeply asleep.
"Wake up, sleeping beauty!" Sam called with a grin. "It's a fine day, don't you think?"
Harry groaned from under his blanket, swatting at the air as though trying to fend off an invisible enemy. "Five more minutes, Sam. Please!"
Sam chuckled. "No way! Your five minutes always turns into half an hour. The whole of London is waiting for you to wake up!"
"Yeah, right," Harry muttered, lifting the blanket and sitting up. His hair was a mess, but he grinned lazily at Sam. "What's for breakfast today?"
"Your favorite—omelet," Sam replied. "Oh, and I'm heading out to perform in a street concert. Can you make sure the door's locked and leave the key under the flowerpot when you go out?"
"Got it. Have a good performance today."
"Thanks! See you later!"
As Sam left the apartment, Harry dug into his breakfast, savoring every bite. But as he reached for the vase on the table, he noticed an envelope tucked underneath it. Curious, he opened it and found some money inside—his pocket money for the month, courtesy of Sam.
Harry's face flushed with gratitude. Sam always did this—whatever extra he earned, he gave to Harry without a second thought.
"What am I going to do with him?" Harry muttered, shaking his head. "When will he start thinking about himself? Honestly, sometimes I feel like I'm the older one here."
But in his heart, Harry knew Sam's selflessness was a gift. It was just one of the many things that made their bond unbreakable.