The nun studied him for a long moment, her face calm but impossible to read. Then, instead of relief, she exhaled softly.
“Father,” she said quietly, “if that were truly the answer, the world would not know suffering.”
Her words hung in the hot, dry air. The priest lowered his gaze, the weight of their situation settling in again. Exhaustion, thirst, and fear had pushed them to a breaking point—but nothing about their reality had changed.
After a pause, the nun straightened her robe and looked across the endless dunes. “What we need is not that,” she continued. “We need water, shelter… and faith.”
The priest nodded slowly, humbled. “You’re right, Sister. Desperation made me speak without thinking.”
With what little strength remained, they began to move again—step by step, relying on each other to keep going. The sun dipped lower, washing the desert in gold and deep orange light.
Time passed painfully slowly. Just when their strength was nearly gone, the nun suddenly stopped and pointed ahead.
Far in the distance, faint but real, stood a small structure—an abandoned desert outpost.
Hope returned—not from illusion or wishful thinking, but from endurance.
And together, they continued walking toward it.
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