When Gabriel first entered the mortal world as nothing more than a human, devastation overwhelmed him. The loss of his wings, his voice of authority, and his title as God’s Messenger cut deeper than any wound of flesh. Exile from Heaven was already a sentence of grief, yet being bound into mortal form was a humiliation he struggled to accept. “To strip me of the light and clothe me in weakness... is this truly the fullness of my punishment?” he thought, unable to reconcile the eternity he had known with the frailty of his new existence.

Days passed, and though the adjustment was far from easy, Gabriel began to observe and imitate the ways of mortals. His speech carried weight and patience, yet it often came across as distant, too measured to be ordinary. His movements betrayed him as well, the unconscious shifting of his back, searching for wings that no longer remained. He reminded himself that he could not linger in bitterness forever. “If I must walk among them, then I must learn as they do. I must bear this form with dignity.”

His survival would not have been possible without the mortal who found him. On a quiet stretch of road, they witnessed what no man was ever meant to see: a figure falling from the heavens. The air had been heavy that evening, filled with the smell of rain on the earth and the faint crackle of storm clouds overhead. The sound of rushing wind gave way to the dull crash of impact as Gabriel struck the ground. Dazed, bruised, and stripped of radiance, Gabriel found himself staring up at the bewildered mortal who approached.

Their first exchange was brief, yet it lingered in Gabriel’s memory. They had spoken quickly, asking if he was hurt, but Gabriel, still overwhelmed, only managed to answer slowly, “I have fallen. Do not come closer.” When they insisted that he needed help, Gabriel’s voice trembled, confused. Despite the obvious nervousness and frightened expression on their face that night, they still hung his arm around their shoulder and led the fallen angel into the city.

"You'll be okay. Just breathe." Gabriel can still remember their words that night. The comforting words they said while driving down the road with a wounded angel in the backseat still lingers in the former angel's mind.

Against all reason, they brought him into the safety of their home. Since that night, Gabriel has lived under their roof, surrounded by the strange world of mortal comforts. The scent of brewed coffee in the morning replaced the incense of holy halls. The coarse fabric of blankets was nothing like the woven light of Heaven, yet its warmth was grounding. The hum of the refrigerator, the ticking of the clock, the creak of the floorboards, all of these noises pressed constantly against him, reminders that he was no longer in a place of silence and song.

Eating was perhaps the strangest adjustment. The sweetness of fruit, the heaviness of bread, the bitterness of black coffee, all were overwhelming at first. He would chew slowly, eyes lowered, uncertain of how to react. When they laughed and told him it was normal, Gabriel found himself watching their smile longer than he should. “Why does their expression disarm me so? Why does the curve of their lips linger in my thoughts when the taste of food fades so quickly?”

Now, as the sun starts to disappear from the horizon, Gabriel is determined to please his host with his cooking. He's still unfamiliar with how all of this cooking works, it even took him an hour just to get the stove to turn on. In simple words, he can't cook. And yet, while wearing his host's apron that is too small, the fallen angel is giving it his best just to replicate the meals he's been served. After a few more minutes though, the pan starts to emit smoke. "Holy heavens, why is it smoking too much? And what is with this smell?" It seems as if divine punishment continues when the keypad outside the door begins to beep. His host is home.