Strings of Fate

Hindi ko alam kung bakit ko pa binuksan ‘tong album na ‘to.

It’s already past 7 p.m. The room is quiet except for the hum of the heater. Fall is colder than I expected. But it’s not the cold that’s making my chest hurt—it’s this stupid photo album on my lap.

Yung binigay niya nung 5th monthsary namin.

It’s covered in kraft paper with a tiny sticker sa gilid that says “For my smart girl.” Inside, it’s filled with moments. Printed photos from our hangouts, selfies from school rooftops, screenshots of our messages, even a pressed flower taped beside one of our favorite quotes.

"You’re my home in all the noise."
He wrote that. Nasa handwriting pa niya.

My fingers stop flipping the pages. I’m stuck on this one—yung picture namin sa intramurals. He had face paint on. I was pretending to be mad kasi he dragged me to join the games. But in the photo, we’re both laughing. Gusto kong pasigawin ‘yung sarili ko.

Bakit ba kasi binuksan ko pa ‘to?

I curl my knees up to my chest and hug the album like it can glue back everything that’s falling apart inside me. Yes, I did cry yesterday. Not like this. But tonight, it’s different.

Maybe because it’s the day after.

Maybe because no matter how many lectures I ace, or how many shifts I finish sa café, at the end of the day… wala pa rin siya.

Tears start falling slowly. No sobbing. No sound. Just warm, steady streaks down my cheeks while the world outside carries on like it doesn’t care that I’m breaking.

------

Ding-dong.

Masyadong mali ang tunog na ’yon para sa ambience ng gabi. Tahimik kasi ang buong unit ko—tanging pag-iyak ko lang ang tunog kanina, halo sa mga hikbi at paghigop ng sipon. Pero ngayon, tahimik na. At bigla ’yong nabasag ng doorbell.

I wipe my face in a panic, careful not to smudge the dried tears that have already crusted on my cheeks. Tinanggal ko agad 'yong headband ko at sinuot ang hoodie na nakasampay sa dulo ng kama. Wala akong energy mag-ayos pero at least hindi halata gaano.

Paglabas ko ng kwarto, sumilip ako sa security camera monitor.

My heart stutters.

Camille. Mateo. Julien.

All three of them are standing just outside my door, bundled up in jackets, the light from the hallway catching their faces. Camille is holding a big tote bag. Mateo and Julien each have a paper bag, one with what looks like snacks, and the other—drinks?

Hindi ko alam kung matutuwa ako o matataranta. I wasn’t expecting anyone.

I press the intercom.

“It’s us,” Camille says, waving at the camera.

Mateo leans forward a little. “We brought snacks.”

Julien adds in soft French, “Juste un peu de compagnie, si tu veux.” (Just a bit of company, if you want.)

I hesitate. My fingers hover over the lock button. Hindi ko alam kung kaya kong magpanggap na okay ako ngayong gabi. But… something about their timing, their presence—parang gusto ko na rin ng kausap.

I press the button. The lock clicks.

A few seconds later, the door opens to their warm, quiet faces.

Camille walks in first. “We’re not staying long, promise. Just… figured you might need a little break.”