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.”
Mateo follows. “And maybe sugar. Or alcohol. Or both.”
Julien nods at me, eyes soft. “We’ll behave.”
Natawa ako kahit papaano—konti lang, pero sapat na para hindi ako humikbi ulit. I step aside to let them in.
Silence falls again as they settle into the living room, placing their bags on the coffee table.
I’m still holding the album.
They glance at it, then at me.
But no one says anything. Not yet.
They’re giving me space.
And somehow, the quiet doesn’t feel heavy anymore.
Just… present.
---
Camille sets the tote bag down gently on the coffee table and begins pulling out its contents: a bag of sour cream chips, a box of chocolate-covered almonds, two lollipops, and a half-melted bar of Swiss chocolate she probably forgot in her coat pocket. Mateo places a paper bag next to hers—inside are two bottles of peach wine and a pack of plastic cups. Julien follows behind, quiet as usual, and settles at the far end of the couch.
They’re trying to act casual.
Like they just dropped by for snacks and drinks.
Pero ramdam ko. This isn’t a random hangout.
Mateo scans the room discreetly, his eyes landing briefly on the closed bedroom door behind me—then on the photo album beside the couch, its corner slightly peeking out from under a pillow. Camille sits down, hands resting on her knees, fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve. Julien watches me with that same calm silence he always carries, but even that feels a little heavier tonight.
No one says anything at first.
And maybe they think I don’t notice the way their gazes drift toward me—curious, careful, a little worried.
But I do.
I take the single-seater across from them, hoodie sleeves pulled over my palms, legs tucked up under me. I sit like I’m bracing myself—because maybe I am.
Camille opens the chips, but doesn’t eat any. Mateo pulls one of the cups out and turns it in his hands without pouring anything. Julien’s eyes haven’t left me.
Then Mateo breaks the surface.
“You’ve been... quieter than usual this week,” he says, voice soft but steady. “Especially yesterday.”
Julien adds in a gentler tone, “Tu avais l’air ailleurs.” (You seemed somewhere else.)
I manage a small shrug. Baka pagod lang. Baka kaya ko pang itanggi.
But Camille leans forward slightly, her tone careful. “We didn’t want to push or anything. We just thought... maybe tonight, you shouldn’t be alone.”
She doesn’t ask what’s wrong. None of them do.
They’re just here.
And somehow, that makes it harder to hold everything in.
---
Camille fidgets with the edge of her oversized sweater.
She hasn't said anything since they all sat down. None of them have. The room is quiet, except for the faint hum of the fridge in the kitchen and the muffled city noise filtering through the closed windows. My heart hasn’t slowed down since I opened the door. The silence is starting to press against my ears like altitude pressure. I can feel their eyes flicking toward me now and then, but no one has asked the obvious question: Why do I look like I’ve been crying for hours?
I know they know something. I just don’t know how much.
Camille finally clears her throat. It’s soft, almost like she’s testing if her voice still works.
“Eli…”
I look at her slowly.
Her face is open, unsure, lips pressed together before she finally says, “There’s… something I’ve been holding in for a few days.”
Oh God. Ito na ‘to. Lalabas na.
She glances at Mateo and Julien—brief eye contact, as if checking if it’s okay to speak for all of them—then turns back to me. Her voice is quiet but steady, laced with concern.
“Last Tuesday. We were in the library, remember?”
I nod slowly.
“You went to get coffee,” she continues, her eyes not leaving mine. “And you left your notebook on the table. I didn’t mean to snoop. I swear, it wasn’t on purpose. Something just… slipped out.”
Tangina. Hindi, please. Sana hindi ‘yon ‘yon. Sana hindi ‘yon ‘yong picture. Kahit ‘yong drawing nalang or... kahit ano.
Camille’s hands fold together in her lap, then unfold. She’s visibly nervous, but she presses on.
“It was a photobooth strip,” she says softly. “A small one. Tucked between the pages. It fell out when I was gathering the papers.”
The air leaves my lungs slowly.
Shit. Yun nga ‘yon.
“I picked it up, just to put it back,” she explains quickly, like she wants me to know she wasn’t digging. “But I—Eli, I looked. I’m sorry. I should’ve just left it alone, I know.”
I don’t move. I don’t speak. My mouth is dry.
“It was you,” Camille continues gently. “You and a guy.”
Julien shifts slightly next to her but stays quiet. Mateo’s brows furrow as if he remembers that exact study session, that exact day.
“In the last picture… he was hugging you from behind. You were laughing.” She pauses. “It was a really sweet photo.”
I swallow.
Ang tagal ko na ‘yong tinatago sa notebook na ‘yon. Nakalimutan kong naiwan pala ‘yon doon noong nag-aral kami sa library. Bakit ko nga ba ‘yon dinala in the first place? Para mag-review o para lang damayan sarili ko kahit papaano?
Camille carefully pulls out her phone and opens the Notes app. She scrolls, looking for something.
“I wrote it down because I didn’t want to forget,” she murmurs. “There was a date on the back of the strip, right? ‘October 13, 2023.’”
Yun mismo. Kahapon dapat ‘yung anniversary namin.
“I wasn’t sure what it meant,” she continues. “But then yesterday happened.”
I blink slowly. I can feel the sting behind my eyes starting again.
“You weren’t absent or anything,” she adds quickly. “You still came to class, to the café, you still showed up. But you were… quieter.”
Julien nods faintly. “Tu avais l’air ailleurs.” (You seemed elsewhere.)
Mateo, still silent, just stares at the coffee table like it’s the most complicated thing in the room. But his body is leaned forward slightly, toward me.
Camille lets out a breath.
“Honestly, we didn’t know what to think,” she says. “But something felt off. You’ve been so good at pretending everything’s fine. Smiling, working, making jokes at the café.”
Julien chimes in quietly, “But your eyes… they don’t match your smile anymore.”
Damn. Nahalata pala nila. Kahit gaano ko pa subukang ayusin ‘yung itsura ko. Kahit pilitin kong maging normal. Kahit ayusin ko pa ‘yung posture ko habang naghuhugas ng tasa.
“We didn’t come here to interrogate you,” Camille adds gently. “And we’re not here to make you explain.”
She leans a bit closer.
“But we just want you to know that we see you. Maybe not everything, maybe not the full picture, but… we see that something’s hurting.”
Mateo finally speaks, voice low and sincere.
“If there’s anything you need—anything at all—you don’t have to go through it alone.”
Julien nods once. “Tu peux parler. Ou pas. On reste.” (You can talk. Or not. We’ll stay.)
My throat tightens. My vision blurs again.
Tangina, ang babait nila. Hindi ko deserve ‘to.
Camille gives me a soft smile.
“You don’t have to tell us anything you’re not ready to say. But just in case no one’s said it to you recently... we’re here, okay? Whether you talk, cry, scream, or stay silent the whole night.”
Hindi ko alam kung dapat ba akong matakot or ma-touch. Pero ang sarap pala sa pakiramdam—‘yung hindi ka tinatanong pero nararamdaman ka pa rin.
She squeezes the tote bag on her lap, then adds, “Also, I brought sour gummies. And Mateo made sure we got the peach iced tea vodka you like.”
That earns the smallest smile from me.
“I didn’t know what kind of night it would be,” she admits. “But I figured… maybe we could sit with you. If you’ll let us.”
I stare at all three of them.
Julien. Mateo. Camille.
My unexpected constants.
I slowly nod.
Oo. Kahit ‘di ko pa kaya magsalita. Kahit hindi ko pa maikwento lahat. Gusto kong maramdaman na may kasama ako. Kahit sandali lang.
---
Silence, again.
But this time it feels different.
Heavier.
Camille just told me about the photobooth strip. Julien and Mateo haven’t said much, but their presence feels loud, in a good way. I’m still on the edge of the couch, back straight, fists clenched slightly on my lap. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know if I can say anything. My throat’s too tight. My chest too full.
Camille shifts a little on the couch, like she’s trying to sit more upright, more composed, though her voice still carries that soft uncertainty.
“I think we kind of… pieced it together yesterday,” she admits. “When you didn’t really talk. Not just in class—but at the café, too.”
I remember. I barely said three full sentences during the whole shift. Not because I didn’t want to talk—but because every time I opened my mouth, I felt like I was going to cry. I was on autopilot: pour coffee, smile politely, clean the espresso machine, pretend my chest wasn’t ripping itself apart inside out.
“You were physically there,” Camille continues, “but emotionally… somewhere else.”
Julien tilts his head thoughtfully, his eyes never leaving me. “Tu avais l’air vide. Comme si quelque chose avait été aspiré de toi.” (You looked empty. Like something had been pulled out of you.)
Pulled out? Hindi pulled out. Nilaslas. Dinurog. Tinabas ng paunti-unti. ‘Yung parang hindi mo namamalayan pero unti-unti ka nang nauubos.
Mateo exhales quietly, then runs a hand through his hair.
“I didn’t want to assume anything,” he says, “but... we noticed. All of it. You weren’t laughing like usual. You weren’t even reacting when Camille spilled whipped cream all over herself.”
Camille lets out a short, sheepish laugh. “Which, in my defense, was a lot.”
Julien nods. “And usually, you’d make some joke. Or offer tissues. Or both.”
I give a faint smile, but it doesn’t reach my eyes. I remember that exact moment. Camille’s apron was covered in cream. The whipped canister exploded, and everyone—even the customer—was laughing. Everyone except me.
Camille folds her legs under her on the couch. “Eli, I kept thinking about the date. ‘October 13, 2023.’”
Her voice is barely above a whisper now.
“It was yesterday.”
I nod slowly, finally confirming it.
And somehow, it feels like everything in the room stills when I do. As if a silent confirmation is louder than a scream.
Mateo leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees.
“So… it was an anniversary?” he asks gently. “Or something important?”
I look down at the rug beneath my feet. The threads blur. I don’t even know what part I’m staring at anymore.
First year dapat namin. Pero wala na kami bago pa ako umalis. Bago pa man kami umabot ng ganito kalayo. Bago pa man kami umabot sa Geneva.
Camille doesn't push. She never does. She just reaches for my hand—slow, tentative, careful—and wraps hers around it. Her palm is warm.
“You don’t need to say anything if you’re not ready,” she murmurs. “But we were worried. We are worried.”
Julien leans against the backrest, his eyes watching me carefully, thoughtfully.
“Tu gardes tout pour toi. Toujours.” (You keep everything to yourself. Always.)
I don’t deny it.
Oo, kasi mas madali ‘yon. Mas safe. Kasi kapag nagsalita ako, kapag pinakawalan ko lahat, hindi ko alam kung matatapos ko pa. Baka tuluy-tuloy na ‘to hanggang malunod na lang ako.
Camille’s grip tightens gently.
“You always check on us. You’re always the one asking if we’re okay. If we’ve eaten. If we’ve gotten enough sleep before an exam.”
Mateo chuckles faintly. “You bring snacks to class and act like we didn’t just see you pull an all-nighter.”
Camille nods. “But you never really let us see you. Not fully.”
My eyes sting again. I look up at the ceiling, blinking fast. Don’t cry. Not yet. Hold it.
Julien stands and disappears into the kitchen briefly. I hear the soft clinking of bottles. When he returns, he places a glass of water in front of me.
“I thought… maybe this is better than vodka, for now,” he says gently.
I nod, my throat thick with unshed tears. Thank you. I can’t say it aloud, but I think they understand anyway.
Camille leans forward again.
“We didn’t know what the guy meant to you,” she says softly. “But now we do. And... we’re sorry we didn’t notice sooner. We were trying to give you space, but maybe what you needed wasn’t space.”
Mateo adds quietly, “Maybe you just needed someone to sit next to you. Without asking anything.”
And suddenly, it hits me all over again—how loud the silence was in my condo before they arrived. How heavy the quiet had become. How long I’d been carrying this ache alone.
Ang bigat pala talaga kapag wala kang masabihan. Kahit anong gaanin mo ‘yung kilos mo sa araw-araw, kapag gabi na at tahimik na lahat, bumabalik pa rin ‘yung sakit. Bumubulong pa rin ‘yung boses niya sa tenga ko. Pero wala na siya.
Camille’s hand is still on mine.
Mateo is staring at me like he’s afraid I’ll shatter if he blinks.
Julien is watching with quiet understanding in his eyes.
I open my mouth. Close it. Open it again.
But nothing comes out—just a sob.
---
I don’t know what exactly did it.
Maybe it was Camille’s voice. Maybe it was Mateo’s eyes. Maybe it was Julien quietly standing there with water in his hands like it was holy. Or maybe it was the way no one was asking me to explain myself anymore.
But I just cracked.
One sob, then another.
Like my throat couldn’t hold anything in anymore.
Like my chest had reached its limit.
I couldn’t even stop it. Wala na. Bumigay na lang talaga ako.
My body just gave up on pretending.
I slide off the couch like I’m melting—like all the strength I’d been holding together with tape and thread just tore apart. My knees hit the soft rug with a dull thud. I lean forward, pressing my forehead into my hands, and I cry like I haven’t cried in years. Not silent tears this time. No more controlled sniffles. No more composed breakdowns behind closed doors. This is the kind of crying that echoes in your own skull.
And I don’t care anymore.
I cry for the version of me that was so excited to make it to a year.
I cry for the goodbye we forced on ourselves just to do the “mature” thing.
I cry for the mornings I wake up hoping he sent a message. I cry for the nights I fall asleep clutching that stupid bracelet like it could teleport me back to when things weren’t broken.
Camille moves instantly—kneeling down, arms wrapping around my shoulders, pulling me to her chest like she’d done it a thousand times before. She doesn’t say anything. Her grip tightens slightly when my shoulders shake harder. She smells like cinnamon and fabric softener.
Mateo joins a few seconds later. He’s not the hugging type—I can tell—but he crouches beside me, one hand hovering in the air before gently resting it on my back. A light tap. Then another. So cautious, like I’m made of glass.
Julien doesn’t speak either, but he lowers himself down beside us, cross-legged. His fingers reach for the edge of the coffee table and fiddle with one of the coasters. Eventually, he lays his palm flat on the rug next to mine, not touching, just close. Just there.
No one asks me to stop crying.
No one rushes me.
No one tries to fix anything.
Ganito pala ‘yon. ‘Yung hindi mo kailangan magpaliwanag. ‘Yung kahit anong itsura mo, kahit butas-butas na ‘yung emosyon mo—tatanggapin ka pa rin. ‘Yung may mga tao pala na mananatili kahit sirang-sira ka na.
I try to speak, to apologize, but all that comes out is a strangled sound. Camille shakes her head immediately, her voice quiet but firm: “You don’t need to say sorry. Not for this.”
Julien nods beside her. “Tu as le droit de craquer, Eli.” (You have the right to fall apart, Eli.)
I clutch Camille’s arm as another wave of sobs hits me. My whole body feels like it’s unraveling—like I’m being undone at the seams. And still, they don’t let go.
Camille gently rocks us, just a little, like we’re in some kind of storm and she’s trying to be the anchor.
Mateo stays crouched beside me, unmoving, watching quietly like he’s guarding the space.
Julien remains steady and quiet—present in the calmest way. At one point, I hear him stand again, walk away, and return. A blanket is draped softly around my shoulders.
I don’t know how long we stay like that.
Five minutes?
Ten?
Time feels warped when you’re grieving. Para kang nasa ilalim ng tubig. Lumulutang pero nabibigatan.
Eventually, my sobs dull into hiccups. My breathing starts to steady, but my eyes are still leaking. My throat is raw. My hoodie is damp.
I sit back, Camille’s arm still around me, and wipe at my face with the sleeve. Mateo hands me a box of tissues he must’ve grabbed from the kitchen. I mutter a quiet “thanks” before blowing my nose.
Silence, again—but not the heavy kind this time.
Not the one filled with unasked questions or hovering worry.
This silence is warm. Safe. Like a weighted blanket.
Julien speaks first, barely above a whisper: “You don’t have to say anything else tonight. But if you want to... we’ll listen.”
Camille nods. “We’re here, Eli. Not just tonight. Always.”
Mateo, surprisingly, speaks next. “You don’t have to carry all of it alone.”
And maybe it’s the exhaustion. Maybe it’s the quiet. Maybe it’s the soft weight of the blanket or the way my tears finally dried. But I nod.
A small, slow nod.
And whisper back, “Okay.”
And for the first time in a long while, I almost believe it.
---
The silence in the room feels thick, heavy—like it’s pressing down on my chest, making it hard to breathe. Camille’s hand still rests gently on my shoulder, Mateo and Julien close enough that I can feel their quiet support, but no one says a word. It’s as if they know this moment isn’t about rushing or fixing—it’s about letting me break, and maybe, somehow, start to heal.
I clutch the photobooth strip on the table, fingertips trembling as they trace the faded edges of the tiny pictures. Four small frames showing a moment frozen in time—a moment I wish I could rewind to or erase, depending on how the pain hits me that day.
“That’s... him,” I whisper, voice barely there. “His name is Rhyler.”
My throat tightens, the words catching somewhere deep inside, like a dam breaking. I force myself to meet their eyes—Camille’s soft and wide with concern, Mateo’s steady and kind, Julien’s quietly patient.
“He’s my ex-boyfriend,” I say, the words feeling heavy, like I’m announcing a truth that I’m still trying to understand myself.
My eyes fall again to that photo strip, to the last picture—him, with that bright, careless smile, back-hugging me like he’s holding on to something precious. Something that maybe, at that time, we both thought would last forever.
“We were supposed to celebrate our first anniversary yesterday,” I admit, voice cracking as the reality sinks in. “But... it didn’t happen.”
Camille’s fingers tighten gently around mine, and I feel the weight of their presence like a lifeline. Mateo shifts closer, and Julien leans forward, but none of them speak. They’re giving me space. Holding space. And for a moment, it feels like maybe, just maybe, I’m not completely alone in this.
I take a shuddering breath, gathering myself against the wave of memories crashing over me.
The room feels quieter now, but the ache in my chest hasn’t eased. I take a shaky breath and try to piece the fragments of that day together—like I’m trying to capture a fading dream before it slips away.
“It all started on the first day of Grade 12,” I say softly, voice barely above a whisper. “I was nervous—so nervous that I barely noticed the people around me. New classes, new teachers, new faces... everything felt overwhelming.”
I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, trying to steady myself. “I remember standing in the school's court, clutching my enrollment form tight, when I saw an ID card lying on the floor. It caught my attention because someone had dropped it without knowing.”
My fingers trace an invisible shape in the air, like I’m holding that ID again. “I picked it up, looked behind me, and called out, ‘Excuse me, is this yours?’”
I smile faintly, the memory bittersweet. “And then he looked at me—Rhyler. His eyes met mine. He was taller than I expected, and he had this quiet, kind smile that made my heart skip.”
The air feels heavy as I continue. “He was in a different section, so we didn’t have classes together. But... somehow, our paths kept crossing. It was like the universe was teasing us—making sure we noticed each other.”
I glance at Camille, Mateo, and Julien, hoping they see the warmth mixed with pain in my eyes. “At first, it was just those random moments. Passing by each other in the hallways. Seeing each other in the cafeteria. Little smiles exchanged, shy hellos.”
I bite my lip, swallowing back the lump forming in my throat. “Then one night, I got a message from him—out of the blue. Just a silly meme, nothing serious. But it made me smile.”
I laugh quietly, remembering. “He kept sending those messages. Song lyrics. Funny videos. But I ignored most of them at first. I wasn’t sure what to think.”
My voice falters. “Sometimes, he would leave me on read. I felt confused... maybe even a little hurt. I didn’t know if he liked me or was just being friendly.”
Camille squeezes my hand softly, as if to say she understands every unspoken word.
“And then the rumors started,” I say, bitterness lacing my tone. “People whispered that we had something going on, even though we barely spoke.”
I close my eyes, remembering how unfair it felt. “But those whispers didn’t matter. Because something was growing between us—something I wasn’t ready to name yet.”
The silence stretches, filled only by my shaky breath.
“I guess that’s when we became what I call ‘bestfriend premium,’” I explain, a soft smile touching my lips. “More than friends, but not quite lovers.”
I look down at the photobooth strip again. “That photo—Camille saw it—the one where he’s hugging me from behind, smiling like he owns the whole world—it’s from that time.”
My voice breaks as the floodgates open again. “That moment felt like magic. Like for a few seconds, nothing else mattered but us.”
Tears glisten in my eyes as I finish, “And even though everything else got complicated... that moment stayed with me.”
I lean back, exhausted but lighter. For the first time, I’m letting someone in on the beginning of a story I thought I had to carry alone.
---
I swallow hard, trying to keep the tremble from my voice as I push on, feeling my story unfold like an open wound.
“After those first moments, it wasn’t easy at all. We weren’t your typical couple who jumped straight into romance. No, it was something slower... deeper. Like becoming ‘bestfriend premium’—you know, more than just friends, but still not everything yet.”
I glance down at my hands resting on my lap, the memory so vivid it’s almost painful. “We spent hours talking about everything—school, dreams, fears. I was the one teaching him how to eat street food, like kwek-kwek and isaw. I still remember the first time he tried it... he looked so unsure, but then his eyes lit up, like he’d discovered a secret treasure.”
A small smile curls at the corner of my mouth, even though my heart feels heavy. “He’d drive me home after class, sometimes just to make sure I was safe. It was the little things that made me feel… cared for.”
I pause, trying to steady my voice. “Before he even confessed, Rhyler did something that surprised me—he asked my whole family for permission. Not just my parents, but my sisters too. He wanted their approval to court me properly.”
The weight of that memory presses down on me, and I feel a sting behind my eyes. “He respected us all. I was so touched. It was like he was telling me, ‘I’m serious about you. I’m not here for games.’”
My voice wavers as I continue, “And then came the night I introduced him to my friends—Athena’s debut. I was nervous, but when he stood there by my side, confident and smiling, I knew he was mine.”
I look up to see Camille’s eyes glistening, Mateo quietly nodding, Julien giving me a small encouraging smile.
“He handled my moods—the complicated, stubborn, sometimes too emotional parts of me—better than anyone else ever did,” I say, voice thick with emotion. “He made me laugh when I wanted to cry, and he was patient when I was impossible.”
I bite my lip, fighting back the ache that tightens my chest. “He wasn’t just my boyfriend. He was my biggest fan, my challenger, my calm in the storm. He pushed me to do better, to study harder, even when we were in different sections.”
My fingers twitch, the invisible threads of memory pulling at me. “And when he got jealous… God, he was the cutest. It wasn’t like a crazy, angry jealousy. It was soft, like a quiet fear of losing me.”
I laugh quietly, the sound fragile. “He was 100% my ideal type, everything I never thought I’d find in someone.”
The room feels warmer now, but my heart still aches. “We studied together. We fought over grades and celebrated when one of us scored higher. We were a team—even if we were apart in classes, we were never really apart.”
My voice breaks as I whisper, “And when I got the full scholarship to study in Geneva, he was the first one to tell me how proud he was. He told me to focus on my dream, even if it meant... even if it meant losing me.”
The silence that follows is thick with unspoken pain.
“But he wanted me to be happy,” I add softly. “To chase what I wanted. And that’s when everything started to change.”
I lean forward, eyes glistening with tears I don’t fight anymore. “He told me he didn’t want to hold me back. That I should pursue my dream without worrying about us.”
My breath catches, the truth cutting deep. “It hurt. So much. But I loved him enough to let go.”
The room stays quiet, the weight of my confession hanging between us like a fragile thread.
For the first time, I feel seen—not just the happy memories, but the pain beneath them too.
---
I glance at the three of them—Camille, Mateo, Julien—still sitting quietly, absorbing my story. Their presence feels like a soft blanket, warming my freezing heart. Slowly, I continue.
“People always think love is this grand, perfect thing. But with Rhyler, it was in the small moments—the messy, the ordinary—that I found the magic.”
My voice trembles slightly, memories flooding in like a bittersweet tide.
“He knew me like no one else did—the complicated moods, the stubborn streak, the insecurities I tried to hide. There were days when I was so difficult, but he never gave up on me.”
I smile weakly, wiping the tears threatening to fall again. “He had this way of making me laugh when I felt like breaking down. Like the time I was so stressed about exams, and he sneaked into the café with this ridiculous, oversized teddy bear. I couldn’t stop laughing, even if my heart was aching.”
I take a shaky breath, the ache behind my ribs tightening. “Rhyler wasn’t just my boyfriend—he was my biggest cheerleader. He challenged me to be better, to push harder. When I felt like giving up, he was there, reminding me of my worth.”
I swallow hard, remembering the late-night study sessions, the notes we exchanged, the gentle teasing when one of us got a higher score. “Even if we were in different sections, we studied together. He made me believe that distance was just a number, not a wall.”
I glance down at my wrist where the red string bracelet rests, a constant reminder of those days. “He looked at me like I was the most important person in the world. His pride in me wasn’t just words—it was in every text, every call, every quiet look across the room.”
My voice falters, but I push on. “And when he got jealous—oh God, that was the cutest thing ever. Not in a possessive way, but like this quiet, almost shy fear of losing me.”
I laugh softly, the sound fragile. “He was my ideal type. Not just in how he looked, but in every little thing he did. How he cared, how he fought for us, how he made me feel safe.”
The room is heavy with emotion, but I keep going, desperate to share it all.
“When I got accepted to Geneva with a full scholarship, he was the first one to tell me how proud he was. Even though it meant we’d be apart, he told me to focus on my dream.”
My voice cracks, and I close my eyes for a moment. “He wanted me to fly, even if it meant he wouldn’t be there to catch me.”
I open my eyes, meeting theirs, tears glistening. “That was love—selfless, painful, beautiful.”
I pause, letting the words sink in. “And that’s what made saying goodbye so hard.”
---
The room feels even quieter now, the air thick with unsaid things. I clutch the photo album tighter, my fingers trembling as I try to find the words I’ve kept buried deep inside.
“After months of trying to make it work, after all the stolen moments and whispered promises, we came to a place where we had to be honest with ourselves.” My voice is barely a whisper, raw and fragile. “Rhyler and I... we broke up.”
Their eyes widen, but I shake my head softly, as if to say, wait, there’s more.
“It wasn’t sudden. We both knew it was coming. But that didn’t make it any easier.” I inhale shakily, the weight of the memory pressing down on me like a heavy stone in my chest. “He told me... he wanted me to focus on my dreams, on my future here in Geneva. That he didn’t want to hold me back.”
Tears spill freely now, hot and relentless. “He said he loved me enough to let me go.”
I press my palm against my chest, as if to stop the ache inside. “Before I left the Philippines, he gave me something.” I reach for my wrist, slowly lifting the red string bracelet, the thin thread wrapped tightly around my skin, a constant, unyielding tether to what was.
“It’s a red string bracelet,” I say, voice cracking. “He said it’s our fate—like the stories we used to share, about two people connected no matter the distance.” My fingers tremble as I trace the delicate thread. “I haven’t taken it off since I got here.”
I look at Camille, Mateo, and Julien, my eyes pleading silently. “Even after almost three months in Geneva, I still miss him so much. It hurts every day.” My voice breaks completely. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m foolish for still holding on... but I can’t take it off. It’s like taking him off from my heart.”
I bury my face in my hands, the sobs shaking my body uncontrollably. “Yesterday was supposed to be our first anniversary. Instead, I spent it alone, staring at memories I can’t hold onto.”
I lift my head, tears streaming down my cheeks. “I still want him here. I want him to tell me everything’s going to be okay... to remind me that I’m stronger than I think. That he’s proud of me.”
My voice falters, the pain raw and naked. “But now, all I have are these memories and this bracelet... and the ache of what we lost.”
---
The silence after my words is almost unbearable, thick and heavy—like the weight of everything I’ve just shared. For a long moment, no one says anything. Camille squeezes my hand gently. Mateo and Julien just look at me, eyes soft, like they’re trying to understand the part of me that’s still broken.
I want to disappear, to crawl into a hole and never come out. But then, Camille’s voice breaks through the quiet.
“We’re here, Eli,” she says softly. “You’re not alone.” Her words are simple, but they feel like a lifeline thrown into my stormy sea.
Mateo nods, adding in his calm voice, “Whatever you need, whenever you need it, just call us.”
Julien, usually the quiet one, looks at me with something almost like a gentle smile and says, “Tu n'es pas seule.” (You’re not alone.)
For the first time that night, I let myself breathe. The pain is still there, but maybe it doesn’t have to swallow me whole. Maybe it’s okay to lean on others when the burden gets too heavy.
Camille helps me up from the floor, pulling me into a warm hug. Her arms feel like a shield against the cold loneliness inside me. Mateo and Julien stay close, their presence steady, grounding me.
We settle on the couch, the bags of chips and sweets now open between us. I find myself laughing softly at some silly joke Julien makes about how bad his French accent is. For a moment, I’m not just the girl who’s broken and missing someone—I’m just Eli, sitting with friends who care.
My chest still aches, but there’s something lighter now. Maybe it’s hope. Maybe it’s the quiet strength that comes from knowing I don’t have to carry this alone.
“Thank you,” I whisper, almost afraid to say it out loud.
Julien raises his glass lightly. “À l’amitié.” (To friendship.)
We clink glasses softly, and the red string bracelet on my wrist catches the dim light. It’s still there, a reminder of what I lost—but also, now, a symbol of the ties I still have.
Even across oceans, even through pain and distance, I am not alone.