Melchour

A spark of excitement stirred in my chest as I stepped down from the bus, the weight of the morning shifting under my shoes. The air was sharp and cool against my face, and with each step toward the school's main gate, I felt a quiet energy building.

The memory of that phone call from a few days back flickered through my mind—the one where I learned I'd been hired here. I remembered the rush of relief and pride that filled me, the way I sat back in my chair, grinning like a kid.

I took a breath and scanned the grounds around me. Wide stretches of grass framed the path to the gate, and students wandered in clusters, their laughter carrying on the breeze. A few teachers were scattered here and there, nodding at the kids, their own voices low and steady.

"Good morning, Mr. Eyasan!" a voice called. I turned, seeing a man approach me with an outstretched hand. His steps were confident, his smile welcoming.

"I'm Mr. Dulnuan," he said as he got close. "You probably recognize me from the interview. Welcome aboard."

I shook his hand firmly. "Yes, Sir. Glad to be here. It's good to see you again."

"Come on, I'll show you to the Faculty Office," he said, tilting his head toward the building ahead.

I followed him through a set of double doors, our footsteps echoing down the tiled hallways. We took a few turns, and soon he stopped at a door.

"Here we are," he said, pushing it open. "Mr. Eyasan, this is Ma'am Solidad." He motioned toward a woman at the front table. She gave me a polite smile, then went right back to her work.

Mr. Dulnuan introduced me to a few more of the teachers—faces I knew I'd be seeing often—and then left us to prepare for the day. I checked my schedule: first subject, Section 1F, Philosophy. Third-year students.

"Oh, so you're the new guy," a voice called from the desk next to mine. I turned to see a woman with a kind smile.

"Yes, Ma'am," I replied.

"Well, it's nice to finally meet you," she said. "I'm just relieved you're here. It's been a crazy semester, and you'll help lighten the load for the rest of us." She set her pen down and leaned back a little.

"Glad I could help, Ma'am Gomez," I said, returning her smile.

She smiled and checked her watch. "Hey, first period's starting in two minutes."

"Right," I stood, gathering my things as I took mental notes of the room I'm assigned. "See you later, Ma'am."

"See you!"

I nodded then made my way through the hallway. After a few turns, I finally reached Room 106, pausing for a moment before stepping inside.

The room quieted as I entered, curious eyes turning toward me. I caught a few whispers.

"That's the new professor," one said.

"The one Ma'am Brenda was talking about?" another added.

The murmurs fell away as I met their gazes. I let my eyes scan the room, settling on each student.

"Good morning," I said. The response was a soft chorus of greetings.

"I'm sure you've been told there are a few changes starting today," I continued, stepping further into the room. "Let's get started, but first, let me introduce myself. My name's Melchour Eyasan, and I'll be taking over for Ma'am Brenda in Philosophy."

I walked down the aisle, letting the weight of my words settle. "I have a few ground rules for this class. First, tardiness is—"

"Good morning, Ma'am. I'm sorry f—"

The voice came from the door, interrupting me. My gaze shifted toward it, brows tightening at the sudden break in the rhythm.

A woman stood there, breathless, her shoulders rising and falling. Slowly, she lifted her face, brushing hair away from her eyes.

Recognition hit me like a quiet wave.

Upturned eyes met mine—the same ones I'd seen not long ago.

Johanna

I could hear the quiet thudding of my heart, each beat echoing within me as my gaze locked onto a figure I recognized instantly. The sight of him—familiar, yet so out of place in this context—left me breathless. My throat tightened, and my mouth felt dry, as though the words I needed had fled the moment they were called upon.

Seconds passed—slow, weighty, like the hush before a summer storm.

A classmate coughed softly, breaking the silence that had wrapped itself around me.

"G-good morning, Sir," I stammered, my voice brittle like glass. "I'm sorry I'm late." My eyes dropped to the floor, my cheeks warming as I felt the weight of everyone's attention—or perhaps, it was only my imagination making it heavier than it was.

"Go on, take a seat," he said quietly, his tone steady and composed.

I bowed my head and hurried to my seat, each step feeling heavier than the last. I kept my eyes low, letting my hair fall forward to shield the rising blush on my face.

"As I was saying..." His voice flowed on, but the words passed over me like the murmur of distant rain. I sat rigid, trying to pull myself together. I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing out the distraction, willing my mind to focus.

Why is he here? The question whispered through my thoughts. Then it dawned on me—Ma'am Brenda... she mentioned the changes, the new assignments. I exhaled softly, shaking my head at my own forgetfulness.

His words reached me more clearly now as he spoke of the four principles of philosophy, concepts we had just begun to touch on during our last class. I felt a small flicker of familiarity, a hint of recognition in the way the terms settled into place. Philosophy had always fascinated me—its depth, its questions, its elusive answers. It was why I chose Social Sciences as my major, why I kept coming back to those questions no one could quite answer.

But with Pastor Melchour standing at the front of the room, his voice threading through the quiet, the subject seemed to breathe with a new kind of life.

"In a world of relativism," he said softly, each word deliberate, "many believe we can create our own realities, our own truths." He turned, writing truth in clear, deliberate strokes on the board. "But there is one Truth—unchanging, unshakable—that no one can escape. No matter how many times it's denied, it cannot be erased. Many have tried to refute it, to explain it away, but in the end, they have failed. It is a reality no one can dare to disregard. The Ultimate Reality."

A subtle shift stirred in the room. I could feel it, the way my classmates leaned in just a little closer, curiosity softening their features. He had stirred something in them, a hunger for answers.

Surely he would reveal this Truth soon.

"But that," he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips, "I will explain in our next discussion. For now, have a good day."

The room rippled with quiet movement as chairs shifted and bags rustled. I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding, my hands trembling slightly as I gathered my things.

As I turned to leave, I let my hair fall forward again, hoping to hide the faint color in my cheeks, but just as I stepped toward the door, his voice stopped me.

"Miss Dumay?"

I froze, my heart leaping in my chest. I turned slowly, meeting his gaze. His expression was gentle, familiar, and for a moment, I felt the weight of those few short days between us.

"Yes, Professor?" I murmured, my voice softer now, more composed.

"I didn't realize you studied here," he said, his tone almost... warm. "It's good to see you again like this."

I hesitated, then let a small smile tug at my lips. "Yeah... I've been here for the past three years, Sir."

"Ah, I see," he nodded thoughtfully. "Well then... see you around, Johanna."

Rebeccah

"Rebeccah! Good morning. How was your weekend?"

Clara's voice rang out, warm and familiar, as she approached me with one of those radiant smiles she seemed to wear so effortlessly.

"It was fine, Clara," I replied softly, returning her smile. "I was so blessed by the message yesterday. It was really... encouraging." My voice lingered on the word, letting the warmth of the memory fill the space between us.

"Oh, really? How nice! What was it about?" Her eyes lit up, a subtle sparkle of curiosity dancing in them.

"It was about God's calling," I murmured, the smile returning to my lips at the recollection. The message had settled deep within me, like a quiet fire.

"Wow. I feel bad I missed it... I was just so busy..." Clara's smile wavered, her head lowering a fraction, her shoulders drawing in slightly.

"That's alright," I said gently, reaching out to touch her arm. "You can always come next Sunday, right?" She gave a small, almost hesitant nod, the corners of her lips lifting just a bit.

"Well, how about you? How was your weekend?" I asked, nudging the conversation away from her guilt.

She sighed, brushing a strand of hair away from her face as her voice softened. "Well... I heard Pastor Melchour and the rest of the ministry had a revival crusade last Saturday night. I bet it must have been amazing. I really wanted to go, but... boss gave me extra work to cover."

I noticed the flicker of something deeper behind her words—something like regret. The sadness in her eyes was unmistakable, lingering there like a shadow.

"Oh... you're thinking about him again," I thought silently, but I didn't say it aloud.

"I also... I really want to see Melchour again," she added, her voice faltering slightly. "It's been months since..."

Her words trailed off into the quiet between us, her gaze drifting away as if searching for something just out of reach.

"I want to go see him," she whispered suddenly, her tone more certain now, like she had made a decision she couldn't take back.

"What?" I blinked, leaning in as I tried to catch her meaning. "Clara, we're on duty right now. What are you talking about?"

"I mean... I'll go this afternoon," she said, her voice low but determined. "Can you cover for me for a few hours?"