He never should have answered her call. Or picked up his phone, for that matter.

As soon as he did, her voice poured out from the speakers— her sweet, heavenly voice—asking him if he was free in the afternoon. And like a fool, he said he wasn't and that he would be there. Like a fool, he had the balls to think she would want to get back together with him.

Which he knew wasn't the case. He figured she had moved on pretty well at this point. Moreover, the mixed feelings about her isn't going to fade anytime soon. He made himself remember that anything and everything between them is over.

She was a free-spirit, always going on to travels, meeting new friends, speaking some strange tongue she learned over the summer. He was more of a laid-back kind, enjoying a cool evening in his sofa while watching Netflix, eating a pack of local chips from the nearest 7-11. They were a power couple, their college friends would say. A perfect match.

But he didn't get her most of the time,with her being so crazy and him so passive, so he decided to cut it loose—cut them loose. He was young, foolish and definitely crass about her feelings. Sure, he regretted everything he had done that night, but that didn't erase the fact that he was still afraid.

Yes, he was afraid.

He feared that he was holding her back, like that time she was scheduled to leave for Coron but had to cancel because his graduation date suddenly moved. She told him that it was fine, she had the money to fly back some time and that she should be there for his graduation as he was in hers. It was a momentous time of our lives, I can't miss yours, she had assured him back then.

But even when she didn't mean to show it, he saw it. There were times where she would frown while looking at her friends' Instagram posts. After all, they had been to Coron without her. She sometimes lashed out at him, without meaning to, that she could have been places if it wasn't for him. She apologized every time, claiming it was just the stress and fatigue talking, but even then, he knew. He knew that she was dying for adventure and his killjoy attitude straps her to the ground. He knew without even confirming with her that she wanted him to be like her and he knew that he can't.

So he ended it. Their five-year relationship, the one that blossomed ever since they entered university, dissipated as if it was never been there.

Go and get that life you wanted, he told her before he turned and left her in that busy streets of Bonifacio Global Center.

He didn't see her cup her hands against her mouth, trying to stifle the sob that wanted to escape. He didn't see her sink onto the hard stone floor, hands clutched against her chest to keep them from shaking. He didn't see her push open the door to the nearest bar and spend the rest of the night drinking by herself. He didn't see her stumble back to her apartment, half-drunk, half-crazy, screaming at anyone about how unfair it is. And he didn't see her pick up the pieces of her life together until she could live without him.

He didn't see any of that. But he knew. He knew how strong she is, how wonderful. He knew she would chase her dreams more than his love for her. He knew that she would be able to live life to the full without him.

After the call, however, he began thinking about all of it over again. Was it the right decision? What happened to her after he left? Did he even love her to begin with? What was her motive of calling him again?

Fear crept into his heart. He forced himself to gulp down a glass of water his secretary put on his desk a little while ago. Checking his phone, he adjusted his tie against his neck. He began sweating, for some reason, even against the hurricane-like blasts of the newly-installed air conditioners in his division. He had to do something, though, and he was sure it's not going to be an easy afternoon.

Whatever her reason for calling him, lurking inside his office wouldn't give him any peace. So he had to go.

"Jane?" he called.

A petite, eyeglass-wearing woman entered his office. She was small, reaching up to his chin even though she already wore her wicked four-inches heels. Her hair was done up in a rigid ponytail today, showing off her broad forehead. Dark eyes shone behind her faded, plastic spectacles. She wore the customary secretary uniform mandated by the company, along with a thin black choker on her neck. He was pretty sure it was prohibited, but he decided to cut her some slack. So far, Jane is the only one who can still talk to him without swooning like a drunk goose.

"Sir, you called?" Jane said, shaking him out of his reverie.

"Cancel all of my appointments today," he said, checking the cuffs of his coat. They were in perfect condition.

Jane, meanwhile, looked at him like he suddenly grew antlers. "Sir, the regional directors aren't going to wait for you. And what about the John-Jolie campaign you were going to speak for? Don't make me remind you about that lunch date with Miss Humphrey. We need you seal a deal with her before she departs for America."

He massaged his forehead. "For the nth time, Jane, that is not a date. Besides, Miss Humphrey is picky about her men. I'm certain I wasn't in her list. And I'm pretty sure Mr. Lumhayo is more than capable of doing the job."

Jane hid her smile behind the clipboard she always carries. "Okay, I'll go ask him then. But sir, believe me, you are."

"I'm what?" he asked.

Jane fanned her face playfully. "In her list."

He groaned inwardly. "Just cancel everything."

Jane peeked at him curiously as he trudged back into his desk and pilfered inside his bag. "Going somewhere, sir?"

He looked up for a moment. "Yes," he answered. "To a date."

He, kind of, spat the last word like it's going to kill him. Jane just laughed. "I guess the whole division owes me 10k. I know you and Miss Humphrey wouldn't be able to kick it off."

He raised an eyebrow. Jane flinched as she looked everywhere but at him. "Ah, Matthew is always pestering me about his Miss Humphrey theory, so I made a bet to shut him up. He pledged isang-libo and the whole division kind of, went along with it. And now that you're going on a real, manly date, I guess I won."

She smiled at him. He wasn't sure what or how to react.

Masisante nga kayong lahat. He thought, but he couldn't possibly do that.

Instead he straddled his bag— a black Samsonite backpack that he'd had since college— and slapped Jane on the shoulder."Remember that you're my secretary, not my Tinder account," he said as he closed the door to his office.

***

They were in a park of some sort, walking and talking. Mostly it was her talking. For about half an hour they strolled along, side by side, as if time and circumstances never went against them. Several times he had to remind himself that there was nothing between them and that they were just catching up.

Yes, that's all that.

He had to clench his fists in fear that he will reach out and swipe the hair off her face, or to throw his arm around her shoulder. He was careful not to let his thoughts stray too far from what they were talking about. And he is definitely hesitant to admit how beautiful she had become.

She was still the same, but something in her made her look smarter, more mature — stronger, somehow. Her dark hair, which was before short and bobbed, now grew down to her waist in a river of smooth, wavy locks. She wore something like a Korean-style crop top against high-waist denim jeans with her trusty Keds on her soles. Her dark blue Anello handbag was strapped against her back, its handles jiggling as they walked.

Everything about her seemed familiar but all the while different. Her face carried almost no make-up, in contrast to their college days where she preened at the mirror for an hour, consuming their lunch break and ending up late to class. And her taste in fashion had changed so drastically he wasn't sure for a second if this is the same girl he was supposed to meet. Before, she would die if she saw another Penshoppe dress off the shelves and would cry over it if she didn't have the money. Her Keds is the only thing she wore outside her usual fashion lifestyle, for the reason that's because he gave it to her.

The way she talked, the way she walked, her laugh, her smile, her eyes— they were all the same but it's as if he wasn't allowed to enjoy each of them right now.

She beamed at him, her neck craned so she could meet my eyes. He knew she used to hate that before, but now she seemed to have gotten used to it. He smiled back.

"Hey," she said, extending her hand.

Oh, she wants a handshake, how formal. he thought as he clasped her hand the way he sealed deals for his company.

She looked around, eyeing the people and cars that passed by. She used to do that often, as if every moving object is a threat, like in that video game she enjoys playing.

Finally, she turned to him, a perfect smile plastered on her face. "Let's go."

Turns out, they'd end up walking along the Ayala Triangle, talking.

"So, what are doing now? Your job?" she asked, hands deep in her pockets. Huh, that's new. She never utilizes her pockets.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets too. "Um, I work in a company somewhere here. Trust me when I say it's not at all important."

She snorted. " 'Not important', huh? Well, what would you say about having your own secretary, sir?"

He flinched. "How'd you know about that?"

She shrugged. "Jane is a highschool friend. We still talk from time to time and she happened to mention this new boss she'll be working for. I asked who and lo and behold, it's you."

It's you. How amazing it sounded coming from her lips. It's as if she still notices him, somehow she still values him. It was a nice feeling.

He half-heartedly chuckled. "It's not that of a big deal," he said, with a tone of finality. "And what about you? What's been keeping you busy?"

She pushed the hair out of her face. "You know, Islamey."

He knew what she meant without even trying. Islamey is that one piece that's been driving her insane since college. It's a piece that is supposedly hard to learn and to perfect. She even told him that she planned to give up then. So how come she's at it again?

He couldn't help but smile. She is cute when she's bummed. "Balakirev got you again?"

She rolled her eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "You have no idea! It's crazy how I couldn't even get to the middle part without ruining my tempo. You know, if I were to rename the Oriental Fantasy, I would make it to Oriental Suffering."

That had him laughing. Not just a light chuckle, but a full-blown, chest-racking laugh. He hadn't been able to laugh like that in so long. It felt good. But it was better, because it's her. Her wit and unexpected humor never failed to get him and he was pretty hard to budge.

When he had calmed down, she stared at him like she was seeing him for the first time. There was wonder in her eyes, the very same ones that he beheld when they first admitted that they are in love. Were in love.

"My God, I never thought I'd never hear you laugh like that again," she said, which killed all the amusement from his system.

"Why?" he asked.

Her expression closed up, guarded. She pursed her lips. "I don't know. Ever since you dumped me, I mean, literally dumped me, I said to myself that I will have nothing to do with you ever since, yet here I am."

She gave him a small snort. He shoved his fingers in his hair. "You think there was more into it?"

She froze. "Into what?"

He scratched his nape. "I don't know. Into this," he said, gesturing at the both of them. "I know that I'm the last person whom you wanted to tell you this, but I think it's not yet over. Nothing's over between us."

Instead of taking it seriously, she clicked her tongue. "That's the most absurd thing I heard from you," she said. "I mean, it was you who left. Besides, I'm over you now."

Despite being anxious, he forced himself to blurt out, "What, you have a boyfriend, or something?"

"What is it to you?" she said, a little harshly. Realizing her mistake, she cleared her throat. "Uh, no. I don't have one nor I intend to have another."

"Hmm," he murmured. "Afraid that he'll just tie you down or something?"

She looked horrified at that. Her eyes went wide as she whirled to face him. "What has gotten into you? Of course no one can tie me down!"

I did. His dark thoughts were surfacing again and it took him a lot of effort to bury the old emotions deep. "Anyway, what's the reason you called me out here?"

Her features relaxed. "Oh, that. I just wanted to catch up. See how you're doing."

He raised his eyebrows. What did she mean? She was never this cryptic. She was a soul that said everything she feels right then and there. But now, it's as if she's hiding something. As if she's guarding very special secrets.

"Besides," she amended, "I was hoping you'd be my client."

He recoiled from her. "That's what? Get away from me!"

Then he cracked, laughing. She was laughing too. It was so painful to his ears, being able to remember what it's like to laugh with her again. Yet, it calmed him. Somehow, being with her, even when everything is gone, still calms him.

"Of course," she said after a short while. "I was kidding about the client stuff. It's not like I would even bite insurance off its tail."

"Yeah, I know. You hate interacting," he said, remembering the time she told him that.

Her eyes lit up. "I know! It's like a chore for introverts to open their mouths and talk."

"And you," he said, poking her side. He laughed when she squealed and edged away from him. He still loved her reaction when he does that. "You are the Queen of Introverts."

She gathered her hair into her hands and flipped them on one side, showing no sign of being bothered that he just touched her. "But, yeah, in case you're wondering, I'm holding up fine. I've been going on tours and stuff, and this is the only time I get to be so near you."

"And you like it," he teased. He half-expected her to stick her tongue out at him, instead she smiled sadly, enough to melt the heart out of him.

"Yeah, I like it," she said, almost muttered, "It's nice."

They stopped walking. He took a look around and saw that they were in the middle of the park. Couples streamed past, some looped together like infinity rings, some laughing and donning caps against the sunny day, some coming out of the restaurants, carrying a half-drunk Starbucks cup or a cone of ice cream. He heard her sigh.

"What happened to us?" she whispered.

He didn't know if he was supposed to hear it, but he did. He would always listen to her voice even though the winds beat against it or when other voices drown it. He will always find her voice. And when he did, she was asking him how it all came crashing down. She asked him how things played out in the end. She asked him what happened like she didn't know.

Of course, he'd be a fool to think that she didn't know. No one could forget the pain one went through. The pain may fade, but the scars linger. The memory does too. And more than the pain, scars and memories outlast a life. They're there until you die. And what happened between them is both a scar and a memory. After all, once the heart is broken, things are never going to be the same.

And nothing is ever the same between them. She hadn't had a boyfriend ever since they broke up and he had sworn off girls for the longest time now. This is never normal for the both of them. He knew that whoever noticed her, she would love immediately, because he had to admit, she is not noticeable. But once you do, you'll never be able to forget.

That's why he was here right now—talking to her. It's because he didn't forget. He couldn't. He couldn't forget how beautiful her hand is against his. He couldn't forget how she used to smile because of him. He certainly couldn't forget those nights he whispered three words that sent the both of them tingling long after they parted for the day.

Those were the times he promised he'd make her happy. And now, he ended up hurting her in the most excruciating way. And now that she's asking her what really happened that night, shame bubbled up to his throat. He bowed his head.

"I'm sorry." he said.

She didn't look at him. "I know." Her tone was flat, emotionless.

"It's not your fault," he tried, forcing himself to look at her—really look at her. She didn't move from staring at some faraway place. "I was young, dumb and I don't know what I'm doing. I didn't mean to hurt you, I swear, I don't."

She smiled, the bitterness evident from her face. "Jerks say that," she said. "You sounded like a jerk just now."

He ignored his pounding heart. Whatever happens today is just another event in his life. He should never make a big deal out of it. He shrugged. "Maybe I am a jerk. You know, it's hard, walking away from a woman like you," he admitted.

That made her look at him, like, really look at him. "But you did. And you managed pretty well, from what I can see."

"I never said I couldn't," he replied. "I just said it's hard."

She tousled her hair, a little harshly. She blinked repeatedly. "Oh, God," she breathed, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "I promised myself I wasn't going to cry."

He whipped out a handkerchief from his back pocket, grateful for its presence. Without hesitation, he grabbed her head and began wiping her tears. That seemed to make her cry harder. And it surprised him. She didn't pull away. She didn't scream at him to stop touching her. She just reached up and clasped his hand on her face.

"I though I was strong, yet here I am, whining like a toddler," she mumbled. "In front of my boyfriend, no less."

"Your boyfriend?" he clarified, hands pulsing under hers. The handkerchief was still poised on her cheek.

That jarred her. "N-no. I mean, my ex-boyfriend. I'm a mess," she said, prying the cloth from his hand and turning away. "I'm sorry."

Seeing her get so flustered sent a rush of mixed emotions fluttering in his heart. He could reach out and hug her, but he was afraid she'd push her away. So, instead, he led her down to an unoccupied bench and sat her there.

"We're all a mess," he said. "You don't have to be sorry for that. But, I'm going to ask you, why are you here?"

He said her name. She looked up at him. He said her name again, his hand on her shoulder and the other resting on the spot beside her leg. He crouched in front of her. "Why are you here?"

"Okay, you're going to hate me for this," she said. "but I came to tell you that I—" She gulped a mouthful of air. "I wanted to clear up our mess. Last time, you didn't give me the chance to speak, so I figured I'd do it some other time. I was always so afraid, so it took me years before I could dial your number without my fingers shaking or my heart feeling like it's going to burst. Now's the only time I've got."

He didn't speak, just looked at her in the eyes. They're the same ones that gazed at him every evening when they went home together from campus. They're the same ones that looked at him with pride whenever he accomplished something. They're the same ones that were now pooling with tears as she dawdled on.

"Whatever reason you had when you left me that night, I understand. I know I've been driving you nuts with my attitude, but you put up with it. And for heaven's sake, you noticed me. Even when everyone ignored me, you didn't. You have seen my every side — the bad one, the crazy one, the bitchy one—and yet you stayed. You stayed when most people would leave. You showed me how it was to live, to love, to be hurt—all at the same time. You made me see that I wasn't a human failure. You're the first to truly believe in me. And that made me think that you really loved me. When that night happened, my whole world crashed. It made me realize how big and lonely the world is. It made me see that worlds could end, especially if you're not careful."

He didn't trust himself to speak. He couldn't. If he did, he would probably tell her how much he regretted it or how much he wanted that night to never have to have happened at all.

Because she didn't see how he walked away that night, heart heavy with dread. She didn't see how he buried his hands deep in his pockets, trying to keep them from shaking. She didn't see how the next day he almost threw up on his apartment's costly rug after a serious hungover. She didn't see how tired he was the following days, barely living as he filed papers, shook hands, dealt with people. She didn't see how he would lay on his bed at three in the morning regretting everything he said that night.

But she knew. She knew that whenever he would think of her, he would think about being in love. She knew that every time the sun shines, he wished he could start everything over. She knew that even after all this time he—

"I love you," he whispered.

She stopped crying. "I know," she said.

"I still love you, Marjorie," he said, her name so familiar yet foreign in his tongue.

"I know, Kel," she said, staring deep into his soul. "I know."

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