Chapter 2: Drafting Connection
970 Words
It was barely 9 a.m., pero grabe na ang kirot ng ulo ni Aira.
She sat in the library’s project room, surrounded by silence and stress. Her notes were laid out neatly across the table—pens arranged by color, laptop open to a blank document labeled Project Draft - Narrative Proposal. Her mind, however, was far from organized.
Opposite her, Liam sat sprawled slightly under the table, spinning his mechanical pencil between his fingers. His sketchpad was open, pages filled with chaotic lines and rough shapes that resembled buildings melting into clouds.
“Okay,” Aira said, slicing through the quiet. “Let’s get one thing straight. We are not winging this. We need a solid narrative concept by today. Something emotional, thematic, with urban relevance. Deal?”
Liam opened one eye, smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “And here I thought we’d start with coffee and small talk.”
She narrowed her gaze. “We’re not here to make friends.”
“Ouch,” he said, placing a dramatic hand over his chest. “Sige na nga. Let’s work.”
Aira adjusted her glasses and sat up straighter. “Since you’re handling the design, I’ll focus on the written storyline. I already came up with three possible themes.”
She slid her notebook toward him.
“First: grief in urban isolation. Second: longing in fast-paced spaces. Third: the idea of borrowed time in crowded places.”
Liam glanced at her like she had just started speaking an alien language.
“Wait. ‘Borrowed time in crowded places’? Gusto mo bang paiyakin ‘yung judges natin?” He laughed softly, squinting at her notes. “I mean, yeah, malalim. But don’t you think something lighter might work too? Something hopeful?”
“Hope is overrated,” she murmured.
Liam raised a brow.
“This city doesn’t offer peace,” she continued. “It demands survival. Maingay. Magulo. You get swallowed if you’re not loud enough.”
He studied her for a beat. “Is that how you see it?”
“That’s how I live it.”
Silence fell again, but it wasn’t tense this time. Liam tapped his pencil rhythmically on the edge of his sketchpad.
“Alright,” he said slowly. “Let’s say we go with urban grief. What’s the story?”
Aira leaned forward, voice quieter, but more certain.
“A girl who takes the same train every day. Same time. Same platform. Routine. Until one day, she finds a message on her seat. Handwritten. Personal. At first, she thinks it’s a mistake… but the messages keep coming. Whoever’s leaving them—knows her. Understands her pain.”
Liam’s brows furrowed, intrigued. “And who’s sending them?”
Aira shrugged. “Maybe a stranger. Maybe someone from her past. Or maybe... it’s herself. From an alternate version of her life.”
“Whoa.” He sat up straighter. “That’s sick. You really are a writer.”
She blinked, surprised by the compliment. “It’s just a draft.”
“A good one.” He nodded, smiling. “I can already see it—stations, blurred city lights, shadows through crowds. All grayscale, except the messages.”
Their eyes met for a moment, unexpectedly steady.
Then Liam leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling like a blueprint was unfolding above them. “You know what we could do? I’ll design the station to subtly shift over time. Like… it mirrors her emotional state. The more she opens up, the more the space breathes. From harsh angles to soft curves. Brightness where there used to be shadows.”
Aira tilted her head, a rare smile forming. “That actually sounds good.”
“Of course it does,” he said, grinning. “I may not be a writer, but I feel things too, you know.”
They both laughed—awkward at first, then real.
The moment hovered between them, warm despite the sterile lighting of the project room. But just as quickly as it came, it shifted.
Liam’s phone buzzed against the table.
He checked it, frowning. “Sorry. I’ve got a client call in ten minutes. Side hustle.”
He started gathering his things. “Can we meet again tomorrow? Same time?”
Aira nodded. “Sige.”
He stood, slipping his bag over one shoulder. “By the way… I know you said we’re not here to make friends, but you’re kind of cool when you’re not throwing daggers with your eyes.”
“Leave before I change my mind,” she muttered, though her lips curled at the edges.
Liam grinned as he walked out.
The room felt quieter once he was gone.
Aira leaned back in her seat, staring at the ceiling. She hadn’t planned to share that story. It had been buried deep in one of her old notebooks, something she’d written years ago but never finished. Never showed anyone.
She wasn’t used to being heard like that.
And she definitely wasn’t used to someone understanding so quickly.
What if this didn’t crash and burn? What if... this actually works?
She turned to the window. The clouds were still thick, but the rain had slowed to a gentle drizzle. Maybe tomorrow, the sun might peek through. Maybe, for once, things wouldn’t fall apart.
---
Across campus, Liam entered his dorm room and tossed his sketchpad onto his desk. He pulled out his phone, opened his gallery, and stared at a sketch he’d made days ago.
It was of a girl, sitting alone on a train bench. Shoulders hunched. Surrounded by a faceless crowd.
He hadn’t told her—but he’d drawn that before he even knew her name.
Maybe fate had weird ways of pairing people.
And maybe this time, he wouldn’t screw it up.
- Writer
