Waiting For Delivery

CHAPTER EIGHT

The buzz in the air was different today. Everyone had that little sparkle in their eyes, that subtle bounce in their steps as we all changed out of our uniforms and gathered at the back exit of the hotel.

It was salary day.

We didn’t even need to say anything. That single white envelope in each of our hands said it all—our first ever salary in Thailand, in crisp Thai baht. It wasn’t a fortune, but after weeks of physical exhaustion, language confusion, sweat, and stress, it felt like gold.

“Uy, may pang-lakwat—este, ipon na tayo!” Ivy grinned, waving her envelope like it was a fan.

“Mark, treat mo na kami,” Lea joked.

“Grabe ‘to, kakasahod lang, nilulubog agad,” Mark shot back with a laugh, but he was already walking ahead, knowing full well we were going out to celebrate together.

The whole Filipino crew from F&B, Kitchen, and FO had agreed to a simple dinner outside. Nothing fancy—just a nearby open-air restaurant with grilled pork, chicken, and unlimited sticky rice. We sat on long wooden benches, the night breeze sweeping in as sizzling sounds filled the space.

“Cheers to surviving our first weeks,” I raised my glass of iced tea.

“To no more broke days—at least for now,” Janine added, clinking her spoon to mine.

“To our future ipon goals,” Alex said with fake seriousness, “na sana hindi maubos sa 7-Eleven midnight snacks.”

Laughter echoed around the table. We ate like kings—plates and plates of grilled meat, spicy dips, iced drinks, sticky rice that glued everything together (literally and emotionally). And the stories flowed: first guest encounters, language mishaps, annoying staff ahem, and even the legendary dorm party.

“Kailan next round?” Ivy joked, already red-faced from laughing.

“Next sahod,” Mark replied, stretching. “Or next away ni P—” He cut himself short, looking at me with a smirk. “You know who.”

“Let’s not ruin the mood, okay?” I laughed, swatting his shoulder.

After dinner, we slowly parted ways. Some went off to explore the nearby market, others had errands, while the rest of us—me, Mark, Ivy, Janine, and Lea—decided to just head back to the dorm. But, of course...

“7-Eleven muna tayo,” Ivy announced, already turning toward the bright lights across the street. “Wala akong toothpaste.”

“Excuses,” Mark said under his breath, eyes on me.

“I need... shampoo,” I added quickly, a little too quickly.

He grinned. “Ah, ayan na. ‘Yung shampoo na may halong hopia.”

We entered 7-Eleven and, like always, I found myself scanning the store—not for products, but for a particular face. I walked the aisles, picked up a small bag of chips I didn’t really want, paused at the refrigerated section longer than necessary.

But he wasn’t there.

Not behind the counter. Not stocking shelves. Not even at the storage door I sometimes caught him sneaking out from.

Gone.

I tried to act natural. “Saan kaya ‘yung, ano... bagong yogurt?” I asked no one in particular, peeking into the same chiller twice.

“Wala rin ‘yung bagong delivery guy, noh?” Mark said too loudly.

“Shhh!” I whispered-shouted, spinning toward him.

Janine laughed. “Ayun. Nakumpirma tuloy.”

“Ewan ko sa inyo. I just wanted yogurt,” I defended, dropping the chips into my basket.

“Yogurt nga ba? Or yung heart mo gusto niyang i-deliver ulit sa’yo?” Ivy teased.

I rolled my eyes, cheeks warm. “Whatever. Let’s go home.”

We paid for our unnecessary-but-definitely-needed items, stepped back into the soft night air, plastic bags swinging in hand.

Mark nudged me as we crossed the street. “Don’t worry. Maybe tomorrow… another delivery?”

I shrugged, acting cool. “If not… well, I do need some snacks for the weekend.”

He laughed. “Of course. For survival.”

But in my head, I was already plotting:

Maybe order something small.

Maybe around 3PM.

Maybe he’ll be the one to deliver again.

Just maybe.

It was one of those lazy afternoons—the kind where the sky looks like it’s permanently stuck between sun and drizzle, and the silence in the hallway makes you hear your own thoughts a little too loud.

I sat on the edge of my bed, glancing at my phone. 3:15PM.

The 7-Eleven app said the rider was already on the way. Estimated arrival: 3:20PM.

Just a small order. A ready-to-eat karaage bento and a bottle of banana milk. I didn’t even need them—I had leftovers in the fridge—but something in me hoped… just maybe.

I even fluffed my hair a bit. Dabbed some lip balm. Pulled on a hoodie that I knew brought out the color of my eyes—just in case.

A knock echoed from the hallway a few minutes later. I peeked through the window blinds.

Not him.

The rider was shorter. Thinner. Walked differently. The helmet stayed on. No familiar face. No quiet awkward smile. Just someone else doing his job.

I took the bag and murmured a quick “thank you,” trying not to show the drop in my chest. I didn’t even check the contents until the rider had already turned the corner and disappeared from view.

I closed the door gently and sat on the floor, back against the wall, bag still unopened in my hands.

Two weeks.

I haven’t seen him in two weeks. Not in the store. Not by the counters. Not by the doors. And now not even on delivery rounds.

Maybe he got transferred. Maybe he quit. Or maybe… maybe he was never really supposed to be part of my days the way I started to make him.

I hugged my knees, quietly sighing as I stared at the sealed bag.

“Am I being too delusional?” I whispered to the silence, lips curving into a sad laugh. “Crushing on a delivery guy I don’t even know the name of?”

I don’t even know if he remembers me. For all I know, I was just another door. Another order. Another transaction. But me? I remembered everything. The awkward “No Thai” moment. His flustered expression. The way his voice sounded when he tried to speak English. That smile. That tiny, quiet smile!

I started to wonder if maybe I was too much. Too hopeful. Too dreamy. Making whole movies in my head out of a ten-second interaction. Was it really that deep—or was I just lonely?

“What if I really liked him?” I murmured, voice barely above a breath. “What if I made it up?”

And then came the worst part—the aching what ifs.

What if I talked to him more? What if I asked his name? What if he understood me the way I hoped he might someday?

But the bag in my hands stayed still. The silence in the room stayed loud.

Maybe it’s time to stop waiting. To stop dressing up for 3PM deliveries. To stop placing orders hoping for a face I might not see again.

Maybe.

Or maybe not just yet.

I opened the bag slowly and took out the warm bento. The milk was still cold. I took a sip and smiled a little.

Maybe one last order tomorrow.

Just in case.

BUT

I shouldn’t have.

I knew I shouldn’t have.

But I did.

I stared at the app screen again, tapping the same ready-to-eat set, adding banana milk without even thinking, as if routine could summon something—someone—I’ve been quietly waiting for. I added one snack too, just for fun. A little chocolate bar I didn’t even crave. Just in case.

The order went through.

“Estimated arrival: 3:25PM.”

I sat back, trying to calm my heartbeat even though I knew it was ridiculous.

I shouldn’t feel this nervous over food. Over a maybe. Over a person I never really knew, not truly.

But hope was a stubborn thing.

And this… this was my last attempt. Just one more, I told myself.

Time passed. I kept glancing outside the dormitory hallway like I wasn’t doing anything at all. I kept checking my phone like it was urgent. I kept pretending like I didn’t care.

But when I heard the motor outside and footsteps coming toward the hallway…

I stood.

I didn’t even mean to.

I just did.

The knock was soft. I opened the door halfway with a practiced, casual smile I had clearly rehearsed.

It wasn’t him.

It was a girl.

Petite. Ponytail. She looked up and smiled politely, handing over the bag.

“Order from 7-Eleven?” she said, almost robotic.

I blinked, recovering from my blank stare.

“Ah, yes. That’s me. Thank you.”

She handed it over, bowed slightly, and turned away just like that. Efficient. Fast. Gone.

I watched her walk back to her bike.

And I stood there, still holding the bag, still stunned—not because I was surprised, but because a part of me still hoped. Even after I promised myself I wouldn’t.

I closed the door slowly, my chest feeling heavier than a plastic bag of milk and microwavable meals.

That was it.

That had to be it.

I sat down on the edge of my bed, dropped the bag beside me, and stared at nothing for a full minute.

“Okay,” I whispered, finally. “This is getting embarrassing.”

The laugh that came out of me wasn’t even sad. It was tired. It was a sigh in disguise.

“Girl, you’re not in a movie,” I said out loud, scolding myself. “He’s not gonna suddenly knock and say, ‘Sorry, I’ve been on leave for two weeks and I missed your smile.’”

I looked at my reflection in the mirror across the room. Eyes tired, lips pressed together, hoodie half-zipped.

“I’m delusional,” I muttered.

And yet, a tiny piece of me whispered—maybe next time.

I rolled my eyes at myself and finally opened the bag.

Cold banana milk. Hot bento. Chocolate bar.

Comfort food for the heart that’s just a little tired of pretending not to care.

Weeks had passed.

The last delivery felt like a lifetime ago, and somewhere between work shifts, birthday surprises, market dinners, and forgotten socks on the laundry line—I stopped.

I stopped ordering.

I stopped glancing at every bike that passed the dorm.

I stopped checking the 7-Eleven aisles like a girl pretending to look for gum.

I stopped hoping.

And it was… fine.

Mostly.

We were walking back to the dorm again after buying some snacks and drinks for movie night. Janine and Lea were ahead, teasing each other as usual, while I trailed a little behind with Mark.

“Uy,” he started, side-eyeing me like he was about to stir the pot. “May nakita ka ba sa 7-Eleven kanina?”

I didn’t even flinch. I was used to this by now. “Wala. Malamig pa rin ang mga pader, Mark. Walang multo.”

Janine laughed from the front. “Uy, grabe ka talaga. ‘Walang multo.’ Kawawa naman ‘yung delivery guy mo.”

“Ghosted ka ata, sis,” Lea chimed in. “Nag-leave tapos di na bumalik. O baka ikaw ‘yung nag-ghost sa kanya?”

I raised my hands in surrender. “Excuse me, I didn’t ghost anyone. I was loyal. Order ako nang order, diba? Eh siya ‘tong hindi bumalik. So siya ang nang-ghost.”

Mark clapped dramatically. “Grabe, ghost story pero romantic tragedy ang genre.”

We all laughed. I laughed the loudest—maybe because it was funny, or maybe because it was the only way not to feel that tiny sting anymore.

“Okay lang,” I said. “At least may plot twist kahit one-sided. Pang-novela.”

Lea wrapped an arm around my shoulder. “Move on na talaga, ha?”

I nodded. “Oo naman. He’s not even my type. Type ko lang siya pag naka-uniform.”

Mark snorted. “Wow. Uniform lang pala habol.”

I grinned. “And the fact na hindi ko maintindihan sinasabi niya, which means less chance na mabwisit ako. Peaceful ‘yung crush.”

“Silent treatment crush?” Janine joked.

“Exactly. No communication, no heartbreak.”

The laughter faded into the night air as we reached the dorm gates. I smiled, genuinely now. The kind that wasn’t hoping, wasn’t bitter, just… okay.

Sometimes crushes don’t turn into anything. Sometimes, they’re just there to make a few weeks brighter, give us something silly to talk about on quiet nights, and remind us that we’re still soft inside.

“Goodnight, ghost guy,” I whispered in my head as I entered the building.

And I meant it.