Still Into You

1 - New Roads, Old Ghosts

Yunah’s POV

Damn that nightmare.

It happened again—another restless night, tossing and turning, my mind plagued by shadows I couldn’t quite piece together. It was like chasing fragments of smoke, each image slipping through my fingers before I could understand it. I woke up with a heaviness in my chest and that dull ache behind my eyes that only comes from bad dreams and worse thoughts.

But I couldn’t let myself get stuck there. Not today.

Today was supposed to be a big day. Enrollment day. Supplies shopping. A chance—maybe—to start fresh.

Transferring to a new school wouldn’t be easy. I knew that. New halls, new faces, new routine… It felt like stepping into another life altogether. And maybe that’s exactly what I needed. A clean slate. A “new school, new me” kind of thing.

The warm kiss of the morning sun met me as I stepped outside, but it barely eased the tight knot in my stomach. I slid into the driver’s seat of my car, inhaled deeply, and turned the key. The low rumble of the engine was steady, grounding.

First stop: the Zabala residence.

“Service mode activated,” I muttered under my breath, a weak attempt at humor.

The plan was simple—pick them up one by one. Zabala first, then Perez and Lavin, and finally Diane at her condo. After enrollment, we’d shop for supplies, and of course, sneak in a little detour for coffee and maybe a stroll around the mall. Because what’s a school errand without a bit of *gala*?

The streets buzzed with life—vendors shouting prices over rows of fruit, children darting between narrow alleys, the distant hum of tricycles cutting through the warm air. My mind, however, was already somewhere else, rehearsing introductions I’d have to make later, wondering if I’d fit in.

@Clare.Zabala

:HEY WHERE ARE YOU!?

:otw.

:on the water?

:I’m driving.

I’d gotten my license at twenty—finally free from the routine dependency on Kuya Eddie, our family driver. I liked the independence, the control. But sometimes, I missed his quiet company. His chuckles when I ranted. His old stories about his province. The way the ride home always felt lighter after we talked.

Clare hopped into the passenger seat with her trademark sigh.

“What took you so long?” she asked, half-playful, half-impatient.

“Uh, maybe because my house isn’t exactly next door?” I shot back with a side glance. She rolled her eyes—classic Clare—and let the matter drop.

Next: Perez and Lavin. The detour made me mutter under my breath. Gas wasn’t cheap, but somehow *I* had been volunteered to be the driver. Typical.

By the time Amore climbed in, she was already mid-rant. “I’m annoyed, ha! He’s not replying to my messages!”

“Go ahead, slam the door harder while you’re at it,” I muttered. She ignored me entirely.

Then came her inevitable decree from the back seat: “Let’s stop by Starbucks.”

Clare tried to object. Amore bribed her with “My turf.”I didn’t even need convincing. Free coffee? G.

Aliyah joined us next, instantly complaining about the AC being too cold. Amore snapped back about the heat. I kept my eyes on the road. Let them argue—it was their favorite pastime.

By the time we picked up Diane from her condo, the car was a moving storm of chatter and noise. Complaints, jokes, sarcastic jabs—it was chaos, but it was ours.

At EAC, Clare and Aliyah took the lead. They knew the campus well. Amore was on her last year at NU, Diane was finishing her nursing degree, and me? I was starting fresh here for my second semester.

We split up to handle our respective enrollment tasks. My path led me alone to Building 7. My steps felt heavier with each one. New faces, new environment. And then there was the truth I rarely admitted out loud—this course wasn’t my first choice. Business. Chosen for me, for the family’s future. I’d learned to accept it, even respect it. But buried deep inside, a different dream still lingered—one I’d had since I was a child: to become a cardiologist. A dream I’d shelved in favor of the life my parents envisioned.

After enrollment, we rewarded ourselves with Starbucks, then a quick run through National Bookstore for supplies.

That’s when my phone rang.

“Hello?” I answered. It was Yaz.

“Ate, Mama’s coming home today,” she said.

Cold dread washed over me. “Right. I… forgot.”

They’d been in New York for a year, managing the main office of our family business. They’d flown back and forth for as long as I could remember, but every homecoming still felt… big.

We decided to grab dinner at a French restaurant before heading home. By the time I got in, it was almost 7 PM. They’d be here by 9.

The smell of kaldereta and buttered lobster drifted from the kitchen. “She must’ve missed this,” I murmured to myself, smiling faintly.

Dinner was warm, loud, familiar. Papa asked about EAC. I told him about my schedule, and he nodded in quiet approval. For a moment, it felt like nothing had changed.

Later, lying in bed, my thoughts began to drift where I didn’t want them to go.

What if we were still together?

What if the accident never happened?

Does he still remember me?

Three years had passed. The ache had dulled, but it never truly left. He remained there, somewhere in the background of my heart—like a song I could never unlearn.

I hoped he was happy. I hoped life had been kind. And I hoped—selfishly—that somewhere, somehow, he still thought of me too.