The SM Megamall in Ortigas is massive—too many floors, too many people, too much noise. I came here alone on a Sunday afternoon to buy new shoes for work. Nothing special. Just needed to get out of the dorm, out of my head.
Reagan and I have been good. Really good. Slow. Careful. Dates in small cafés, walks in UP Diliman campus, nights in my dorm where he cooks and we kiss until we fall asleep. No pressure. No rush. Just rebuilding.
I’m in the kids’ section of the department store—passing through on my way to the escalator—when I see him.
Reagan.
He’s in the toy aisle. Laughing.
Laughing.
A little girl—four or five—clings to his leg. Dark hair in pigtails. Pink unicorn dress. She’s holding a stuffed rabbit and tugging his hand, pointing at a shelf of building blocks.
“Uncle Reagan,
