The Gap Between Us

CHAPTER 19: UNINVITED

The celebration at Reagan’s house was supposed to be simple.

Just family. Just us. A quiet dinner to mark the end of high school, the college acceptance letters already framed on his desk—Ateneo for him, UP Diliman for me—and the promise of summer before Manila swallowed us both.

His mom cooked everything I loved: kare-kare with extra peanut sauce, crispy pata, laing, and a whole lechon that his dad proudly carved at the table. The dining room glowed under warm lights. Laughter bounced off the walls. Andra came too, dragging her little brother along. Hiro dropped by for an hour with a bottle of sparkling juice and a teasing “finally free of rankings, huh?”

Reagan sat beside me the whole night. His hand rested on my knee under the table—light, steady, familiar. Every time our eyes met, he gave that small almost-smile that still made my chest ache in the best way.

After dinner, the adults moved to the living room with coffee. Andra and I helped clear plates. Reagan followed us to the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, drying glasses beside me at the sink.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he murmured, elbow brushing mine.

“Happy quiet,” I said. “Just soaking it in.”

He leaned in. Kissed my temple. “Good.”

We were drying the last plate when the doorbell rang.

His mom called from the living room, “Reagan, can you get that? I’m showing Tita Linda the photo album.”

He dried his hands. Gave me a quick peck on the cheek.

“Be right back.”

I smiled. Went back to wiping the counter.

Then I heard the voice.

High. Bright. Familiar in a way that made my stomach drop before I even understood why.

“Matt!”

A laugh. A squeal. The sound of arms wrapping tight.

I froze.

I walked slowly toward the foyer—quiet steps, heart already loud in my ears.

She was there.

Tall. Long wavy hair the color of dark honey. Wearing a cream sundress and white sneakers. She looked like she belonged in a magazine—effortless, glowing, the kind of girl who never had to try.

Her arms were around Reagan’s neck. His hands were on her waist—automatic, surprised, but not pushing away.

She pulled back just enough to look at him.

“You’re taller,” she said, laughing. “And still annoyingly handsome.”

Reagan blinked. “Lia?”

My heart sank through the floor.

Lia.

His childhood best friend. The one he mentioned once—casually, years ago—when we were talking about old summers. The girl who moved to Cebu after grade school. The one he said he lost touch with when her family relocated for her dad’s job.

She was back.

And she was hugging him like no time had passed.

Like she belonged there.

I stayed in the shadow of the hallway. Unseen.

She didn’t let go completely. Her hands slid down to his arms. Stayed there.

“I missed you,” she said. Voice softer now. “Every single day.”

Reagan looked stunned. “You didn’t say you were coming.”

“I wanted to surprise you. For graduation. And… for other things.”

She stepped closer again. Closer than necessary.

“I never stopped thinking about you, Matt. Not once. All those years in Cebu, all those new schools, new friends… I kept comparing everyone to you. No one came close.”

Reagan’s hands finally moved. Gently. Trying to create space.

“Lia—”

She didn’t let him finish.

“I know you have a girlfriend now. I heard. But I had to see you. Had to tell you. I love you. I’ve always loved you. And I’m back. For good.”

The words landed like glass breaking.

I felt something inside me crack.

Reagan’s face changed—shock, discomfort, regret all at once.

“Lia, I—”

I didn’t wait to hear the rest.

I turned. Walked back to the kitchen. Grabbed my bag from the chair. Slipped out the side door without a word to anyone.

The night air hit me cold.

I walked. Fast. Past the gate. Past the quiet streets. Past the palm trees.

My phone buzzed.

Reagan.

Zhyra? Where are you?

I didn’t answer.

Another buzz.

Zhyra please.

I turned it off.

I took a tricycle to the bus terminal. Bought the last ticket to Manila. Overnight bus. Left at 11:45 p.m.

I sat by the window. Penguin plush in my lap. Necklace with the upside-down crown still around my neck.

I cried the whole ride. Quiet. No sound. Just tears.

Manila swallowed me the next morning.

I checked into a cheap dorm near UP. Told my parents I needed space before summer classes. They didn’t ask too many questions.

I blocked his number.

Blocked him on everything.

Andra texted once.

He’s looking for you. He’s a mess.

I didn’t reply.

I ghosted him.

Completely.

Five years passed.

Manila became home.

UP became routine.

I graduated c*m laude. Got a job in a small publishing house. Wrote short stories on weekends. Dated twice—briefly. Nothing stuck.

I never took the necklace off.

Never threw it away.

Never looked at it without feeling the ache.

Five years.

Then one rainy afternoon in Quezon City, I walked into a café near my office.

Ordered black coffee. Sat by the window.

Looked up.

He was there.

Older. Broader. Hair longer. Same black eyes. Same almost-smile.

Sitting two tables away.

Looking at me.

Not surprised.

Like he’d been waiting.

My heart stopped.

Then started again.

Loud.

Painful.

He stood. Walked over.

Stopped in front of my table.

“Zhyra.”

His voice cracked on my name.

I stared at him.

Five years.

And he still said my name like it was the only word he knew.

I stood. Slowly.

Coffee forgotten.

Rain tapping the window.

He looked at the necklace. Still there. Upside-down crown.

“You kept it,” he whispered.

I touched the pendant.

“I never took it off.”

He exhaled. Shaky.

“I never stopped looking.”

I felt tears burn.

Five years.

Five years of silence.

Five years of carrying him in my chest like a bruise that never healed.

I looked at him.

Really looked.

And asked the only question that still mattered.

“Why did you let her hug you?”

He closed his eyes.

“Because I was surprised. Because I didn’t expect her. Because I froze. But I swear—I pushed her away. I told her no. I told her I loved someone else. I told her I was already gone.”

He opened his eyes.

“I’ve been gone for five years, Zhyra. Waiting for you to come back.”

I felt the crack in my chest widen.

Not from pain this time.

From relief.

From everything I buried.

I stepped forward.

He didn’t move.

I reached up. Touched his face.

“You waited,” I whispered.