CHAPTER 17: QUITE HOURS
703 Words
The days after the college entrance exams feel like exhaling after holding your breath for too long. The tests are done. The results won’t come for weeks. School drags on in that strange limbo between finals and graduation—teachers reviewing old lessons, students half-present, everyone counting down to March.
Reagan and I fall into a new rhythm without trying.
No more frantic cramming. No more late-night panic texts about forgotten formulas. Just quiet hours.
Most afternoons we end up at his house. His parents are used to me now. His mom always asks if I want merienda—pandesal with palaman or fresh mango slices. His dad nods from the living room couch, newspaper in hand, and says, “Study hard, both of you.” Then he goes back to reading.
We go upstairs to Reagan’s room.
The door stays open—house rule. But the room still feels private. Like a space carved just for us.
Today is Thursday. Sun slanting through the half-drawn curtains. Aircon humming low. His desk is spread with old reviewers we don’t need anymore—evidence of the past month. We push them aside.
He sits on the bed. Back against the headboard. Legs stretched out.
I sit between his legs, back to his chest. Penguin plush from the arcade tucked beside us.
He wraps his arms around my waist. Chin on my shoulder.
We don’t study.
We just sit.
His fingers trace lazy patterns on my stomach over my shirt. Slow circles. No rush.
I lean my head back against his collarbone.
“Tell me something,” I say.
“About what?”
“About before. Before me.”
He thinks.
“I used to hate losing,” he says quietly. “Not the rankings. The feeling. Like if I wasn’t first, I wasn’t anything.”
I turn my head slightly. Look up at him.
“When did that change?”
“When you started closing the gap. Not because you beat me. Because you made me want to be seen. Not just ranked.”
I feel my chest tighten. Good tight.
I reach up. Touch his jaw.
“You’re seen now.”
He kisses my temple. Soft.
We stay like that. Quiet.
The sun moves lower. Room turns gold.
He shifts. Lies down. Pulls me with him.
I curl against his side. Head on his chest. Listen to his heartbeat.
His hand strokes my hair. Slow. Steady.
“Do you ever think about after?” I ask.
“After graduation?”
“Yeah.”
“Every day.”
“What do you see?”
He exhales.
“You. In Manila. Me in Manila. Different schools. Same city. Weekends together. Late nights. Early mornings. No more tricycles. Just us figuring it out.”
I smile against his shirt.
“No more rankings?”
“No more rankings.”
I lift my head. Look at him.
“And if we end up in different cities? Different islands?”
He meets my eyes. Steady.
“Then we make it work. Video calls. Visits. Letters if we have to. I’m not losing you over distance.”
I feel tears prick. Happy ones.
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
He kisses me. Slow. Deep. Hands gentle on my face.
We kiss until the light fades. Until the room turns blue.
Then we just hold each other.
No words.
Just breathing.
Just being.
His mom knocks once. “Dinner in ten.”
We separate. Smile at each other.
I fix my hair. He smooths his shirt.
We go downstairs. Eat with his parents. Talk about normal things—weather, news, weekend plans.
After dinner, he walks me to the gate.
At the tricycle, he kisses me goodbye.
“Tomorrow?” he asks.
“Tomorrow.”
He waits until I’m inside.
I look back.
He’s in the doorway. Light behind him.
Smiling.
I smile too.
The ride home is quiet.
Rain threatens but doesn’t fall.
I lean against the window.
Penguin on my lap.
His kiss on my lips.
His heartbeat in my memory.
Exams over.
College coming.
But tonight?
Tonight is perfect.
His room.
His arms.
His quiet.
His love.
Enough.
More than enough.
Forever kind of enough.
- Writer
