Counterpoint

Chapter Eight

The days that followed were almost normal, on the surface, at least.

Brianna still met Jenny for coffee, still asked about her family, still laughed at the same jokes. To anyone watching, nothing had changed. But under the small talk and polite smiles, jealousy pooled inside her like standing water, still, but dangerous.

She hadn’t confronted Jenny about that night. She didn’t need to. Jenny’s silence was confirmation enough. She could see it now in the way Jenny’s voice hesitated before answering a message, in the way her eyes sometimes flickered away when Brianna mentioned the Saavedras.

Brianna knew that look: the quiet guilt of someone guarding something precious.

And she hated it.

She hated that Jenny, the girl who once looked up to her, now had something Brianna wanted.

It wasn’t love, not really. She barely knew Jordan beyond those few minutes in the sun-struck courtyard a year ago. But admiration had turned to fascination, and fascination had curdled into something darker.

That night, she sat alone in her room, the ceiling fan humming above her, the faint sound of the city filtering in through the open window. Her parents were out again, another dinner with Roberto Saavedra and his circle, and the house was still.

She opened her laptop, typing Jordan Saavedra documentary into the search bar.

The results filled the screen: news features, interviews, his name scattered across headlines about rural development and youth advocacy. At the top was a new upload.

The Land Remembers – A Documentary by Jordan Saavedra.

She clicked.

The opening shot was of the Ilocos fields at dawn, mist curling above the rice stalks, farmers moving slowly through the light. Then his voice came, calm, deliberate, too composed for someone his age.

“We forget that the land holds our history. Every harvest is a memory retold, every seed a promise someone once made.”

Brianna leaned back, eyes fixed on the screen. The voice was smooth but carried weight, the kind that demanded to be listened to. He appeared then, walking through the fields, sleeves rolled, notebook in hand.

The camera lingered on the faces of the workers, old men, young women, children running between the rows. It was beautiful, sentimental, and irritatingly noble.

She could see why people admired him. He looked authentic, almost heroic.And that made her furious.

Because all she could think about was that night at Heritage Plaza Hotel, his hand at the small of Jenny’s back, the quiet smile he gave her.

Now, watching him on screen, she felt the same twist in her chest she had tried to ignore.

Jenny had probably been there, helping him film this. Maybe she held the microphone. Maybe she stood just off-camera while he spoke.

The thought made Brianna’s throat tighten.

She muttered, “You think you’re special, don’t you?” but she wasn’t sure if she meant him or Jenny.

When the film ended, she didn’t close the laptop. She replayed the final scene, the one where Jordan stood alone in the fading light, looking directly into the lens.

“We owe it to the land,” he said quietly, “to remember who we are.”

Brianna stared back at him, her reflection faint over his image.

“I remember,” she whispered. “I remember everything.”

She shut the laptop and sat in silence.

She should have felt foolish. She didn’t.

Instead, she began to think, methodically, almost calmly, about how to stay close to them both when she returned next summer. Jenny trusted her completely, still believed they were friends. And Jordan? He was idealistic, unsuspecting, the kind of man who wouldn’t see the trap until he’d already stepped into it.

Brianna smiled faintly to herself.

If Jenny could win him once, then so could she. Only this time, it wouldn’t be by accident.

Outside, a light rain began to fall, tapping softly against the windowpane.

In a few days, she would be back in Vancouver, back to her quiet, ordered life. But this time, she would take something with her. Not the memory of friendship, or the guilt of envy, but a plan.

Because if there was one thing Brianna Kim never tolerated, it was losing.

And she wasn’t about to start now.