13 TIMES

‎It was the first day of class. ‎The aircon was too cold. The chairs were still new and squeaky. ‎ ‎The teacher clapped her hands twice and said, “Alright, settle down. Group 4. You’ll be presenting your report next week on Philippine Economy.” ‎ ‎And there you were. ‎ ‎The academic achiever. Perfect uniform, tucked in, ID facing forward. Hair tied in a neat low ponytail. Hand always up. The kind of student teachers loved. The kind that got “Very Good” written in red pen. ‎ ‎And there I was. ‎Quiet. Average grades. Uniform half-tucked. The girl who cared more about making money than scoring As. The girl who had a small notebook in her bag for scrunchie orders instead of notes. ‎ ‎We were assigned as groupmates. ‎Group 4. Just the two of us. ‎ ‎You were supposed to handle the research. Data, citations, talking points. ‎I was supposed to do the visuals. Posters, charts, maybe a PowerPoint if we had time. ‎ ‎But we never got to it. ‎“Never mind,” the teacher said on Friday. “We’ll move to the next topic. No more reporting this week.” ‎ ‎And just like that, the report disappeared. ‎New topics came. New groups were formed for other projects. ‎We just forgot about it. ‎Or at least, I thought we did. ‎ ‎Before we got close, I had a girlfriend. ‎It wasn’t serious. It was young love, the kind that didn’t know how to survive real life. ‎ ‎Things at home were not good. ‎I grew up with my lolo and lola. They raised me since I was little. I spent most of my life with them, so I wasn’t very close to my parents. When I was with them during holidays, the house felt quiet in the wrong way. I couldn’t talk about my problems. I couldn’t talk about girls. I couldn’t talk about anything that mattered. ‎ ‎The situation at home was messy. Fights. Silence. Expectations I couldn’t meet. ‎So I ended things with my girlfriend. ‎I told her, “I can’t do this right now. I can barely take care of myself.” ‎It hurt. But it felt like the responsible thing to do. ‎ ‎About a month after I broke up, I started hanging out with your friends. ‎We had mutuals from orgs and classes. Little by little, I was invited to sit with them during lunch. Then to stay after class. ‎ ‎One afternoon at the plaza, we were just walking around. Window shopping. Laughing at overpriced things we would never buy. The sun was starting to set and everything looked orange. ‎ ‎Then one of your friends pointed across the street and whispered, but not quietly enough, “Aiyo, that’s her crush lah.” ‎ ‎You didn’t hear it. You were looking at a phone case. ‎But I did. ‎So I laughed. Loud. Too loud. ‎ ‎You turned to me, confused. “What?” ‎I just smiled and kept quiet. My cheeks were burning. ‎ ‎Later, it was getting late. The streetlights were on. ‎You said you had to go home first. Your lola was expecting you for dinner. ‎Your friend butted in, teasing, “Aiyo, let her walk you home lah. She’s going that way too.” ‎ ‎You looked at me. ‎I smiled. Small. Nervous. ‎And you said, “No lah, don’t.” ‎ ‎Then you all left. You waved once and disappeared into the crowd. ‎ ‎That was the first time my heart beat so fast because of you. ‎That was the first time I thought, “Maybe.” ‎ ‎Weeks passed and we got closer. ‎Plaza hangouts turned into 7/11 runs after class. You’d get hot chocolate. I’d get iced coffee. We’d sit at the corner table and talk until the guard told us to leave. ‎ ‎Your friends knew about us. They’d roll their eyes when we talked too long. ‎One day, I was the one who brought it up as a joke, trying to be brave: ‎“Eh, weren’t we groupmates before? For that report that never happened?” ‎ ‎You paused, your straw halfway to your mouth. Then you laughed. ‎“s**t, ya. I forgot about that.” ‎ ‎That night I texted you, heart pounding while typing. ‎Me: Were we really groupmates before? For the report? ‎You: HAHA ya lor! I totally forgot. It never happened. ‎ ‎And just like that, we found out. ‎We were supposed to work together from day one. ‎But it took a joke at the plaza and me remembering it for us to realize. ‎ ‎After that, everything felt like fate. ‎You tutored me in my studies. Well, I actually knew it. I just pretended I didn’t know all along. ‎I taught you how to sew. I showed you how to make scrunchies, then simple dresses. Your hands were clumsy at first but you kept trying. ‎ ‎You were the achiever. Top of the class. Always in competitions, always representing the school. ‎I was the business girl. Selling scrunchies online. Learning how to sew dresses for extra money. Planning to open a small shop someday. ‎ ‎Only your close friends knew about us. ‎To everyone else, we were just “study buddies.” ‎To us, we were 2am calls and little secrets. Shared fries and shared headphones. ‎We built a world in between classes and curfews. ‎ ‎I didn’t know then that your first “no lah, don’t” would turn into four years of “please don’t leave me.” ‎ ‎I didn’t know that the report we never did would be the only thing we ever finished together. ‎ ‎