02
1665 Words
Sunday. 8:58 AM.
Ang usapan nila, by nine, dapat may notes na. Aira clicked the shared folder.
“REYES — TUITION NOTES 🧠 raw but gold”
Raw was an understatement. Ang bungad sa doc file:
• protest sa forum bukas
• bawal daw placards? parang may memo pero verbal pa lang
• may girl na organizer — Gem. galit. gusto daw ng walkout
• sabi niya: “Ano ’to, transparency pero bawal feedback?”
What the hell is this.
Chat ping.
elijah:
notes uploaded 🤌
ur welcome
aira:
notes ba tawag mo dito? parang mind dump ng isang comm student na puyat
elijah:
mas creative nga lang 🤷♂️
kalma. gagandahan ko pa. may interview ako mamaya
aira:
interview muna bago dump ng bullet points next time, hindi baliktad
elijah:
copy, ma’am 😇
Napaikot na lang siya ng mata, sabay sara ng tab. Sa ibang araw, tawang-tawa na siguro siya. Pero ngayon, wala siya sa mood. The article they were writing was supposed to front next week’s issue. Tuition Forum. The first time the admin was going to lay out the actual numbers.
Hindi ito bagay sa loose notes at half-baked quips. Kailangan nito ng structure. Urgency. At higit sa lahat: seriousness. Something Elijah Reyes, unfortunately, had no natural concept of.
10:41 AM.
“Elijah, bakit ba sa dami ng pwede mong i-cover, ito pa,” sabi ni Gem, naka-cross arms habang nakatayo sa likod ng fine arts building.
Ngumiti si Elijah, pa-easy. “Kasi may story. At gusto ko ng story na totoo. Hindi lang announcements.”
Gem shrugged. “Fine. Pero dapat walang sanitizing. Hindi ’to PR.”
“Nakikinig lang ako.”
He hit record.
“Name, course, role.”
“Gem Santos. Second year. PolSci. Part ng team behind the protest.”
“Bakit kayo nagpoprotesta sa loob ng forum?”
“Because every year, they ask for ‘dialogue,’ but the only voices allowed are theirs. Walang dissent. Puro facade.”
Pause. Then Elijah asked, mas tahimik, “So bakit push pa rin? Kahit may risk?”
She met his gaze. “Kasi kung hindi kami lalabas, parang okay lang. Parang tahimik lang lahat. And it’s not.”
Click. Stop record.
1:27 PM.
Ping.
elijah:
interview done
sending transcript in 3... 2...
aira:
please wag pdf
elijah:
word doc. civilized naman ako today
Tumahimik siya. Binuksan ang file. And, to her surprise, maganda.
Sakto ang flow ng sagot ni Gem. Clear ang stakes. May sense of escalation.
For a brief, irrational second, Aira considered messaging “Good job.” But then, she saw the last part.
Quote: “Parang gusto nilang i-curate kung anong klaseng student ang nararapat magsalita.”
Note to self: Aira will probably bold this and cry.
She stared. Typed.
aira:
you’re impossible
elijah:
you’re welcome
Sa mga sumunod na sandali, sa halip na tunog ng keyboard ang marinig, ang bumungad kay Aira ay ang nakakairitang paghigop ni Elijah mula sa kanyang plastic cup of overpriced coffee.
“Kung iniisip mong idaan sa caramel macchiato ang pag-edit ng section mo, hindi effective,” she muttered, eyes still fixed on the shared Google Doc.
“Elijah Reyes, contributor of vibes,” he replied, settling into the seat across from her like he owned the table, the story, the whole damn newsroom.
She didn’t even glance up. “‘Vibes’ don’t make front page. Sources do. Data does. Context.”
“Well, that explains the font size of your notes,” he said, eyeing the six-page printed outline beside her, filled with color-coded highlights, page flags, and her infamous all-caps margin notes like: MAY INCONSISTENCY SA STATS?? HANAPIN ANG SOURCE!!!
He picked it up. She snatched it back.
“Hands off,” Aira snapped. “Unless may balak kang mag-fact check.”
Elijah held up both palms. “Easy. I just admire your ability to threaten people using Stabilo.”
“Gagamitin ko ‘yan as weapon if you keep talking.”
Napailing na lang si Elijah, opening his laptop. “You know, for two people working on the same article, we haven’t actually written anything together.”
“That’s because I’m editing your mess while writing mine.”
He chuckled, scrolling through the doc. “Wow. Harsh.”
“Honest,” she corrected.
She went back to writing the financial breakdown section. The figures from the university’s budget were public, yes, but deliberately confusing. Puro acronyms. General allocations. Nakasaad lang: “Miscellaneous – ₱13,520.” But miscellaneous what? Chairs? ID lace? Aira was already three interviews deep and had yet to get a straight answer.
Meanwhile, Elijah was typing something in his section, brows furrowed for once. She snuck a glance.
Some student reps say the planned protest is a last resort after years of being shut out of tuition talks. “They don’t listen unless we raise our voices,” said one student leader.
Okay. That quote was solid.
Pero kasunod nito:
Tension brews beneath the campus calm, like ink stains bleeding on clean paper.
Aira clicked the comment tool and wrote:
Journalism, not a spoken word contest.
Seconds later, Elijah replied:
but drama sells 😩
Aira: Facts sell better.
Elijah: not on w*****d lmao
She groaned and muted the comments tab.
7:00 PM. Same day.
They were still in the Google Docs.
Aira’s paragraphs were full of precision: tuition breakdowns, rising costs, and the suspicious absence of public ledgers for student development fees. Elijah’s additions brought the emotion: tension in the crowd, frustration from student orgs, off-record admin fears.
Then came the edits.
[comment from aira] — “Elijah, pls define ‘tense atmosphere.’ Hindi ’to Wattpad.”
[reply from elijah] — “Dun sa part na students weren’t allowed to bring banners. Remember? Context, girl.”
[comment from aira] — “Remove ‘storm is brewing.’ We’re not in a Shakespearean fanfic.”
[reply from elijah] — “Let me be poetic once in my life 😔”
But as they revised, something clicked. The article was coming alive. They hated each other’s methods, but the outcome was undeniable.
Sabay na lang silang napatigil, staring at the new headline they’d crafted together.
THE PRICE OF SILENCE: STUDENTS CHALLENGE TUITION TRANSPARENCY
Tugma. Bagsak. Mabigat.
Monday. 4:19 PM. The Sentinel Newsroom.
Aira was fixing the layout. Elijah was eating Skyflakes with peanut butter—again.
“Tama na ’yang snack mo,” she muttered, hindi tumitingin.
“Stress food ko ’to. Don’t shame my process.”
“I’m shaming your sodium levels.”
Tumawa si Elijah, but when he leaned over her shoulder to glance at the print layout, tahimik lang siya.
Their names, printed together on the byline.
By Aira Ignacio and Elijah Reyes
“Not bad,” he said.
Aira just nodded. “You’re lucky I didn’t remove your name.”
“Lucky? You need me.”
“In what world.”
“Dun sa world na facts need feelings. And you—” he paused, grinning— “you’ve got too much of the former, and none of the latter.”
“Toxic mo.”
“Mas toxic ang denial.”
She turned to him. For a second, it almost looked like she was smiling. Almost.
“Kung tutuusin,” Elijah said quietly, still typing beside her, “weird rin na ngayon lang tayo pinagsama.”
“Huwag mong bigyan ng romantic framing.”
He laughed softly. “Hindi. I mean professionally.”
“Mas weird kung sinadya ‘to,” she replied, turning to him. “Gusto siguro ni Ma’am Laurel ng chaos. Or headlines.”
“Elijah + Aira: The Enemies to Lovers Saga.”
“God. Pwede bang huwag tayong gawing trope?”
“You say that like we’re not already one.”
She closed her laptop. “I need air.”
She stood up and headed for the fire exit at the end of the hallway—the only spot in the building with a working vending machine and zero Wi-Fi signal.
Seconds later, Elijah followed, two steps behind.
“Hindi ka pa tapos sa section mo,” she said.
“Break time,” he said. “Even editors need to breathe.”
He leaned against the railing as she inserted coins into the vending machine. Water lang kinuha niya.
Tahimik sandali. They could hear the city from outside—bus horns, late-night motorbikes, the hum of a campus that never really slept.
“Elijah,” she said, finally, “bakit ka talaga nandito?”
“Sa journalism or sa fire exit?”
“Sa publication.”
He shrugged. “Gusto ko magsulat. That’s it.”
Aira turned to him. “But you don’t act like it.”
“Because I don’t write like you?” he asked, calmly. “Not everyone edits with a scalpel, Aira. Hindi lahat ng narrative sharp. Minsan kailangan mo rin ng warmth.”
“Warmth doesn’t fact-check itself.”
He gave her a look. “And facts don’t always make people care. That’s why stories matter.”
Silence.
And then, a ping on both their phones.
Ma’am Laurel:
REMINDER: Forum is at 3PM. SC reps have been reshuffled. Protest not yet confirmed. DO NOT PRINT UNTIL FRIDAY NOON.
Aira closed her phone.
“So,” Elijah said, glancing at her. “Game plan?”
She took a sip of water, then faced him. “We both go. I take the finance panel, you monitor the SC and protest leads. Sabay tayo magsulat bukas ng gabi.”
He grinned. “Sabay talaga? Hindi ka pa rin nagtitiwala sa notes ko?”
“Hindi,” she answered honestly.
“But you trust my byline enough to share yours.”
Aira didn’t answer.
Elijah smirked. “This is fun.”
“You think this is fun?”
“I think you’re fun. You just don’t know it yet.”
Aira rolled her eyes, but somewhere beneath the fatigue, she felt it too.
Whatever this was—it wasn’t just a collab anymore.
- Writer
