When Stars Align

CHAPTER THREE PART III

continuation,

Celeste's POV

Kung hindi lang dahil kay Sofia, wala sana ako rito.

"Bes, trust me," bulong niya habang mahigpit akong hinihila papasok sa café, parang kapag binitawan niya ako ay bigla akong magde-decide tumakbo palabas.

"Maganda dito. Para kang nasa indie film." At sa unang hakbang ko pa lang sa loob, alam kong hindi siya nagsisinungaling.

Mainit ang ilaw at hindi yung nakakasilaw, kundi yung klase ng glow na parang dahan-dahang yumayakap sa buong paligid. Fairy lights were scattered across the ceiling like fallen stars na hindi na bumalik sa langit.

Sa gilid may maliit na stage, simple lang pero may intention, may mic stand, may stool, may mga taong mukhang sanay na sa sarili nilang boses at may iba namang mukhang hindi pa sigurado kung handa na ba silang marinig.

Amoy ng café ang bumungad sa akin, pero hindi lang basta kape.

May halo itong vanilla, toasted beans, at kung anong malabong floral scent na hindi ko maipaliwanag. Parang papel na may nakaipit na kwento. Parang lugar na maraming gustong sabihin pero hindi pa handa.

At doon ko siya nakita.

There he was.

Apron on. Sleeves rolled up hanggang forearms. Messy yung buhok niya na para bang hindi niya pinilit ayusin, pero somehow bagay pa rin sa kanya. May hawak siyang tray, gumagalaw sa gitna ng ingay ng café na parang sanay na sanay siya sa ganitong chaos.

Diego

Pero alam kong hindi lang siya barista.

May kung anong bigat sa dibdib ko na hindi ko agad maipaliwanag. Hindi naman ito unang beses ko siyang makita. Pero bakit pakiramdam ko, mas malinaw siya ngayon kaysa dapat?

"Bes, ikaw na order," sabi ni Sofia, sabay tulak sa akin papunta sa counter.

I gulped, forcing her feet to move. I placed my bag on my shoulder tighter, praying he wouldn't notice me.

But of course, he did.

"Good evening," Diego greeted, voice steady pero may spark sa mga mata.

"Welcome to Open Mic Night. Order?" dagdag niya, steady ang boses pero may something doon na hindi ko ma-pinpoint.

I froze for a second. Then, with a forced smile, I replied,

"Anything na hindi bitter."

For a moment, silence. Then he chuckled a low, genuine laugh.

"Noted. One grande... feelings, over ice." I let out a short laugh, half-annoyed, half-amused.

"Cringe."

"Lahat cringe pag totoo." He grinned, leaning a little closer.

"At saka... ikaw din, cringe. Pero cute." Tumaas ang tingin ko sa kanya.

At doon, nangyari yung hindi ko inaasahan. Hindi ako agad umiwas.

Hindi rin siya.

Nagtagal ang tinginan namin ng mas mahaba kaysa normal. Hindi ito yung romantic slow motion na nakikita sa pelikula. Mas tahimik ito. Mas simple pero mas delikado.

Parang may isang bagay na parehong hindi namin inaamin.

"Celeste," sabi niya habang sinusulat ang pangalan ko sa cup.

Sandali akong natigilan.

Paanong alam n'ya?

Natauhan lang ako nang iabot ni Diego ang order ko. Habang naglalakad pabalik sa table, pinipigilan kong ngumiti nang todo ayaw kong magmukhang ewan. Pero wala, talo ako. Kasi paulit-ulit na nagre-replay sa utak niya.

Shet. Cute daw. Hindi ako kinikilig, allergy lang 'to!

The café lights dimmed slowly, leaving the stage in a soft glow that felt almost intentional, like the room itself had decided to quiet down and listen. A girl with a guitar began to play, her fingers brushing the strings in a way that didn’t demand attention but earned it anyway. Her voice followed, gentle but steady, cutting through the remaining noise until even the conversations seemed to lose interest in continuing.

Bit by bit, the café surrendered to her sound. I lifted my drink and took a sip. It was sweet, not bitter, just like I ordered, just like I said I wanted. But the truth was, I wasn’t really thinking about the drink anymore. Not even close.

I was thinking about him.

The barista who didn’t feel like one the more I watched him.

From where I sat near the stage, my attention kept drifting back to him without permission. He wasn’t just behind the counter anymore. He was everywhere in motion, in space, in small decisions I didn’t consciously register until they were already happening.

He adjusted the stage lights without hesitation, checked the microphone like he had done it a hundred times before, and moved through the café with a vintage-looking camera hanging from his shoulder as if documenting the night was as natural as breathing.

There was something unsettling about how effortless it all looked. Not performance. Not attention-seeking. Just belonging.

Sofia leaned closer, her voice low but teasing, like she already knew the answer before asking.

“Bes, cute ‘di ba? Type mo ‘yan.”

I rolled my eyes immediately, too fast, too defensive. “Shh. Ang ingay mo.”

But even as I said it, my gaze betrayed me. It found its way back to him anyway.

And that was exactly when it happened.

He looked up.

Not searching. Not randomly scanning the room. Just a clean, direct lift of his eyes like he already knew where to land.

Our eyes met.

Not long, nor dramatic. Just one suspended second that felt heavier than it had any right to be.

The sound around me didn’t disappear, but it blurred, like everything had been pushed slightly out of focus except that single point between us. I blinked first, too quickly, breaking it on instinct.

I reached for my bag after, even though there was nothing to fix, nothing to do, just something to occupy my hands so I didn’t have to acknowledge what just happened.

A second later, someone bumped into my table and water spilled across the surface.

“Sorry!” a student called out in a hurry before rushing toward the stage.

I dabbed at the spill without really seeing it. My heart was still catching up to something my mind refused to define.

When I looked up again, he wasn’t at the counter anymore.

My eyes moved faster than I intended, scanning the café, searching without admitting I was searching.

That was when I saw him.

Leaning near the edge of the room, half in shadow, camera in hand, watching instead of participating. Not detached exactly, just observant in a way that made it feel like nothing escaped him if he chose to notice it.

And then—

click.

The sound was small, almost fragile, but it cut through everything anyway. One sharp moment of certainty in a room full of movement.

His camera was pointed at me.

Just for a heartbeat.

Just enough for me to feel it settle somewhere under my skin instead of simply passing by.

I didn’t even know at first if it was real or if my mind was doing that thing where it connects attention to meaning too quickly. But my instincts didn’t feel confused.

They felt unmistakably… seen.

And that was the problem.

Because people don’t usually look at you like that unless they’ve already decided you belong somewhere in their frame.

I exhaled slowly, forcing myself to look away, but the feeling didn’t leave with my gaze. It stayed, quiet and persistent, like it had already made itself comfortable in my awareness.

And for reasons I couldn’t fully justify, a thought formed careful at first, then clearer.

Maybe this wasn’t just a coincidence unfolding in front of me.

Maybe I wasn’t just watching something happen.

Maybe I was already part of it.

And worse than that, maybe I was never the audience at all,

I was the prize.

end of chapter three