That night, after ng isang nakaurat na gulo na naman with Margarita. Minsan nakakaisip nalang ako ng masama like hoping na sana matanggal siya sa trabaho para maging maayos na ang takbo ng buhay ko. The apartment was unusually quiet. I just got out of the shower, hair still damp, wearing my oversized shirt that said “I Love Rice More Than Men.” Cute ‘no? But honestly, after everything na nangyari—being fired, being kissed, being brought to Italy for pasta, and then reinstated bilang personal secretary ni Mr. Forteros—I was left in a whirlwind of confusion and kilig.
I was brushing my damp hair habang nakaharap sa maliit naming salamin sa sala when I heard three faint knocks.
Tok. Tok. Tok.
Akala ko hallucination lang. Siguro ako lang 'to. Gutom lang. So I sat back down.
But then it cam
