CHAPTER 8 — The Man Who Lives Alone
714 Words
Celeste didn’t go looking for information about Elias.
Not intentionally.
But in a small town like this, information had a way of finding her.
It started innocently enough — she went to buy eggs.
The sari‑sari store was quiet, the morning sun warm on her back. Aling Rosa handed her the eggs with a smile, but her eyes flicked toward the fields.
“Be careful walking around alone, hija,” she said.
Celeste blinked. “Why?”
The woman hesitated. “Some places are… isolated.”
“Like the river?”
A pause.
A long one.
Then a sigh. “Like where Elias lives.”
Celeste’s curiosity sharpened. “Where does he live?”
“Near the old mango grove,” Aling Rosa said reluctantly. “Far from everyone. He built his own house there.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
Celeste frowned. “Doesn’t he have family?”
Another pause.
Another sigh.
“No one’s ever seen them.”
Celeste felt something twist in her chest. “So he really lives alone?”
“Completely alone,” the woman whispered. “Always has.”
Celeste walked home slowly, the eggs warm in her hands, her mind buzzing.
Elias lived alone.
Not just alone — isolated.
By choice?
Or because the town pushed him away?
She didn’t know.
But she wanted to.
Later that afternoon, she sat outside peeling calamansi while her mother swept the yard.
“Mom,” Celeste said casually, “does Elias have family here?”
Her mother froze — just for a second, but Celeste noticed.
“No,” Victoria said. “He came here years ago. Alone.”
“Why?”
Her mother shook her head. “He never said.”
Celeste raised a brow. “And no one asked?”
“People tried,” her mother said. “He didn’t answer.”
Celeste frowned. “So everyone just… accepted that?”
“In a town like this,” her mother said softly, “silence becomes its own answer.”
Celeste didn’t like that.
Not one bit.
She wasn’t used to silence.
She wasn’t used to people avoiding the truth.
She wasn’t used to a man who lived like a ghost.
That evening, she walked toward the fields, needing air. The sky was orange, the wind cool, the grass swaying gently.
She didn’t expect to see him.
But there he was — standing near the edge of the path, hands in his pockets, watching the horizon like he was waiting for something that never came.
She hesitated, then approached slowly.
“You live near the mango grove,” she said.
He didn’t look at her. “Yes.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He finally turned his head, eyes meeting hers — dark, steady, unreadable.
“Because it’s quiet.”
Celeste swallowed. “You like being alone?”
“No.”
The honesty startled her.
He looked away again. “But it’s easier.”
“Easier than what?”
He didn’t answer.
Celeste stepped closer. “People think you’re hiding something.”
“I know.”
“That doesn’t bother you?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because people will believe what they want,” he said quietly. “Whether I speak or not.”
Celeste felt a strange ache in her chest. “That sounds lonely.”
“It is.”
The simplicity of his answer hit her harder than she expected.
She looked at him — really looked — and for the first time, she saw it clearly:
He wasn’t cold.
He wasn’t dangerous.
He wasn’t unapproachable.
He was alone.
Deeply, painfully alone.
And the town didn’t see it.
Or didn’t care.
Celeste exhaled softly. “You don’t have to be alone all the time.”
Elias’s jaw tightened. “Yes, I do.”
“Why?”
He looked at her — a long, heavy look — then turned away.
“Go home, Celeste.”
She didn’t argue.
But as she walked back, she felt his gaze on her.
Not warning.
Not watching.
Just… there.
A man who lived alone.
A man the town misunderstood.
A man who didn’t push her away fast enough.
And Celeste realized something:
Loneliness wasn’t his choice.
It was his punishment.
- Writer
