Chapter 2 — The Man Everyone Avoids
868 Words
Celeste woke up to the sound of roosters screaming like they were announcing the end of the world. She groaned, burying her face into the pillow. In Manila, her alarm was a soft chime. Here, it was a feathered demon with no sense of boundaries.
She dragged herself out of bed and peeked out the window. The morning sun painted the fields gold, and the air smelled like dew and earth — fresh, clean, annoyingly peaceful.
Her mother was already in the kitchen, humming as she cooked. “Good morning, anak. Sleep well?”
Celeste sat at the table, rubbing her eyes. “If being attacked by roosters counts as sleeping well, then yes.”
Her mother laughed. “You’ll get used to it.”
Celeste doubted that.
After breakfast, she stepped outside to explore the area. The town was already awake — neighbors sweeping their yards, kids running barefoot, old men chatting by the sari‑sari store. Everyone seemed to know each other. Everyone seemed to belong.
Except her.
She walked along the narrow dirt path, trying to appreciate the quiet. But the silence felt too heavy, like it carried stories she wasn’t supposed to hear.
Then she saw him again.
Elias.
He was by the fields, carrying a sack of rice on his shoulder like it weighed nothing. His shirt clung to his back, damp with sweat, and the morning light traced the sharp lines of his jaw. He looked younger today — not by age, but by the way the sunlight softened him.
Still, there was something about him that felt… closed. Guarded. Like he’d built walls so high even the sky couldn’t reach him.
Celeste slowed her steps, watching him from a distance.
He didn’t look up.
He didn’t greet her.
He didn’t acknowledge her existence.
But she felt it — that strange awareness again. Like he knew she was there even without looking.
A woman sweeping her yard noticed Celeste staring. “Don’t mind Elias,” she said, shaking her head. “He’s not friendly.”
Celeste turned to her. “Why? Did he do something?”
“No,” the woman replied quickly. “That’s the thing. He doesn’t do anything. Doesn’t talk. Doesn’t join fiestas. Doesn’t visit anyone. Lives alone in that old house near the river. People say he likes it that way.”
Celeste frowned. “So everyone just… avoids him?”
The woman shrugged. “Some people carry storms with them, hija. Best not to get caught in the rain.”
Celeste looked back at Elias.
Storm?
He didn’t look like a storm.
He looked like someone who’d been standing in the rain for too long.
As she continued walking, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the town wasn’t telling her everything. There was a story behind Elias — a reason for the distance, the silence, the way people’s eyes shifted when his name was mentioned.
And Celeste, with her restless curiosity and city‑girl stubbornness, felt the pull of it.
Later that afternoon, she passed by the fields again. Elias was repairing a wooden fence, hammering nails with steady, practiced movements. Celeste hesitated, then approached — slowly, cautiously, like she was stepping into a lion’s den.
“Hi,” she said, offering a small smile.
He didn’t look at her. “You shouldn’t be here.”
His voice was deep, rough, like he wasn’t used to speaking.
“It’s a free field,” she replied, crossing her arms.
He finally glanced at her — just a flicker of his eyes, but enough to make her breath hitch. There was something in his gaze that felt like a warning and a question at the same time.
“You’re not from here,” he said.
“Is it that obvious?”
“Yes.”
Silence stretched between them, thick and awkward. Celeste shifted her weight, suddenly aware of how out of place she looked in her city clothes.
“I’m staying for a month,” she said. “Vacation. Or punishment. Depends on who you ask.”
He didn’t react.
She tried again. “I’m Celeste.”
“I know.”
“You… know?”
He hammered another nail. “Everyone knows when someone new arrives.”
Celeste blinked. “Right. Small town.”
He didn’t answer.
She sighed, turning to leave. “Well, nice talking to you. Or… trying to.”
She had taken three steps when his voice stopped her.
“Don’t walk alone near the river,” he said without looking up. “The ground is soft. You could fall.”
Celeste paused.
It wasn’t friendliness.
It wasn’t warmth.
But it was something.
“Thanks,” she said softly.
He didn’t reply.
As she walked back home, she felt her heart beating faster than it should. Not because of fear — but because of curiosity.
Elias wasn’t just a man people avoided.
He was a man who avoided himself.
And Celeste had a feeling that getting close to him would be like peeling back layers of a story no one wanted to tell.
But she also knew one thing:
She had never been good at staying away from things she wasn’t supposed to touch.
- Writer
