CHAPTER SIX
725 Words
The next morning came heavy and gray.Manila’s sky sagged with humidity, and the air outside the boarding house smelled like exhaust, rain, and frying oil. Jessica walked beside Ate Mara, still dazed from their conversation the night before, the words The Blue Book circling her head like a ghost she couldn’t shake off.
They were supposed to buy breakfast from the corner bakery, but halfway down Legarda, Mara slowed near a buko juice vendor parked under a cracked tarpaulin.
The man behind the cart looked ordinary, mid-forties, dark skin, thin but strong, a towel draped around his neck. His cart was simple, painted blue and white with the words Fresh Buko — 20 pesos in faded red. He worked with quiet precision, slicing coconuts with a dull machete, his movements practiced and calm.
Mara greeted him casually. “Morning, kuya.”
The vendor smiled, his teeth small and yellowed. “Morning, miss.”
Jessica thought it was just another of Mara’s random acquaintances until she saw the slight shift, the way Mara’s tone dropped, soft but deliberate.
“You still connected?” Mara asked.
The man’s hand froze for a fraction of a second before resuming his rhythm. “Who’s asking?” he said without looking up.
“I am,” Mara replied. “I have someone new.”
The vendor finally looked up. His eyes flicked to Jessica briefly, then back to Mara. “You sure?”
“Yeah,” Mara said simply. “She’s quiet. Careful. Desperate, but decent.”
Jessica felt her stomach twist. “What are you talking about?” she whispered.
Mara didn’t answer. She just handed the man a small folded piece of paper with a number written on it. “This is mine. You’ll text me when she’s cleared.”
The vendor took it without hesitation, slipping it into his apron. “Understood.”
He pulled out a small notebook from beneath his cart and wrote something down, his handwriting neat and slow. Then he tore out a page and tucked it into his pocket. “You’ll hear from someone soon,” he said, tone steady, eyes kind but detached, like he’d done this countless times.
Jessica stared at him, waiting for something more, a code word, a question, a warning, but there was nothing. Just a man in a worn-out shirt, selling coconuts by the roadside.
“That’s it?” she asked softly.
The vendor gave a small shrug. “That’s all it ever is.” He smiled faintly, handing a chilled cup of coconut water to a customer. “The world’s full of doors, miss. Most of them don’t look like doors at all.”
As they walked away, Jessica couldn’t help but glance back. The man didn’t look dangerous or secretive. He laughed with another customer, collected coins, and wiped his hands with the same towel around his neck.
He looked… normal. Honest. The kind of man who might’ve sold coconuts his whole life just to send his own children to school.
And yet, somehow, he was a gatekeeper, the kind that opened doors people weren’t supposed to find.
Mara lit a cigarette as they walked. “You see?” she said. “No secret rooms. No passwords. The city hides its sins in broad daylight.”
Jessica’s voice was barely a whisper. “He doesn’t even look—”
“Like the kind of person who could destroy a life?” Mara interrupted, a wry smile on her lips. “That’s the point. No one ever does.”
That night, Jessica couldn’t stop replaying the encounter in her mind, the calmness of it, the ordinariness. How something so quiet could feel so dangerous.
She lay in bed long after Bea and Tessa had fallen asleep. Her phone was on the pillow beside her.
At exactly 11:42 p.m., it vibrated once.
A message.
Good evening.Someone recommended you.Confidential meeting. No photos. No names.Are you available this week?
Jessica stared at the words, her chest tightening.
Her thumb hovered over the screen.
She didn’t respond. Not yet.
But she didn’t delete it either.
Outside, Manila buzzed and breathed, tricycles roaring, dogs barking, laughter spilling from the streets.Life went on as usual.
But inside that small room in Sampaloc, Jessica knew something had shifted.
A door had opened.And part of her was already standing on the other side.
- Writer
