Chapter 6: Becoming Ourselves Together
828 Words
“Sometimes love isn’t about becoming one—it’s about becoming whole, side by side.”
Life after that rainy-day kiss didn’t magically become easier. Love wasn’t a fairy tale for Alia Mae Dela Cruz and Calix Adrian Reyes. But it was real. Raw. And most of all—worth it.
As the final academic year began, the pressures mounted.
Alia, now the elected President of the HRM Society, found herself buried under meetings, proposals, guest letters, and event logistics. She thrived in it—her calendar was color-coded down to the hour—but sometimes, she forgot to breathe.
Meanwhile, Calix’s creative world expanded. His short film had gone viral on campus, and a professor offered to mentor him privately. He started doing shoots for local businesses, was constantly invited to cover events, and began dreaming of starting his own studio. The boy who once hid behind his camera was now stepping into the light.
They were both growing. But not always in the same direction.
—
One Friday night, after a whole week of barely seeing each other, Alia arrived late at the café where Calix waited. Her eyes were tired, her voice rushed, and her smile—although there—was fading at the edges.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, collapsing into the chair. “My meeting ran over time. Then there was this issue with the catering... and I forgot to eat again.”
Calix slid a cup of warm matcha latte toward her. “You say that like it’s normal.”
She blinked. “It kind of is.”
“It shouldn’t be,” he replied quietly.
Alia looked at him. There was no anger in his voice—just concern. But it still stung.
“You think I’m overdoing it again?”
“I think you’re losing yourself in it.”
She sighed. “You don’t get it, Calix. I have to prove something—not just to others, but to myself. If I slow down now, I’ll lose momentum.”
He nodded, choosing his words carefully. “I do get it, Alia. I know what it’s like to want something so badly it keeps you up at night. But you forget—people also love you when you rest.”
The words hit deeper than she expected.
He didn’t tell her to stop.
He reminded her that she didn’t have to run herself to the ground to be worthy.
That night, they didn’t argue. Instead, they sat quietly—her sipping the drink he remembered she loved, him watching her soften.
—
Weeks later, it was Calix who began drifting.
He grew quieter, more absorbed in his edits, more distant in his replies. Alia noticed it first during one of their late-night calls. He barely listened, distracted by deadlines and color grading.
“Calix, you okay?” she asked gently.
“I’m fine. Just tired.”
But he wasn’t.
He was overwhelmed.
His projects had picked up faster than expected. Clients, expectations, even social media attention. Everyone wanted a piece of him. He should’ve been happy—but instead, he felt like he was drowning in his own dream.
One Saturday, Alia showed up at his dorm unannounced. He opened the door, eyes puffy, hair unkempt, camera gear scattered behind him.
She stepped inside, didn’t say a word, and simply pulled him into a hug.
He didn’t resist. He sank into her arms, letting the exhaustion fall away.
“You don’t have to carry everything alone,” she whispered.
And he finally let himself believe it.
—
Growth wasn’t always glamorous. Sometimes it was ugly cries at 2 a.m., cancelled dates, and learning to say “I need space” without fear. Sometimes it was cheering each other on, even when it meant cheering from opposite ends of the room.
They began to build healthier rhythms.
Alia set strict “no work after 9 PM” rules—on herself.
Calix created a shared Google Calendar just to carve out “our time.”
They didn’t always get it right.
But they were trying.
—
On a quiet Sunday evening, they lay side by side on the rooftop of the Fine Arts building, watching the stars.
“Do you think,” Alia asked, “that we’re changing too much?”
Calix turned his head toward her. “No. I think we’re changing enough.”
She smiled. “You know, I used to think love meant losing yourself in someone else.”
“And now?”
“Now I know it means being seen. Fully. And still being loved.”
He reached out, lacing his fingers with hers.
“You’re not just my love story,” he said. “You’re part of my becoming.”
And under the stars, with dreams too big for their small campus, they held hands—not because they were perfect, but because they were choosing each other.
Every version. Every season. Every chapter.
Together.
- Writer
