Letters after Goodbye

MIKA'S POV Three Years Ago There are goodbyes you remember for the rest of your life. The last hug. The last kiss. The last I love you. Mine was a text message. Hindi ko na kaya. Sorry. Five words. I stared at them until the letters blurred on my screen. I read them again. And again. And again. As if reading them enough times would somehow rearrange the words into something less painful. Hindi ko na kaya. Sorry. “Derek?” I pressed the call button. One ring. Two. Three. No answer. I tried again. Straight to voicemail. My fingers trembled as I typed. Mika: Anong ibig mong sabihin? Sent. I waited. One minute. Five. Ten. Nothing. Mika: Derek, kausapin mo ako. Sent. Nothing. Mika: Galit ka ba? Mika: Kung tungkol ito kanina, sorry. Mika: Please. The last message remained unread. I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at our conversation. Above his message was the photo he'd sent that afternoon. A sketch. Typical Derek. Kahit simpleng papel lang, hindi niya kayang hindi lagyan ng drawing. Architect nga naman. It was a small house. Two floors. Large windows. A tiny balcony on the second floor. May puno sa gilid at dalawang stick figures sa harap. One had messy hair. The other wore what looked like an oversized dress. Underneath, he'd written: Someday. I had replied: Ang pangit ng drawing mo sa akin. He answered: Excuse me. Architect ako. Exactly. Dapat mas maganda. Okay. Next time gagawin kitang puno. That was only hours ago. Hours. How could someone talk about someday in the afternoon and leave you before midnight? I called again. No answer. “Please,” bulong ko sa phone. “Sagutin mo lang.” Nothing. Outside my window, rain had started falling. Mahina lang noong una. Then harder. I stood and walked toward the window. From my apartment, the city looked almost peaceful beneath the rain. Headlights blurred against wet roads. People ran underneath umbrellas. Somewhere below, someone laughed. Normal ang mundo. That was the cruelest part. My world had just stopped, and somehow everyone else's kept moving. I looked at my phone again. Still nothing. I typed one final message. Mika: Hindi ako matutulog hangga't hindi mo ako kinakausap. My thumb hovered over send. Then I deleted it. Typed another. Fine. Kung ayaw mo na, sabihin mo sa mukha ko. Delete. I hate you. Delete. Please don't leave me. Delete. My eyes burned. In the end, I sent nothing. Maybe tomorrow. I told myself we'd talk tomorrow. Derek always came back after an argument. He hated unresolved fights. "Hindi ako makakatulog kapag galit ka sa akin," lagi niyang sinasabi. So tomorrow, he'd knock on my door. He'd bring coffee. No sugar for me, too much for him. He'd smile that stupid smile that made it impossible for me to stay angry. Then he'd say— "Okay. Away tayo properly." And I would roll my eyes. And somehow we'd be okay. We always were. I placed my phone beside me. Tomorrow. That word became the only thing keeping me together. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. I don't remember falling asleep. I only remember waking up. The rain had stopped. My neck hurt from sleeping against the headboard, and my phone was still clutched in my hand. For one beautiful second, I forgot. Then I saw his name. Derek Santos. My heart jumped. There was a notification. But it wasn't a message. Just an old reminder from my calendar. Dinner — Derek. 7:30 PM. I stared at it. Then laughed. I don't know why. Maybe because if I didn't laugh, I would cry. “Idiot,” I whispered. I dismissed the notification. No new messages. No missed calls. I checked his profile. Nothing. His last active status wasn't visible anymore. I opened our photos instead. Derek sleeping on my couch. Derek holding a ruler between his teeth while working. Derek pretending to be annoyed because I took a photo of him while eating. Derek standing in front of an unfinished building, wearing a white hard hat and smiling like he'd personally invented architecture. Then there was us. My favorite. A blurry photo taken inside his car. I was laughing. He wasn't looking at the camera. He was looking at me. I zoomed in. “Babalik ka rin,” I whispered. I don't know if I was reassuring myself or threatening him. Maybe both. Three days passed. No calls. No messages. On the third morning, Lara came to my apartment. She looked terrible. Her hair was tied carelessly behind her head. Wala siyang makeup. Her eyes were swollen. The moment I opened the door, she hugged me. Hard. Too hard. “Aray,” sabi ko, trying to laugh. “Ano ba?” She didn't let go. “Lara?” Her body shook. I frowned. “Uy.” I pulled away. She immediately wiped her face. “Bakit ka umiiyak?” “Wala.” “Sinungaling.” She looked at me for a long time. There was something strange in her expression. Fear. Pity. Maybe both. “Mika…” “What?” Her lips parted. No words came. Then she looked past me, toward my apartment. Toward the small dining table where Derek's unfinished sketch was still lying. The house. The balcony. The tree. The two stick figures. Someday. Lara covered her mouth. “Lara?” She turned away. “Sorry.” My chest tightened. “For what?” She shook her head. “Wala.” “Then stop crying.” I grabbed tissues from the counter and handed them to her. “Kung boyfriend problem 'to, wala akong emotional capacity ngayon. Pumila ka.” She stared at me. “Boyfriend problem?” “Derek.” Her face changed. I continued before she could speak. “Hindi pa rin siya nagre-reply.” “Mika…” “Three days na.” “Mika, please—” “Feeling ko tinuloy niya.” “T-tinuloy?” “Canada.” Silence. I shrugged, pretending the thought didn't destroy me. “Remember? Yung offer sa firm doon? Baka umalis na siya.” Lara stared at me as if I'd spoken in another language. “Canada?” “Yeah.” “Mika…” “At least iyon ang logical, 'di ba?” My voice cracked. I hated it. I looked away. “He couldn't even say goodbye properly.” Lara started crying again. I sighed. “Bakit ikaw ang umiiyak? Ako nga 'yung iniwan.” She didn't answer. Instead, she hugged me again. And this time— I let her. The first letter came almost a month later. The fifteenth. I remember that morning clearly. Or at least— I think I do. I woke up at exactly 7:41. Showered. Made coffee. Toast. Two eggs. I arranged them neatly on my plate because that's what I do when I feel like everything else is falling apart. If I couldn't control Derek, I could control breakfast. If I couldn't control why he left, I could control where my coffee mug sat on the table. Handle facing right. Always. At 8:03, I went downstairs. There was an envelope inside my mailbox. Yellow. No return address. My name was written across the front. MIKA REYES I stopped breathing. I knew that handwriting. I'd seen it on birthday cards. Post-it notes. Receipts. Napkins. Blueprint margins. My refrigerator. Once, even on my arm when Derek got drunk and wrote: PROPERTY OF THE WORLD'S MOST ANNOYING ARCHITECT I touched the envelope. My fingers trembled. “No…” I looked around. Empty hallway. No footsteps. No voices. I pulled the envelope from the mailbox. There was no stamp. I didn't notice that then. Or maybe I did. There are many things I no longer know whether I noticed. I brought it upstairs. Locked the door. Placed the envelope on the table. For almost ten minutes, I only stared at it. Then I smelled it. His perfume. Faint. Almost gone. But unmistakable. My knees weakened. “Derek.” I tore the envelope open. Inside was a single sheet of cream-colored paper. Three short lines. My Mika, Kumain ka na ba? I'm sorry. — D I don't remember crying. I remember laughing. I remember pressing the letter against my chest. I remember sitting on the kitchen floor. And I remember thinking— I knew it. I knew you wouldn't leave me like that. I read the letter until I memorized every curve of every letter. Then I took out a piece of paper. And replied. Dear Derek, Galit pa rin ako sa'yo. I stopped. There was a small black stain on the side of my hand. Ink. I stared at it. For some reason, I couldn't remember where it came from. I rubbed it away. Then continued writing. Pero kumain na ako. Ikaw ba? — Mika I folded the letter carefully. Placed it inside an envelope. And wrote his name. DEREK SANTOS. I didn't have an address. So I placed it inside a box beneath my bed. Someday, I thought. Kapag bumalik siya, ibibigay ko lahat. Every word. Every unanswered question. Every night I spent waiting. Because Derek was still out there. And as long as he kept writing— I could wait. I would wait. I just didn't know then that the first letter would become twelve. Then twenty-four. Then thirty-six. I didn't know that three years later, I would still recognize his handwriting before I even opened the envelope. I didn't know that eventually, someone would tell me to stop. And most of all— I didn't know that one day, I would have to ask myself the question I should have asked from the very beginning. If Derek was really the one sending the letters… why couldn't I remember seeing him leave? -END OF PROLOGUE