Letters after Goodbye

CHAPTER 1 The Fifteenth

MIKA'S POV

October 15 — 8:03 AM

May dilaw na sobre sa mailbox ko.

Napangiti ako.

“On time.”

Thirty-six months.

At kahit minsan, hindi niya nakalimutan.

Hinawakan ko ang sobre at marahang hinaplos ng hinlalaki ang pangalan ko sa harap.

MIKA REYES

Hindi ko na kailangang buksan para malaman kung kanino galing.

Kabisado ko ang sulat-kamay niya.

Medyo nakahilig sa kanan. Malinis kapag kalmado siya, pero nagiging magulo kapag nagmamadali. Mahaba ang buntot ng y, at palaging parang kulang ang pagkakasara niya sa letrang a.

Derek.

Tatlong taon na mula nang umalis siya.

Tatlong taon na rin mula nang matutunan kong huwag nang magtanong kung kailan siya babalik.

Noong una, binibilang ko pa.

Isang buwan.

Dalawa.

Anim.

Isang taon.

Pero eventually, nakakapagod din palang bilangin kung gaano ka na katagal naghihintay sa isang tao.

Kaya tumigil ako.

Ang hindi ko lang kailanman tinigilan ay ang paghihintay sa ika-labinlima.

Every fifteenth.

Isang sulat.

Minsan mahaba.

Minsan tatlong linya lang.

Minsan puro kwento tungkol sa panahon, trabaho, o kung anong pagkain ang nakita niyang siguradong hindi ko kakainin.

Pero palaging may dalawang bagay.

Tinatanong niya kung kumain na ako.

At sinasabi niyang mahal niya pa rin ako.

Hindi ko alam kung matutuwa ba ako o maiinis sa consistency niya.

“Three years, Derek,” bulong ko habang umaakyat pabalik sa unit ko. “Hindi ka man lang natutong gumamit ng email?”

Tahimik ang hallway.

Alas-otso pa lang ng umaga at karamihan sa mga kapitbahay ko ay nasa trabaho na o naghahanda pa lang umalis.

Ako?

Work from home today.

Sinadya ko.

Every fifteenth, hindi ako nagse-set ng client meeting bago mag-alas-diyes.

Hindi dahil naghihintay ako.

At least iyon ang sinasabi ko sa sarili ko.

Pagpasok ko sa apartment, agad kong isinara ang pinto gamit ang paa.

Nasa dining table pa ang breakfast ko.

Toast.

Scrambled eggs.

Coffee.

Handle facing right.

Humina na ang init ng kape, pero okay lang.

Mas importante ang hawak ko.

Umupo ako.

Inilapag ko ang sobre sa harap ko.

Hindi ko agad binuksan.

May ritual ako.

Nakakatawa, alam ko.

Pero after thirty-six letters, nagkaroon na rin ako ng sariling sistema.

Una, tinitingnan ko ang envelope.

Pangalawa, inaamoy ko.

Pangatlo, saka ko bubuksan.

“Ang creepy mo, Mika,” bulong ko sa sarili ko.

Pero ginawa ko pa rin.

Inilapit ko ang sobre sa ilong ko.

At nandoon iyon.

Mahina na.

Pero pamilyar.

Pabango ni Derek.

Hindi ko alam kung anong brand iyon. Ilang beses ko siyang tinanong dati pero lagi niyang sagot, Secret. Para kapag naamoy mo sa ibang lalaki, ako pa rin maiisip mo.

Napaka-confident.

Napaka-assuming.

Napaka-Derek.

Napangiti ako.

Then I opened the envelope.

Isang cream-colored na papel.

Simple.

Walang design.

Walang date.

Katulad ng karamihan sa mga sulat niya.

Binuklat ko iyon.

My Mika,

Kumain ka na ba?

Napatingin ako sa plato ko.

“Hindi pa. Kasalanan mo.”

Bumalik ang mata ko sa sulat.

Namiss kita kagabi sa panaginip.

Nandoon tayo sa lumang café. Ikaw pa rin ang umiinom ng kape na parang dessert dahil mas marami ang gatas kaysa kape.

Napailing ako.

“Excuse me.”

Totoo naman.

Pero still.

Galit ka pa rin ba sa akin?

Nawala nang kaunti ang ngiti ko.

I continued.

Sana hindi na.

Minsan iniisip ko kung pareho pa rin ba ang itsura mo kapag naiinis. Kumukunot pa rin ba ang noo mo? Kinakagat mo pa rin ba ang loob ng pisngi mo kapag ayaw mong magsalita?

Hindi ko namalayang ginagawa ko iyon ngayon.

Agad kong tinigilan.

I hope you're taking care of yourself.

Mahal pa rin kita.

— D

Tahimik akong nakaupo.

Ilang segundo.

Siguro isang minuto.

Then I folded the letter carefully.

Hindi ko alam kung bakit, pero kahit thirty-sixth time ko nang makatanggap nito, may parte pa rin sa akin na parang unang beses.

May kiliti.

May sakit.

May galit.

May saya.

Lahat sabay-sabay.

Nakakainis.

Derek had always been good at doing that.

Kahit wala siya, nakakaya niya pa ring guluhin ang araw ko gamit lang ang isang pirasong papel.

Kinuha ko ang toast.

“Kumakain na ako,” sabi ko.

As if he could hear me.

I took a bite.

Then my phone vibrated.

BZZT.

Napatingin ako.

Nasa kabilang side ng table ang phone ko.

May bagong message.

Unknown number.

Kinuha ko iyon habang ngumunguya.

Binuksan ko.

Isang sentence lang.

Stop opening the letters.

Natigil ako sa pagnguya.

I stared at the screen.

“What?”

Binasa ko ulit.

Stop opening the letters.

Walang pangalan.

Walang ibang message.

Unknown number.

Napakunot ang noo ko.

Nag-type ako.

Who is this?

Sent.

Naghintay ako.

Nothing.

Do I know you?

Sent.

Wala pa rin.

Napatingin ako sa letter ni Derek.

Then back to my phone.

Maybe spam?

Pero anong klaseng spam ang magsasabing huwag akong magbukas ng letters?

Maybe wrong number.

Coincidence.

Yes.

That made more sense.

Nagkataon lang.

I locked my phone and placed it face down.

“People are weird.”

Tinapos ko ang toast.

Pero hindi ko naubos ang itlog.

“Thirty-six?”

“Thirty-six.”

“Sure ka?”

“Lara, marunong akong magbilang.”

“Debatable.”

“Bakit ba kita kaibigan?”

“Because no one else tolerates you.”

“Wow.”

“Love you.”

“Hindi mutual.”

Nasa video call kami habang nag-aayos ako ng files para sa isang client.

Nasa office si Lara. Kita ko sa likod niya ang puting wall at isang halaman na ilang buwan na niyang ipinagmamalaking buhay pa kahit obvious namang plastic.

Nakasalamin siya ngayon at nakapusod ang buhok.

“Show me,” sabi niya.

“Ano?”

“The letter.”

I stopped moving my mouse.

“Why?”

“Curious ako.”

“Since when?”

“Since forever?”

“No. Every month sinasabi mong ayaw mong makita.”

Nagkibit-balikat siya.

“Changed my mind.”

I studied her face through the screen.

“Okay ka lang?”

“Of course.”

“Parang hindi.”

“Grabe. Nag-request lang ako makita ang sulat, may diagnosis na agad?”

Tumawa ako.

“Wait.”

Tumayo ako at kinuha ang letter mula sa dining table.

Pagbalik ko sa laptop, itinaas ko iyon sa camera.

“Happy?”

Hindi agad sumagot si Lara.

Tinitigan niya lang ang screen.

“Lara?”

“Hmm?”

“Hello?”

“Yeah. Nakikita ko.”

“Parang nakakita ka ng multo.”

Biglang gumalaw ang mata niya papunta sa akin.

Then she laughed.

Too quickly.

“Arte mo.”

“Thirty-sixth.”

“Yeah.”

There was something strange in her voice.

Hindi ko ma-explain.

Pero matagal ko nang kilala si Lara.

College pa lang kami, magkaibigan na.

Kaya alam ko kapag may tinatago siya.

“May problema?”

“Wala.”

“Liar.”

“Mika.”

“Lara.”

“May trabaho ako.”

“May trabaho rin ako.”

“Then work.”

“You called me.”

“Fine. Babaan ko na.”

“Wait.”

I leaned closer.

“Seriously. Okay ka lang?”

She sighed.

“Okay lang ako.”

Then her eyes went toward the letter again.

“It's just…”

“Ano?”

She hesitated.

“Mika, three years na.”

Nawala ang ngiti ko.

There it was.

The sentence I hated.

Three years na.

Parang magic phrase na ginagamit ng mga tao kapag gusto nilang sabihin sa'yo kung gaano katagal ka na dapat nakaka-move on.

Three years na.

As if grief had a deadline.

As if love expired.

As if may calendar invitation akong matatanggap na:

Congratulations! Today is the appropriate date to stop caring.

“I know,” sagot ko.

“Hindi ko naman sinasabi na—”

“Then don't.”

“Mika.”

“I'm fine.”

“I didn't say you're not.”

“Pero iyon ang ibig mong sabihin.”

Lara removed her glasses.

“Minsan kasi feeling ko—”

“Don't.”

“Mika, listen.”

“I said I'm fine.”

“Minsan hindi porke sinasabi mong okay ka, okay ka talaga.”

Natawa ako nang walang humor.

“And sometimes hindi porke iniwan ka ng isang tao, kailangan mong burahin lahat tungkol sa kanya.”

“I never said that.”

“Then ano?”

Tahimik siya.

I waited.

Finally, she said, “Move on ka na.”

Napatingin ako sa kanya.

There was no anger in her face.

Just exhaustion.

And something else.

Something I didn't want to identify.

Pity.

I hated pity.

“Paano ako magmo-move on?” tanong ko.

“Mika—”

“Paano?”

She opened her mouth.

I lifted the letter.

“Nagsusulat pa rin siya sa akin every month.”

Lara went completely still.

I frowned.

“Lara?”

Nothing.

Her face had lost color.

“Uy.”

“Mika…”

“Ano?”

“Anong ibig mong sabihin?”

Now it was my turn to stare.

“Seriously?”

“Every month?”

“Yes?”

“Since when?”

Napatawa ako.

“Are you kidding?”

“Answer me.”

“Since he left.”

Her expression changed again.

“Every month?”

“Yes, Lara. You know this.”

“I…”

Her eyes moved away from the screen.

I felt irritation rising.

“Anong problema?”

“Nothing.”

“Then stop acting weird.”

She pressed her lips together.

For several seconds, she said nothing.

Then:

“May meeting ako.”

“Lara.”

“I'll call you later.”

“Wait—”

The screen went black.

Call ended.

I stared at it.

“What the hell?”

By lunch, hindi pa rin nagme-message si Lara.

Normally, after every tiny disagreement, siya pa ang unang magpapadala ng meme na walang kinalaman sa pinag-awayan namin.

Ngayon, wala.

I sent:

Drama queen.

Seen.

No reply.

Another:

Lunch tayo?

Seen.

Nothing.

I rolled my eyes.

“Fine.”

Nagtrabaho ako.

Or tried to.

May ginagawa akong branding package para sa isang small skincare company. Tatlong araw ko nang inaayos ang typography nila dahil hindi makapag-decide ang owner kung gusto niya ng minimalist o “luxurious but youthful.”

Whatever that meant.

Graphic design was basically fifty percent designing and fifty percent translating sentences that made no sense.

I adjusted the spacing.

Moved the logo.

Moved it back.

Changed the font.

Changed it back.

Then my eyes drifted toward the yellow envelope.

Nasa table pa rin.

I should put it away.

May box ako sa ilalim ng kama.

Doon ko tinatago lahat.

Thirty-five letters.

Chronological order.

May maliit na label sa bawat envelope.

Month 1.

Month 2.

Month 3.

And so on.

Tonight, magiging thirty-six na.

Three years of Derek in paper form.

Sometimes I read them.

Not all.

Kapag hindi ako makatulog, pipili lang ako ng isa.

Random.

Then I read.

There were months when Derek sounded happy.

Months when he sounded lonely.

Months when he apologized.

Months when he talked about coming home without actually promising anything.

That part used to make me angry.

Soon.

Maybe someday.

Kapag pwede na.

Never a date.

Never a flight number.

Never a promise I could hold him accountable for.

Classic Derek.

He had always been brave about everything except the things that mattered.

He could stand in front of clients and defend a design everyone hated.

He could argue with contractors twice his age.

He could climb unfinished buildings without looking down.

Pero pagdating sa feelings?

Duwag.

He would joke.

Change the subject.

Kiss my forehead.

Anything except say what he was afraid of.

Maybe that's why he left through a text.

I hated him for that.

Some days.

Other days, I missed him enough that hatred felt like a luxury.

My phone vibrated.

Agad ko iyong kinuha.

Akala ko si Lara.

Unknown number.

My stomach tightened.

Another message.

You need to let him go.

Hindi ako gumalaw.

For several seconds, nakatitig lang ako sa screen.

Then I typed:

Who are you?

No response.

How do you know about the letters?

Nothing.

I stood.

Suddenly, parang masyadong tahimik ang apartment.

Lumapit ako sa window.

Fourth floor.

Sa baba, may dumaraang delivery rider. May matandang naglalakad kasama ang maliit na aso. May dalawang batang naka-uniform.

Normal.

Everything normal.

I looked back at my phone.

Stop opening the letters.

You need to let him go.

A cold feeling crawled over my skin.

This wasn't a wrong number.

Someone knew.

But who?

Derek?

Napailing ako agad.

No.

Bakit naman niya sasabihin iyon?

Lara?

Possible.

Pero bakit unknown number?

At bakit kailangan pang magdrama?

I called the number.

One ring.

Then:

The number you have dialed cannot be reached.

I tried again.

Same.

“Seriously?”

I opened the messages.

Read them again.

Then I took a screenshot.

Sent it to Lara.

Do you know this number?

This time, mabilis siyang nagreply.

No. Why?

Someone's being creepy.

Three dots appeared.

Disappeared.

Appeared again.

Block it.

I frowned.

That's it?

What do you want me to say?

Maybe "Mika, that's weird, are you okay?"

Mika, that's weird. Are you okay?

Despite myself, natawa ako.

Asshole.

Block the number.

Fine.

Pero hindi ko binlock.

Hindi ko alam kung bakit.

Maybe curiosity.

Maybe irritation.

Or maybe because there was something about the messages that felt personal.

Not threatening.

Not exactly.

More like—

a warning.

Dumating si Lara sa apartment ko nang alas-sais ng gabi.

Walang text.

Walang tawag.

Basta kumatok.

Pagbukas ko ng pinto, may hawak siyang paper bag.

“Peace offering.”

I crossed my arms.

“Ano 'yan?”

“Chicken.”

“Accepted.”

“Ang dali mong bilhin.”

“Food is my love language.”

“Akala ko letters.”

I looked at her.

She immediately looked away.

Interesting.

“Come in.”

Pumasok siya.

Inilagay niya ang pagkain sa table.

Napansin niyang wala na roon ang yellow envelope.

“Tinago mo na?”

“Yeah.”

“Sa box?”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Obviously.”

Tumango siya.

Then started unpacking dinner.

Tahimik siya.

Too quiet.

Usually, kapag magkasama kami, hindi kayang manahimik ni Lara nang more than thirty seconds.

“Okay,” sabi ko.

“Ano?”

“Spill.”

“Spill what?”

“Kung anong problema mo.”

“Wala.”

“Kanina ka pa weird.”

“Pagod lang.”

“Lara.”

“Mika.”

“Don't Mika me.”

“Don't Lara me.”

“Bahay ko 'to.”

“Chicken ko 'to.”

“Fair.”

Umupo ako.

She handed me rice.

For a while, kumain lang kami.

Then Lara said, “May plano ka ba?”

“Tonight?”

“No.”

“Then?”

“Sa buhay.”

I stared at her.

“Wow. Deep.”

“I'm serious.”

“Work. Pay bills. Avoid people. Die eventually.”

“Mika.”

“What?”

“Relationship.”

I nearly choked.

“Excuse me?”

“May nag-aaya ba sa'yo lumabas?”

“Why?”

“Curious.”

“Sinong may sakit? Ikaw ba o ako?”

She rolled her eyes.

“I'm asking.”

I thought about it.

There was technically someone.

Paolo.

A photographer I worked with twice.

He'd asked me for coffee.

Three times.

I declined three times.

“Maybe.”

Lara's eyes lit up.

“Who?”

“Calm down.”

“Sino?”

“Wala.”

“You said maybe.”

“I changed my mind.”

“Mika!”

“Paolo.”

“The photographer?”

I nodded.

“Cute siya.”

“Okay.”

“Single.”

“Okay.”

“May trabaho.”

“Congratulations.”

“Mukhang naliligo.”

“High standards.”

She laughed.

Finally.

The Lara I knew.

“Go out with him.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I don't want to.”

“Or because of Derek?”

There it was again.

I put my spoon down.

“Can we not?”

“I'm asking.”

“And I'm answering. Ayoko.”

“Mika, you can't keep—”

“What?”

She stopped.

“Say it.”

“Nothing.”

“No. Say it.”

“Mika…”

“What can't I keep doing?”

Her shoulders dropped.

“Waiting.”

The word sat between us.

I leaned back.

“I'm not waiting.”

She looked toward my bedroom.

Toward the place where she knew the box was hidden.

“You keep every letter.”

“So?”

“You don't date.”

“Choice ko iyon.”

“Every fifteenth, you clear your morning.”

My jaw tightened.

“How do you know that?”

“I know you.”

“I have a routine.”

“Exactly.”

“And what's wrong with that?”

“Nothing.”

“Then stop making it sound like may sakit ako.”

Her expression softened.

“I never said that.”

“You don't have to.”

“Mika…”

I stood and carried my plate to the sink.

“I'm happy.”

Silence.

“I have work. I have my own place. I pay my bills. I have friends.”

“One friend.”

I looked back.

She smiled weakly.

I almost smiled too.

Almost.

“I'm okay, Lara.”

“I know.”

“Then believe me.”

She looked down.

“I want to.”

Something about the way she said it irritated me.

Or scared me.

I wasn't sure which.

Before I could respond, my phone buzzed on the table.

Both of us looked at it.

Unknown number.

Lara froze.

I noticed.

“It's them.”

“Don't open it.”

Her answer came too quickly.

I looked at her.

“What?”

“Block mo na kasi.”

“Wait.”

“Mika.”

I picked up the phone.

“Mika, don't.”

I opened the message.

Ask Lara what happened three years ago.

Everything went quiet.

My eyes slowly lifted.

Lara was staring at me.

“What?” she asked.

I didn't answer.

“Mika?”

I turned the phone toward her.

She read it.

And for the second time that day—

the color disappeared from her face.

“Lara?”

She stood abruptly.

“Who sent that?”

“I don't know.”

“Who?”

“I said I don't know.”

“May pinagsabihan ka ba?”

“About what?”

“The letters.”

“Of course not.”

“Sure ka?”

“Yes!”

She grabbed my phone.

“Hey!”

She looked at the number.

Then at the previous messages.

Her breathing changed.

“Lara.”

She handed it back.

“Block it.”

“Why?”

“Just block it.”

“Why?”

“Mika, please.”

I stared at her.

She looked afraid.

Not annoyed.

Not worried.

Afraid.

“Anong nangyari three years ago?”

Her eyes met mine.

For one second, I thought she would answer.

Instead:

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

“Wala.”

“Then bakit ganyan mukha mo?”

“Because someone is messing with you!”

“About Derek?”

“I don't know!”

“You know something.”

“I don't.”

“Lara.”

She grabbed her bag.

“I need to go.”

“What?”

“May kailangan akong gawin.”

“You just got here.”

“I'll call you tomorrow.”

“Lara!”

She walked toward the door.

I followed.

“Hindi ka pwedeng aalis pagkatapos nito.”

She stopped with one hand on the doorknob.

Her back was facing me.

“Please,” sabi ko, quieter this time. “Ano bang nangyayari?”

For a moment, she didn't move.

Then she looked over her shoulder.

There were tears in her eyes.

That scared me more than anything.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered.

My chest tightened.

“For what?”

She shook her head.

Then left.

The door closed.

And I stood there alone.

Hindi ako nakatulog.

At 11:47 PM, nasa sahig ako ng bedroom ko.

Nasa harap ko ang box.

White.

Rectangular.

Simple.

May maliit na label sa ibabaw.

D.

Binuksan ko.

Thirty-six yellow envelopes.

Thirty-six letters.

Tatlong taon.

Kinuha ko ang una.

Then the second.

Then the twelfth.

The twenty-fourth.

The thirty-fifth.

Inilatag ko sa sahig.

Different months.

Different words.

Same handwriting.

Same paper.

Same Derek.

I picked up tonight's letter.

My Mika,

Kumain ka na ba?

My throat tightened.

Of course I had.

Chicken.

With Lara.

Lara, who had practically run out of my apartment after seeing one message.

Ask Lara what happened three years ago.

I pressed my fingers against my forehead.

Three years ago.

Derek left.

Three days later, Canada.

That was it.

Wasn't it?

I tried to remember the exact day he left.

Airport.

Did I take him to the airport?

No.

Obviously not.

We weren't speaking.

Did he tell me his flight?

No.

Lara?

Maybe Lara told me.

Or—

I stopped.

There was something.

A strange image.

White.

Flowers.

A room filled with people.

Then gone.

I blinked.

“Pagod ka lang.”

I looked at the letters again.

Canada.

Derek was in Canada.

He wrote to me.

Every month.

That's what mattered.

I reached for Letter #14.

My Mika,

Malamig dito ngayon. You'd hate it.

Canada.

See?

Letter #21.

I saw a building today that reminded me of the design you hated.

Architect.

Derek.

Letter #29.

Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I came home.

My eyes burned.

“Then come home.”

My voice sounded pathetic in the empty room.

I hated it.

“Come home, Derek.”

Silence.

Of course.

Paper doesn't answer.

My phone buzzed.

I froze.

12:01 AM.

October 16.

Unknown number.

For several seconds, I couldn't touch it.

Then I reached for the phone.

One new message.

You don't remember, do you?

My heartbeat became painfully loud.

I typed immediately.

Remember what?

This time—

three dots appeared.

Someone was typing.

I sat completely still.

The dots disappeared.

Appeared again.

Then a message arrived.

The goodbye.

My hands went cold.

I stared at the screen.

Then another message.

You remember the letters.

Another.

You remember Canada.

My breathing became shallow.

Then—

But you don't remember saying goodbye.

I dropped the phone.

It landed beside the letters.

For a long time, I didn't move.

I looked around my room.

At the box.

At thirty-six envelopes.

At three years of words.

At the life I had carefully arranged around one day every month.

I picked up the first letter.

Then the newest.

Same handwriting.

Same paper.

Same man.

“Derek,” I whispered.

For the first time in three years, saying his name didn't make me feel less alone.

It made the room feel crowded.

I stood.

Closed the box.

Placed every letter back exactly where it belonged.

One.

Two.

Three.

All the way to thirty-six.

Chronological.

Organized.

Safe.

Things made sense when they were organized.

Dates.

Letters.

Memories.

Everything had its place.

Derek left.

Derek went to Canada.

Derek wrote to me.

Those were facts.

I knew them.

I remembered them.

Didn't I?

I closed the lid.

Then I noticed something on the floor.

A tiny piece of cream-colored paper.

Probably torn from one of the letters.

I picked it up.

Blank.

I threw it into the trash.

Turned off the light.

Got into bed.

And pulled the blanket over myself.

I didn't look at my phone again.

I didn't read the message again.

I didn't need to.

Because whoever was sending those texts didn't know me.

They didn't know Derek.

They didn't know what happened three years ago.

I did.

At least—

that was what I told myself until I fell asleep.

And somewhere beneath my bed, thirty-six letters waited quietly in the dark.

All written in the handwriting of the man I loved.

All carrying the same promise I had believed for three years.

That somewhere, somehow—

Derek Santos was still coming home.