Noted with Reservations

CHAPTER 5: Calculation Error

The sound of the rain on the tin roof of the gotohan was like a symphony of chaos. Inside, the steam from the large pots wrapped around us, offering a strange sense of privacy in the middle of the crowd.

"Hey, your handkerchief is going to get dirty," I said, staring at the white cloth in my hand.

"You're so picky. You might end up billing me for the laundry."

"It's just a handkerchief, Cruz. Stop overanalyzing everything I do and start eating. Your porridge is getting cold," he replied, though he wasn't looking at me.

His gaze was fixed outside, watching the cars pass as they splashed water across the road.

I grabbed some calamansi and fish sauce.

"You know, Architect, in a place like this, you have to know the right ratio. You can't just wing it. Think of the fish sauce as the structural integrity and the calamansi as the aesthetics."

He turned slightly, one eyebrow raised.

"Is that how you view food? Through architecture?"

"Why not? Everything is built, Waeren. Even this goto has a foundation. If it lacks garlic, the flavor collapses." I squeezed the calamansi hard, and unfortunately, a squirt of juice flew straight onto Waeren's cheek.

The world stopped. The man who wouldn't even let a speck of dust touch him at a site now had calamansi juice on his face.

"See? That's what I'm talking about," I whispered, slowly reaching for a tissue.

"Calculation error."

Instead of getting angry, Waeren took the tissue from my hand. He wiped his cheek slowly.

"You are a walking safety hazard, Cruz. I should've made you sign a waiver before I hired you as an assistant."

"At least your life isn't boring now, right?"

He didn't answer right away. He toyed with the spoon in his bowl.

"My life was perfectly fine being boring. It was predictable. I like predictable."

"Why? What are you so afraid of in the unpredictable?"

"Failure," he answered shortly.

"When things are predictable, you can prepare for them. You can design around them. But people like you... you're a variable that doesn't fit in any equation."

I went silent. I could feel the weight of what he said. Behind his perfectionism was a man terrified of making a mistake because he might crumble.

After the rain, we went back to the university. But not to a classroom—we went to Studio B, the territory of the fifth-year students. Since I was his PA, I was allowed into this restricted area.

The air here smelled like success and sleepless nights. There were more expensive computers, larger drafting tables, and it was much quieter.

"Sit," he pointed to the chair beside his table. "Open your laptop. We’re going to redo your floor plans."

"Right now? Waeren, I’m a mess."

"The best time to fix a mistake is the moment you realize it," he said, opening his own workstation.

For the next four hours, he became my teacher. But he wasn't like our professors who just dictated. With Waeren, every click of the mouse had an explanation. Every keyboard shortcut had logic.

"Use the offset tool here. Don't manual-draw the wall thickness. You're wasting seconds," he said, his hand moving over mine to show the correct position on the mouse.

For a second, I stopped breathing. The warmth of his skin, the closeness of his face to my shoulder—I suddenly forgot all my CAD commands.

"Cruz? Are you listening?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Offset. Walls. I get it."

"Your face is red. Is it the coffee, or are you having an allergic reaction to productivity?"

"Whatever! Just focus on the plan!" I snapped to hide my nerves.

As the night grew deeper, the studio slowly emptied. Only we were left in our corner. The only light came from the computer monitors and Waeren's desk lamp.

"Why do you have to be this good?" I asked while waiting for my rendering to finish.

"Can't you just be 'okay'?"

Waeren leaned back in his ergonomic chair. He looked tired too, but his posture remained perfect.

"My father is an engineer. My mother is a renowned interior designer. In my house, 'okay' is a synonym for disappointment. Every project I make is an audition for their approval."

I looked at him. The Golden Boy of Architecture was carrying hollow blocks this heavy in his chest.

"Well, at my house, as long as I get home alive and bring some ice candy, I’m a legend," I joked, trying to lighten the mood.

He smiled. A real smile. Not forced, not sarcastic. A smile that revealed a dimple on his left cheek that I only just noticed.

"You're lucky then, Cruz."

"I'm not just lucky. I'm pretty, too."

He laughed softly, a sound I never thought I’d hear from him.

"Your confidence is the only thing that's consistently to scale."

It was early morning again by the time we finished. My plate that had been ruined by the rain looked much better now than the original. Cleaner, more professional. Thanks to the robot sitting next to me.

"I'll drive you home," he said as he packed his things.

"No need, someone might see us and think this is a date. It’ll ruin your reputation as 'The Cold Architect'."

"My reputation can handle it. Your safety cannot."

Inside the car, as we cruised the dark roads, the silence felt more comfortable. It wasn't the awkward kind of silence anymore. It felt like a rest in the middle of a long song. When we reached my house, I didn't get out right away.

"Waeren," I called out.

"Yes?"

"Thanks. For the goto. For the CAD. For being... not too bad today."

He looked at me. The light from the dashboard hit his eyes.

"Don't get used to it, PA. Tomorrow, we start on the site models. 7:00 a.m."

"Seriously, no day off?"

"Success doesn't have a weekend, Cruz."

I got out of the car with a smile on my face. As I watched his black sedan drive away, I realized something.

The wall Waeren built around himself? I could feel the cracks forming. And me... I’m the curve that’s going to break all his straight lines.

I went inside and saw my notebook on the table. I opened the last page and added a new entry:

Update on Waeren: He has a dimple on the left. And he doesn't look like a robot when he laughs. Note to self: Don't stare too much, I might fall. And it’s hard to repair a heart that has collapsed.