Christmas break crept in quietly, wrapped in the glow of parols and the faint sound of Jose Mari Chan echoing from every jeepney radio in Manila. The city slowed, the chaos softening into something warm and familiar. For most students, it meant rest. For Mariella, it meant going home.
Two weeks in Cavite. Two weeks away from Manila, from law school, from Paul.
The trip south felt longer than usual, the bus windows fogging as she leaned her head against the glass. She watched the cityscape dissolve into open roads, the air shifting from exhaust to salt and rain. She hadn’t realized how much she missed the sight of trees, of laundry lines stretching between rooftops, of the soft chaos of the province that smelled like her childhood.
Her parents’ house sat on a quiet street lined with guma
