The Outlier’s Perimeter (English)

27 (Part 1)

I did not sleep well.

I mean, I slept. Technically. But it was the kind of sleep where your brain refuses to fully commit, the kind where you’re only half-conscious and you keep replaying scenes you wish you could delete from your system. At 4:47 AM, I gave up. I just stared at the white ceiling of my room, and I had a very serious, urgent pep talk with myself.

Jhaicie Mielle Olivarde. Are you serious? It's just a man. He's just your neighbor. Just a business associate. You shouldn't be thinking about this!

I nodded to the ceiling, as if someone agreed with me. You're great, Jhaicie. You're great at inventing problems.

By 5:30 AM, I was in the shower, forcing the cold water to clear my head. By 6:15 AM, I was fully dressed. Navy slacks, a crisp white silk blouse, and low block heels because I needed stability this Monday. I let my hair be, not because of anyone. Just because. Just because I felt like it. I grabbed my bag, my keys, and my coffee tumbler, took one deep, grounding breath, and swung my door open.

The hallway was completely empty.

It's fine. I exhaled, tension leaving my shoulders. Normal day. No Ramiel. No chaos. I pressed the elevator button and waited, scrolling through my phone to check my emails. There were three emails from Brenda, time-stamped past midnight, because that woman apparently doesn't sleep, one from Charisse about a new trademark inquiry, and one from Gerald with the subject line: "last night was great! (the food lol)"

I was smiling at Ghe's message when the elevator dinged and the heavy metal doors opened.

I froze for a second. Just one.

He was already inside.

Ramiel. He was holding two cups of coffee from the artisanal café downstairs, looking entirely too awake for this ungodly hour. He was wearing just a plain white shirt and dark slacks, looking like he hadn't spent a single ounce of effort, yet he still somehow managed to look like a spread from a men's magazine.

My internal radar went completely haywire, but I forced my feet to move into the elevator.

"Morning," he said, his voice easy and relaxed. As if we did this every day. He’s got a lot of nerve.

"Morning," I replied, keeping my tone perfectly flat, eyes locked onto the floor numbers lighting up above the door.

A heavy beat of silence stretched between us. In the smallness of the elevator, I could feel every breath he took. Breathe, Jhaicie. Don't look at him.

Then, in my peripheral vision, I saw him extend one of the coffee cups toward me. No explanation. No "here you go" or "I got this for you." He just offered it in that quiet, unhurried way, like it was the most natural transaction in the world.

I looked at the cup, then at him. He was already looking back at the floor numbers, patiently waiting. He was like a statue.

I don't want it. I should say no. Firmly, I opened my mouth to decline, to show him that I wasn't someone who could be easily swayed.

"I'm late," I said instead, and my hand reached out and took the cup, then whispered, “Ugh! Bakit ba ang rupok ng kamay na ito?! Nakakainis!“ ("Ugh! Why is this hand so weak?! It's annoying.")

I saw the slight curve at the corner of his lips, but he managed to suppress it before it broke out completely. I quickly looked back at the display panel. Twenty-seven floors is a long way down, and right now, the elevator felt like it was moving through molasses. The usual me sometimes speaks my mind louder: “Ang bagal. Bilis-bilisan mo naman, elevator! (“It’s so slow. Speed it up, elevator!") “

"Good coffee?" he asked, his baritone vibrating in the small space. His voice sounded like it was caressing the back of my neck.

I took a cautious sip. It was, unfortunately, the exact premium dark roast with a dash of almond milk that I always order. How did he know? Was he stalking me? "It's fine," I said, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing he got it right.

This time, he did smile. Briefly. A small curve at the corner of his lips that lingered in his hazel eyes. He said nothing else, but the air felt charged. He knew I was surprised. He knew I was nervous.

The moment the elevator hit the lobby and the doors opened, I stepped out immediately. My heels clicked sharply against the polished marble, a steady beat that matched my internal panic. "Thanks for the coffee," I said, already accelerating toward the exit.

"Anytime, neighbor," his voice drifted behind me, smooth and confident.

I did not look back. I wouldn't look back. No matter what happened, I wouldn't look back.

Ramiel watched her walk away, his eyes lingering on her back until she disappeared into the morning crowd. He took a slow sip of his own coffee, his Tagalog-speaking brain replaying her muttered complaints. "Why is this hand so weak?" he whispered to himself, a genuine, amused smile finally breaking across his face.

She has no idea.

At the office, I am in my element. This I know. This I am sure of.

By 6:45 AM, I was already logged in. While my colleagues were still busy lining up for coffee in the pantry, I was straight to work. My desk was set according to the Feng Shui principles I’d read about: orderly, clutter-free, and full of clarity.

By the time Brenda even knocked on my glass partition at half past nine, I could already feel my momentum. I had demolished the two corporate briefs that the legal team needed to review tomorrow. I had also finished my conference call with the client in Cebu; the conversation went well, they were a bit pushy about the trademark naming convention, but I handled it. And before the clock could alarm, I had finished the full technical review of the FastCarTech documents.

I was on a roll. Legal armor: fully active.

Sometimes, when the office is too quiet, I can hear the beating of my own heart. Just breathe, Jhaicie. I reminded myself. When I’m busy, I forget Ramiel’s name. I forget the nervousness in the elevator. I forget that I have a neighbor with hazel eyes who is always testing my composure.

It was 9:30 AM when Brenda knocked. I didn't even feel tired. I prefer it this way, the focus, the precision, the control. At work, there are no "unplanned variables." When there’s a problem, there’s a solution. When there’s a dead end, there’s a workaround.

The world outside is different. The world in the hallway of the 27th floor is different.

When Brenda entered, carrying the thick manila folder, I could already see it on her face. The look that said she had some gossip she could spread in five minutes. She was wearing her exact look from when she was searching for an opportunity to drop a "bomb."

Like a sniper waiting for the right timing. "What is it now?" I asked, not even lifting my eyes from my desk blotter. I was serious about checking the final sentences of my report. I didn't want to break the flow.

"Nothing," she said, setting the folder down with a soft thud. "Have you eaten, Ate? You look haggard. You might faint in front of the clients later; that would be embarrassing."

"Yes. I ate."

"I only saw you holding coffee earlier when you walked in..."

"Brenda."

I didn't even have to look up to know she was doing that annoying pout of hers. There she goes again.

"Ok, ok. You say so. So defensive, Atty.!" She sat across from me uninvited, pulling out her notepad and clicking her pen with practiced familiarity. "So, I confirmed the FastCarTech kickoff meeting for Thursday at two. Their team is coming here to the office. Three of them are arriving: Mr. Reyes, then his two partners, Matthew Clark and..."

"Ramiel," I said, my voice smooth, keeping my eyes fixed on the text in front of me.

Ramiel. Just by mentioning his name, it felt like some kind of electricity flowed across my table. But I didn't show it. I couldn't afford a mistake.

"Yes. Ramiel Santiago. You were the one who gave me the details, so I know." She paused, her pen hovering. "You already know him?"

The question sounded completely innocent. Brenda doesn't have a devious bone in her body, but I know this woman like I know my own case files. I could feel the intense and curious tilt of her head, even though I wasn't looking. I could feel her gaze, like an X-ray.

"We've been introduced, yes," I said evenly. "Through Ghe."

"Ah." A beat. "What do they look like? So I know what kind of catering we should order, the 'handsome' kind or the 'serious professional' kind?"

"Brenda."

"Professional demographic question, Atty! It's important for the meeting's branding!"

I finally lifted my head and stared at her. She was wearing her most angelic, saint-like expression, her pen poised over the paper. I stared at her for exactly three seconds to let the silence do the talking.

"Set up the conference room for Thursday," I commanded, my corporate frequency fully locking in. "I want the full novelty search findings on the table before they step foot in reception. And I need the prior art comparison ready from the automotive industry side; did we get the credentials from the specialist at JAMA?"

"I coordinated with them yesterday," she said, nodding quickly, her pen flying across the paper. "They said they’ll send the documents today. Excited much?"

"Good." I bent back over my document. Just keep working, Jhaicie. Just keep working.

She didn't move.

"Brenda."

"Ate." Her voice dropped into a lower, softer register, the playful cadence completely gone. "How are you really? Not the 'fine' answer for a client. The answer for a human."

I stilled. Just for a fraction of a second. Then I set my silver pen down, leaned back in my leather chair, and looked at her properly.

"I'm fine," I said, keeping my voice steady. "Why do you have so many questions? I have a workload to finish."

She studied my face, searching for any tells in my expression. Then she nodded once, satisfied or not, I couldn't tell. "Ok," she said simply. "Lunch with me later, okay? Because if not, I'm telling Mr. Reyes that you're skipping meals again."

"I will go out and have lunch with you," I smiled faintly. "Now go. I need to clear this stack before eleven."

She stood up, smoothed her skirt, and walked toward the glass door. Just before her hand turned the handle, she paused and turned back. I already knew exactly what was coming.

"Ate…"

"What now?" I sighed, trying to look annoyed.

"He's handsome, right?" she whispered, a massive, shameless smile breaking across her face. "Even though I haven't seen him, I can feel from your aura that he's handsome. Don't worry, Ate, it's just professional. But if you want to make it personal, just keep it a secret from me. I can keep a secret... mostly."

Then she slid the door shut before I could throw my paperweight at her.

“Mokong na bata 'to.” ("This rascal!") I sank back into my leather chair, the silence of the office suddenly feeling heavy, suffocating. My heart rate was doing a weird, uneven skip, lub-dub, lub-dub, skip, as if it were a broken metronome.

“Handsome?” I shook my head violently, as if I could physically eject the thought from my brain. I grabbed my pen, ready to attack the next document, but my hand hovered over the paper.