When The Cupid In Love

ADRIAN'S POV "Adrian!" My mother's voice, sharp as ever, cut through the morning fog. "Get a move on! You'll be late for school again!" I groaned, burying myself deeper under the covers. The usual morning chaos ensued. Brianna, my younger sister, was her usual calm self, lost in the pages of a book. Mom, however, was a whirlwind of activity, her gaze like a hawk's, fixed on me with an intensity that could curdle milk. "What, Mom? Don't give me that look," I mumbled, grabbing a piece of toast. "Adrian," Brianna said, her voice a soothing balm in the midst of the storm, "Mom asked if you're really not going to ride with us today?" "Nope. Walking's my preferred method of transportation," I mumbled, already halfway out the door. The car pulled away, leaving me to my solitary walk to school. My usual route took me past the Blackwood Mansion, a gothic monstrosity that had always seemed to cast a long, dark shadow over the neighborhood. Its darkened windows seemed to peer out at the world with a silent, watchful gaze. But today, something was different. A sleek, black car emerged from the mansion's imposing gates, a stark contrast to the ancient stone. I caught a glimpse of a girl in my school uniform – a stranger – followed by a man in an expensive suit, his presence radiating an air of quiet authority. A shiver ran down my spine. Could they be the new owners? The Blackwood Mansion had been empty for years, a breeding ground for local legends and whispered fears. Stories of a cursed family, hidden treasures, and shadowy figures haunted the neighborhood's collective imagination. My curiosity, however, outweighed my apprehension. Later that day, walking home, I saw the black car again, further down the road. It slowed, then pulled over. I couldn't hear their conversation, but I watched from a distance. The girl's posture was slumped; her face was etched with a sadness I couldn't ignore. The man seemed to be trying to reason with her, his gestures gentle but firm. The whole scene felt… off. There was a palpable tension between them, a silent drama playing out behind the tinted windows. ISABELLA'S POV “How’s your day, Isabella?” My father’s question, soft yet firm, broke through the quiet as we stepped from the car. The Philippine heat hung heavy in the air, a stark contrast to the crisp autumn days I’d grown accustomed to in the US. “It’s… good,” I replied, forcing a smile. The truth was, it wasn’t. It was a good day in the sense that nothing terrible had happened, but it was far from enjoyable. Adjusting to a new school, a new culture, a new everything felt like trying to navigate a labyrinth blindfolded. “It would’ve been more fun in the US,” I mumbled, the words escaping before I could stop them. A wave of homesickness washed over me, a familiar ache in my chest. My father’s arm settled around my shoulders, a comforting weight against the unfamiliar landscape. “The Philippines is good, sweety,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble. “The people here are warm and accommodating. You’ll see.” As we approached the wrought-iron gates of our house, a figure caught my eye. A young man stood a short distance away, his gaze fixed on us, a flicker of apprehension in his eyes. I couldn’t help but chuckle softly; our house, a gothic monstrosity of a mansion, did tend to inspire a certain amount of unease. It looked less like a home and more like a haunted castle straight out of a gothic novel. “It’s been so long since I saw you smile like that,” my father observed, his voice laced with a hint of something I couldn’t quite place. I smiled again, a broader smile this time, hoping to mask the fact that I’d noticed the young man. It had been a week since our return from the US. This house, a place I’d visited only once a year, was now my home. My permanent home. I lived here with my father; my mother was a ghost, a void in my life I’d never dared to question. My first day at school had been… a disaster. A new environment, new faces, a new culture. Even though I was Filipina, raised in the US, I felt like an alien in my own country. The language, the customs, the very air itself felt foreign. The car pulled up to the school gates the following morning. I hurried out, exchanging a quick goodbye with our driver. As I walked, a shadow detached itself from the periphery of my vision and started to follow me. I quickened my pace, trying to lose the shadow, but it persisted. Finally, I doubled back, and there he was. The same boy I had seen near our house. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him. Where had I seen him before? Then it hit me. He was the boy from the neighborhood, the one who had watched us from a distance. ADRIAN'S POV The girl I’d been discreetly following – still nameless – startled me as she emerged from the bushes. “What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, her voice sharp and unexpectedly commanding. My heart leaped into my throat. I’d almost been caught! I stammered, “Ah… I’m… going to my room,” pointing vaguely ahead. My explanation felt weak even to my own ears. She simply nodded, her expression unreadable, and continued on her way. The encounter left me unsettled. Should I have said something more? Asked if she needed help? Why was I so drawn to observing her? She wasn't particularly interesting, or so I told myself, yet I found myself strangely captivated by her quiet solitude. The whole thing felt… wrong. I broke off my pursuit, heading back to my room, the unsettling encounter replaying in my mind. Her aloofness intrigued me; it was a stark contrast to the boisterous energy of the other students. Back at the dorm, Welson, my perpetually boisterous friend, greeted me with a grin. “Hey! Who’s the pretty girl you were trailing? Introduce me!” I flinched. “No! I don’t even know her,” I said quickly, my voice a little too high-pitched. “She’s just… quiet.” I avoided calling her “weird,” though that was the initial impression. “You were following her?” He was incredulous, his eyebrows raised in amusement. “No!” I insisted, but his skepticism was relentless. He pressed, and finally, I confessed, “Okay, I followed her to see if she was really… different.” “And?” he pressed, a playful glint in his eyes. “She’s not. I was overthinking. She’s just… solitary, I guess,” I admitted, feeling a blush creep up my neck. It felt silly, this whole clandestine observation. Later, in the cafeteria, the janitor’s intense stare unnerved me. He’d been watching me for a considerable amount of time – at least an hour, I estimated. Why? This was getting increasingly strange. He approached, his shadow looming over me, and I felt a prickle of unease. “You, follow me!” he ordered gruffly. His voice was strangely authoritative. “Me?” I stammered, my voice barely a whisper. “Yes, you,” he confirmed, his tone leaving no room for misinterpretation. He led me to a secluded corner, his pace brisk and purposeful. “You are the chosen one,” he declared, his words hanging heavy in the air. This was completely absurd. “Chosen for what?” I asked, my voice trembling slightly. “To be the cupid,” he said, a crazed glint in his eye. The statement was so outlandish it bordered on comical, yet the intensity in his gaze was unsettling. I fled, convinced he was utterly insane. Relief washed over me when I spotted Welson. “Where have you been?” he demanded, his voice laced with irritation. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” I explained my bizarre encounter, and then his eyes widened as he spotted her, the girl from the neighborhood, calmly eating her lunch. “I saw the girl you were following! She’s here!” he exclaimed, his voice a mixture of surprise and excitement. “Let’s go talk to her,” Welson said, his enthusiasm undeterred. “No! She clearly wants to be left alone,” I insisted, gesturing towards her strategically placed bag, which effectively blocked any other potential seaters. “Let’s find another seat.” Welson, however, was persistent. “No, we’ll introduce ourselves… after I pee,” he declared, then dashed off to the restroom. “That disgusting guy,” I muttered under my breath, shaking my head. She was still alone, eating, seemingly oblivious to the world around her, when I noticed a group of girls approaching her table. “That seat’s too big for one new girl here!” It was Natasha, the school bully, flanked by her two equally unpleasant friends, Abigael and Glenda. The girl, however, didn't seem to notice or care. She continued eating, completely unbothered. Natasha, growing increasingly irritated, snapped, “What do you think you’re doing? Get out of here!” The girl started gathering her things, clearly intending to leave, when I found myself unexpectedly walking towards them…