Dangerous Affair

Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Enough

"Anong plano mo after graduation?"

Bigla akong napatigil sa paghigop ng matcha latte ko.

Ang tanong ni Atasha ay parang isang tanong lang, pero may bigat. Parang sinadyang banggain ang isang dam na matagal ko nang pinipigilan bumagsak.

Nasa corner kami ng paborito naming café. Cozy, quiet, full of wood and warm yellow lights. Dito kami tumatambay tuwing hindi siya busy sa modeling gigs at ako naman kapag tapos na sa mga school works ko.

"Trabaho," maikli kong sagot.

"Trabaho agad?!" natawa siya, halos malaglag ang caramel cream sa cup niya. "Wala bang konting rest and reflect in Bali energy diyan?"

Ngumiti lang ako. Pilit.

"Atasha, hindi ako tulad mo."

She raised an eyebrow, taking off her sunglasses. "How exactly am I?"

"Free."

Tumingin siya sa akin. "Z, you have more freedom than anyone I know. You're rich, smart, well-connected. You can do anything you want."

Umiling ako. "I can do anything except disappoint them."

Napakunot ang noo niya.

"I can't take a break. I can't get lost. Hindi ako p'wedeng magkamali. Kasi kung hindi ko kaya, sino pa?"

Tahimik siya.

"Atasha... wala naman talagang may pakialam kung masaya ako. As long as I look perfect, behave, and succeed, okay na sila. My parents? They don't even ask how I'm doing. Hindi nga nila alam na allergic ako sa prawn. Hindi rin nila alam na I cried after my thesis defense kahit pasado. Hindi nila alam kung sino 'yung favorite kong professor."

Tumingin siya sa akin, mabigat ang mata.

"They just know I'm a Gonzales. And that I should never fail."

"Zarina..." she whispered, reaching out to touch my hand.

"I grew up in a house full of rules, not love. Lahat ng kilos ko, para sa image. Sa legacy. Sa numbers. And when you're the neglected daughter of a powerful family, you don't scream. You stay quiet. You smile. You win. Kahit walang nanonood."

Lumuha ang mata ko pero hindi ko hinayaang bumagsak. Hindi dito. Hindi ngayon.

Atasha squeezed my hand. She didn't speak. She didn't have to.

Then, after a long pause, she said, "You know what I hate?"

"What?"

"That I get praised for every step I take, while you have to beg just to be seen."

Napakagat ako sa labi.

"Atasha..."

"You deserve more than this. You deserve to choose."

For the first time, I felt something c***k. Not just from me — from us.

Two girls, sitting in a beautiful café, both silently breaking in different ways.

"You deserve more than this."

That's what Atasha said. Simple. Soft. But it hit me so hard, I had to look away.

I stared out the café window, watching people pass, their lives light, unscripted.

And then, just like that —

My mind took me back.

⸻

FLASHBACK — Age 6

"Mama, look at my drawing," I said, running to the dining room.

Zoei was already there, sitting straight in her tiny uniform, reciting the multiplication table while Mama reviewed paperwork. Nasa opisina na yung Papa namin.

I held up my paper — a stick figure family, with me and ate Zoei in the middle, holding hands with Papa and Mama.

Mama didn't look. "Later, darling. Mama's busy."

Zoei didn't even glance at me. She just said,

"Zarina, don't disturb her. Be mature."

I folded the drawing in half. Then in half again.

⸻

FLASHBACK — Age 9

We were in the grand living room. Zoei was in a piano recital dress, about to leave.

"Si Ate na naman 'yung pupuntahan nila," I told Ate Dolor, peeking from the staircase.

She knelt beside me. "Zarina, mahal ka rin naman nila—"

"No, they don't," I said quietly.

And I meant it.

Because no one asked if I had a recital too.

⸻

FLASHBACK — Age 12

Nasa balcony si Zoei. I sat beside her, nervously holding a poetry book.

"Ate... do you think I could be a writer someday?"

She looked at me like I just said something absurd.

"You're a Gonzales. Hindi tayo gumagawa ng tula, we make profits."

Then she went back to scrolling through her phone.

I didn't open the book again for three years up until now.

⸻

The sounds of the café pulled me back. Clinking cups. Quiet chatter. Steam hissing from behind the counter.

"Zarina?"

I turned to Atasha. She was watching me with real concern now, her model-perfect features softening.

"You went somewhere again."

"Home," I whispered. "But not really."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean... I grew up in a house full of walls. My parents were busy. My sister was perfect. And I learned early on that being quiet was better than being in the way."

"Zoei," she guessed. "She's the favorite?"

I nodded slowly. "The polished one. The groomed one. She got the attention, the praise, the spotlight. I got... the schedule."

"You okay?" she asked.

"No," I answered honestly. "But I've gotten really good at pretending."

Atasha gave me a look — the kind only your best friend can give. Half worry, half rage on your behalf.

But before she could say anything else—

The door opened.

A soft bell. Light footsteps.

I didn't need to turn around.

The atmosphere shifted—subtle, but noticeable. Like a quiet signal that something, or someone, had entered.

Then I caught the scent.

Familiar. Sharp.

It cut through the noise like it belonged there. Like it had every right to pull me back in.

He was here.

I could feel it. The weight of his presence. The way people around me suddenly got distracted, curious.

The room didn't go silent, but it changed.

A few heads turned. Conversations dropped to whispers. Even the music seemed to lose its edge.

He didn't have to say a word.

His presence spoke loud enough.

Still, I stayed still.

Didn't flinch.

Didn't move.

Because the moment I turned around...

I'd have to face everything I tried so hard to ignored.

Atasha froze, then muttered under her breath, "Wow. Of all days..."

I gripped my cup tightly. "It's him, isn't it?"

"Yep."

Solomon Sandoja.

Varsity player. Too unreadable. Too unfortunately caught in my orbit.

And in this coffee shop — the exact place where it happened.

"Want me to pour hot caramel on his shoes?" Atasha offered. "Accidentally, of course."

"Don't," I whispered. "Just... let him go."

But of course, Solomon turned.

As if the air shifted the moment I walked in.

As if the universe couldn't resist playing another cruel joke on me tonight.

His gaze locked onto mine.

He stiffened.

And then—of course—he walked toward our table.

I didn't move.

Didn't blink.

Didn't breathe.

Every part of me screamed to leave. But I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing me flinch.

"Zarina."

I looked up, my face a carefully constructed mask of calm indifference.

"Ang liit talaga ng mundo, noh?"

My voice was laced with sarcasm—sharp enough to cut.

He gave a small nod to Atasha.

She stared at him coldly, arms crossed, as if she were daring him to say one wrong word.

"I didn't know you'd be here," he said, voice careful. "I'm not following you, if that's what you're thinking."

"Should I be worried you clarified that?"

The edge in my voice surprised even me.

He shifted awkwardly. "I just... I wanted to say sorry. About what happened. In this coffee shop."

He looked around.

Atasha let out a cold laugh. "You mean the accidental kiss or the rumor mill you lit on fire after?"

He looked down at his drink, jaw clenched. "Both."

I stared at him, heartbeat steady, but my fingers were trembling beneath the table.

"Tapos na 'yun," I said flatly. "Wala na tayong dapat pag-usapan."

"I know," he said quickly. "But I needed to say it. I didn't mean for it to happen. The kiss—it was stupid. It was clumsy. It was nothing."

Nothing.

That word stung more than I expected.

Even if it was true.

"Do you think I care what it meant to you?" I asked, voice low.

"This isn't about you, Solomon. It's about me. What it did to me."

His mouth opened—then closed.

I kept going.

"You got to walk away. Smile. Go back to your friends. While I got cornered in hallways. Called names. Watched teachers whisper when I walked by."

Atasha bristled beside me, but stayed quiet. She knew I needed to say this.

"You think one sorry is enough to fix that?" I asked.

"You think I need you to tell me it didn't mean anything? I know it didn't. But now everyone else thinks I threw myself at you. That I'm the kind of girl who—"

I stopped myself.

Too far. Too exposed.

Solomon finally looked up, eyes filled with something I couldn't read.

"That's not what I said. Or thought. Ever."

"But you didn't stop them either, did you?"

That one hit. I saw it land.

"You kept quiet. Because it was easier. Because I was no one to you."

He inhaled sharply.

"That's not true," he said, but it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself.

Silence stretched between us like a wire pulled tight.

Then, softer, almost unsure:

"What if I want to fix it now?"

Atasha stood.

"You're too late for that."

But I didn't move.

I looked at him, really looked at him. This boy who'd accidentally upended my life with a stupid, clumsy moment in this exact place of this coffee shop.

And now wanted to pretend like it could be undone.

"There's nothing to fix, Solomon," I said, slowly. "Just stay out of my way. That's all I'm asking."

I stood.

He didn't follow.

And I didn't look back.

But for the first time since that kiss, my chest felt a little lighter. Like saying it out loud had loosened something inside me.

And I knew this wouldn't be the last time our paths crossed.

But next time...

I'd be ready.

The door to the café swung shut behind us with a soft ding.

I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. It felt like I'd just walked out of a pressure cooker.

We walked in silence for a while. The streets were alive—cars honking, vendors shouting, lights flickering overhead—but all of it felt distant, like background noise in a movie.

Atasha walked beside me, arms crossed, eyes forward. She didn't speak, but I could feel her mood radiating off her like steam. Protective. Ready to slap someone if needed.

"You okay?" she finally asked.

"Yeah."

Pause.

"I mean... not really. But I will be."

She gave me a sideways glance. "That's better. I was gonna flick your forehead if you said 'I'm fine' again."

I smiled a little. "I'd like to see you try."

"You're still shaking."

Her voice softened, her concern breaking through the sarcasm.

"It's just... exhausting, you know?" I said, rubbing my hands together. "One stupid accident and suddenly I'm the girl everyone stares at in the hallway. And he—he just walks around like nothing happened."

Atasha made a face. "Boys are allergic to consequences. It's a medical fact."

I snorted. "Is that your professional opinion?"

"One hundred percent. I studied it at the University of Being Right All the Time."

We both laughed a little. It wasn't loud or carefree—but it was something.

"Seriously though," she said, nudging me with her elbow, "you handled that really well. You didn't cry, you didn't throw coffee at him—although that would've been fun—and you said what needed to be said."

I shrugged. "I just... didn't want him thinking he could fix everything with one sorry. Or that I'm waiting for him to explain himself. I'm not."

She looked at me proudly. "Damn right, you're not."

We walked a little farther, the night air finally starting to feel like it was washing some of the tension away.

"Fries?" Atasha asked.

"Fries," I nodded.

"With cheese?"

"You even have to ask?"

She grinned. "Girl, you're healing already."

As we headed toward our favorite late-night spot, I felt something in my chest shift. Not gone, not forgotten—but lighter. Like I could breathe again.

The whole Solomon thing? Not over. Not yet.

But tonight, at least—I had my best friend, greasy food, and the tiniest flicker of peace.

And maybe that was enough for now.