Apartment Thirteen B

13-B II

Gabi na, and I found myself in his kitchen again wearing one of his oversized shirts like it was nothing. I didn't even remember how I ended up in it.

"Seriously," I said, stirring instant noodles in a pot. "Why do you only have one flavor of this? Chili beef lang? Hindi ka ba nagsasawa?"

He smirked from across the counter, sipping his tea. "You used to say the same thing. Then you started buying extra packs and hiding them in the cabinet under the sink."

Napalingon ako.

I checked under the sink.

There they were...garlic, cheese, even laksa. Still sealed.

Still mine?

Or...once mine.

I sat down slowly, holding one pack like it was a clue in a crime scene.

"Alam mo, minsan feeling ko joke lang 'to ng utak ko," I said. "Like... maybe I made you up because I'm lonely. Kasi weird e. You're too calm. Too perfect. Hindi ka tao."

"I never claimed to be," he said quietly.

I laughed nervously. "Okay. Creepy answer. Please try again. Parang gusto ko sanang sumaya ngayon."

He stood and walked over, leaning beside me on the table.

"You want me to be real?"

I looked at his eyes, his hands, the small scar on his left thumb na hindi ko malaman kung saan nagmula, the way he blinked slowly, almost intentionally.

"Yes," I whispered. "Because if I'm imagining all this, then I don't think I want to wake up."

The next day, he taught me how to paint.

Yes, Elijah-Perfect-Haunting-Alvarez turned out to be a low-key Bob Ross!

"Okay," I said, holding the brush. "This already looks like a sad potato."

"It's supposed to be a tree."

"Exactly. Sad. Potato. Tree."

He laughed. A full, unguarded laugh that echoed around the walls.

I looked at him. "That's the first time I've heard you laugh like that."

"You always say that," he said, dipping his brush into blue paint. "But you've made me laugh like that many times."

Pagkatapos, nagpahinga kami sa floor, nakasandal sa white wall na may faint gray paint marks.

I rested my head on his shoulder.

He didn't move.

And for the first time, hindi ko na binalak umalis.

"May tanong ako," I said softly.

"Hmm?"

"Do I... ever stay?"

Tahimik siya. Parang sinukat 'yung tanong ko.

Then finally, he said

"No. But you always want to."

That night, habang natutulog ako sa couch niya, nanaginip ako.

Hindi malinaw.

May piano. May ulan. May dugo.

Tapos isang boses.

Mine.

Crying.

Screaming.

"Elijah, please! Wake up! Please don't leave me again!!"

Nagising ako, pawis na pawis, hingal na hingal.

And there he was, sa tabi ng couch, holding a glass of water na para bang alam nya na babangungutin ako ngayong gabi.

"Bad dream?" he asked gently.

I nodded, taking the glass.

Pero habang umiinom ako, napansin ko na may luha sa mata niya.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

He didn't answer.

He just looked at me with a sadness na parang...matagal na niyang bitbit. Matagal na niyang gustong sabihin. Pero pinipili niyang huwag.

I placed the glass down.

Tiningnan ko siya. "Bakit mo 'ko hinahayaan dito?"

"Because this is the only place where you still choose me," he whispered.

And maybe that was it.

Maybe I kept coming back not because I was assigned to a case.

But because my heart is broken, confused, half-asleep and was still choosing him.

Hindi ko na namalayan kung pang-ilang araw ko na 'to sa Apartment 13-B.

At honestly? Hindi ko na rin inisip.

Wala nang sense ang oras doon. Parang lumalambot 'yung minutes. Hindi mabilis, hindi mabagal. Sakto lang para hindi mo na gustong umalis.

Isang hapon, habang nag-aayos ako ng mga libro niya sa shelf, napansin ko ang isang maliit na notebook na kulay navy blue, luma, at may faded silver string na pambalat.

"Uy, ano 'to?" tanong ko, hawak-hawak ito.

"A journal," sagot ni Elijah, habang abala sa paglagay ng floor mat sa pinto.

"Sa'yo?"

"It used to be."

Binuklat ko.

At doon ako natigilan.

The handwriting was mine.

Definitely mine.

Nakakunot ang mga T, may left-leaning slant, at lahat ng S ko ay mukhang number five.

October 13

You still like the window open. I still hate the cold. But you win. Always.

October 14

You played that song again. The one you said reminded you of our first dance, kahit never naman tayong nag-dance. I wonder why I keep writing like you're not beside me.

October 15

I think I'm going to lose you.

Bakit may journal akong ganito?

Bakit wala akong maalala?

I stared at the pages, heart pounding.

Tiningnan ko si Elijah, who was now silently watching me.

"Sinulat ko 'to?" I asked.

He didn't answer.

Instead, he walked over, gently took the journal, and placed it back sa shelf.

"You always find it around the third week," he murmured.

Third week?!

I stepped back. "Wait lang, ilang beses ko na bang...?"

"Marami." His voice was calm, but his eyes... his eyes were tired.

"You always come back."

Naglakad ako papunta sa bathroom. Hindi para mag-CR, kundi para tumingin sa salamin. Kasi ang bigat na ng ulo ko. Parang may hinahanap ako na hindi ko alam kung nasaan.

But when I opened the mirror cabinet

There it was.

A photo. Folded in half. Nakasingit sa likod ng gamot na di ko maalalang binili.

Two people.

Me.

And... him.

Sa picture, nakayakap ako sa leeg niya habang nakatawa. Sobrang saya namin. As in walang kaplastikan. No posing. Just happiness.

Nakasulat sa likod

"We're okay now. Finally. -M"

My knees almost gave out.

Umupo ako sa toilet lid, hawak ang larawan.

"Elijah," I whispered. "Ano ba talaga 'to?"

Naramdaman kong dumating siya sa pinto. Hindi siya nagsalita agad. Parang gusto niyang hintayin kung kaya ko munang tanggapin.

But I couldn't.

"Lahat ng 'to... hindi normal. Sobrang daming 'coincidence.' Nakita ko 'yung sulat ko. 'Yung picture. Pati 'yung blue mug na may chip sa gilid, may ganyan din kami dati sa bahay. Lahat ng bagay dito... parang may bahid ko."

"Because this was your home."

Natahimik ako.

Tumayo ako, hinarap siya.

"Anong ibig mong sabihin?"

Tumingin siya sa akin, eyes filled with something that looked a lot like goodbye.

"This was ours, Mira. This life. This apartment. Me. You."

I shook my head. "Hindi ko naiintindihan"

"You will." His voice was soft now. "But not yet."

The next few days... nag-iba na ang pakiramdam.

Still cozy, still kilig, still full of small, quiet moments

Like when he made me laugh so hard I spit out water.

Or when he showed me how to fold towels the 'Elijah way' very unnecessary, sabi ko, pero sinunod ko pa rin.

O nung sabay naming pinanood 'yung favorite ko palang movie na apparently, memorized na niya buong script.

Pero sa gitna ng lahat ng 'yon...

May tanong na palaging kumakatok sa utak ko

If this feels so real... bakit parang palagi akong hinahabol ng lungkot?

One night, habang nasa kama ako, yes, he finally let me sleep in the room, napatingin ako sa kisame.

Tinabihan niya ako. Tahimik lang.

"Kung sakaling... bigla akong mawala," I said, "Hahanapin mo ba ako?"

"I always do," he replied.

"At kung hindi mo na ako matandaan?"

"Then I'll fall in love with you again."

Napangiti ako.

Pero bakit ang sakit?

Simula nung nakita ko 'yung lumang journal at 'yung picture, hindi na ako mapakali.

Hindi ko pa rin kayang tanungin nang direkta si Elijah kung multo ba siya, hallucination, ex-boyfriend, or all of the above. Kasi what if mawala siya kapag nalaman ko?

And truthfully...

I don't want to lose him. Not yet.

Nang gabing 'yon, nagluto siya ng sinangag.

Wala akong idea kung saan siya natuto o kung sino'ng nagturo but the man can cook like he's been feeding my soul for years.

"Ano'ng nilagay mo dito?" I asked, sabay kuha ng third scoop.

"Leftover magic." He winked. "And garlic. Lots of it."

"Baka ako 'yung na-fall sa'yo dahil sa sinangag," sabi ko, trying to joke.

But then he answered

"No. You fell in love with me long before I learned how to cook."

Tahimik. Walang music. Walang kilig laugh track.

Pero ang lakas ng impact.

Pagkatapos namin kumain, nag-aya siyang mag-ayos ng lumang boxes sa may hallway cabinet.

Natatawa siya habang binubuksan 'yung isang shoebox.

"Baka may picture na naman ako na hindi ko maalala," sabi ko.

"Baka may love letter ka na naman na sinulat, tapos kinahiya mo kaya tinago mo," sagot niya.

Napanganga ako. "Wait, nagsusulat ako ng love letter?!"

"Seven. I counted."

"Huh!? saan na 'yung iba?"

"You burned them."

"WHY?!"

"You said I wasn't allowed to read them unless you were dead."

Tahimik.

Tumawa siya ng mahina, pero ako?

Tumigil lang.

"Don't joke like that," I whispered.

"Sorry."

But something about the way he said it... didn't feel like a joke.

Later that night, habang naglilinis ako ng cabinet sa sala, may nalaglag na maliit na voice recorder.

Luma. Silver. May gasgas. Pero gumagana.

I pressed play.

Nag-crackle muna 'yung sound. Tapos...

Nagstart yung recording

My voice were trembling "...this is stupid. Bakit ko ba 'to nire-record? Ayoko namang maalala 'to. Pero... kung sakaling mawala ka, at wala akong ibang hawak kundi 'tong boses ko"

Static...

My voice now crying "Bakit hindi kita pinigilan? Bakit hinayaan kitang umalis? Elijah, if you ever hear this... mahal kita, okay? Don't forget that. Even if I do."

End of Recording

Nabitawan ko 'yung recorder.

Nanlamig ang buong katawan ko.

Pumasok si Elijah sa sala. "What was that?"

I couldn't answer.

I looked at him. The gentle man who made garlic rice, folded my blankets, laughed at my sarcasm. The man I kissed. The man I was falling in love with.

I stared at him like I was seeing a ghost.

Because maybe... I was.

"Elijah..." I said, barely breathing. "How did you die?"

He froze.

But didn't deny it.

Hindi siya sumagot agad.

Nakatayo lang siya sa may gilid ng sala, parang 'yung mismong hangin sa paligid ay biglang naging mabigat.

"Elijah," I repeated, slower now. "Pakiulit. Paano ka... namatay?"

Still no answer.

Just his eyes, looking at me like I just broke something delicate between us.

"You don't want to remember this part yet," he said, finally.

"No. Gusto ko."

I stood up. Lumapit ako. "I deserve to know."

He gave me a long, quiet stare.

Then he whispered

"You were there."

Tumigil ang mundo ko. Literal.

"Anong ibig mong sabihin?"

"You were the last person who saw me alive."

Hindi ko na siya kinausap buong gabi.

Tumambay ako sa balcony, nakatingin sa city lights, habang nilalaro 'yung luma at basag-basag na voice recorder.

May part sa utak ko na gusto na lang itapon lahat. Umalis sa unit. Bumalik sa HQ. Bumalik sa realidad.

Pero tuwing sinusubukan kong umalis...

Hindi ko kaya.

The next morning, hindi ko alam kung guni-guni lang o what, pero parang hindi na siya kasing visible.

Parang... mas tahimik siya.

Less present. Less physical.

But still there.

Still waiting.

I tried to act normal.

Naglinis ako ng sala. Nag-ayos ng mga libro. Nagluto ng itlog.

I even turned on the TV kahit wala namang signal.

Para lang ma-feel ko na buhay pa 'ko.

Pero pagtingin ko sa kabilang couch

Empty.

Wala siya.

Walang trace.

So I left.

This time, tuluyan na.

Dala ko lahat ng gamit ko such as jacket, bag, phone, ID, all of it.

I took the elevator down and walked out of the building, pilit kinukumbinsi ang sarili ko na...

It was all in my head. Wala talagang Elijah. Siguro trauma. Delirium. A case that hit too close to home.

Tumambay ako ulit sa park. But this time, it wasn't peaceful.

It was empty.

Lifeless.

Ang lamig. Hindi dahil sa hangin, kundi sa pakiramdam na may iniwan akong hindi ko pa naiintindihan.

And the strangest thing?

I missed him.

Not the idea of him.

Not the fantasy.

Him.

The way he folds the towel wrong but insists it's right.

The way he watches me like I'm someone he waited lifetimes for.

The way he holds silence like it's a language only we understand.

That night, I didn't sleep.

Tumitig lang ako sa kisame ng condo ko, habang paulit-ulit sa isip ko 'yung tanong na

If he's gone... why does it still feel like I'm home when I'm with him?

I went back.

Of course I did.

Because this story was never about escaping. It was always about finding the parts of me I buried with him.

Pagdating ko sa 13-B, sarado ang pinto.

Tahimik ang hallway.

Walang sign of life.

Walang "Welcome back, Detective."

No scent of tea. No music.

No Elijah.

I pressed my palm against the door.

At binulong ko, halos hindi ko na marinig sarili ko

"Kung multo ka man... bakit ganitong kasakit?"

Isang linggo akong hindi bumalik.

Isang buong linggo.

Pero kahit saan ako magpunta mapa-HQ, bahay, grocery, kahit sa loob ng CR e may parte ng isip ko na naghahanap sa kanya.

Sa mga mata ng mga tao sa daan.

Sa boses ng barista sa coffee shop.

Sa amoy ng green tea.

Sa bawat tahimik na gabi na walang Elijah na lalabas mula sa kusina para tanungin kung gusto ko ng tsaa.

So I did what a detective would do.

I opened the case file again. The one na dapat closed na.

The one na may blurred photo sa folder. The one na walang pangalan, walang mukha.

Until now.

Because when I looked again... parang may unti-unting linaw.

Like he was stepping out of the fog, one piece at a time.

Case No. 1175-A13

Subject: Alvarez, Elijah

Deceased.

I stared at the word for a long time.

Hindi lang dahil patay siya.

Kundi dahil ngayon ko lang natanggap na this was him.

The man I've been talking to.

Sleeping beside.

Falling in love with.

Again.

Bumalik 'yung tape recording sa utak ko.

"Mahal kita, okay? Don't forget that. Even if I do."

I printed the report. I pulled old files.

Tiningnan ko ang forensic photos. Gray, clinical, walang buhay. Pero sa isang picture, halos hindi na siya makilala. Dugong bumalot sa sahig ng Apartment 13-B.

At sa gilid ng frame... may sapatos.

Black boots. Slightly worn.

Pamilyar.

Akin.

I kept flipping pages, hands trembling.

Witness: Valerio, Mira.

Status: Emotional Distress.

Statement: Unclear. Requested indefinite leave.

Biglang bumigat 'yung paghinga ko. What the hell did I do?

I checked old notes, and there it was...handwritten, faint, but definitely mine

"I was there. But I don't remember the sound. Just the blood. And his hands. I didn't stop him. Or maybe I did. I don't know."

I dropped the papers.

I stood up.

I stared at myself in the reflection of the dark office window and asked the question I didn't want the answer to.

"Ako ba ang dahilan kung bakit siya namatay?"

I went back.

I ran.

Sa ulan. Sa gabi. Wala akong pakialam.

Dumating ako sa 13-B, basa, hingal, luhaang hindi ko na alam kung dahil sa ulan ba o hindi.

Pagbukas ko ng pinto

He was there.

Reading.

As if nothing changed.

As if hindi siya patay.

"Elijah," I choked out. "Sabihin mo. Ako ba ang dahilan? Ako ba?"

He didn't answer.

Instead, tumayo siya. Lumapit. At hinawakan ang mukha ko.

"You've asked that question before," he whispered. "And I never let you answer it."

I sobbed.

Right there, sa dibdib niya, habang binabalot ako ng init na hindi dapat posible. Hindi dapat totoo.

"I can't do this again," I whispered.

"But you always do," he said, arms wrapping around me gently. "Because no matter how it ended...you always loved me most after I was gone."

I don't know what woke me.

Maybe it was the rain. Maybe it was the silence between heartbeats.

Or maybe it was Elijah, standing beside the bed, staring at me like he knew something was coming.

"Tell me," I said.

"Are you sure?"

"No. But I need to know."

He nodded once.

Then said nothing.

Just walked to the piano.

He opened the lid.

And played.

The sound was slow.

Delicate.

Like unraveling a knot I'd buried in my soul.

And with every note...

I remembered.

I remembered us.

I remembered the nights in this same apartment while we were laughing, dancing to music from my old phone, slow kisses on the kitchen counter. The promises whispered into blankets.

The way he'd smile when he saw me asleep.

The way I'd smile when he was near.

The way we loved without guilt.

But someone hated that love.

And that someone wore my last name.

"Mira, he's not like you."

My father's voice.

I remember it now, sharp, cold, controlled.

"He's dangerous. His mother ruined everything before"

"Elijah isn't her," I screamed. "He's not her sins."

But my father didn't care.

He never did.

All he saw in Elijah was a reminder of a woman he used, then discarded. Elijah was the price of his mistake.

"You're not marrying your half-brother's blood," he spat one night. "Do you understand me?"

And that was the night I ran away.

Straight into Elijah's arms.

We stayed in 13-B.

Planned to leave the city.

Start over.

But he followed us.

He followed me.

The night Elijah died...

It was raining.

I was packing.

He was holding my hand.

And the door burst open.

My father.

Gun in hand.

No uniform. No words.

Just rage.

I remember screaming.

I remember Elijah pushing me behind him.

And then

One shot.

One second.

One eternity.

Blood.

So much blood.

Elijah crumpled to the floor, eyes wide in disbelief.

I held him. Screamed for help. But the building was old, forgotten. No one came.

And my father?

He left.

Without a word.

The guilt consumed me.

So I forgot.

Not because I was weak.

But because I had to.

Because remembering meant admitting that the man I trusted most... killed the man I loved.

Back in the apartment, I collapsed on the floor, sobbing.

"Elijah... I'm sorry. I didn't stop him. I couldn't"

He knelt beside me, wiped my tears, and smiled.

"You saved me in every other way that mattered."

I shook my head violently. "No. I should've..."

"You loved me," he whispered. "That was enough."

The room was cold.

But I was burning.

With grief.

With truth.

With love that was too late.

"Why did you stay?" I whispered. "Even after all of it?"

He cupped my face.

"Because this was the only place where you still let yourself love me."