When We Met, I Lost Myself

Chapter 6 – After-School Walks

The bell rang at four o’clock, releasing the flood of students into the hallways. Backpacks swung over shoulders, footsteps echoed against the tiled floors, and chatter filled every corner of the building. Normally, I would head straight home, weaving through the crowd until I was out the gate.

But that afternoon, as I packed my things, he looked over and asked, “You heading home now?”

“Yeah,” I said, slipping my notebook into my bag.

“Same.” He slung his bag across his back and grinned. “Let’s walk together.”

I hesitated. Walking home with someone wasn’t part of my routine. I liked moving quickly, alone, disappearing into the streets where no one expected anything from me. But before I could come up with an excuse, he was already holding the door open, waiting.

So I followed.

The air outside was warm, the kind of late afternoon heat softened by the breeze. The streets buzzed with the usual sounds—jeepneys honking, kids laughing as they played along the sidewalks, vendors calling out their snacks.

At first, we walked in silence, our steps oddly in sync. Then, he broke it with an easy question.

“What’s your favorite food?”

I blinked at him. “That’s random.”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling. “But you can tell a lot about a person from their answer.”

I thought for a moment. “Maybe adobo. Or spaghetti.”

“Classic,” he said with a nod. “You’re a safe-choice type.”

I frowned. “Safe choice?”

“Yeah. The kind who sticks to what feels familiar.”

“And you?” I challenged.

“Siomai,” he answered instantly.

I laughed. “You literally stole siomai from my tray the other day.”

“Exactly,” he said, grinning wider.

We kept walking, the conversations bouncing between serious and silly. He told me how his little brother always borrowed his things without asking, how he once tripped during flag ceremony in front of the whole school, how he hated Math but secretly enjoyed drawing comics in his notebook.

In return, I shared small pieces of myself—things I rarely told anyone. That I liked writing short stories, that rainy days calmed me, that sometimes, I felt invisible in a crowd.

He didn’t laugh. He didn’t call it weird. He just listened, nodding as if every word mattered.

Before I knew it, we had reached the street where I usually turned to go home. I slowed down, pointing toward it. “This is me.”

He looked at the corner, then back at me. “Guess this is where we split.”

“Yeah.”

For a second, neither of us moved. Then he smiled, easy and genuine. “See you tomorrow.”

I nodded, my chest strangely warm. “See you.”

As I walked the rest of the way alone, I realized something.

The road I had walked hundreds of times before had never felt this short.

Or this bright.