Chapter 3
834 Words
Soley
Ma’am Torres had a very special talent.
She could destroy your entire day with one sentence.
“Class, get your papers. Today, you’ll work in pairs.”
The room exploded with chatter. Bags were pushed, chairs scratched against the floor, people started calling their best friends’ names—
“Random pairing,” she added.
Instant silence.
My heart dropped.
Random?
Random?! No. No, no, no—
Ma’am Torres lifted a small box full of folded papers. “Come in front, pick one partner number, then sit beside that person.”
Yssa whispered, “Manifest tayo ng pogi, girl.”
I whispered back, “Manifest ko hindi si Lucien.”
I walked to the front, reached into the box, and unfolded my slip.
#7
My soul prayed to every deity available.
Then someone behind me murmured, “Seven.”
I didn’t have to turn around.
My spine already recognized the voice.
I faced him slowly.
Lucien held up his own slip, eyebrow raised, voice annoyingly calm.
“Looks like you’re stuck with me.”
The class reacted instantly.
“Oh my gosh—”
“Patay. Mag-aaway na naman ‘yan.”
“This is better than a teleserye.”
Ma’am Torres clapped her hands. “Find your partners! Move quickly!”
Lucien stepped aside, gesturing toward the empty chair beside him.
“Sit.”
“I wasn’t asking permission,” I muttered, but I still sat down.
Too close.
Too much awareness.
Too much everything.
He smelled faintly like mint and coffee. I wanted to stop noticing, but my brain clearly hated me today.
Ma’am Torres handed each pair a folder. “Your task is to create a mini SSG proposal. Just practice for the upcoming school year. One short plan per pair. Deadline: end of period.”
Of course.
Of course our task had to be SSG-related.
“Let’s start,” Lucien said, flipping open the folder. “Topic: Student Support Initiatives.”
I pulled my chair slightly away from him. “Stop bossing me around.”
“I’m not bossing you. I’m starting.”
“I can start too—”
“Then start.”
He looked at me with those stupid, sharp eyes like he was calling my bluff.
I inhaled sharply and began writing.
“Counseling access. Student help desk. Anonymous feedback forms—”
“No. Add peer support,” he said, leaning closer to write something on the margin.
“I wasn’t done with my sentence—”
“I know,” he said calmly. “But it fits.”
Ugh.
We worked for ten minutes and, to my utter horror, we were…
effective.
We didn’t fight.
We didn’t argue.
We didn’t insult each other.
Okay, maybe a little.
“Your handwriting is ugly,” I commented.
He didn’t look up. “Your spacing is worse.”
But weirdly, it felt less like bickering and more like… rhythm.
He passed the pen; I continued the outline.
I corrected the description; he fixed the structure.
One brain cell between us, constantly being thrown back and forth.
The class was fully staring.
Whispering.
Betting.
Someone said, “Uy, bagay naman pala sila when they’re not killing each other.”
I heard it.
Lucien definitely heard it.
But neither of us reacted.
Until our hands collided.
We both reached for the same pen.
Our fingers touched—
warm, brief, electric.
I froze.
Lucien froze.
He didn’t pull away instantly.
And neither did I.
His eyes flicked up to mine, slower than usual. Not sharp. Not mocking.
Just… aware.
My heartbeat punched my ribs.
I hated it.
I liked it.
I didn’t know.
He finally moved his hand away and cleared his throat. “You can, uh… use it.”
My voice betrayed me. “Thanks.”
We both pretended to continue writing, but my hand was suddenly too warm and his jaw looked too tight.
Why was he tense?
Why was I tense?
This was a normal touch. Ridiculously normal.
So why did it feel like my pulse forgot its job?
Ten minutes later, we finished everything.
We passed our proposal to Ma’am Torres together.
When we walked back to our seats, Lucien said quietly:
“You’re… good at this.”
I blinked. “At what? Writing?”
“At leading.”
My stomach flipped before I could kill the reaction.
He added, softer, almost like he didn’t want anyone else to hear:
“You don’t just organize things. You make people feel guided.”
I stared at him.
Lucien rarely complimented anyone.
Especially me.
Before I could respond, he stepped back and smirked—
the arrogant one, the one that started fights, not feelings.
“Don’t think too deeply about it. I just said the truth.”
“Whatever,” I muttered, walking away.
But halfway back to my seat, something hit me—
For someone who was supposed to be my rival…
Lucien didn’t look at me like one.
Not today.
And that terrified me more than anything.
- Writer
