CHAPTER SEVEN
506 Words
Mira’s hands trembled slightly as she adjusted the mic.
“Good morning, everyone,” she began, her voice catching at the edges.
Dozens of eyes stared back at her — classmates, the teacher, and somewhere near the back, Andre and Trixie giving her thumbs up.
Her slides flickered on screen, bright colors against the classroom wall.
Just breathe, she told herself.
Once she started, the nerves melted. She spoke about leadership styles, group dynamics, the importance of trust — her words flowing naturally, her eyes shining with the kind of passion that couldn’t be faked.
By the time she finished, the class was quiet for a second — then applause erupted.
“Very good, Ms. Ramirez,” her teacher said, smiling. “You really owned that presentation.”
Mira smiled back, cheeks flushing. “Thank you, Ma’am.”
Her phone buzzed in her pocket.
A message.
From Lance.
> Knew you’d nail it.
She bit back a grin, typing quickly.
> You were right about the transitions. Thanks.
No reply — but she didn’t need one. Just the fact that he’d watched the video recording she’d mentioned earlier made her heart flip.
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Classes ended late, the sky already streaked with orange. Mira waited by the school gate, waving goodbye to Andre and Trixie, when a familiar black car pulled up.
The tinted window rolled down.
“Hop in,” Lance said simply.
Her brows furrowed. “Nag-volunteer ka maging driver?”
“Your mom texted me. She’s stuck in a meeting,” he said, eyes still forward. “Get in before it rains.”
Mira climbed in, clutching her folder to her chest.
The car smelled faintly of coffee and clean soap — just like him.
“Congrats sa presentation,” he said after a while, tone casual.
“You saw it?”
He nodded. “Andre sent the link to the group chat. Akala mo siguro hindi ko titignan.”
She smiled to herself. “So you do care.”
“Don’t push it,” he murmured, but there was no real bite in his voice.
Outside, rain began to fall in soft, rhythmic drops. The world blurred past in muted colors — gray skies, wet streets, neon lights reflecting off puddles.
Inside the car, silence settled again. Not the heavy kind — the kind that meant understanding.
Then she spoke quietly.
“Thank you… for last night. And the note.”
He glanced at her, the faintest curve at the corner of his lips. “You read it?”
“Of course. I even kept it,” she said, teasing but sincere.
He exhaled softly, shaking his head. “You’re weird.”
“And you’re—” she hesitated, eyes meeting his, “—not as cold as you think.”
For a heartbeat, neither of them looked away.
Then Lance broke the stare, his hands tightening slightly on the wheel.
“Seatbelt, Mira,” he said quietly. “We’re almost home.”
But the warmth in his tone said something else entirely.
- Writer
