Prologue
1074 Words
If I had turned left instead of right... maybe she'd still be here.-Cynio
Rain fell like grief that couldn't be spoken.
The city blurred behind the windshield, streaked with water and regret. Cynio tightened his grip on the steering wheel, knuckles pale, heart pounding like war drums in a hollow chest. He was too late. He already knew it.
Sana nag paliwanag siya. Sana hinabol niya, o di kaya nanatili siya ng mas matagal at sana hinwakan niya ito ng ms mahigpit.
She stood there at the edge of the platform, her back to him, suitcase in one hand, umbrella in the other. Even from a distance, he could feel the cold wall that had risen between them—weeks, months of silence now solid as stone. He had built it, brick by brick, with every word unsaid and every emotion buried beneath pride.
"Mikaela!" he called out through amidst of the heavy rain, his voice breaking like the sky above them. Like a thurder rooring in a gloom of highway.
She turned. Slowly. Her eyes met his—startled, sad, already gone. That glance was the last thread, and when it broke, so did he.
A speeding bus thundered into the station, loud and final. She stepped forward, swallowed by its arrival. No wave, no goodbye. Not even anger—just that heartbreaking calm of someone who'd already accepted the ending.
"NOOOOO!" he shouted in so much force to the point na namimingi na siya sa sobrang emosyon a mga oras na 'yon.
By the time Cynio reached the platform, the bus was already pulling away. She was gone.
He stood there, soaked to the bone, with nothing but the echo of her name and the sharp sting of realization cutting through the fog. That was the moment it happened. When love turned into memory. When hope collapsed into guilt.
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
The alarm clock shrieked.
Cynio jolted upright—confused, gasping. He was drenched in sweat, heart racing. Again. The same nightmare. No, not a nightmare. A memory on repeat.
Thud!
A sharp kick knocked him off the bed. He crashed onto the floor, bare skin meeting cold tile.
"What the f**k—?!"
"What the f**k is your problem?!" he shouted, looking up from the floor at the angry woman standing over him.
His body was sore, disoriented—until he realized something.
He was naked.
And unmistakably aroused.
Mabilis pa sa alas kwatro na hinila ng babae ang kumot upang ipantakip sa kanyang kahubadan. "Why the hell am I even here?!"
Cynio rubbed his temple, groaned, and dragged himself to his feet with a bored expression. He scanned the floor, found his jeans, pulled out his wallet, and handed her some cash.
"Here. Leave." He handed a cash.
She stared at the money like it was poison.
"You asshole!" she snapped, hurling the bills in his face and slapping him. Hard. "Damn, you think 'I m —"
She raised her hand again, but this time he caught her wrist mid-air and pushed her back against the door—not forcefully, not gently. Just firmly. Coldly.
"Don't forget, little miss," he said with a smug smirk, "I already did f**k you. And you were screaming my name."
Her face twisted in rage as she yanked her wrist back. "You're disgusting."
He walked out of the room without looking back, still naked, like shame had long since stopped knocking on his door.
In the kitchen, he brewed himself a cup of coffee in silence. Black. No sugar. Just bitterness. Maihahalintulad sa nararamdaman nito. Mapait siyang napangisi. Am I still deserve to live. Nah! Para sa kanya, living is like a hell to pay.
He leaned against the counter, staring at nothing. The house was too quiet. The echo of his heartbeat was the only thing loud.
This was normal.
The s*x. The numbness. The detachment. The apathy.
He didn't always sleep around. Not like this. Not like he was trying to erase himself from the inside out. But the day Mikaela left, something inside him broke so cleanly, so quietly, that even he didn't hear it shatter.
He kept telling himself it wasn't love anymore. That he was over her. That people leave, and that's life.
But that was a lie.
And every night proved it. And those repeating memories that haunted him down.
He remembered the exact way her voice cracked when she said she was tired. The way her shoulders shook when she packed her bag but refused to cry. The way she looked at him—desperate for him to stop her, beg her, love her again.
But he just stood there.
Because he thought she would stay.
Because she always stayed.
Until she didn't.
She left. Never comes back.
The woman from earlier stomped out of his bedroom fully dressed, looking insulted and furious. "You're a f*****g asshole," she hissed.
He didn't even blink. "You already said that."
She threw a mug across the room. It smashed against the wall behind him, shattering into pieces. Still, he didn't flinch.
"f**k you," she spat one last time and slammed the door behind her.
Cynio took a sip of his coffee. No reaction. That's it!
The taste was sharp. Scalding. Real.
Like the guilt he tried to drown out every day.
Minsan , naitatanong niya rin bakit kaya hindi nalang siya magbago.
E parang naglalakad nalang siyang patay. No direction. Why the pain never left, no matter how many names he forgot or how many bodies he warmed.
And sometimes... he wondered if this was punishment.If being alone, hollow, numb—was the price he had to pay for letting her go.
Nang bigo . Na kong kailan kaliangan hindi niya nagawa. Sa huli nga yata ang pagsisi.
People always said, "Time heals all wounds."
But they were wrong.
Time didn't heal. It only dulled the blade.
The wound stayed open.
Bleeding slowly.
Reminding him that the worst scars weren't physical—they were the what-ifs that echoed louder than any goodbye.
He walked over to the window and stared out at the city. Rain still fell, softer now, like it was whispering to him.
He closed his eyes.
If I had turned left instead of right... maybe she'd still be here.
But he didn't.
And now, Mikaela was nothing more than a ghost behind his eyelids.
And he? He was just the man who can't be moved.
- Writer
