CHAPTER 4
1572 Words
SKYE’S POV
Eros and I sat in silence, both focused on our laptops. The only sounds in the reading lounge were the soft hum of the aircon, the clicking of keyboards, and the occasional thud of books from nearby tables.
It had been several minutes, but I couldn’t stop thinking about what he said earlier:
“Let’s turn this into a short film. Not just a project. Something that’s alive.”
Coming from someone like Eros who was always late, always had an excuse, and often seemed out of it I didn’t expect such a proposal. Maybe that’s why, even though I wanted to return to writing my analysis for Chapter 19, I couldn’t concentrate.
I glanced at him.
He was typing quietly, brows furrowed. It looked like this was the first time he’d ever taken class this seriously. I wasn’t sure if it was admirable or unsettling.
“Eros,” I called softly.
He looked up. “Hmm?”
“Are you really sure about this short film idea?”
He stopped typing. “Of course. Why? You don’t like it?”
“It’s not that I don’t. But... isn’t it a bit ambitious? It’s finals week. We still have other requirements.”
He nodded, as if considering my point. “I get that. But we don’t need to do a full production right away. Even just a screenplay for now. If the concept’s solid, maybe we could submit it to the org’s film fest.”
I raised an eyebrow. “So you want to take this project beyond class?”
“Only if it’s okay with you. If not, no pressure,” he said with a soft smile. But it was a different kind of smile this time no teasing, just calm sincerity.
I just watched him return to typing. I couldn’t tell if I should be annoyed or inspired.
Honestly, I liked the idea. But I’m used to having a plan, a timetable, a checklist. Eros? He seemed like the type to just go with the flow.
I resumed typing.
Faced with the blinking cursor, I tried to get back into Maria Clara’s POV. I edited a line I started yesterday:
“If everyone’s shouting, who listens to the quiet?”
I paused. That hit a little too close. It felt personal. But I couldn’t bring myself to delete it.
“Skye,” he said gently.
I looked at him. “What?”
“Do you think Maria Clara was repressed, or did she just choose to stay silent?”
That made me think. It was rare to hear Eros ask questions like that. Usually, he just made up answers to get by.
“Maybe both,” I said. “Some people are raised not to speak. But just because they’re quiet doesn’t mean they have nothing to say.”
He nodded, seeming to agree.
“I want to highlight that in Ibarra’s POV,” he said. “The guilt. The realization that he was too late to understand Maria Clara’s silence.”
“Then don’t make him a martyr,” I told him. “Even if he’s the main character, he still has flaws. Make him human, not a saint.”
He smiled. “Alright. Human, not saint.”
As I read through his monologue draft, I could tell he put in effort. It was clearly structured, emotional but it lacked depth. Like a scream behind thick glass you could hear it, but not feel it.
But I couldn’t really blame him.
I used to write like that too. Always technically correct. Always structured. But with no heart.
Maybe that’s why I wanted to help him.
“Can I ask you something random?” I said, opening a new document.
“Go ahead.”
“If you were Ibarra, and you just found out the church had something to do with your mother’s death, what would you do first?”
He frowned. “I’d get the death records. Look up her name. Investigate.”
“No, Eros. You’re not future-Ibarra yet. You just found out. Your mom literally just died. You have no clues yet. What’s the first emotion?”
He went silent. For almost a full minute.
“The world doesn’t make sense,” he finally said. “It feels unfair. Because... my mom was good. And I wasn’t even there when she died.”
I nodded. “That’s it. That’s your entry point.”
He smiled. “Thanks.”
I glanced at the time. Three o’clock. We’d been working for almost three hours.
“Wanna take a break?” I offered.
He nodded. “Deserved.”
We stepped out of the library and walked toward the food kiosk near the admin building. We didn’t talk much. But it wasn’t awkward.
“What are you getting?” I asked.
“Tuna sandwich. You?”
“Same.”
While we waited for our order, I glanced at him. He was sitting on a bench, leaning back, eyes closed.
Was he tired?
“You okay?” I asked.
“Yeah. My brain’s a little fried. But in a good way.”
I smiled.
When our order was ready, I handed him his sandwich and iced tea. I sat beside him.
We ate in silence. Clearly starving.
Afterward, we walked back to the library. I felt calmer. More sure of myself.
Once seated, I finished editing Maria Clara’s POV and immediately emailed it to myself—just in case. The deadline was tomorrow afternoon.
“I’m done,” I said.
“Same,” he replied.
“Should we finalize the screenplay version tomorrow?”
“Sure. After lunch?”
“Okay. 1 PM. Same spot?”
“Confirmed.”
We stood up, packed our stuff. No more words, but there was a quiet understanding between us when it came to work.
And as we walked out of the library, I thought:
Sometimes, you don’t need instant chemistry to create something great. Sometimes, respect is enough. Listening to each other’s voice. That’s where real collaboration begins.
---
EROS’S POV
I didn’t expect this.
At first, I thought working with Skye would be a pain. She didn’t seem like someone I could vibe with. But the longer we worked together, the more I found myself listening—not just because she was good, but because she spoke clearly. No sugarcoating. No need to impress.
She took the craft seriously.
And it got me thinking… when was the last time I took anything this seriously?
“Can you read what I wrote?” I asked her, sliding my laptop over.
She read in silence, then looked at me.
“You understand the emotion,” she said. “But it’s too clean. Too scripted. It lacks Ibarra’s raw confusion.”
Ouch, but fair. Then she hit me with something deeper:
“Revise it. But don’t just edit. Revisit the mindset. Write what Ibarra isn’t saying.”
That line stuck. Write what he isn’t saying.
She added, “It doesn’t have to be perfect. I want to hear the voice, not the polish.”
I nodded.
It was our break, but I already felt like I was shifting gears.
We walked to the kiosk in silence. But in that silence, I realized a lot.
I wasn’t used to this kind of collaboration. Usually, I did everything myself—either because I didn’t trust my groupmates or because I hated bare-minimum work. But now, it felt balanced. And lighter.
While waiting for our food, I closed my eyes.
Tired, yeah. But inspired too. Not just because of Skye. But because of the process.
When we got back to the library, I resumed rewriting.
Before typing anything, I wrote in my notebook:
“What if I have no home left to return to?”
I didn’t know why that came to me first. But I felt that was exactly what Ibarra would ask himself.
I glanced at Skye. She was writing, focused, eyes sharp.
The kind of focus that’s contagious.
And for that hour, it felt like we were in the world of our characters.
No flirting. No distractions.
Just the two of us. One story. One goal.
A quiet kind of respect for the art of writing.
---
RIIINNNGGGG!
Suddenly, her phone rang. She immediately silenced it.
“Whose phone is that? We’re in the library. Please keep it on silent,” the librarian said.
Skye flashed a peace sign and smiled at me. She gestured that she’d take the call outside. I nodded and turned my focus back to my draft.
---
SKYE’S POV
“What the hell, Camille. You know we’re in the library working on a project,” I snapped the moment I answered.
“Relax, sorry. I had no choice but to call. Your dad’s in our dorm room right now. He’s looking for you.”
WHAT?! What’s Dad doing here?
“Tell him I’ll be there in a minute. Thanks. Bye,” I said quickly before ending the call and heading back into the library.
“Sorry about the phone call. That was Camille. She just said my dad’s here looking for me,” I whispered to Eros.
“All good.”
“So… I’ll leave you here for now. I need to go see him.”
He just nodded, not even looking up.
I didn’t take it personally. I just grabbed my stuff and quietly stepped out of the library.
- Writer
