Love, Heila (Tagalog)

Chapter 12

Kung ipagkukumpara ko sina Rehan at Marion Devan sa hitsura, hindi naman nagkakalayo. Gwapong pinoy at gwapong koreano. Ideal man ko talaga ang klaseng lalaki ni Marion, e si Rehan, hanggang ngayon parang ang hirap basahin.

Another day sa shop. By three o'clock, the initial rush of morning walk-ins had completely died down, leaving the shop filled with the lazy, golden hum of the afternoon sun. Hijomi had slipped out to deliver a single basket of condolence flowers to the funeral home three blocks away, leaving the shop entirely quiet.

I sat behind the counter, a pair of dull metal tweezers in my hand, trying to clean the microscopic debris out of the grooves of our old price-tag stamper. It was tedious work, and my eyes were beginning to strain under the dimming light.

"You are going to ruin your eyes," a low, accented baritone rumbled from the side aisle. Heto na naman ang boses niya.

I looked up to see Rehan standing near the dried flower display. He had a small, plastic spray bottle in his hand, but he wasn't misting the plants. He was holding a single, dried stalk of lavender between his long, pale fingers, spinning it slowly by the stem.

"Kailangan 'tong linisin, Rehan. Kung hindi, magkakalat 'yung ink sa mga resibo natin mamaya," paliwanag ko, setting the tweezers down and stretching my neck until it let out a satisfying pop. "Saka okay lang naman ang mga mata ko. Sanay na ako rito."

Rehan walked over to the counter, his steps light and completely silent against the wooden floor. He set the dried lavender down right on top of my open logbook. "What is this called in Tagalog?"

I blinked, looking at the purple stalk, then up at his serious face. "Lavender? Lavender pa rin naman ang tawag namin diyan dito. Pero kung gusto mo ng ibang bulaklak, katulad ng mga rose... rosas ang tawag doon. At 'yung mirasol, sunflower."

Rehan repeated the words silently, his lips moving without making a sound as he memorized the syllables. "Rosas. Mirasol." He looked back at me, his dark eyes fixed on my lips with a quiet, intense focus that made me shift slightly on my stool. "And what do you call... the small white ones that smell sweet?"

"Ah! Alingatong? Ay, hindi, Sampakita! Ibig kong sabihin, Sampaguita!" natawa ako nang malakas sa sarili kong pagkakamali, pinalo ko nang madrama ang noo ko. "Jusko, pati ako nabulol na dahil sa'yo. Sampaguita, Rehan. It’s our national flower. Si Mama, paborito niya 'yun kasi kahit maliit lang, napakabango."

"Sam-pa-gui-ta," Rehan pronounced it slowly, his gravelly, deep voice giving the local word a strangely elegant, foreign cadence. It sounded entirely different when he said it—less like a common street flower and more like a title for something precious. "It suits your mother's shop."

"Talaga? Salamat," nakangiti kong sabi, leaning my chin on my palms as I looked at him. "Alam mo, natutuwa ako na nagtatanong ka na tungkol sa mga bagay dito. Noong unang araw mo rito, para kang pader na hindi nagsasalita. Akala ko talaga noon, mapipipi ako kapag ikaw ang kasama ko rito sa maghapon."

Rehan looked down at the counter, his thumb lightly tracing the edge of the wooden logbook. A tiny, almost invisible trace of a smile touched the corner of his lips. "I was... navigating my options."

"Options ka diyan," asar ko sa kaniya, reaching out to flick the dried lavender stem toward him. "Sabihin mo, nahihiya ka lang kasi hindi mo kabisado ang mga daan dito. Pero pansin ko rin, kapag si Marion ang kausap mo, tuwid na tuwid ang English mo, ah? Akala mo ba hindi ko napapansin na seryosong-seryoso ka kapag andiyan siya?"

The mention of Marion’s name made Rehan's hand instantly stop moving. The faint warmth in his expression vanished, replaced by his familiar, cool indifference. He picked up the lavender stalk and placed it neatly back into its glass jar. "He is an executive. In Korea, we speak properly to people who hold positions. It is a habit."

"Ganoon ba sa Korea? Sobrang strict?" tanong ko, genuinely curious about the world he had run away from. "Kahit ba sa pamilya mo, ganoon din ka-formal?"

Rehan’s broad shoulders grew visibly stiff under his sweatshirt. He turned his face toward the front glass window, his jaw tightening into a sharp, rigid line as he watched a tricycle pass by outside.

"My father does not have conversations," Rehan said flatly, losing its soft edge, turning cold and sharp. "He gives directives. You either execute them perfectly, or you are replaced. There is no room for mistakes. There is no room for... what you have here."

I stayed quiet, listening to the underlying bitterness in his tone. I could almost picture it—a cold, massive corporate world made of glass and steel, where a young man like Rehan was treated more like a financial asset than a son. No wonder he looked so lost when he first walked into my shop in the middle of that typhoon. He didn't just run away from a country; he ran away from a prison.

Pero hindi ko alam kung bakit kahit hindi ko lubos na alam ang background niya ay komportable akong nandito siya, bilang siya, sa gusto niyang version ng sarili niya. Hindi ko siya magawang tanungin nang direkta, or much deeper because I know it's personal. At ang mahalaga sa akin ay nagtutulungan kami dito sa shop ko. And he's actually good with his job.

"Well, andito ka na sa Pilipinas ngayon," malumanay kong sabi, reaching out to gently pat the sleeve of his arm, trying to offer some comfort without crossing any boundaries. "Dito sa shop ko, pwedeng-pwede kang magkamali. Pwede mong mapigtas ang ribbons, pwede mong mabaliko ang stems ng eucalyptus, at pwede kang hindi ngumiti kung hindi mo gusto. Walang mag-re-replace sa'yo rito."

Rehan turned his head back slowly, his dark eyes locking onto mine. The casual touch of my hand on his sleeve seemed to anchor him completely, and for a long, breathtaking moment, neither of us said a word. His gaze dropping to my lips before lifting back to my eyes with a raw, intense longing like he desperately tried to fight.

Biglang kumabog ang dibdib ko. Bakit ba ganito mga titig niya sa akin ngayon?

"Heila! Andito na ako! Grabe, traffic doon sa may tulay, may truck na nasiraan!"

The loud, dramatic entrance of Hijomi broke the spell instantly. Ting. The front door slammed open, and Hijomi walked in, fan-waving his shirt to catch some air.

I quickly pulled my hand back from Rehan's arm, clearing my throat as I stood up from the stool. "A-Ah, sige, Rehan... paki-double check na lang 'yung water levels ng mga carnations doon sa gilid, ha?"

"Understood," Rehan murmured softly, his voice returning to its quiet, guarded state as he turned around to grab his water bucket, leaving me to face Hijomi’s non-stop corporate gossip while my heart tried its best to calm down.

I think Rehan is changing me little by little.