letters that staved

PART 7

where emotions get tangled and trust gets tested. This time, it’s Yam who confronts a personal past, and Franc begins to understand that staying isn’t just about comfort—it’s about connection through the messy stuff too.

The wind was picking up. Not enough to call it a storm, but the sky had that grayish tint that made you rethink leaving laundry out.

Franc was curled up on my couch, flipping through one of my old notebooks. I pretended not to care, but my insides were squirming—because that notebook? That was ancient history.

yam “You wrote poetry?” he asked, genuinely intrigued.

yeah “I wrote confusion,” I muttered, reaching over to snatch it back.

But he held it up. “This one says, ‘I am not the echo / I am the scream / they ignored in favor of silence.’ That’s beautiful.”

I stared at him.

And.......

“That was about someone,” I said quietly.

He nodded, waiting.

I sat down across from him, far enough to feel like I was shielding myself, close enough to know I wasn’t.

“Her name was Isa,” I began. “She was my best friend growing up. One day, she just disappeared from my life—like someone switched off a light and when shitched on no shadow left. No explanation, no goodbye.”

Franc listened along without interrupting.

“She was the first person who made me feel seen and loved,” I added. “And when she left, it was like I’d become invisible again.” like goind back the old me

Franc put the notebook down.

“She didn’t deserve to vanish like that, not even you do” he said.

“People do that sometimes, not only sometime but all the times” I replied. “They treat you like a vacation. Visit when it’s sunny, leave when it rains.”

There was silence, heavy but kind.

Franc scooted closer, slowly, like he didn’t want to scare me.

“I won’t do that,” he said.

I looked at him, skeptical. “You sure? You’ve got the look of someone who’s packed a dozen emotional suitcases.”

He gave a sad smile. “But for once, I unpacked.”

That hit different.

We spent the afternoon inside. I made sinigang and cooked rice, he said the sinigang tasted like nostalgia, and I didn’t ask what that meant.

Then, as the rain finally started to fall, my phone buzzed.

A message.

From Isa.

“Hi, Yam. I heard you ran into Franc. I think we need to talk.”

I stared at it.

Franc noticed instantly.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

I passed him the phone.

His face paled. “You know Isa?”

“She was my past,” I said. “Looks like she’s yours too.”

He stood up, pacing.

“I didn’t know,” he muttered. “I had no idea she knew you.”

“Neither did I.”

Then, he stopped.

“We should talk to her,” he said.

“Are you ready for that?”

He met my eyes.

“I want to be.”

where Yam and Franc meet Isa and confront the tangled web between them? It could be explosive, emotional, even healing. Just say the word and we’ll unwrap the next layer. Let’s keep the story burning.