Blood or water
1486 Words
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Ayra’s Dorm Room – Two Days Later
The pale blue glow of Ayra’s laptop screen flickered against her tired face as she scrolled through her father’s old contact list. A spreadsheet labeled “Hales - Trusted Associates & Relatives” sat open on her screen, filled with names, numbers, and long-forgotten notes.
She hesitated before clicking the first number.
Uncle Russel – California
(Investor. “Solid. Helped us launch Hales Tech. Family-oriented.”)
She dialed. Waited. He picked up after the fourth ring.
“Russel speaking.”
“Uncle Russ? It’s Ayra.”
A pause.
“…Ayra. Wow, it’s been years.”
“I know. I—I wouldn’t call like this unless I had no other option. Dad’s in critical care. A heart attack. He needs emergency funds for post-op and ICU. Ethan’s also—he was attacked. He’s in a coma.”
“God,” Russel muttered. “I’m so sorry, kid.”
Her voice wavered. “We’re trying to raise money, but the bills are… a lot.”
He sighed. “Listen, Ayra. You know I loved your dad like a brother. But after what happened with the business—when he pulled his shares and left the board hanging—things went bad on my end, too. I’m barely keeping my place afloat.”
“You can't even help a little?” she whispered.
“I wish I could,” he said softly. “But you’ve got to understand—your father made a lot of enemies when things fell apart. People haven’t forgotten.”
Ayra ended the call before she cried.
---
Scene: A Café in Quezon City – The Next Afternoon
Ayra sat across from Tita Lianne, her father’s cousin. A woman who once bragged about shopping in Milan and paying cash for a three-story townhouse.
Lianne stirred her tea, gold bracelets clinking lightly.
“Ayra, sweetheart, I admire your courage. I really do. But with this economy…” she trailed off, dabbing her lips with a linen napkin. “We’re all cutting back.”
Ayra’s voice was steady. “I’m not asking for millions. Just something to keep Dad stable. He’s your blood.”
“And I sent prayers,” Lianne said gently. “But you know your father… he didn’t leave bridges behind. He burned most of them. Some would say you’re lucky anyone’s even taking your calls.”
Ayra pushed back her chair.
“I hope no one ever leaves you to rot the way you're leaving us.”
She walked out without another word.
---
Scene: A Video Call – That Night
Ayra sat cross-legged on her dorm bed, her phone propped up against a stack of textbooks. On the screen was Julian, her mom’s half-brother. Once a corporate VP, now semi-retired in Cebu.
“Julian,” she said carefully, “I know you didn’t get along with my dad. But this isn’t about him. It’s about my mom, your sister.”
He shifted awkwardly. “Ayra, I sent money last year. Remember? For your mom’s dialysis? And what came of that?”
“She’s still alive,” Ayra snapped. “That’s what came of it.”
He looked pained. “I just… I don’t want to be drawn into the Hales' drama again. You’re strong. You’ll figure this out.”
Ayra stared at the screen. “She’s your sister.”
“I’ll pray for her,” he offered.
"He sent money last year?"she hissed,her mother just knew about her kidneys failure days ago...their bankruptcy was months ago...how then could he have sent money for something or someone that doesn't need it .
Ayra ended the call with shaking fingers.
---
Scene: St. Francis Hospital – Roof Deck – Late Night
Ayra stood alone, her hoodie pulled up against the night wind. Below her, the city lights blinked—indifferent, distant.
She looked down at her cracked phone screen. Her donation page had barely budged. The messages were kind. The money wasn’t.
Her contacts list was nearly empty now. Everyone who once called her family had vanished when the cheques stopped and the power faded.
All she had left were ghosts.
She pulled out her notebook and scribbled two names.
Ethan. Mom.
Then, beneath them:
Me.
She drew a box around them, circled it twice.
“These are the only people who matter now,” she whispered.
Her jaw tightened. Her eyes burned—not with sadness, but something fiercer. Determination.
“I don’t need the rest of them,” she said aloud to the wind. “I’ll build something they’ll regret walking away from.”
She pocketed her notebook and headed downstairs.
---
Scene: Internet Café – The Next Morning
Ayra’s fingers flew across the keyboard. A new update for the fundraiser.
> UPDATE:
My family has turned their backs on us. Everyone who wore our name, dined at our table, smiled in our photos — they all had excuses.
But my parents deserve better. Ethan deserves better.
If you’re reading this, help me prove that love doesn’t end when wealth does.
Help me prove that strangers can be kinder than blood.
She uploaded a photo: a blurry, raw selfie of her holding Ethan’s bandaged hand. No makeup. No filters.
Just truth.
And hit post
---
Campus Grounds – Afternoon
Ayra stepped onto the university lawn, her hoodie pulled tight around her face despite the Manila heat. Whispers followed her like shadows. She kept her eyes forward, trying not to flinch.
“Did you see her post? Begging online now.”
“Didn’t her dad scam half the city?”
“Thought money could buy class… guess not.”
Laughter trailed behind her as she walked past a row of students sitting on the steps of the Fine Arts building. One girl whispered louder than necessary, “She used to flex designer bags. Now she can’t even afford lunch.”
Ayra didn’t break stride. But her grip on her bag strap tightened.
At the canteen, the cashier looked up as she placed a single boiled egg and rice on the tray. “₱28,” he said flatly.
Ayra pulled out coins — every last one she had. It wasn’t enough. “Can I… pay the rest later?” she asked quietly.
A guy in line behind her scoffed. “Didn’t you used to have a driver? Now you can’t even pay for food?”
She left the tray. Hunger could wait. Pride couldn’t.
---
Scene: Side Street Café – That Night
The sign outside the café read HELP WANTED – PART TIME. The smell of cheap coffee and dish soap filled the air.
“Do you have experience?” the owner asked, arms crossed.
Ayra nodded. “I’ve served at charity galas, formal events. I’m a fast learner.”
The man looked her up and down. She didn’t look rich anymore. That helped.
“₱150 an hour. Start tomorrow, 5 a.m. We need someone who can handle rude customers.”
She bowed slightly. “I can handle worse.”
---
Scene: Campus Library – Days Later
Ayra sat behind the library desk, sorting returned books and pretending not to notice the glares from her former peers.
“She’s working here now?”
“Next she’ll be cleaning toilets.”
“She’s just doing this for pity donations.”
Each word hit like glass splinters. But Ayra said nothing.
She worked the café mornings, the library afternoons, and picked up online data entry gigs in the evenings. She barely slept. Her phone battery died constantly — not from calls, but from checking the donation page, praying for another few pesos to come through.
---
Scene: Dorm Laundry Room – Midnight
Her fingers were raw from detergent. Her back ached from hours standing. The washing machine buzzed angrily, its door jammed again.
She sat on the floor, breathing in the steam and the silence.
Then her phone buzzed.
A new comment on her fundraiser:
> “You’re shameless. Your family ruined lives. Stop playing the victim.”
Ayra stared at the screen. Then, slowly, typed back:
> “I’m not playing anything. I’m working. I’m fighting. I’m surviving.”
She closed the app. Tossed the phone aside.
And cried for the first time in days.
Not because she was weak.
But because she was still here.
---
Scene: Internet Café – The Next Week
Ayra filmed a new update. No filter. No makeup. Just honesty.
> “I’m not here to convince anyone. I’m just showing up. Every day. For my dad. For my mom. For Ethan.
If that makes me shameless, then so be it. But I will not stop until they are safe.
I will not stop until I rise.”
She hit post.
And this time, she didn’t check the likes.
She picked up her bag, tucked a secondhand apron inside, and headed to her third shift of the day.
- Writer
