CHAPTER 6: Almost
1712 Words
“Truths are harder to say when the world rewrites your story for you.”
Wednesday, 8:30 AM
A day after the fair, the school smelled like damp uniforms and leftover popcorn. She carried an umbrella even though the sun teased through clouds—just in case.
She slid into her seat near the window, two rows behind Jaxon.
He didn’t turn around.
Didn’t glance.
Didn’t fidget like usual.
She shouldn’t care. Pero alam mong ‘you do when someone’s silence is louder than gossip.’
Miss Trinidad was discussing climate patterns, but Avery's internal weather was more violent—foggy thoughts, hot cheeks, a cold knot somewhere in her chest.
Someone passed a note to her desk.
It read, in green gel pen:
"So... books lang ba 'yon, or may kilig talaga?"
She folded it in half and stuffed it in her pocket without reacting.
Her fingers shook.
The moment she stepped into the corridor, the whispers began:
“Avery and Jaxon? Allegedly carting books.”
“He’s practically babysitting her.”
“Hand touch at the freezer aisle—fully loaded.”
She gritted her teeth. Umpisa pa lang 'yan.
She didn't want the rumors. Didn’t want the maybe-kiss history she'd now carry in every whisper.
Her phone buzzed,
“Hey, saw you at the fair. Should we talk?” —Jaxon
Her breath caught. She typed, erased, typed again, then tapped “okay.”
Because she still cared—even if she didn’t want to.
10:15 AM – Classroom
Avery sat two seats away from Jaxon, glancing at him sometimes. He avoided her eyes except once—when their shoulders accidentally brushed. Her whole body tensed.
She whispered, “Don’t look at me.”
He just nodded.
10:04 AM
She spotted him by the vending machines, half-leaning against the wall, Coke Zero in hand.
He saw her.
And for a moment, no one existed.
“Hey,” he said, like it was normal. Like everything hadn’t tilted since Saturday.
“Hi.”
“You okay?”
“Define okay,” she said, voice steady but eyes tight.
He hesitated. “Can we talk? Somewhere not... hallway-shaped?”
Avery looked past him—three girls whispering, eyes locked on her. Watching.
Judging.
She sighed.
“Library. Lunch.”
He nodded, grateful.
12:12 PM
She found him at their usual library corner, holding the sketchbook—a silent confession.
His eyes lifted, just a flicker.
She inhaled, sat across.
He said softly:
“You okay?”
She nodded. “Rumors are… loud.”
He managed a small smile. “They have megaphones.”
Silence filled the space between them. Books around them sighed. Her heart hammered.
Avery tapped the table once before sitting. He slid the sketchbook toward her silently.
She blinked.
On the page, Her. Saturday. Laughing. Unfiltered. Rain-blurred. She stared at the pencil lines. Her lips were curled, her eyes mid-laugh.
She didn’t even know she’d looked like that.
“I didn’t mean to draw it,” he said, voice quiet. “It just... happened.”
She traced the edge of the page but didn’t speak.
Finally, “They think we kissed.”
“We didn’t.”
She looked at him. “But you almost did.”
He nodded. “I almost did.”
“And you didn’t,” she added. “Because?”
His voice was raw. “Because it wasn’t the right kind of almost. Not yet.”
Avery swallowed, unsure if that made it better or worse.
They sat tucked in the far corner, surrounded by old encyclopedias and that one dusty fan that hummed louder than the librarian ever did. Jaxon had passed her the sketch earlier—her in the rain, caught mid-laugh. It had done something to her chest. Not hurt, exactly. More like remembering how to breathe.
She was staring at the page when he finally broke the silence.
"People talk like they know things."
His voice was low, tired, almost amused. "But half the time they’re just filling silence with sound."
She smirked—barely.
“So you’ve heard them too.”
“Hard not to, ‘di ba? One moment we’re sorting books, next thing, we’re the school’s biggest teleserye.”
She rolled her eyes but nodded.
“A love story no one asked for. Not even the leads.”
His smile flickered at the edges. “Maybe. But… that moment?”
He looked at her then, more direct than usual.
“Yung kamay mo. Sa grocery.”
He paused.
“It wasn’t just an accident for me.”
Avery swallowed. Her thumb traced the corner of the sketchbook.
“I didn’t pull away.”
They sat with that.
The truth neither of them said aloud:
The rumors swirled, yes. But Avery—despite flinching, despite the whispers—was still here. She hadn’t disappeared. She hadn’t folded.
She endured.
And Jaxon?
He hadn’t spoken loud.
But his sketchbook had.
His presence had.
His silence was louder than the noise everyone else made.
“Did you ever feel like people only like the idea of us? Not the actual us?”
She blinked. That one hit too close.
“Yeah. All the time.”
Then she added softly:
“But I don’t think… you’re just an idea anymore.”
Jaxon turned to her, eyebrows lifted slightly.
She met his eyes, unflinching.
“I mean, you’re annoying, and you fidget with pens too much, and your humor’s like... 70% bad puns.”
He laughed. “Excuse me, my puns are art.”
She rolled her eyes. “Point is... You’re real. Not just the class clown. Not just some version of a rumor.”
His throat tightened a little, but he nodded.
“You too,” he said.
“You’re not just the girl who takes up too much space in my head. You’re… you.”
1:38 PM – Always the Rooftop
The sun was out, drying the rain-patched cement, but the air still felt heavy.
She climbed without knowing why. He was already there.
“Are we just going to keep meeting in places no one else wants to be?” she asked.
He smiled. “Apparently, yeah. We’re very unpopular.”
“Speak for yourself,” she muttered.
He laughed. Then stopped.
“Do you regret it?” he asked. “The fair. The booth. That almost.”
She didn’t answer immediately.
“No. But I regret what people do with things they don’t understand.”
He nodded slowly. “Same.”
Silence again.
But this time, it wasn’t awkward.
It was breathing room.
3:00 PM
A group of boys laughed too loudly near the lockers. One of them, eyes smug: “Uy Jax, ayos ah! Artsy na, clingy pa!”
Jax’s muse na ‘to. Librarian muse.”
“Medyo clingy, no?
Jaxon froze.
Avery clenched her fists.
But instead of looking away, he stepped forward. "Say my name again like that, and see what happens."
The hallway stilled.
No one expected him to raise his voice—not like that.
He turned to her, softening. “You okay?”
Avery climbed the stairs slowly, dripping umbrella. Jaxon stood, the breeze cooling their earlier tension.
“Can’t stop people,” he began. “But I can sit with you.”
She watched his features—quiet resolve—and finally spoke.
“Why’d you stay after it all?” she asked.
He answered with honesty: “Because I started liking someone who isn’t a rumor. Someone real.”
She exhaled.
“I almost kissed you,” he said, as if setting down a heavy weight.
Avery looked at him, breath even. “I wanted that.”
And in the half-light, they lingered near a moment suspended.
Words stayed unsaid. But something closer wasn’t.
They both stepped back.
Two girls blocked her path. Their voices, sharp, polished.
“So ikaw si Ms. Mystery?”
“Shoud we say Jaxon’s side chick.”
Avery swallowed her anger and stepped aside. She didn’t want an argument—not today.
She turned and saw Jaxon ascending behind her.
He grabbed her elbow gently, “Huwag silang pansinin.”
She shook her head at first, but then let him guide her past, shoulder brushing his.
His protectiveness warmed her.
AFTER THE UNFAIRNESS OF THE DAY, he bumped into Avery at the mart again—small world, loud stairs.
They reached the freezer aisle. Rain started pattering outside again—Manila unpredictability.
He was seconds from reaching into his sketchpad when she closed the space.
She smiled, soft.
Then her hand found his in the aisle again—brief. Electric.
This time, she didn’t pull away.
He didn’t look down at paper or pen.
He looked up at her.
Almost.
But footsteps neared.
They parted, breath jagged.
Neither spoke.
7:00 PM
He stared at the ceiling, listing her in his head:,
“Tender laugh. Curly hair wet in rain. Librarian instincts. Fire that hides.”
She sat with her phone in her hands, thumbs hovering over a text.
“You okay?” —He had written.
She didn’t send it.
Because maybe they didn’t need more words to say everything.
They both let the night breathe its silence.
She lay curled on her bed, sketchbook beside her pillow.
She’d stared at the drawing again and again.
Not because she looked good. But because it was honest.
It saw her the way she wished she could see herself.
Whole. Alive. Worth sketching.
Her phone buzzed.
Jaxon: “Can I ask you something?”
She typed back.
Avery: “Go.”
A pause. Then,
Jaxon: “Was it almost for you, too?”
She didn’t reply right away.
She let the weight of it sink. The hope. The fear.
Then
Avery: “Yeah.”
Another pause.
Jaxon: “Next time, maybe it won’t be.”
She stared at that line for a long time.
Pressed the screen to her chest.
And smiled.
Maybe this was it. The shift.
No longer illusions crafted from glances and shared classes. No longer two people orbiting their own damage pretending nothing mattered.
They were real now.
And that almost-touch in the freezer aisle?
It was a sentence left unfinished, but still understood.
Not a mistake.
Just... slow sparks.
END OF CHAPTER.
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