Falling For You in the Wrong Century

CHAPTER 4: THE STRANGE STREETS

By 2 PM, Linda and I have finished cleaning the main hall, and I’m so tired I can barely keep my eyes open. I settle into the rocking chair on the veranda, and within minutes, I’m asleep.

I wake to the sound of voices—lots of them. Opening my eyes, I’m shocked to see stalls lining the street outside the house, vendors calling out to sell fruits, woven baskets, and handmade clothes. I remember arriving early this morning—there was nothing here but empty road and rice fields. Maybe I was too tired to notice, I tell myself as I step off the veranda.

The neighborhood looks nothing like I remember. Dirt roads stretch out in every direction, and people move about in long baro’t saya dresses and camisa de chino shirts. Horse-drawn carriages clip-clop past, and I think—maybe this province is more traditional than I thought, keeping old ways alive for tourists. I walk through the crowd, amazed by how authentic everything feels—the wooden carts, the clay pots, even the way people speak, their Tagalog laced with old words I’ve only read in books.

Lost in wonder, I walk straight into something solid. Stumbling back, I look up at a tall man with broad shoulders, wearing dark trousers and a white camisa. When he turns to face me, my breath catches. His eyes are warm and deep brown, and his face feels impossibly familiar—as if I’ve known him my whole life, even though I’m certain we’ve never met. He looks to be a few years older than me, and there’s a kindness in his gaze that makes my chest tighten.