I barely slept.
The photograph was under my pillow.
I didn't know why I put it there.
Maybe because keeping it close made me feel like I had control over it.
Or maybe because I was afraid that if I hid it somewhere else, I'd somehow convince myself it wasn't real.
A younger Dave.
Standing beside a woman.
2017.
The same year as the photograph of me and him.
The same year our fathers apparently knew something about our future.
Too many coincidences.
Too many secrets.
And one question I couldn't stop thinking about.
Who is she?
I stared at the ceiling.
Then whispered—
“Bakit ang gulo ng buhay ko?”
My phone buzzed.
I grabbed it immediately.
«Dave: Awake?»
I stared at the message.
I typed.
«Me: Yes.»
Three dots appeared.
«Dave: Good.»
«Me: Why?»
«Dave: Breakfast.»
I
