Between the Waves

CHAPTER THREE

“You came back to sell the house?”

The question hits me before the second spoonful of arroz caldo can reach my mouth.

I look up. Across the table, sitting like she owns the entire neighborhood, is Camille Dizon — my childhood friend, once partner-in-crime, now the barangay secretary with gossip sharper than her eyeliner.

We’re at her place. She insisted I drop by for dinner after hearing I was back. Insisted as in dragged me from the carinderia and shoved a bowl of rice porridge in my hands like the good Catholic friend she’s always pretended to be.

“Not exactly,” I say, carefully. “Fixing it up first. Maybe stay a while.”

Camille squints. “A while, huh. Long enough to stir things up again?”

I raise a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She shrugs. “You know exactly what I mean. Don’t play dumb. You ran off without saying goodbye, Harris. And now you’re back — on the same week he’s hosting the coastal clean-up for the mayor’s office?”

I stare at her. “He?”

She gives me a look. “Seriously? You haven’t even said his name out loud yet. Say it. Come on. I dare you.”

I pause. A second. Two.

Then I say it.

“Elian.”

There. It’s out. Sharp as a nail through wood. His name still tastes like salt and regret.

Camille grins, satisfied. “There you go. See? Didn’t kill you.”

“Elian Reyes,” I continue, voice lower now. “He’s still here? I figured he’d left by now.”

She snorts. “Left? Elian basically runs this place. Head of the barangay youth council, marine life rescue volunteer, family owns half the fishing docks now. He even has his own coconut vinegar brand — ‘Reyes Roots.’ Available online. Free delivery.”

“Jesus.”

“Exactly. He’s like a saint now. With abs.”

I sigh and stir my arroz caldo. “Good for him.”

“Yeah. Shame he still hates your guts, though.”

I glance at her. “He said that?”

Camille leans in, mock-whispering. “He didn’t have to. The way he glared at you at the court yesterday was enough to curdle milk.”

I push my bowl away. “This was a mistake. Coming back. Talking to you.”

She laughs. “Oh, shut up. You love me.”

Outside, a motorbike rumbles past the house, music blaring from its speakers. Old OPM rock. Classic Biliran.

“Anyway,” she says, “you’re staying, so you might as well face the ghosts. Maybe make peace. Or fight him again. People would pay to see that rematch, you know.”

“I’m not sixteen anymore.”

She nods, serious for once. “Neither is he. People change.”

I don’t answer that. Because deep down, I know that’s not always true.

Later that night, back at Lola’s house, I find myself standing in front of the old bedroom mirror. My reflection looks like a stranger. The city drained color from me. I used to be darker from the sun, stronger in the arms. Now I just look tired.

I hear the gate creak.

I freeze.

Footsteps.

I grab the closest thing I can find — a rolled-up banig — and tiptoe to the front window.

And there he is.

Elian.

By the gate. Holding a flashlight. Wearing a soaked white shirt and board shorts, fresh from the beach. There’s a scratch on his cheek and something wrapped in a banana leaf in his hand.

He sees me in the window before I can hide.

Too late.

“You left your water jug at the court,” he says flatly. “Thought you’d want it back.”

I hesitate, then step outside.

“Thanks,” I say, taking it. Our fingers brush. He pulls back like I burned him.

“I also brought suman,” he adds, holding out the banana leaf.

I frown. “Why?”

“My mom said it’s rude not to welcome neighbors.”

“I’ve been gone nine years. We’re not neighbors.”

He smirks. “Still dramatic.”

“And you’re still a smug asshole.”

The tension crackles. He doesn’t look away.

“Why’d you really come back, Harris?”

I pause. The air thickens.

“Maybe I missed the mosquitoes.”

He chuckles, low and dangerous. “Right.”

He turns to leave.

“Elian,” I call after him.

He stops.

“What?”

I don’t know what I meant to say. Maybe nothing. Maybe I’m sorry. Maybe I hated you because I didn’t know what else to feel.

But all I manage is:

“You still play dirty.”

He glances over his shoulder, eyes gleaming in the dark.

“And you still bite.”

Then he’s gone.