Love, Heila (Tagalog)

Chapter 8

"I told you, Heila, you don't have to keep calling me Mr. Marion," Marion said with a gentle, half-reproachful laugh as I handed him his copy of the official receipt. He tucked it neatly into his leather corporate planner. "Your mother used to scold me whenever I got too formal with her, remember? We’ve known each other since I was just a stressed-out junior marketing analyst buying single stems of carnations for my desk. We’re technically friends. Just 'Marion' is fine."

Napakagat ako sa labas ng labi ko, felt a wave of nostalgic warmth washing over my chest. "Oo nga pala, pasensya na, Marion. Nakasanayan ko lang kasi ganoon ang tawag sa’yo ni Hijomi kapag andito ka sa shop. Pero sige, seryosong salamat talaga rito sa booking na ’to."

Marion had been a loyal customer since my mother was still running the flower shop three years ago. He was there during the days when our shop was packed with people, and he was one of the very few who kept coming back even after my mother passed away and business started to slow down. He had witnessed how hard my mother worked, and in a way, he understood exactly why this small, rectangular boutique with its warm Edison bulbs meant the entire world to me.

"You don't have to thank me. You deserve the business, Heila. Your work is excellent, and your mother would be incredibly proud of how you’re managing this place," Marion said softly, his green-flag personality shining through effortlessly. He checked his watch one last time and gave me a reassuring smile. "I have to rush back to the pavilion to check on the technical setup. Rehan, I’ll see you at the loading dock in thirty minutes?"

Rehan, who was standing by the entrance holding the last heavy crate of crimson arrangements, gave a firm, professional nod. "Thirty minutes. I will be there."

With one last polite wave, Marion walked out of the shop and climbed into his sedan, driving off toward the grand pavilion where the corporate executive dinner was to be hosted.

"O, ano pang tinitingnan mo diyan? Alis na, baka malate ka pa sa tagubilin ng 'friend' ng boss mo," biro ni Hijomi habang tinatapik ang balikat ni Rehan nang medyo malakas, completely ignoring the way Rehan’s dark eyes instantly shot him a warning glare.

"I am going," Rehan muttered under his breath, his low, accented baritone sounding slightly tighter than usual.

He lifted the heavy wooden crate with effortless ease, but before he could step out into the side alley where the silver delivery van was parked, I called out to him. "Rehan, sandali!"

He paused, turning his tall frame around slowly. His sharp, flawless features looked intense under the morning sun filtering through the glass, his jaw slightly clenched. "Yes, Heila?"

"Heto," lumapit ako sa kaniya at iniabot ang isang maliit na tupperware na naglalaman ng bagong lutong pansit na ipinadala ni Tita kagabi, kasama ang isang malamig na bote ng tubig. "Baka abutin kayo ng hapon doon sa pagse-setup ng mga lamesa. Kumain ka muna kapag may break kayo, ha? Huwag mong papagutumin ang sarili mo roon."

Rehan stared down at the small plastic container in his hand, then looked up at my face. For a brief, silent moment, the typical icy, unreadable barrier in his eyes completely fractured. A soft, incredibly deep warmth flickered within his dark gaze. He adjusted his grip on the crate, his fingers tightening slightly.

"Thank you, Heila," he whispered, his words were incredibly soft, carrying a rare gentleness that he never, ever showed to anyone else. "I will eat it."

"Sige na, baka mahuli ka pa sa usapan niyo ni Marion," asar ko sa kaniya, smiling warmly as I ushered him out.

Rehan climbed into the driver’s seat of the old silver van, shifting the gear smoothly despite the loose clutch, and drove out of the alley. As I watched the van disappear around the corner, my heart felt strangely light, though a small part of me wondered why a man who looked like an elite runaway from Seoul could look so profoundly touched by a simple container of home-cooked food.

The drive to the grand pavilion took exactly twenty-five minutes. Rehan navigated the damp, post-storm bypass road with precise control, his eyes focused entirely on the asphalt. When he arrived at the massive commercial venue, the bustling atmosphere of a high-profile corporate event immediately surrounded him. Catering trucks were unloading premium dishware, technical crews were adjusting lighting rigs, and corporate staff members were running around with clipboards.

Rehan parked the silver van neatly at the designated loading dock, killing the engine. He stepped out, his dark eyes instantly scanning the crowd until they landed on Marion Devan.

Even in the middle of chaos, Marion was completely in his element. As the Marketing Department Head, he was calmly giving instructions to three frantic coordinators, his voice steady, polite, and entirely respectful. He wasn't shouting or asserting authority arrogantly; instead, he was actively helping them lift a heavy roll of carpet, showing the true humility that defined his character.

"Ah, Rehan! You're right on time," Marion caught sight of him and immediately walked over, wiping a light sweat from his brow with a clean handkerchief. "Let’s get these crates inside. The catering team just finished laying out the white linen tablecloths, so we can position Heila’s crimson centerpieces right away."

"Understood," Rehan replied flatly.

The two men worked side-by-side for the next hour, carrying the heavy floral arrangements into the grand air-conditioned hall. As they placed the deep velvet roses and dark green monstera leaves onto the center of each round table, the stark contrast between them became undeniable. Marion was the epitome of a successful, stable corporate professional—a man who believed in the system, valued institutional loyalty, and trusted that his five years of devotion to his fiancée would yield a beautiful future. Rehan, on the other hand, was a ghost from a massive family empire, a runaway who had intentionally discarded his wealthy inheritance under Chairman Seo just to find a quiet corner of peace where nobody knew his name.

"You handle the flowers very gently, Rehan," Marion observed with a genuine smile as they positioned the final centerpiece on the main VIP table. "Most delivery guys just throw the crates around, but you treat them like they're fragile."

Rehan paused, his long, pale fingers resting against the stem of a crimson rose. He didn't look at Marion. "Heila cares about these flowers. If they break, she gets stressed. I do not want her to be stressed."

Marion blinked, a soft, understanding look appearing on his face. He nodded slowly, leaning against the edge of the table. "I get it. She’s a great person, and she’s had a tough few years after her mother passed. It’s good that she has someone dependable like you helping her out at the shop now." He paused, a momentary, quiet shadow passing over his eyes as his thoughts drifted to Leticia. "Loyalty is a rare thing these days. When you find people who genuinely care about your peace of mind, you do everything you can to protect them."

Rehan turned his sharp, dark gaze toward Marion. He could see the absolute, unwavering sincerity in the marketing head's eyes—the pure 'green flag' nature of a man who was entirely ready to swallow his own pride just to keep his relationship stable. Rehan let out a low, slow breath, his voice dropping into a quiet, honest baritone.

"You trust people too easily, Marion," Rehan said flatly, using his name for the first time. "In my experience... the people you try the hardest to protect are often the ones who are already preparing to leave."

Marion looked surprised by the brutal honesty of the foreign driver, but instead of getting offended, he let out a soft, philosophical laugh. "Maybe you're right, Rehan. Maybe I am a bit too trusting. But I’ve been with my fiancée for five years. When you build a life with someone for that long, trust isn't a choice anymore—it’s the foundation. Without it, everything else crumbles."

Rehan didn't reply. He simply looked down at the vibrant crimson rose beneath his hand, its thorns sharp and hidden beneath the beautiful velvet petals.