Love, Heila (Tagalog)

Chapter 5

The rain returned late that evening, but it was no longer a furious storm. It was just a soft, steady drizzle that cast a serene, rhythmic hum over the shop. Hijomi had gone home early to help his aunt clean the remaining mud from their house, leaving me alone to start conditioning the fresh blooms for Marion Devan’s corporate executive dinner on Friday.

I stood by the large wooden worktable, using a pair of sharp shears to strip the thorns off a fresh batch of dark crimson roses. It was quiet, save for the sound of the rain and the soft rustle of leaves.

From the corner of my eye, I watched Rehan. He was sitting on a low stool near the display shelves, meticulously sweeping up the discarded stems and leaves that Hijomi and I had left behind earlier. He worked with a strange, quiet precision, his long, pale fingers moving efficiently. He didn't complain about the menial task, nor did he look up to ask for a break.

"Rehan," I called out softly, pausing my shears. "You don't have to sweep every single corner tonight. It's late. You can rest."

Rehan stopped his broom, his broad shoulders tensing slightly under his gray flannel shirt. He didn't look back at me immediately. He simply stared at the floor, his voice carrying that familiar, low baritone. "I prefer to finish what I start."

I smiled faintly, shaking my head. Ang tigas talaga ng ulo, I thought. "Sabi mo eh. But seriously, thank you for staying. I know working in a flower shop isn't exactly the kind of job someone like you expects to do."

"Someone like me?" Rehan echoed. He turned around slowly, resting his hands on top of the broom handle, his dark, sharp eyes locking onto mine. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well..." I set the shears down and leaned against the wooden table, looking at his flawless posture and the expensive black leather wallet still sitting on the counter. "You carry yourself differently, Rehan. The way you stand, the way you talk... you look like someone who belongs in a high-rise boardroom in Seoul, not sweeping up dirt in a provincial flower shop in the Philippines. Why did you really come here? If you don't mind me asking.

A heavy silence fell over the room. The drizzle outside seemed to fade into the background as Rehan stared at me. He looked down at the broom in his hands, his knuckles turning slightly white.

"My family... they have big expectations," Rehan said flatly, his words were careful and measured. "In Korea, everything is about corporate hierarchy. Competition. My father, Chairman Seo wants me to follow a path I do not want. I came to the Philippines because it is far away from his shadow. I just wanted a place where nobody knows my family name."

"Pero sa dinami-dami ng pwede mong puntahan, bakit dito sa shop ko?"

Bigla siyang napatigil. "I don't know. I was walking, looking for available jobs. I just happen to open a door very randomly since it was raining. And I saw you. I mean, I don't dare to choose anyway."

"Ang interesting naman kung paano ka lang randomly nakisilong tapos nag-ask ka ng work, tapos natanggap ka kaagad," I said amused.

"And I'm thankful."

I nodded slowly, understanding the weight of familial pressure all too well, even if our circumstances were completely different. "I get it. Sabi nga ni Hijomi, mukha ka raw celebrity na may malalim na tinataguan. But honestly, I appreciate the honesty. At least alam ko na hindi ka kriminal."

A tiny, almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of Rehan's lips appeared. It wasn't a full smile, but it was the closest thing to one I had seen so far. "I am not a criminal, Heila. Just a runaway."

Ako naman ang napangiti. "Saan ka tumutuloy ngayon?"

"I found an apartment nearby."

"Okay. Well, Mr. Runaway, you're a good delivery driver, so you're welcome to stay as long as you pull your weight," I teased, trying to keep the mood light.

Rehan's gaze briefly drifted toward the small, wooden stool near the front glass window, then to the framed photograph of my late mother sitting on the wooden shelf. "Your mother... she passed away three years ago?"

I blinked, surprised by his sudden question. I looked at the photograph, my chest tightening with that familiar, bittersweet ache. "Yes. Three years ago this month, actually. And it was hard.”

Rehan didn’t speak. Nakatingin lang siya sa akin na parang naghihintay pa ng kwento ko.

“It happened so fast. Parang gumuho ang mundo ko. Syempre, only child lang ako. I don’t know who my father is. Siya na lang ang meron ako,” I said, pausing for a bit. Para akong nabubulunan habang nagkukwento. “When she died, I inherited this entire place. Everyone told me to sell it to pay off the remaining debts, but I couldn't let it go. It's all I have left of her."

Rehan walked over to the counter, placing the broom neatly against the wall. He stared at the photograph for a long time, his sharp features softening into something deeply contemplative. "She looks kind. Like a person who built a good home."

"She did," I whispered, feeling a sudden wave of warmth in my chest. "She always told me that people don't just come here for flowers; they come because they need comfort. Even if they don't say it."

“Flowers really have magic. So is you, Heila.”

Napakunot ang noo ko. “Ha? Ako, may magic?”

“Kind of. You’re kind too, just like your mother.”

Napangiti ako. “Talaga, ha?”

Rehan didn't answer. He simply looked out the dark window, watching the rain wash over the quiet streets. The silence that settled between us wasn't awkward or cold anymore. It was just the quiet, steady rhythm of two people from completely different worlds, learning how to work side by side in a small corner of the province.