Cean didn't go home that weekend. She stayed in her dorm, claiming it was because of an upcoming paper. But really, she just didn't want to risk passing by familiar streets and older ghosts. Seeing Yuan again had done something to her—stirred the waters she thought had already settled.
"He didn't even say hi," she said quietly as she folded laundry, the ring box peeking out from her drawer.
Yesha sat across from her, scrolling through her phone. "What would you have done if he did?"
"I don't know." Cean paused. "Maybe cried. Maybe hugged him. Maybe walked away."
Yesha looked up. "Then maybe it's better he didn't."
Cean didn't reply. She hated how her sister was right—how clarity only ever arrived after it was too late.
-
Yuan sat with Neo and Raphael in their usual tambayan spot near UM's engineering building. He wasn't really listening. They were talking about a group project, cracking jokes about deadlines and crushed dreams.
"Hey," Raphael said suddenly, "you okay, bro?"
Yuan looked up. "Yeah, why?"
"You've been in your own world since we've visited to USM."
Neo gave a knowing grin. "Is it the girl from immersion?"
Yuan's brows furrowed slightly. "Cean?"
"So it is her." Neo nodded. "Sky told us once. Said you two were a thing that never became a thing."
Yuan gave a dry chuckle. "That's accurate."
"Do you still think about her?" Raphael asked.
He didn't answer. Instead, he looked down at the ring—still cold against his chest, still heavy with meaning.
"I think," he said after a long pause, "some people never really leave. Even when they're gone."
-
That night, Cean started writing a letter.
She didn't plan to send it. But writing had always helped her breathe.
Dear Yuan,
I still think about how we used to message until sunrise, like the world only made sense when it was just you and me and the silence between us.
I remember your allergy to seafood, your favorite color, the way you hated goodbyes even though you were always walking away from something.
I don't blame you for the silence. Maybe we were just too much and too little at the same time.
But sometimes I still look for your name on my screen. And sometimes, I still wear blue and wonder if you're somewhere wearing red.
I hope you're okay. I hope you're healing.
And I hope you remember me— not with regret, but with softness.
She saved it in her notes and closed her phone.
-
Meanwhile, Yuan found himself walking past a jewelry stall on campus the following week. A silver ring on display caught his eye—nearly identical to the one Cean gave him.
Without thinking, he reached for his own.
It was still there.
He wondered if she still had hers.
Then he thought of her—the way she used to light up when talking about politics, the way she gave gifts not to impress but to express. How she cried easily, felt deeply, loved hard.
And how he never quite knew what to do with any of it.
-
They didn't talk. Not that week. Not the next.
But the universe had other plans.
It was Sky who pulled the strings.
"Cean," she messaged one afternoon, "can you help me surprise Liam for his birthday? I'm organizing something. Yuan will be there too."
Cean froze.
"Okay," she replied.
And just like that, they were going to see each other again— this time, not by accident.
This time, there would be no crowd to hide behind.
Just two people, carrying a love that never fully bloomed, standing face to face again.
Somewhere in Mindanao, under warm lights and old memories, the quiet would finally be broken.
'_'