Of Cab Rides and Heavy Rains

He doesn’t know, but I was sure he could feel it. He was already there when I got home, and the minute I saw him, I just crumbled. Well, I would have crumbled whether or not he was there, but it didn’t matter.

He pulled me closer, abandoning the game he was watching. His arms were the only solace I could find, and I was thankful—very thankful—that he was there. He didn’t ask just yet why I was crying—he just let me, my tears flowing, my sobs growing louder. He held me tighter and tighter, as if he was scared that if he let me go, I would disappear into the jagged pieces I already was in the past weeks.

“Shh…” I could hear him whisper, repeatedly, as he ran his hands through my hair. I didn’t know for how long we stayed in that position, or for how long I cried, but he just hushed me until I was calm, until I was starting to feel a bit better.

When I emerged from my misery, his face—a small, encouraging smile playing on his lips—somehow brightened my mood. He handed me his hanky, took my bag from my shoulder that I wasn’t even able to put down even before I started to cry, and then sat across me, his hands rubbing mine.

“So,” was all he said, and I let it out.

“My cab driver and I got lost. Well, he got lost—he didn’t know where he was going, and I didn’t know how to get here either, because he passed by an alternate route that he didn’t frigging know either. And I know I should be mad, but I just… realized that that was how my life is right now. I am so lost, and I am letting someone else drive my life because I don’t know how to do it by myself. And I… it was just so effing metaphorical of how my life is, and I want to fix it. I want to know where I’m going, to get the wheel and control my life. I just want to be certain of what I need to do with my life—”

“We don’t have all the answers. What we have are choices, honey,” he cut in gently, and I nodded.

“I need my choices.”

He reached out and touched my face. “I know you do, love, but you have to start seeing the choices. You shut them out, because you hate change and you feel change can shatter your life, but look at you now? Honestly, love, you’re no better now than you are when you finally incite change.”

I nodded, slowly, and then I leaned in, kissing him lightly on the lips. He cradled my chin, leaning his forehead against mine.

“Better?” he whispered. I kissed him once again.

“Better. Thanks.”

He brushed his lips quickly over mine and then pulled me to stand. He had prepared dinner; we ate in silence, and then went to his room. He turned on the television, started to play Captain America, and I didn’t know I fell asleep until he woke me up, shaking me on my shoulders.

“Come,” was all he said, pulling me to stand. He instructed me to get rid of anything valuable, electronic, or mechanical, and I did. I brushed the sleep off my eyes as he tugged at my ponytail to let my hair loose. He swapped my ballet flats with slippers, grabbed his keys, and then we were off.

“Where are we going?” I asked him while we were in the elevators. He just shook his head, a playful smile on his face. When we got to the lobby, I saw it was raining—heavily at that.

“Come on,” he said, beckoning me over, stepping outside of the lobby doors.

“But it’s raining,” I said, stating the obvious.

He grinned. “Exactly.”

He tugged my arm and we ran into the rain, the large drops instantly soaking us. We got to the park and we stayed there, hands and heads towards the sky, letting the rain wash off everything. I smiled—the first genuine smile ever for today—and I hugged him, my tears not noticeable because of the raindrops.

“God, I don’t know what I’m gonna do without you,” I whispered into his ear, and he grinned.

“Well, you wouldn’t be taking a bath in the rain, for sure,” he teased.

“I wouldn’t,” I confirmed, giggling.

We ran, played tag under the rain, and frolicked, until the rains were no more, and all that remained was our laughter.

The next day, both of us had sniffles.

New One-shot: Light and Darkness and Everything in Between

I have a crappy Saturday. Aside from my tummy aches making an encore, I think I just got my heart broken today. What better way to get over it and giving up (finally) than by writing a kilig story?

This one is a different take as it is actually a magazine article written about Lui and Franco. Hope you have fun reading it :)

Click here to get the file.

 

And by the way, happy fathers’ day to all the dads–dads who are willing and dads by accident, dads who put up with all the shit their children gives them, and dads who accept us no matter what we are–out there :)

Have a good one.

 

Cheers,

Kessica Tanglao

 

Tanga

Simple lang yung araw—walang palatandaan na may closure na magaganap o masasaktan lang ako ulit. Ni walang pasabi si Mother Nature na pagkatapos ng isang taon, magkikita tayo ulit, na maaayos ang kaguluhang ginawa nung pag-uusap natin nung nakaraang taon sa mga buhay natin.

Mainit—yun ang naaalala ko. Tanga lang, summer diba? Malamang mainit. Papunta ako sa bayan pero hindi ko alam bakit. Meron akong purpose, pero hindi ikaw yun. Hindi na kita nakikita. Nararamdaman. Ni mag-text hindi mo magawa. Ay teka lang, hindi ko pala matatanggap. Kasi pagkatapos nung usap natin last year, nagpalit ako ng number.

Ayaw na kitang makausap o makatext ulit, kahit nagsusumigaw ang puso ko.

Nasa jeep ako nun. Malapit na sa bayan. Pero may pamilyar akong nakita. Yung lalaking katabi ng driver. Kung sa mga kwentong isinusulat ko, ito yung part na sasabihin kong “familiar brown hair and familiar built that I wouldn’t mistake for anyone in a crowd.” Taray, diba.

Dumiskarte ako. Nakita ko sa side mirror na ikaw nga yun. Hindi ko alam bakit nasa jeep ka. Mayaman ka diba? May sasakyan. Bakit hindi ka nagsasakyan?

Tumigil ang mundo ko. Actually hindi pala. Yung puso ko lang.

Hiling ko na sana hindi mo mapansin na nasa dulo ako ng jeep. Nagdasal ako sa mga santong kakilala ko kahit kokonti lang sila. Hindi ko kasi alam kung kaya ko bang makita ka ng malapitan o kung kaya ko bang kausapin ka. Ano naman sasabihin ko diba?

Nasa bayan na tayo. Leche, andito na tayo. May fiesta yata. Ito yata yung pakay ko kung bakit ako nandito. Parang Pahiyas. Pero hindi eh. Hindi naman tayo taga-Lucban, ano ba. Ang gulo talaga. Ang daming tao, tapos ang saya-saya nila. May bandang tumutugtog. Ramdam ko yung drums. Sabay sa pintig ng puso ko.

Ang saya ng mga tao. Pero sigurado ako na hindi ako kasama dun.

Baka ikaw rin, kung nakita mo ako.

Nung tumigil yung jeep, karipas ako ng takbo. Hindi kita dapat makausap. Sana hindi mo ako nakita.

Hindi narinig nung mga santong dinasalan ko yung dasal ko.

Nakita mo ako.

Sunset.

I was standing at the shore, watching the sun set against the very nice backdrop of the sea and the sky, the perfect blend of oranges, yellows, and blues. The wind was playing with my hair and it was making it tangled, but it was okay.

I took a deep breath.

And then he came around, hugging me from behind. I closed my eyes as I felt him lean his chin on my shoulder.

He and I have been best friends, seven years ago. I had gone over the line and loved him more than a friend, and I told him so. But he didn’t love me in the way that I had wanted him to, and at that time, even though it was painful, it was okay. He was still in my life as my best friend, and that was okay with me. That was good.

And when he went away to study college, we lost all contact—only to talk once more after seven years.

And on the day he contacted me, he also broke the news that he’s about to get married because his girlfriend is pregnant.

Who knew after seven years that my heart would still break because of him?

And here we are, another year later, two days before his wedding, his kid already a month old, in La Union. He “kidnapped” me, asking me to come with him because he wanted to tell me something, and he didn’t give me a chance to refuse. He almost carried me to his car just to take me here.

We’ve been here already for a day, and whatever he wanted to tell me, it still wasn’t coming out.

Until now.

“We have to go back, you know?” I said, and he nodded.

“Cold feet?” I said again, and he shook his head. “No, I’m good,” he said, but his voice was hollow.

“You said you need to tell me something,” I prompted after a long while. I removed his arms around me and I started to walk along the shore. He followed, three steps behind me.

“Yes,” he said, and he stopped. I turned to look at him.

He took a deep breath. “I love you,” he said without any other ceremonies. “I have loved you before, in the same way you loved me too. And I still do. I still love you.”

I gaped at him—I think that was the least I could do. I stopped functioning altogether, and I just stared.

“Do you… still love me?” he asked, and I closed my eyes, exhaling loudly.

“What is the point?” I asked him. “What is the point of all this?”

I took a step back and opening my eyes again. He was watching my expression real carefully. “Do you still love me?” he asked again.

“What is the point?” I insisted, not answering his question.

He gazed into my eyes and I could feel his resolve melting away.

“You can’t run away from your soon-to-be wife, from your kid. They are there and they won’t go away the moment you tell me you love me. And I can’t believe you,” I said, throwing my hands in the air. Angry tears sprung in my eyes. “I can’t believe how selfish you are. You’re telling me this because you wanted to find a way out? You’re telling me this and you don’t even think how I’d feel?”

He reached out for me, holding my hands. “I wanted you to know. I just wanted you to know so that I won’t regret that I didn’t tell you how I feel! If you feel I was unfair, if you feel it was selfish—I’m sorry. I wanted you to know that I love you because it’s true. It’s real. And even though I’m getting married in two days, even though I know this won’t change anything in my life plan or yours, I wanted you to know that at one point in this lifetime, I loved you in the way that you loved me and that I deeply regret not telling you at that time. That I wished so badly that it is you and me getting married in two days.” He was begging, pleading for me to understand. Tears were also streaming down his face.

“I love you. And I still do. And I would love you forever. But I know this is how it’s supposed to be. This is how you and me should be. We were meant to love each other but we’re meant to stay apart. And it kills me. It kills me every single day. And I want you to know that. I want to know it hurt me that I hurt you before. When I made you feel I didn’t love you too. I love you. I love you. I love you.”

I turned away, choking back my sobs, my eyesight blurry because of the tears.

“You’re getting married. And I’ll be there. I’ll watch you get married. You have to get married.”

“I love you—”

I nodded, removing my hands in his and hastily wiping my tears. I reached out and held his face in my hands.

“And I loved you. But this is it. Like you said, this is how we’re supposed to be. This is the end of the line for us,” I said, my voice wavering, wanting, willing for him to understand.

He nodded, taking a deep breath.

I gave him a small smile, trying to mask the breaking of my heart in a thousand pieces. I sat on the shore, the waves and sand tickling my feet, and he sat next to me.

He held my hand.

The sun set on the horizon, just like it had on our love that never happened, on our love that was might have been.

Home Base :)

The house was dark, and I could almost swear I could hear the crickets chirp and my heels as they scrape the linoleum floor.

The silence was deafening.

I took out my phone, remembered he would hyperventilate and panic if I haven’t sent him a message that hey, I got home alive.

Touch down.

That was all I sent to him. He knew already what I meant by that, for he had already gotten used to getting that message from me in the wee hours of the morning. I had been going home not later than midnight for two weeks now, for work has been taking more than 18 hours a day from me. He knew that I was getting less than four hours of sleep a day, and how grumpy I am because I am THIS close to breaking down.

Even though I know he’s feeling like I have been depriving him of all the love and loving I could offer, he didn’t complain. I told him in the fifteen minutes when we last saw each other (and hey, that was last Valentines, and yes, I only spent fifteen minutes with him on that day) that I am going to give him a total payback once this is over, but he would just smile and wink at me, tell me that he understands, and kiss me on the forehead.

That long, sweet, and meaningful kiss on the forehead that I seriously miss right now.

I had already taken three steps away from the door when the doorbell rang.

I frowned. At four A.M., who would be at my doorstep?

I opened the door and he was there, his hands open wide, welcoming, a warm smile on his face, and a rose stuck between his teeth.

He took a step forward and enveloped me in his hug, and I didn’t know how long I cried in his arms.

He gave me that long kiss I had longed for (and he gave me a bonus kiss that wasn’t on the forehead).

“Home base,” I whispered, and he smiled.

–

Sorry if this is all I can come up with as of the moment–heavy workload. Promise I’d update Confessions once I get free :)

Excuses

“Excuse me.”

I turned, my peppermint mocha and cinnamon swirl in hand. In front of me stood a petite lady with long hair and big curls, wearing a pencil-cut skirt and a red blouse. She was all made up, her lips in plump red. She had a look of pure anger on her face, and I wonder what I did wrong to this woman when I don’t remember having seen her ever.

And then she slapped me—hard.

I nearly dropped my coffee and pastry at the impact of her slap. I could feel my cheek burning, and it doesn’t really help that it is lunch time, so there were a lot of people at the street, hanging out at the bottom of the building, who are buying lunch, going back from their lunches, or smoking.

“Whoa, what—”

“Stop texting my boyfriend. Stop flirting with him. Don’t you get it that he has a girlfriend?” she said angrily. I am not texting or flirting with anyone who has a girlfriend. I should know how that one feels, having been a victim of cheating by my former boyfriend.

I was about to open my mouth to defend myself when I was stopped by a breathless guy who looked so darn familiar.

“Kristine—”

The tall, round-eyed, dimpled guy who my officemates and I were crushing on was the one who was grabbing this woman who slapped me. “What are you doing?” he asked her, and she flashed him a glare. “I am putting your other woman in her proper place,” the woman that the guy called Kristine snapped.

The crowd was starting to gather around us, watching with curious eyes the scandal unfolding in front of their eyes. “Other woman?” I said, feeling irritated all of a sudden. I fished my phone in my pocket and handed it to her. “Look, if I really am texting your boyfriend as you claim, enter your BF’s digits in my phone and see if the caller ID indicates him,” I told her, and she frowned. She took my phone and entered his digits.

“Kristine, stop this, okay?” the guy said, and she shook her head. When she pressed call, no name registered. The number was unlisted.

“Take his phone,” I told Kristine, and she did, thrusting her hand inside his pocket and taking out a phone that is of a similar model to mine. She scrolled and after that looked up at me. “You are not her,” she said, and I nodded. “I guess next time you slap someone, please confirm if your boyfriend lied to you more than once—first by telling you that I’m just a nagging chick who’s flirting with him because I assure you, I don’t know your boyfriend and haven’t even met him up until now, and second, by pointing you to the wrong woman,” I said. I took my phone from her and pushed past her to enter the building. I saw some of the people shaking their heads as Kristine hit her boyfriend hard on his chest, cursing him.

I lagged behind just long enough to hear her say, “It’s over. We’re over.”

What Ifs

“Have you ever thought of what might have been if I had pursued you? If I really did court you?”

I heaved a sigh and looked at him. His eyes were that same dark brown that I loved staring at six years ago, those same dark brown eyes that I fell in love with, the same dark brown eyes that reads me ever so well. They were boring into me the way that they used to, and I had to look away. For some weird reason, six years into the future, he still has that same effect on me.

He wrapped his hand around mine, and I allowed myself a small smile. We used to do this back in high school, but it was totally platonic—according to him, that is. Back then, for me, holding hands with him was like a gift or a ten grand cash prize.

We were perfectly fine as friends until the day that I finally admitted to myself that I was, in fact, falling for the guy I had called my best friend.

And were perfectly okay with me loving him as more than one until the day he asked if he could court me.

I vividly remembered that day. We were in the school bus, in our usual seats. It was an unspoken rule that he and I will be seatmates no matter what (even on occasions when we are fighting), and on the way home we usually sit at the second row of the school bus (ours was a van—an L300). He would be at the outer seat and I will sit next to him. We were waiting for our other busmates, who were conveniently taking much more time than usual, leaving me and him and two others inside the van.

He was thinking about something that made his brows furrow and his eyes blaze. The wind was playing with his hair, and I was sorely tempted to brush them off his eyes for they are covering the beauty of them. I kept my hands to myself, though, and waited for him to talk to me. I busied myself by staring at the ice cream cart outside, wondering whether or not I could get a Jelly Tongue.

I didn’t dare go down and buy—I knew he is about to tell me something.

He turned to me, and then paused. He breathed deeply, and, without further hesitation, asked, “Pwede ba kitang ligawan?”

I had always dreamt of him asking that and I have formulated of ways to answer it without sounding much too eager. But at this moment, I just froze, lost in his brown eyes.

He waited for my answer, and I found my voice. I opened my mouth to say YES when he spoke again, interrupting me. “Practice lang.”

I couldn’t react at that moment. Here I am, about to say yes to a question that wasn’t even meant for me. Being a best friend shouldn’t include the task of being a rehearsal line partner, damn it.

I pushed past him, hiding my embarrassment, and got myself that Jelly Tongue.

I didn’t talk to him for the entire duration of the trip—a full hour.

I gathered my thoughts and nodded. “Yes, I have thought of it,” I replied slowly.

“And…?” he probed impatiently, his eyes doing the urging. “And I thought that it wouldn’t work,” I said simply, removing my hand against his and stood up, facing him.

“What?” he asked, astounded. He reached out for me but I shook my head—I was better at explaining myself with him not distracting me with his entirety.

“I said it wouldn’t work,” I repeated calmly. He frowned. “Why?”

I breathed deeply, and then gave him a thrifty smile. “You are a very independent person, and I have always loved that about you. It worked with us being best friends before—I was clingy and you needed me to keep you stable, to keep you… whole, if I may say so. Maybe it would have worked for a couple of months—hell, I know I would have begged you to be with me and to stay with me even if you wanted out. We were two very different people, and I don’t want you to be stuck with me when that’s not what you want,” I explained, and he stared at me, speechless.

“I don’t know,” I whispered, shrugging.

“And now?” he said after a few moments, again reaching out to me. I relented, and he hugged me around the waist, cuddling closer. “Still won’t work,” I said, and he twirled me around, his hands still around me. “Why?” he demanded, and I grinned. He scowled, and I smiled wider.

“Because I am a different person now,” I said softly, touching his cheek. “I am more independent. I don’t think you and I, since we’re two very independent people, can make this work since we won’t really need each other—”

“It’s not that. Being independent doesn’t really make it hard to maintain a relationship—”

“And I am not a fan of long-distance relationships,” I cut in, and he groaned, obviously frustrated. He was, after all, studying miles away from me, a six-hour bus ride, to be exact. He held me tight against his body, closing in. “Don’t you want me anymore?” he asked in a whisper, his voice husky against the hollow of my neck. I felt my world swirl, and my heart was raring to jump out of my chest.

I closed my eyes.

“You won’t… try to seduce me into this if you know I don’t want you,” I said in a restrained voice. I had my hands defensively against his chest—I don’t know if I can handle the heat between me and him if he goes any closer. He grinned. “Yeah, you want me,” he said, satisfied. I pushed off against him but his arms were steel around my waist and he wouldn’t let me go.

“I won’t leave you,” he urged, and I shook my head. “I am sorry, but it won’t work,” I insisted, and I was shocked at the next thing that he did: he crushed his lips against mine, hard, demanding, and punishing. I couldn’t move at first—I had dreamed of this moment for quite some time six years ago, and I never thought of anything like this for our first kiss. I felt him bite my lower lip and I couldn’t respond still out of the shock. Before I knew it, I was crying.

And then the kiss went gentle. His hand moved up from my waist to my neck, urging, wanting me to respond. And just for the sake of him letting me go, I tried to act as if it was okay with me, finally kissing him back.

Breathless—that was what we both are when he released me. “Shit,” he muttered, and I frowned, finally opening my eyes. “You’re crying,” he said, drying my tears with his fingers. I nearly scowled at the keen observation. He touched my now swollen lower lip, and continued, “I’m so sorry.”

“You can’t do that all the time to get what you wanted,” I said, my voice controlled. “I want you. I. Want. You. Is that what you want to hear? But sometimes, you’re just a little bit too late.”

Confusion fleeted his face for a moment, and I took that as an opportunity to untangle myself from his arms. He released me, but still kept me close by grabbing my hand. “Late?” he croaked, his voice still shaky from the kiss.

“Come on. Six years?”

He threw his head back and laughed loudly. “I told you I loved you back then, remember?”

“Yeah, but as your best friend, remember?” I shot back, and he shook his head.

“I meant it. I love you in the way that you have loved me.”

His voice sounded sincere enough, but I didn’t allow that to sway me. “Only back then you had a girlfriend, is that it? A girlfriend who isn’t me. The one you rehearsed that stupid line for. How do you expect me to believe that?”

“That ‘stupid’ line was meant for you. When I saw you hesitate, I couldn’t bear the rejection, so I said I was just practicing. I was scared of you. I told you before I don’t deserve the kind of love you were giving me. It was so pure, so undemanding, so selfless. But I should have known better. I knew you would accept me no matter what, and I couldn’t just shake that fear that one day you’ll realize that you should have gone and fallen in love for someone better—”

I cut him off when I pulled myself towards him and crashed into his chest. “Well then, people change, don’t they?” I whispered, and he nodded absently. I guess I could distract him the way he does to me. “And I told you before that we can never choose who we love,” I continued, my eyes holding his gaze. I have much more self-control than I credit myself for.

“And even though I said you’re six years too late, I think we should give it a shot. Prove me wrong that it won’t work.”

He smiled when he realized what I was saying. “Start off a clean slate?” he guessed, and I shook my head. “Not really clean. We were best friends. Want me to forget that too?” I said, and he grinned. “No, of course not. I was a better person with you around,” he replied, closing the gap between us. The kiss was gentler this time, and a million light years away from the first.

“Wow,” he whispered breathlessly. “Now I guess you can call that our first official kiss?” he teased, and I winked at him.

“What made you change your mind?” he asked, and I shrugged. “You slipped past me once. Won’t let that happen again, would I?”

He pulled me close and cuddled me against his chest. “Wrong. I let you get away from me before. I won’t let that chance get by me again,” he corrected, and I stayed silent, letting everything sink in.

“I love you,” he whispered against my hair.

The next day, he was gone.

Just like six years ago.

Pa-hug naman o?

I slumped on what little space is left on my desk, contemplating on when I will finish everything that I have to do. Sighing heavily, I wondered if I made every right decision along the way for my life to lead to this point: no breathing, cramming, stress, and more—to the point of giving up and putting my body at risk because of the sleepless nights and no-eating marathons.

He’d get mad, that’s for sure. Even though he’s just a tad busier than I am, for some reason, he doesn’t let it get to him. For me, he’d always look so vibrant, so fun, so happy even when he should curse and rant just like what I am doing now. He just always sees that positive side, that silver lining even in the most atrocious situations. He’d get mad for I have let myself give in to the stress and madness in my life. He’d get mad because for the nth time I haven’t eaten breakfast and lunch and on my way to not eating dinner as well. All I had in my stomach were a few chocolate bars I’ve grabbed on my way out of the house this morning.

He’d get mad for I look so horrible when I could always place a smile on my face because I know I’m still lucky that I am alive. He’d say that I’m always so pessimistic about little things and that I tend to make things seem bigger than they actually are. He’d say that I shouldn’t be like this, that I am still lucky.

Yeah. Still lucky that I have him by my side and that he still makes an effort everyday to make me smile.

Suddenly I felt that warm feeling around me. A hand wrapped around my waist and hugged me from behind. I didn’t have to look up to know that it was him.

“Your daily hug dosage,” he whispered, and I sat up, leaned against him, enclosed in his hug.

“I missed the way I was when we started,” I replied, also in a whisper. He shook his head and kissed me on the cheek. “I love you even more now, because you are stronger. And because you give me the strength everyday. I look at you, in your good ol’ stressed form, and see that I know I’ll be able to make you smile because you’re that one person who appreciates me no matter what,” he said, and I looked up at him.

Our eyes met, and we both broke into a smile.

“My hug dosage should be upped,” I told him, and he nodded, embracing me once more, this time tighter.

Will You Be My Girl?

Drums were blaring inside the Coliseum, and it’s only just the first game. The crowd at this point was divided into yellow and maroon. Patches of blue and green told us that the next game is the one that really sold out the tickets: the Ateneo de Manila University Blue Eagles versus the De La Salle Green Archers.

A fairly representative crowd was watching the game at the UP side. Centennial year celebrations would do that to you. Everyone seems supportive.

“This is awesome. Courtside seats for an Ateneo-La Salle game!” exclaimed one of my friends who I took to this game. A timeout was called and the drums were on ceasefire. Looking up, I saw UP was up by five, three minutes left in the second quarter. “You didn’t tell us how you got the tickets,” she continued, and I grinned.

“Well, you’ll find out in a bit,” I said, crossing my fingers. It is nice that he has the connections that got us these courtside tickets, but it ain’t nice that he was late—two basketball quarters late, if I may say. I wondered silently why he was late and why in this planet earth wasn’t he texting me.

My friend frowned, but a smile was playing on her lips. “You silly girl! Keeping the mystery, huh?” she said, and before I was even able to answer, the drums were brought back to life again.

“Hey,” a voice said into my ear. When I turned I bumped heads with him, and we ended up laughing. He sat on the seat next to me and enclosed my hand in his. “Sorry I was late. Mom had me run some errands,” he explained loudly over the blaring drums. I nodded, and then poked my friends, signaling that the one who got us our courtside seats is already here.

“He was the one who got you the tickets?” my friend asked, and I nodded. She was semi-shocked to see him, considering I wasn’t telling anyone that I am seeing somebody. I did the introductions and they shook hands. “He has friends on the team and used several connections just to get us seated here,” I explained, and my friend’s look told me that my explaining goes beyond that. I nodded, and then turned to him.

I squeezed his hand and turned back to the court. Martin Reyes had just made a three, and he put UP up by ten, eight seconds before halftime.

“Hey, I’ve got to ask you something,” he said, and I frowned. “What’s that?” I asked, facing him. He raised his hand—I reckoned it was some sort of a signal—and then pointed to the other side of the Coliseum where the yellow side was. On that part of the yellow side where the crowd was thin, a real huge white banner unfolded. There in Ateneo blue all caps were the words: WILL YOU BE MY GIRL?

I gaped.

My world stopped at that moment, and I didn’t know how I should or would react. Everyone was pointing to the now noticeable banner, and wondering who was the one posing the question and to whom it was addressed to. The camera even panned to it and focused it on the screen for a few seconds, and I feel that the crew were being told to find out who is doing this big a proposal.

I turned to him and said, “Are you crazy?”

He laughed, and then said loudly, “Yes! With you. Everything about you drives me crazy.”

I rolled my eyes. “What would you do if I say no?” I asked, and his wide smile faded. “Well, I’d try again next time, I guess,” he replied, obviously disheartened. I raised his face so that his eyes would meet mine, and I said, “I won’t let you have a ‘next time around.’ Yes, I’ll be your girl.”

He smiled a megawatt smile and hugged me, and I turned to my friends, who were in all smiles as well.

“We figured you can’t resist that type of a proposal,” they teased, and I laughed, and they hugged me. “Congratulations on your newly-found love life.” When I looked up, a banner, smaller than the proposal, screamed in UP maroon all caps: SHE SAID YES!

I turned to him, who shrugged. “Well, we have to let the people know if you said yes or no, right?” he said, and I pinched his nose playfully. We hugged again, and I kissed him on the forehead. “You really are one crazy bastard,” I told him, almost in a whisper. I knew he can hear me, for he winked as a reply.

“Inspired eh,” he whispered. “I love you.”

“Love you,” I replied.