"Will you listen to me?"
He nodded again, silent this time. Bracing himself.
I looked down at my hands and tried to breathe past the tightness in my chest. The words were already unraveling in my mind—memories I hadn't said out loud in years.
"Back then… even though I was the only kid, things were rough at home. My parents were just starting out, and everything was expensive. Especially raising a child." I gave a small, crooked smile.
"Mom had to budget every little thing." I could hear my own voice go soft, almost like I was telling a bedtime story.
"But no matter how tight things got, the food was always amazing. Always different. Always delicious.
"I smiled—genuinely this time—as the memory lit something warm inside me, like it was yesterday.
"I loved tasting whatever she made. I didn't even know we were struggling. I just thought those were the ingredients we had."
Every day brought something new—I was always excited for her cooking, whether it was a dish she had perfected or one she was still experimenting with. How could I have known we were struggling, when every lunch felt like a feast?
Looking back, she always had something growing on our tiny balcony, or she'd be asking the neighbors for spices and ingredients with that bright smile of hers.
I laughed under my breath. "That's how cool Mom was."
But just saying that made my chest tighten again. I looked away.
"Dad said they were trying to build a life—get a home, raise me right. He didn't want Mom to work. He wanted her with me. Every single day. And she was."
I picked at the parfait with my spoon, though I wasn't tasting anything anymore.
"Then… she started getting sick. Just little symptoms at first. Nothing serious. Until it was."
My voice caught. I forced myself to keep talking. For a moment, I wanted to glance at Ice—just to see his face. Was this really okay to share? I didn't want to drag him into this weight I carried. But I couldn't bring myself to look. If I did… I might fall apart.
"Dad begged her to go to the hospital. And when she finally did… that's when they found out."
I paused. The scene played in my mind like a faded film reel.
"They never told me what it was. But I remember the way she looked. So tired all the time. And then came the treatments. She wasn't around much after that."
I could feel Ice still beside me, completely silent—but I didn't need him to say anything. Sometimes just being there was enough.
"But I believed she'd be okay. Dad said she would. And… he never lies."
I smiled again. But this time, I knew my eyes didn't match.
"He started working even more. I told him I understood. That we had to fight for Mom. I tried to help by cooking, but…"
A small laugh slipped out. It felt brittle.
"There was this one time I almost burned the house down. After that, I just stopped. Didn't want to take that risk again."
I turned to look at Ice and tried to smile again. "Then she came home. I was so happy. That had to mean the treatment worked, right? Just like Dad said."
I paused.
"That's what the nine-year-old me believed."
Tears blurred my vision before I realized it. I looked at Ice, and even though I hadn't said the words, he already knew.
There are only two reasons someone comes home from the hospital.
Either they're better… or they can't be.
"I know I'm not the only one," I whispered. "People lose family all the time. They say it's normal. But it doesn't feel that way. It's like… there's this hole in me, and it never really goes away."
My voice was just air now—no heat, no spark. Just ash.
I could see it in his eyes. The way his expression shifted—like he'd imagined his own mom in her place, and the thought was too much.
"After that, Dad worked himself to the bone. I think… a part of him hated himself for not being able to save her. And I carried that too. That's why I wanted to start working as soon as I could."
I gave another smile. I didn't even know what kind it was anymore. Tired, probably.
That's when I noticed his expression shift—this soft ache behind his eyes.
The way he used to look at me—like I was just some annoying rich girl—it wasn't there anymore.
Silence fell again. Heavy. Suffocating. At Least for me
Then he whispered, "You can cry."
Stunned, I turned to him, wide-eyed, like he'd said something forbidden.
"No!" I said quickly, shaking my head, even as I felt the tears sliding down. I looked trying to hold them back. "No, Ice, stop—"
But my voice cracked.
Begging.
"You can," he said again, softer. "I won't tell anyone." Then his grip tightened—subtle, steady. That's when I realized Ice was still holding my wounded hand. He clenched it a little tighter—just enough to say It's okay, but still gentle enough not to hurt me.
And that was all it took.
All the years I spent holding it in—smiling for Papa, pretending to be okay, telling myself to be strong—they broke in an instant.
I have to be strong for Papa.
He said I'm his sunshine.
I need to smile.
I need to be strong.
I need to be happy.
The pain didn't vanish that night, but for that moment, just being there… crying… made the burden feel just a little lighter by morning.
EXT- UNIVERSITY CAMPUS -NEXT DAY
"I told you this was not a good idea!" Oriel protested, wobbling uncertainty in high heels.
"It is! You'll get better pictures—and more exposure for modeling," Dhylan countered, juggling a large duffle bag, a backpack, and a couple of paper bags filled with her costumes.
"These heels are too high. I've never worn anything like this, not even for photo shoots." She tried to steady herself across the grass, looking more like a magician performing a rope trick than a pageant contestant.
"You'll get used to it, my Ori," he said with a grin. He wasn't the one in heels, but with all her things in his arms, he looked just as unbalanced. "You should ask Fire."
Oriel paused. "That is… the best suggestion you've ever made in your life."
She stepped again—and that's when it happened.
A misstep. A sharp cry. And in the blink of an eye, she was on the ground.
Dhylan dropped everything and ran to her, but not fast enough to catch her from falling.
"This is all your fault!" she cried, clutching her ankle, still seated on the grass.
"I told you to be careful. There's no need to rush," he muttered with guilt, anxious was painted on his face.
Then, without asking, he picked her up—bridal style.
With the campus couple on full display, sweetness radiating between them, the lenses of the school newspaper club immediately zoomed in.
"Shameless couple," someone muttered loud enough to be heard.
Haters. Even though most people adored them, there were always a few. Some hated her—especially those who liked Dhylan. Others hated him—because they liked her. And sometimes, people just hated them both.
"Hey!" she protested, flustered. "People are looking!"
She squirmed, trying her best to break free, but couldn't. She always thought she could take him down—but it turned out, she couldn't.
"DJ!" she called, half-warning, half-pleading.
"They don't matter. You do."
His usual playful tone was gone. His expression turned serious, the worry in his eyes unmistakable. It made her chest ache.
Stunned by the shift, she knew—this time, she was powerless. DJ always listened to her... except in moments like this. When it really mattered, he didn't back down.
Yeah, right. You always say things like that… dangerously believable, DJ, she thought, her face turning red. Why do you always play like this?