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Chapter 16 - Escape

The silence the next morning was louder than any breakdown. As sunlight slipped through the curtains, she opened her eyes to an emptiness deep in her chest—as if everything had left the night before, including herself.

She turned to her side, eyes blank as they fixed on the ceiling. She had no idea what time it was. It didn't matter. Her phone lay dead on the nightstand—not because it ran out of battery, but because she turned it off.

After a few minutes, she got up. She opened the closet and pulled out a luggage bag—one she hadn't touched in almost a year. Quietly, she packed her clothes, a few basic essentials, and the scarf her mother once gave her.

By noon, she was already on a bus to Baguio. She hadn't planned it. She didn't even think it through. All she knew was that she needed distance: cool air, silence, and a place where no one knew her name. Somewhere he didn't exist.

As the bus made its way along the winding roads, she sat by the window and watched the pine-covered mountains blur into streaks of green and gray. Her mind was quiet and her heart was strangely calm. 

When she arrived, it was already dark. The rain fell lightly, coating the streets in a soft drizzle. She walked slowly, her suitcase in one hand and the scarf wrapped tightly around her neck. Eventually, she found a modest inn near Burnham Park. It wasn't anything fancy—just a bed, a warm shower, and a small window overlooking the trees outside.

She sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the ceiling. She knew Danica would worry. Before turning her phone off again, she sent a short message.

"Don't worry about me. I'm just taking a short break."

Then, she placed her phone at the bottom of her luggage, far from view. It was only then that she took her first deep breath. For the first time in days, she felt some form of peace. She wasn't in her comfort zone. In fact, this was only her second time in Baguio. But there was something about being in a place so unfamiliar that made her feel like she could finally figure herself out again.

The next morning, she rose early and stepped out into the quiet streets of Baguio. Wrapped in a soft gray sweater, her scarf snug around her neck, jeans, and worn-in sneakers, she walked with no destination in mind. The cold air bit at her cheeks, but she welcomed it.

Eventually, she stopped in front of a café. A wooden sign above the door read: "Cafe by the Ruins." Something about the place invited her in. Inside, the warmth of the café welcomed her instantly. The smell of croissants, brewed coffee, and old wood filled the air. There weren't many people inside—just a few reading books and some quietly typing on their laptops. She chose a table by the window, one with a clear view of the fog-covered streets.

Before she could even call for service, a waitress placed a steaming cup of hot chocolate on her table.

"On the house," the girl said with a smile. "It's our welcome drink for first-time customers. Enjoy your stay, ma'am."

She blinked, then smiled back. "Thank you."

She took a small sip. It was warm, slightly sweet, with just a hint of bitterness. As she looked out the window, the fog outside seemed to blur the world into something softer. She could breathe here.

"Excuse me."

A voice broke through her thoughts. She turned and saw a man standing beside her table. He looked like he was in his late twenties. Neatly dressed, his sleeves rolled up, and a book in one hand. 

"You dropped this outside," he said, holding out her scarf. Her eyes widened—how had she not even noticed it was gone?

She quickly reached out to take it, a little flustered. "I didn't even notice. Thank you."

He gave a small nod and was about to walk away.

"Do you always return scarves to strangers?" she asked, not even sure why the question slipped out.

A soft smile appeared on his lips. "Only when they look like they've been carrying too much."

She didn't know how to respond. His words caught her off guard.

"Lucien," he said simply, offering his hand.

"Maxine."

They shook hands briefly. She returned his smile—warm, unsure, but sincere.

Before leaving, he placed a napkin on her table. Written on it, in fine handwriting, were the words:

"You don't owe the world your reasons. Keep going. – L."

She stared at it, reading the line over and over.

Was she really that obvious? That even strangers could see how heavy her heart had become?

Two more days passed.

She didn't go back to Manila. She didn't check her phone nor open her email. She stayed in Baguio and let herself disappear for a while. She took long walks beneath the pine trees. Sometimes, she cried—quiet tears that no one else had to see. But on most days, she just sat in the silence.

She saw Lucien once again—across another café. They didn't speak because they didn't need to. They simply exchanged a brief glance. He smiled, she smiled back and that was enough.

On her third night, while sitting by the fireplace in the inn, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She looked pale and a little thinner. But there was something different in her eyes now. They didn't look lost. Just tired and clear.

For the first time, she let herself remember how it started—not the love, but the mistake.

It had been a rainy Thursday night after her class. She and Danica had parted ways because she planned to grab coffee before heading home. But instead, she saw him.

Troy.

He was walking into a bar, shoulders slumped, eyes distant and cold. There was something about him that looked broken—like the world had collapsed, and no one had noticed. He hadn't seen her. Not even when she followed him inside and sat a few stools away.

She didn't know why she did it. Maybe it was concern. Maybe it was because she had always been drawn to him—ever since she saw him playing basketball during intramural. He was smart, too. A consistent dean's lister. It didn't matter that he had a girlfriend. She never dared approach him but just admired him from afar. She secretly loved him and hoped for the occasional stolen glance.

"Why are you following me?" he asked, his voice flat, eyes still fixed on his drink.

She was startled. He knew?

"I-I'm not," she said, voice trembling. "I j-just needed air. Is it my fault we ended up at the same bar?"

"Don't pretend," he muttered. "You haven't even ordered anything."

The music and chatter in the bar faded into the background. All she could hear was the pounding of her heart.

"I always saw the way you looked at me," he said quietly, as if slicing through every excuse she could have made.

She could have walked away. She should have. But instead, she whispered, "I just didn't want you to be alone."

He let out a bitter laugh. "My girlfriend left me. That enough drama for tonight?"

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Don't be. It wasn't your fault. Just leave me alone," he said coldly, pouring himself another glass of rhum and drinking it in one go.

His words were sharp. But she didn't leave. Instead, she moved two stools closer. He finally turned to her. His eyes were red and his jaw was clenched.

"You want to pretend something matters tonight?" he said. "Fine. Come with me."

And she did.

That was the night she crossed the line. Not because he asked, but because she hoped that if she stayed long enough, she would matter.

But she never did.

She was never his beginning. Just what was left after it ended.

She stood up and walked to her bag. Quietly, she pulled out her phone and turned it on. It came to life with dozens of missed calls and unread messages. From Danica, Seymour and even the intern.

She didn't open any of them.

Instead, she typed a single message to Danica:

"I'm okay. I'll be home tomorrow. Don't worry."

Tomorrow, she would go home. Not because someone asked her or she had to. But because she was ready. Not as the same woman who left but as someone who had finally chosen herself.

They were right about Baguio. There is something quietly healing about this place, especially for a soul that has been shattered like hers.

Just then, her phone lit up.

One new message.

From Troy:

"Where are you?"

Before, that message would've made her heart skip. It would've awakened something tender, something foolishly hopeful.

But now?

There was nothing.

She locked her phone and placed it face down on the table. This time, she didn't owe him an answer.

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