The following days felt… strange.
Not because anything changed between them, but because nothing had.
There were still messages. Still check-ins. Still the occasional voice message from him that made her heart twitch. But everything felt heavier now. Like every word carried a weight she didn't know how to hold anymore.
Kate found herself hesitating more before replying. Her fingers would hover above her phone, typing and deleting. She'd open the message, read his sweet words, and just... stare. Frozen. As if answering would mean something more than just a casual reply.
"Good morning, baby. Hope your shift isn't too draining today. Miss you."
Normally, that would've sent her into a flurry of butterflies. She'd be giddy the whole day, cheeks red as she reread the message three, four, five times.
Now? It made her chest tighten.
Because it felt too good. Too sweet. Too safe. And none of those things matched what she knew real love had done to her before—wrecked her.
She was scared.
Scared that he was just being nice. Scared that he was just playing around. Scared that he liked the attention more than he liked her.
What if she was just fun for him—just entertainment? A new chatmate. A fresh face to flirt with while bored. A distraction between construction meetings and coffee breaks.
She didn't want to be just that.
But she didn't want to assume either. That was worse—being the one to expect, only to be wrong.
Kate had been there before. The excitement. The attachment. The crash that followed when she realized she was the only one holding on. She had already stitched her heart back together once, and it wasn't a process she was eager to repeat.
After her last heartbreak, she promised herself: no more commitments. Not until she's truly healed. Not until she's sure.
But how do you heal when someone new starts making space in your heart before you even realize it?
She remembered Riz's advice:
"Start asking the hard questions. Klaruhin mo. Don't just ride the wave."
But that's exactly what she was doing—riding the wave and pretending she wasn't drowning.
So instead of asking, Kate started pulling back.
She muted his chat.
She left his messages on seen.
She replied later than usual.
She gave excuses. "Sorry, duty." "Napagod lang." "Nakalimutan ko."
Each lie added a layer to the wall she was building. Each delayed reply was a brick in the barricade she hoped would protect her.
But the truth?
She was scared that if she asked him—if she really asked—he'd tell her something she didn't want to hear. That this was nothing. That it meant nothing.
And that kind of truth? It would break her.
So she chose silence.
One night, he sent:
"Baby, everything okay? You've been quiet lately."
She read it. Didn't reply.
She placed her phone face-down on her study table and tried to focus on her notes. Or at least pretended to.
Her fingers itched to type something back. Anything. Even just a "Yeah." But her heart was louder. It whispered doubts. Loud. Cruel. Paralyzing.
Later that night, she stared at the ceiling, tangled in her sheets, asking herself the questions she kept avoiding.
What are we?
Why are you still talking to me?
Do you really like me… or am I just something to distract you from being alone?
But she never sent those questions.
She held them like secrets between her lips.
Instead, she convinced herself this was safer. Better. No expectations. No pain. No heartbreak.
She was protecting her heart. That's what she told herself.
But somehow… it still hurt.
Because while she was building walls, a part of her wished he'd break through them and say:
"I'm here. For real."
But he didn't.
Not yet.
---
It started with silence.
A kind he hadn't heard from her before.
Not the usual quiet that came after a long, exhausting day—when her phone would go dark because she'd fallen asleep on the couch, or the familiar "Sorry baby, nakatulog ako" texts that followed. This silence was different.
Cold. Empty.
Frooze stared down at his phone, his thumb frozen just above the keyboard, unsure whether to type or just stare into the void. Her name—Kate—still pinned at the top of his inbox, like a stubborn reminder. Her last message was so bland it felt like a slap: "Okay, ingat." Just two words, sent two days ago. Two days that stretched out like an eternity, turning into months in his mind.
He'd tried everything he could think of to reach her.
Voice messages—long and rambling, hoping to crack her silence. Memes—stupid, funny ones he thought would make her smile. Even a photo of his coffee, the foam art shaped into a smiley face with the caption: "You."
Nothing.
Not a single reply. Not a hint that she had even seen them.
He stared harder at the screen, willing the little "seen" notification to pop up under his messages. When it finally did, it was like a cruel joke—she had seen them but still, no reply.
The nights grew longer, the silence heavier without her voice filling the space.
"Kate… baby," he whispered into the quiet room, the sound barely more than a breath.
His fingers trembled as they clutched the phone tighter, knuckles whitening. "Where did you go?"
He didn't want to overthink it. He refused to assume the worst. He promised himself he wouldn't become that guy—the clingy one, desperate and needy.
But damn it, he missed her.
And that was new.
He wasn't the type to miss people.
He was neutral. Detached. Cold, even.
People drifted in and out of his life like passing seasons. He smiled politely, nodded in agreement, offered brief replies. Never overextended, never chased, never begged.
Life had taught him that distance was safer.
That not getting too close was cleaner. Easier.
But then Kate happened.
That awkward, sarcastic girl who had stumbled into his life on a drunken night, completely unplanned and unexpected.
She did something no one else ever had.
She made him feel.
He missed her sarcasm, sharp and witty, the kind that cut through his carefully built walls. He missed her late-night rants about the endless hospital duty that left her exhausted but somehow still fighting. The way she tried to hide her embarrassment when he called her "baby," cheeks flushed and eyes darting away. The soft, awkward laughs she let out—laughs that made his chest ache, like a quiet melody he never wanted to stop hearing.
He hated how deeply he noticed every little thing about her now.
The exact times she usually sent texts. How her replies changed from a casual "Hehe" to a genuine "Hahaha" when something truly amused her. The three-second pause before her voice notes started, as if she was gathering her thoughts just for him.
And now?
Nothing.
Why was she pulling away?
He wasn't stupid. He could feel the shift—the growing distance, the cooling warmth, the coldness spreading like ice between them.
And it stung.
Because somewhere deep down, he had dared to believe maybe they had something real.
Maybe it wasn't just the heat of that one night.
Maybe it was something more.
His fingers curled tightly around the phone, nails digging into his palm.
Fuck.
Was he really hoping they could be something—even though he wasn't ready?
At first, there was something about her that amused him, intrigued him, that he couldn't just let go of.
Like metal drawn to a magnet.
He kept reaching out because she made him feel alive again. Like he still had emotions buried beneath all the years of detachment.
He knew Kate was freaked out by the idea of "us." That the one-night stand, followed by him chasing after her like there were no strings attached, wasn't how things worked.
But he couldn't help himself.
He thought, maybe, after some time, the feeling would fade away.
But now?
He wasn't so sure anymore.
---
Friday night.
Frooze sat alone in his car, parked beneath a flickering streetlight that cast weak, uneven pools of yellow on the empty pavement. The city around him was unusually quiet—almost unnervingly so—but his mind was anything but calm.
He pressed play on his phone, letting her last voice note loop again and again—the one where she laughed softly and teased him, "Eat something healthy for once, okay?"
That light, teasing tone felt like a lifetime ago now.
His phone lay cold and silent on the passenger seat beside him, the screen dark as if it had given up hope, just like he was about to.
Should he wait it out? Should he give her the space she clearly needed?
The logical part of him—the engineer who thrived on order and control—argued fiercely against it. Stay detached. Stay in control. Don't get involved. Keep it simple. Keep it clean.
But then there was the other part. The part of him he usually kept buried deep beneath layers of indifference and self-protection—the part that beat quietly, stubbornly, and now screamed with urgency.
He couldn't take the silence anymore.
Not like this. Not when everything between them still hung suspended in the air, unresolved.
Not when he didn't even know if she was okay. Or if she wanted him at all.
Without a second thought, Frooze's fingers reached for the ignition.
The engine roared to life, filling the stillness of the night.
He pulled out onto the empty road, the familiar city lights blurring into streaks of yellow and white as he sped forward.
Pangasinan.
That was where Kate was.
The realization hit him hard, like a punch to the gut he hadn't expected but couldn't ignore.
He didn't know what he'd say when he saw her.
He didn't know what she'd say back.
But he had to see her.
He needed to know.
Miles slid beneath his tires, the steady hum of the engine blending with the soft, distant tunes playing faintly on the radio.
His mind raced faster than the car, each kilometer bringing a new wave of hope, fear, and uncertainty.
He imagined her sitting alone somewhere—maybe scared, maybe confused.
Maybe just as lost as he was.
His thumb absentmindedly spun the silver ring on his index finger, the smooth metal cool against his skin.
"Kate," he whispered into the dark, his voice rough with emotion, "I'm coming."