The hospital day had been long, the kind that dragged and stretched until the hours bled together. Emma signed the last of her charts, double-checked the schedule for the next week, and finally let herself exhale. The halls of St. Therese Medical had already thinned. Only the murmur of residents on call and the faint echo of nurses moving between wards broke the silence.
She packed her things and slung her bag over her shoulder. Just as she stepped out of her office, a bright voice called, "Doktora Padilla!"
Emma turned. A woman in a pink scrub jacket waved at her with cheerful energy. She was petite, hair tied back neatly, with a stethoscope draped loosely around her neck.
"Hi, I'm Dr. Mariel Tan," she said when she caught up. "Pediatrics. We haven't really met properly yet, but I've heard about you from half the staff already. Welcome to St. Therese."
Emma smiled. "Thank you, Dr. Tan."
"Call me Mariel," she said quickly. "Everyone does. I was about to grab coffee across the street—Julie's, you know? They've got the best bread, promise. Want to join?"
Emma hesitated. She wasn't sure she wanted more small talk, but something about Mariel's bright grin was disarming. And honestly, coffee sounded like exactly what she needed before the drive back to Panganiban.
"Sure," Emma said. "Lead the way."
Julie's Café was already bustling when they arrived, the warm air thick with the scent of fresh pandesal and brewed barako. A group of interns huddled in the corner, whispering over books they weren't really reading. A pair of nurses giggled over their phones. Businessmen in pressed polos waited in line, fiddling with their wallets.
Mariel waved to someone behind the counter and guided Emma to a table near the window. "My second home," she said, sliding into a chair. "Half the staff comes here when they need a break. Coffee keeps this hospital alive, if you ask me."
Emma laughed softly. "Not the medicine?"
"Medicine, sure. But without caffeine, half the medicine would never get prescribed."
They ordered—Emma her usual strong brew, Mariel a sweet latte—and settled into an easy rhythm. Mariel asked about Emma's adjustment to Daet, teased her about the local gossip, shared stories about patients who thought pediatricians had magic wands.
Emma found herself relaxing. It had been a while since she'd sat like this, in simple conversation, without the weight of department politics pressing down.
Then the café door chimed.
Emma looked up automatically.
A tall figure ducked through the doorway, his head nearly brushing the frame. Over six feet, broad-shouldered, wearing a plain white shirt that did nothing to hide the easy strength beneath it. His hair, dark and heavy, was tied back in a man bun that looked precariously loose.
Adrian.
The air shifted the moment he entered, as if the room itself made space for him. Conversations faltered. A nurse at the counter straightened, eyes widening. One of the interns nudged another, whispering fast.
And then, as if fate were playing a joke, his man bun came undone.
The hair tie slipped, bounced on the tile. Adrian bent to pick it up, tossing his hair back in one fluid motion. The strands caught the late afternoon light from the window, falling around his face before he tied them up again with a practiced flick.
The room exhaled in a collective sigh.
Two nurses actually gasped. "He's here," one whispered. Another braver voice called, "Hi, Adrian!"
He inclined his head politely, not encouraging but not dismissive either.
Emma rolled her eyes. The dramatics of it all—like a shampoo commercial, honestly. But then she noticed her own chest tighten, her pulse quicken, the heat rushing to her cheeks. She was waiting—ridiculously—for him to look her way.
And when he did, her breath caught.
His gaze swept the café, polite, distant… until it found hers. Recognition flared. The air between them seemed to contract, leaving her exposed.
And then, without hesitation, he winked.
Emma nearly knocked her knee against the table. Her coffee sloshed dangerously close to the rim. She grabbed the cup with both hands, praying Mariel hadn't noticed the crimson flush crawling up her neck.
Of course Mariel noticed.
"Well, well," Mariel said, leaning her chin on her hand, eyes dancing. "You two know each other?"
Emma cleared her throat, too fast, too defensive. "Not really. He's… just around."
"Just around?" Mariel's grin widened. "Emma, please. The whole town knows Adrian. He's like the resident hero—fixes roofs, carries water jugs, finds oregano when someone's coughing. Gwapo na, mabait pa." ("Handsome, and kind too.")
Emma's blush deepened. She took a desperate sip of coffee, scalding her tongue, but the heat was nothing compared to the fire in her face.
"Seriously," Mariel went on, clearly enjoying herself, "he's practically a local legend. Everyone loves him. Even the old ladies at church call him anak ng bayan (the town's son). And you're telling me you two aren't close?"
Emma forced a tight smile. "We've crossed paths. That's it."
Mariel raised her brows but let it drop—for now.
Adrian collected his coffee at the counter, retied his hair neatly, and walked out without another word. But Emma could still feel the weight of his gaze lingering, like an imprint.
When the door closed behind him, the café buzzed again, the chatter resuming, though with more giggles than before.
Mariel leaned closer. "You know, Emma, if you're going to stay in Daet, you might want to get used to women swooning every time he enters a room."
Emma set her cup down firmly. "I'm not swooning."
"Of course not," Mariel said sweetly. "You're just… crimson."
Emma groaned and buried her face in her hands.
Later, when she drove back to Panganiban, the road unspooled before her in quiet curves. The trees lining the way seemed taller in the dusk, the forest deeper, more watchful. She gripped the wheel tighter, telling herself it was just coincidence, just curiosity, just the heat of a crowded café.
But when she parked by her grandmother's house and turned off the engine, her heart was still racing.
And in the forest not far away, Adrian stood in the shadows, sipping coffee gone lukewarm, and smiling to himself at the memory of her blush.