(Hunger isn't just an emptiness of the stomach. It's the silence that follows when dreams begin to cost too much.)
The sun above Ormoc burned without mercy, turning the streets into sheets of light. Nox Ando walked through them slowly, the soles of his shoes thin enough to feel the heat rising from the concrete. Sweat trickled down his neck, but it wasn't the heat that bothered him most—it was the hollow ache that had made a home inside him. Two days without a real meal had a way of dulling thought. Everything felt distant. The laughter of school kids passing by. The sputter of tricycles. The smell of kwek-kwek frying in oil so cheap it stung his eyes.
He looked away from the street food cart. He couldn't afford to look too long—it was like staring into something sacred. In his pocket, the last of his allowance sat folded: five hundred pesos for the whole week. He'd already done the math: one hundred fifty for project fees, two hundred for the baon he'd promised himself to stretch into Friday, fifty for the water refill station, and the rest—he didn't know yet. Maybe emergencies. Maybe hope.
He could live with hunger. Pride was harder to swallow.
Nox stopped at a small sari-sari store and bought a sachet of instant coffee. "Mainit na tubig lang, ate," he said softly. The woman nodded, poured him a paper cup, and watched as he stirred the dark powder. No sugar. He liked it that way—it felt honest. Bitter but real.
As he walked toward the school, he passed a group of boys laughing near the basketball court. One of them called out, "Oy, Nox! Barkada namin maglalakwatsa mamaya!"
He smiled faintly. "Next time, pre. Wala akong budget."
They jeered good-naturedly, but one of them—the tallest—clapped him on the back. "Kaya mo 'yan, Ando. Ikaw nga valedictorian namin eh."
He grinned. "Valedictorian ng gutom." They laughed, but his smile faded as soon as he turned away.
He thought of Shyn. She was probably waiting under the acacia tree near the gate—their meeting place since Grade 11. He could already picture her: hair tied in a loose ponytail, uniform sleeves rolled just a bit, eyes that made the day feel less cruel.
When he found her, she was sitting on the low stone fence, a paper cup of lugaw in her hands. "Nox! Dito!" she called out, smiling like the world wasn't hard.
He sat beside her. "You already ate?"
"Not yet. I was waiting for you." She tore a piece of plastic spoon in half and offered it. "Share tayo."
He hesitated. "You eat first. I'll get something later."
She rolled her eyes. "You always say that." Then she scooped a spoonful of lugaw and held it near his lips. "Come on. Don't make me eat alone."
The smell hit him—ginger, rice, a faint trace of chicken bones boiled too long. It wasn't much, but right then it felt like a feast. He took the spoon quietly, savoring the warmth.
"Salamat, Shyn."
She smiled. "You say that like it's the last meal we'll ever share."
He looked at her, and for a second, it hurt to love someone that much when you had so little to give. "Maybe it is," he said, half-joking.
"Don't say that." She bumped his shoulder lightly. "After graduation, everything will get better, 'di ba?"
He nodded, though he didn't believe it fully. He'd passed every exam, finished top of his class, and yet the future still felt like a locked door. College cost money. Money he didn't have.
Graduation came on a day that smelled of cheap cologne and sweat. The school's covered court had been transformed into a hall of crepe paper streamers and mismatched monoblock chairs. The heat gathered under the roof like a living thing.
Nox adjusted the toga that itched at his neck. It was borrowed—three years old, the fabric faded and smelling faintly of mothballs—but he wore it like armor. When his name was called, applause echoed, and for one fleeting moment, he felt weightless. He walked across the stage, accepted his diploma with both hands, and smiled for the camera someone's uncle was holding.
It was done. Years of walking to school, skipping meals, studying under candlelight during brownouts—all for this single paper that didn't guarantee anything.
After the ceremony, Shyn found him near the gate, still holding his diploma. She threw her arms around him, laughing. "You did it!"
He hugged her back gently. "We did."
"Don't say goodbye yet," she whispered, as if sensing something heavy behind his silence. "You're going to find a way, Nox. I know you will."
He wanted to believe her. He wanted to believe that love could pay tuition fees, that hard work could feed you, that the universe didn't care how small your wallet was as long as your heart was big enough. But poverty was louder than faith.
A sudden voice cut through the noise. "Nox!"
He turned. His sister, Flora, stood at the entrance, her face drawn tight, eyes sharp with urgency. She was still wearing her work uniform from the small diner she served at, sweat darkening her collar. She looked like she'd run all the way there.
"Flora?" He frowned. "What are you doing here?"
She didn't answer immediately. Her gaze flicked from the diploma in his hand to the girl beside him. Then she said it—clear, steady, and final:
"You're done here. We're going to Cebu."
The world seemed to pause. The noise of laughter, the cheap pop song from a nearby speaker—all of it faded into the sound of his own pulse.
He stared at her, confusion tightening his chest. "What do you mean? I—Flora, I can't just—"
She stepped closer, gripping his arm. "Nox, please. No time to argue. Pack your things tonight. We're leaving first trip tomorrow."
He glanced at Shyn, whose smile faltered. Her hand slipped from his.
Flora's eyes softened for a moment. "It's not a choice, Nox. You'll understand soon."
The sun dipped lower behind the rooftops, casting the street in gold and shadow. For the first time all day, Nox forgot his hunger. Something heavier had taken its place—a weight that had nothing to do with the stomach, and everything to do with the heart.
___
Author's Notes:
Kwek-kwek — quail eggs coated in orange batter, deep-fried and sold as street food.
Baon — allowance or packed lunch for school.
Lugaw — Filipino rice porridge, often served cheap and hot.
Barkada — close group of friends.
Utang — debt or money owed.