THE next morning my phone woke me at 6:47 with a message from Teo.
Teo: Still alive? Grab's waiting downstairs in 10. Don't ghost me.
I stared at the ceiling crack that looked like a lightning bolt. Rain had stopped sometime in the night, but the air still felt heavy, like the city was holding its breath. I typed back:
Me: Can't. Lab.
Teo: Liar. I know your schedule. Philo elective's at 11. Come down or I'll come up and drag you.
I groaned, rolled out of the thin mattress, and splashed water on my face from the shared sink down the hall. The mirror showed a guy who looked like he'd been sleeping in a dryer: hair flattened on one side, eyes puffy from staring at code until 2 a.m. I tried to fix it with my fingers. Didn't help.
Downstairs, a black Toyota Vios idled at the curb—Teo's usual driver, Kuya Boy, scrolling TikTok. No flashy SUV today; even Teo knew better than to send something too obvious to my street. I slid into the back seat.
"Salamat po, Kuya," I muttered.
Kuya Boy just nodded in the rearview. "Boss said breakfast first. Jollibee drive-thru?"
I almost laughed. Teo, thinking of everything. "Yeah. Chickenjoy lang."
We ate in the car on the way to campus—me tearing into spicy gravy, him probably already at some overpriced café in BGC sipping oat-milk latte. By the time we pulled up to the Philo building, I felt marginally human.
Mara was already there, sitting on the low wall outside the lecture hall, legs swinging, earbuds in. She wore a loose white button-down tucked into high-waisted jeans, hair in a messy bun that looked deliberate. When she saw me she pulled one earbud out and smiled—the small, private one that always made my chest tighten.
"You're alive," she said. "Teo said you were dying in a boarding-house dungeon."
"Exaggeration. It's more of a mildly damp cave."
She laughed, soft and quick. "Come sit. I need to quiz someone who actually reads the text instead of skimming SparkNotes."
I dropped beside her. Close enough that our shoulders brushed. She smelled faintly of something citrusy and clean—not the heavy perfume some girls wore, but something that made me want to lean in.
We ran through Kant for twenty minutes—categorical imperative, duty versus inclination, the whole thing. She was sharp, catching contradictions I hadn't noticed. Every time she explained something her hands moved like she was conducting an invisible orchestra. I tried not to stare.
The lecture dragged. Professor Ong droned about autonomy while I doodled binary trees in my notebook. Mara passed me a note halfway through:
You coming tonight? Rooftop thing. No excuses about work.
I wrote back:
Still on the fence. Open bar sounds dangerous.
She underlined dangerous twice and added: Good kind of dangerous.
When class ended Teo appeared like he'd been summoned, leaning in the doorway in a crisp white polo and slim chinos. "Lunch? My treat. There's this new ramen place in Maginhawa."
Mara perked up. "I'm in."
I hesitated. "I have—"
"Lab can wait two hours," Teo cut in. "Live a little, pare."
So we went. The ramen place was tiny, packed, steam rising from bowls like fog. Teo ordered the most expensive set—wagyu chashu, extra noodles, torched foie gras topping because why not. Mara got the classic tonkotsu. I stuck with shoyu, the cheapest on the menu.
Halfway through, Teo excused himself to take a call from his dad. Mara leaned across the table toward me.
"You should come tonight," she said quietly. "It's not just Teo's scene. There'll be actual interesting people. Tech guys, startup founders. Could be good for you."
I stirred my broth. "I don't have anything to wear. Not that kind of crowd."
She tilted her head. "You look fine."
"I look like I just crawled out of a server room."
She smiled. "Then borrow something. Teo's closet is basically a department store."
The words landed heavier than she meant them to. Borrow. Like it was simple.
Teo came back, sliding into his seat. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah," I said. "Just talking logistics."
After lunch he drove us back to campus in his own car this time—a matte-black Range Rover that turned heads. He parked illegally near the CS building because he could.
"Crash at mine later?" he asked. "Get ready there. I'll lend you something."
I opened my mouth to say no. Then I thought of Mara seeing me in the same faded hoodie I'd worn three days in a row. Thought of standing on that rooftop looking like I belonged.
"Okay," I said. "But just for an hour. Then I'm out."
Teo grinned. "Deal."
His penthouse was quiet when we arrived. He disappeared into his room to change; I wandered into the walk-in closet like it was a museum. Rows of shirts on velvet hangers, shoes lined up like soldiers. One jacket caught my eye—charcoal wool, slim cut, subtle herringbone pattern. Soft as sin when I touched it. Tag still on: some Italian brand I'd only seen in magazines.
I slipped it on over my t-shirt. The mirror showed someone else. Shoulders broader, posture straighter. The jacket fit like it was made for me.
Teo walked in, already in a linen shirt and tailored trousers. He stopped. "Looks good on you."
"It's yours."
"Keep it for tonight. Suits you better anyway."
I wanted to argue. Wanted to say I couldn't. But the words stuck.
"Thanks," I managed.
He clapped my shoulder. "Let's go make some bad decisions."
We picked up Mara on the way. She slid into the back seat beside me, eyes flicking to the jacket. "Wow. You clean up nice, Alex Reyes."
Heat crawled up my neck. "Borrowed shine."
She just smiled. "It fits."
The rooftop was everything Teo promised: infinity pool glowing electric blue, Manila sprawling below like a circuit board on fire, music pulsing low and expensive. Waiters circulated with champagne flutes and tiny bites I couldn't name. People laughed too loud, phones out, capturing the view like proof they existed in it.
Mara stayed close at first. We talked by the railing—about code that felt like poetry, about dreams that didn't involve trust funds. For a minute it was just us.
Then Teo appeared with drinks. "To surviving another semester," he toasted.
We clinked. I drank too fast; the bubbles burned.
Later, when Teo got pulled away by some family friend, Mara turned to me. "Dance?"
I don't dance. But the jacket made me brave. Or stupid.
We moved to the edge of the crowd. Her hand in mine. The city lights blurring. For the first time in months, I didn't feel like the scholarship kid tagging along.
I felt like I could stay.
But across the pool, Teo watched us—smile still in place, eyes unreadable.
And something in me whispered: This isn't yours. Not yet.
But maybe, just maybe, it could be.