Harana: Camilo x Reader

CHAPTER ONE

† 𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌: self-inflicted injury

𝖘𝖔𝖓𝖌: Harana by Cenon Lagman

𝐎𝐧𝐞: 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐋𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐚

♫

     All that was left of Leonora was a wilting shell of who she once was, and for almost a year, her family lived with her ghost. Her once flushed and plump lips have turned pale and chapped, her eyes soulless and dull. Yet her husband, Francisco, remained unshaken. He would hold her frail hand for hours, ever so gently massaging her protruding knuckles. And when the sun sets, he would sing a little tune— the same harana that he performed on a faithful night he got to call her his. His daughter would always come to watch, she would lean against the doorframe, listening from a distance. His eyes would close as he sings, thinking that if he open his eyes, the magic will break. He hoped for Leonora to sing along. He hoped for a miracle.

     To his surprise, an old friend had come unannounced. Francisco had not seen Angelo for over a decade yet he stood there before him, not aging even for a year. He kissed both of his cheeks as a greeting, and when he pulled away, Francisco noticed how prim his friend looked. Angelo wore a crisp button-up reminiscent of the traditional Barong Tagalog and his dark slicked-back hair shined under the bright Philippine sun. He was a mestizo born with a silver spoon in his mouth.

     Francisco wiped the sweat from his brows, he felt underdressed in his own home. He led his friend to sit with him on the balcony that oversees his rice plantation. From below, he could see his daughter chatter among the farmers, and moments like this eased the ache in his chest. Angelo turned to his friend and flashed him a charming grin, "This is the same balcony we had thrown pebbles at." He sighed, running his fingers along the wooden railings, "Tito Hernandez slept like a log, unaware that his little Leonora is sneaking out with two snotty boys." Francisco chuckled at the memory.

    "Look, Cisco, during my travels in Colombia," Angelo trailed off as he placed his satchel on his lap "I discovered a village hidden in the mountains." Francisco raised a brow at him, he didn't exactly know where this conversation was headed, "That's nice?" He murmured. Francisco nodded, his back relaxing against the chair "I met a woman, her name is Julieta Madrigal." 

     Ah, he finally settled down. His friend had a hard time maintaining relationships so Angelo finally taking interest in a woman was something he did not expect to witness in this lifetime. "You plan to elope with her." He stated with a smirk. Angelo vigorously shook his head from side to side, "Ay you got it wrong! She's married." He exclaimed, waving his hands frantically. "What I'm saying is... this woman could be the answer." The answer? Francisco furrowed his eyebrows, what did his friend mean by that? As if Angelo heard his thoughts, he motioned his head towards the door; the room where Leonora rest.

     Francisco puckered his lips and bemused, "The answer to what?" Angelo's expression twisted into a grin; he was beaming as if he had the whole world in his pockets— and maybe he did. He pulled out his leather wallet and brought out a polaroid picture. It was a beautiful woman about their age; her skin was tanned like chestnut, and her raven hair streaked with grey was thrown in an updo. She was smiling fondly at the camera, on her hand was a plate of buñuelos.

     "She can help Leonora." Francisco perked at the mention of his wife's name, he looked at Angelo and queried, "A doctor?" Leonora had her fair share of them, she was in and out of hospitals. She eventually lost her hair due to her medications, and instead of crying, she only looked blankly at the mirror. Y/N, their only daughter, shaved her head that very night and proclaimed, "Mama is merely setting a trend, I could only wish to look half as good." Nine months later; she had grown her hair while Leonora stayed the same. But ever since, Y/N's hair never reached past her shoulders. She promised that she will keep cutting it until her mother recovered.