Do You Know Where I Should Go?

Chapter 9

Lots of things were freaking me out.

Her hair, for one. The blonde was now peroxide white, and her fringe only reached halfway down her forehead, making her eyes look enormous. You could actually see her looking at you.

Jesus Christ, her winged eyeliner must have taken, like, half an hour to do.

As I walked past her, I could feel her eyes following me. The tension was thick, and I prepared myself for a confrontation. Just as she stepped toward me, a menacing look in her eyes, she suddenly stopped in her tracks. Her expression shifted from aggression to surprise, and she took a step back.

I glanced over my shoulder to see what had caused her reaction. There, just a few feet behind me, was him. His presence was commanding, and his eyes were locked onto her with an intensity that made it clear he wouldn't tolerate any trouble. She quickly looked away and backed off, muttering something under her breath before walking away.

I turned my back around, feeling a mix of relief and confusion. His unexpected intervention had defused the situation, but it left me wondering why he had stepped in.

And him, too. He asked me to get out of his sight, which I obeyed. And now he's trying to get me back?

The contradiction was maddening. One moment, he wanted nothing to do with me, and now he was stepping in to protect me?

It made no sense at all.

I kept walking, trying to make sense of his actions. Why was he acting this way? Was it guilt? Regret? Did he think one act of chivalry could erase the hurtful things he had said?

I couldn't wrap my head around it. The memory of him telling me to leave still stung. I had walked away, my pride bruised and my heart aching, and now here he was, intervening like a knight in shining armor. It was confusing and frustrating, and I didn't know what to make of it.

"Hey, Scar!"

I turned to look at him hurrying to catch up with me, his laughter ringing out above the din of the street.

"You mean penultimate?" he asked when we were on the same pace.

"Shut up!"

"Scar, ako na. Mabigat."

I stopped walking.

It was him.

The man who used to snatch everything away from me to lessen my burden. The man standing in front of me now was him-not the one at the soccer field, but rather the one who stayed inside the classroom, the one who stayed inside the library with me, ensuring I was never troubled by even the lightest load.

I watched him approach, a sense of déjà vu washing over me.

The way he casually reached out to take the stack of books from my arms, his familiar, easy smile - it all felt like stepping back into a time when things were simpler, when our connection was untainted by harsh words and confusion.

The Candon's library was our peace, a place where the outside world faded away, and it was just the two of us, immersed in our studies and each other's company. Here, he wasn't the confident athlete, nor the one who had hurt me. He was the thoughtful boy who knew my favorite authors and brought me coffee just the way I liked it. The one who understood the stress I carried and did everything he could to ease it.

As he stood there, his presence brought back a flood of memories - the countless afternoons spent huddled over textbooks, his patient explanations when I struggled with a concept, the silent support that never wavered. It was as if the person who had caused me so much pain on the field had been replaced by the boy who had once been my rock.