A Heart That Needs A Beat

Kabanata 14

"CLASS dismissed."

Napainat ako nang marinig ang sinabi ng teacher. Finally! Antok na antok ako buong discussion, halos wala akong naintindihan. Napuyat kasi ako kagabi sa kaka-practice.

But it's worth it. The practice sessions with Kairus finally paid off—I've mastered all the beginner chords. That's a huge milestone. Kaya noong Sunday, I spent the entire day practicing again. I even tried learning a song tutorial na may beginner chords. Not gonna lie, ang hirap pa rin, pero nakaya ko somehow.

Ang downside lang? Halos maputol na ang daliri ko sa kakapractice. Now, they're sore and wrapped in bandages. I can't practice for a few days, which is frustrating because the audition is only two weeks away! Kailangan ko nang pumili ng kanta na tutugtugin.

I sighed, staring at my fingers like they betrayed me. Sa sobrang desperado ko, hindi ko na naisip ang consequences ng over-practicing.

"Cleo, tara na," yaya ni Maggie habang nilalapitan ako. Pero napansin niya agad ang mga daliri ko. "Ano nangyari sa 'yo?!"

Napalingon si Tristan at Kairus, parehong nakaupo malapit sa akin. Their eyes immediately locked on my hands.

I quickly hid them under my desk, letting out a nervous laugh. "Wala 'to! Nasobrahan lang sa practice," palusot ko.

Kairus narrowed his eyes, and Tristan leaned forward.

"Puro sugat ba?" Tristan asked, concern lacing his tone.

"Hindi naman," sabi ko, sabay iling. "Mapula lang."

"Hoy! Tara na sa canteen!" sigaw ni Taro mula sa pinto, already waiting for us.

I shook my head. "Pass muna ako."

I was too embarrassed to admit I couldn't even hold a spoon properly. Plus, my fingers still stung.

"Sige, bili na lang kita ng pagkain," Maggie offered before following Tristan and Taro out.

Now, the classroom was eerily quiet, save for the faint chatter in the hallway. Kami na lang ni Kairus ang naiwan.

"Why'd you do that?" tanong niya bigla.

"Huh?" I turned to him, confused.

"Give me your hand," he said, his voice low but firm.

I hesitated. Anong gagawin niya? Still, I slowly extended my hand, my heart inexplicably pounding. When his hand closed around mine, a strange chill ran down my spine. His touch was warm, steady.

He pulled my hand closer, inspecting it under the classroom's fluorescent light. My breath hitched as he carefully unwrapped one of the bandages. My wounded finger came into view—red, raw, and obviously overworked.

"Mapula lang?" he repeated, mockery dripping from his voice.

"Some of them are just sore—"

"How are you supposed to practice now? Tell me," he interrupted, his tone sharp but laced with concern.

I tried to explain. "I got carried awa—"

"No practice this week," he cut me off again, his words final.

"What? That's too much! A day or two is fine—"

"Look at your hands." He lifted them slightly, making me focus on the reddened tips. "You think they'll heal in a day or two? Hah, ang kulit mo."

His frustration was obvious, but instead of feeling annoyed, I felt... nervous? Maybe because he still hadn't let go of my hand.

"I told you not to overdo it, didn't I? You're too stubborn."