Walang Kapalit

afterparty

The day after the results had come out, it felt like the entire nation was holding its breath, then exhaling in one grand collective sigh of relief. The tension of the past months had finally broken, replaced by a joy that only comes after a hard-fought battle.

I stood in the middle of it all, overwhelmed and grateful. People kept coming up to me, congratulating me, shaking my hand, pulling me into warm embraces. Amid all the faces, one stood out—someone I hadn't seen in a while.

She was just as I remembered her, with that warm, infectious energy that could light up even the darkest room. When she approached me, everything else seemed to fade away, as if we were the only two people there.

"Leni! Grabe ka!" Risa exclaimed, her voice cutting through the noise. She wrapped me in a tight hug, and I could feel the sincerity in the way her arms encircled me. "Congratulations, Vice President Leni Robredo!"

I chuckled, feeling a bit shy under the spotlight she shone on me. "Salamat, Risa. But you know, this wasn't just me. It was all of us, lahat tayo."

She pulled back slightly, her hands still resting on my shoulders. "Still, Leni, this was your fight. And you won."

We found a quieter corner of the room, away from the throng. The music was still loud, its rhythm pulsing through the air, but here it felt more intimate, as if the world had shrunk to just the two of us. Risa sat close to me, her shoulder almost brushing against mine.

"Can you believe it?" she asked. "After everything we've been through, all the challenges, and the doubts... We made it."

I nodded, my heart full. "It wasn't easy. But I always believed in what we were fighting for. And in the people who were fighting alongside me, like you."

She smiled, a little shyly this time, and I noticed how her fingers absentmindedly played with the rim of her wine glass. "I'm just glad I could be part of it, kahit sa maliit na paraan lang."

"Maliit? Naku, Risa, you were a huge part of this. You brought hope to so many people. That's no small thing."

We fell into a comfortable silence. My eyes were drawn to Risa's hand, resting on the table between us, her fingers just inches from mine. It would have been so easy to reach out and hold it, to let my hand cover hers and let her know, in a way that words couldn't, how much she meant to me. But I hesitated.

Instead, I let the moment stretch on, a small smile playing on my lips as I watched the celebration continue around us. The music shifted to something slower, and for a brief second, I imagined what it would be like if we were the only ones here, just the two of us, with no obligations or expectations. Just Risa and me.

More people came up to congratulate us. Risa stood beside me, laughing with a group of colleagues, her head thrown back in joy. She glanced over at me and gave me a look—a look that conveyed everything we didn't say aloud.

But even as I sat there, smiling and engaging with everyone around me, a quiet heaviness settled in my chest. I watched Risa move through the crowd, her laughter like music, her presence a beacon that everyone gravitated toward. She was a force of nature, a light that could never be dimmed.

I had always admired that about her, the way she could make anyone feel seen and heard, the way she made even the most daunting tasks seem possible. During the campaign, she had been my rock, always there with a kind word, a smile, a bit of levity when things got too serious.

I should have been celebrating alongside her, basking in our shared triumph. But instead, I found myself pulling back, observing from a distance, as if by doing so, I could protect something fragile inside me.

The truth was, being near her was both a comfort and a torment. I was proud of her, proud of us, but there was a quiet yearning too, a longing for something that felt just out of reach.

As Risa approached our table again, I noticed the two cans of San Mig Light in her hands. She handed one to me, and I hesitated, unsure if I wanted to drink more. She caught the look on my face and quickly reassured me, "Okay lang, you don't need to drink more if ayaw mo na."

There she goes again, the Risa that I've always known. But something in me still made me reach out and take the can from her. I lifted the tab, feeling the cool tin against my palm, and took a small sip.

Risa was giggling. Hmm... medyo may amats na 'to I thought to myself. Her voice bright and full of life as she talked enthusiastically about something that had happened earlier. Her words tumbled out in a rush, each one punctuated by a burst of laughter that made her eyes crinkle at the corners. I sat there, taking it all in, content to just watch her.

My gaze lingered on the way her eyes sparkled, how they narrowed with amusement. I noticed the way she bit her lip when she was unsure of what to say next, a small, endearing habit that I've always known. I didn't need to speak; just being here, in this moment with her, was enough.

I just nodded, not trusting myself to speak. The enormity of it all was settling in, but so was something else, something much more difficult to articulate. My heart ached with the weight of unsaid words, of feelings that had no place in the reality we had built together.

"Ang daldal ko ba?" Risa laughed.

Her question nudged me from my thoughts and back to the present. "Hindi. Sige, kwento ka lang. Gusto ko lang makinig," I said.

Risa reached for my knee under the table. "Leni," she began, her voice quieter now, almost hesitant. "You know, I've always looked up to you. You're... You're everything a leader should be. And I'm just really glad we got to do this together."

Her words were sincere, heartfelt. They should have warmed me, filled me with the pride she intended. But instead, they only deepened the ache within. I couldn't bring myself to look her in the eyes. I forced a smile, "Salamat ha."

She turned to face me fully, her eyes searched mine, her gaze understanding. There was a warmth there, a kindness that had always been there, and yet... there was nothing more. No hint of the feelings I had been grappling with, no sign that she felt even a fraction of what I was struggling to contain.

I wanted to say something, to tell her... what? That I was proud of her? That I cherished our friendship? That I wished...?

Instead, I reached out and touched her arm lightly, a gesture so small, so insignificant, and yet it was all I could bring myself to do.

She smiled at me, a soft, affectionate smile. The ache in my chest tightened, knowing that tonight would remain just that—a celebration of a victory, not the resolution of the feelings that had grown quietly, persistently, over time. Feelings that would have to be buried, hidden away, because there was no room for them in the world we had fought so hard to create.

It's strange, I thought to myself. How something so big, so life-changing, can just happen. And then, life just... goes on, as if it were any other day.

~

Last one for this month. I hope that September will be kinder to you, reader ✨