Silent Heart, Hidden Desires

1

My room was a whirlwind of chaos, a reflection of the storm raging within me.
My window was open, but I felt stuck, like my door, it's locked. For hours, I've been surrounded by stuff, trying to forget about the man with the body that made my breath catch, beneath his icy attitude, can't lie that his gaze giving me a silent promise of chaos and ecstasy, a hungry predator sizing up its prey, promising to devour me whole.

My guitar, usually my companion, sat silent in the corner, its strings untouched. It felt like even my music couldn't soothe the chaos in my heart. It was a desperate attempt to drown out the insistent voice of my thoughts, a voice that kept returning to what happened awhile ago.

Ang mga kamay ko, sanay na sa pagpipinta, hinahanap ang ganda ng mga kulay. Aside from playing guitar, art helps me feel better, but even as I paint, I can't stop thinking about him. His face keeps popping up in my mind, like a ghost in my art.

Was I a sinner for dwelling on him? The question, a whispered accusation, haunted me. It was a sin, wasn't it, to be so captivated by a stranger, to feel the pull of his gaze like a magnet?

Para akong nakakulong sa sarili kong isip, hindi makatakas sa mukha niyang aking iniisip.

A knock on my door jolted me back to a familiar feeling, a feeling that was both comforting and agonizing. It felt like a long-ago memory, my dad standing outside my room, a bag of snacks in hand, ready to share stories and laughter. It felt like the old days, but the memory was laced with a sharp pang of pain. Could it be him?

I opened the door, my heart pounding in my chest, and my breath caught in my throat. It was him. My dad. He hadn't visited me since... since everything changed. Tears welled up in my eyes, but I blinked them back, refusing to let him see me cry. I once begged him to notice me, to acknowledge me, but he'd always turned away. I knew he wanted to, but something was holding him back. And I knew who was that.

"W-What are you d-doing here?" I asked, my voice trembling. It hurts to see him so vulnerable, so lost.

"I'm here to make kwento, Lia, Anak." He said, his voice raspy with emotion. The nickname, "Lia," and "Anak" a name he hadn't used in years, hit me like a punch to the gut. Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring his face. Oh, fuck. I was going to break down, but I swallowed the lump in my throat, holding back the sobs. I missed him. I missed us. The way he used to come into my room, sit beside me, and tell me stories.

But I stopped myself, The words caught in my throat, as I said "Leave." I wanted him to come in, but I was afraid of the pain it would bring me at the end.

The pain of seeing him, of hearing his voice, of feeling the warmth of his presence, only to have it ripped away again. The pain of knowing that he couldn't stay, that he couldn't truly be here.

He looked at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of longing and sorrow. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He just stood there, his shoulders slumped, his gaze heavy with unspoken emotions.

I felt a wave of pain rise within me. Why did he have to make it so hard? Why couldn't he just be there, with me, when I needed him the most? Why did he have to leave me hanging, with this impossible longing, this aching emptiness that never seemed to go away?

"I-Im sorry," he finally whispered, his voice barely audible. "I-I'm sorry, A-Anak."

He turned and walked away, his footsteps fading into the silence of the hallway.

I stood there, frozen, my heart a leaden weight in my chest. I wanted to scream, to shout at him, to make him understand the pain he was inflicting. But I couldn't. I couldn't bring myself to do anything but stand there, watching him disappear down the hallway, taking with him the sliver of hope that had flickered within me.