Sandali // FayeYoko

Chapter 4

I didn’t think I’d keep coming back to the garden. At first, it was just an escape—a way to breathe without feeling like the world was pressing in on me. But every morning, nandito rin si Yohana—her presence as constant as the flowers blooming around us. I didn’t know what to make of her at first. Too bright, too cheerful. She was the kind of person I usually avoided.

Yet, there was something about her. She wasn’t trying too hard, wasn’t prying into the things I wasn’t ready to share. She just... showed up, day after day, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Ang weird mo," I told her one morning, slouching on the bench while she stretched out on the grass.

Yohana grinned at me, eyes crinkling in that way that made it hard not to smile back. "Bakit naman?"

"Wala. Just... basta weird ka lang," I gestured vaguely, hoping she’d get what I meant.

Instead, she laughed—this carefree, bubbling sound that felt out of place in my quiet world. "Ikaw nga 'tong palaging nandito, tapos ako pa yung weird?"

I rolled my eyes, but a small smile tugged at my lips. There was no winning with Yohana, and somehow, I didn’t mind losing to her.

We settled into a rhythm without meaning to. Most days, nagdadala s’ya ng mga libro—usually something light, full of magic or love stories. She’d read aloud, her voice steady and warm, habang ako nakikinig lang, pretending not to care. But I did care.

"Okay lang ba? Or corny ba masyado?" she asked once, peeking over the pages.

"Corny," I deadpanned, just to see her pout.

"Ang arte mo," she shot back, tossing a crumpled candy wrapper at me. "Admit it, naaliw ka rin naman."

And she was right. Somehow, I was.

The days blurred together in the garden, marked by the hum of bees and the soft rustle of leaves. Yohana had this way of filling the silence without making it suffocating. She told stories—silly ones, mostly—about her dog that hated baths, her embarrassing high school moments, and random thoughts that popped into her head.

One afternoon, she sat cross-legged on the grass, munching on a sandwich. "Have you ever thought about traveling? Like, getting away from everything?"

I shrugged. "I used to."

"San mo naman gustong pumunta?" she pressed, her gaze curious but gentle.

"Anywhere, basta sa malayo at tahimik," I muttered, playing with the frayed edges of my sleeve.

She tilted her head, her hair catching the sunlight like threads of gold. "Well, if you ever decide to go somewhere, sabihan mo ako."

I gave her a side glance, half-expecting her to laugh it off. But she didn’t. Instead, she smiled—soft, sincere—and it made something in my chest ache.

Yohana had a way of slipping past the walls I’d built. Hindi ko alam kung paano, but somehow, she just... fit. She didn’t push, didn’t demand anything from me. She was just there—present and steady.

On some days, we talked about random things—movies we liked, songs stuck in our heads. Other times, we just sat in comfortable silence, watching the world pass by.

"Alam mo," Yohana said one day, lying flat on the grass with her hands behind her head. "You’re not as grumpy as you look."

I raised an eyebrow. "Is that supposed to be a compliment?"