Sandali // FayeYoko

Chapter 8

Alam kong may nararamdaman si Yohana, kahit hindi niya sabihin nang diretso. I saw it in the way her gaze lingered longer than it should, and how her teasing softened just a little when she was talking to me. The way her hand would brush against mine, like she was testing if it was safe to hold on. There was always something unspoken between us—a connection that neither of us dared to name. And the way she’d smile at me, soft and unsure, told me she knew it, too.

But every time we got too close to saying something real, Yohana would pull away. She had this way of shifting the mood effortlessly, throwing in a joke or changing the subject as if nothing had happened.

Bigla siyang magbabago ng topic, laughing it off like whatever it was between us didn’t mean anything. Parang may takot siya na baka kapag hinarap niya, tuluyan siyang mawala sa sarili niya.

Para bang takot siyang humakbang sa kabila ng linya. And I couldn’t blame her.

As much as I wanted to confront her—tell her I saw through the act—I couldn’t. I was too afraid I’d lose her if I pushed too hard.

Some things were hard to face, and maybe for Yohana, love was one of them.

So I stayed quiet. I let the moments come and go, holding onto them for as long as I could.

We spent most of our days in the garden. The flowers swayed lazily in the breeze, their scent mingling with the warm afternoon air.

Dito lang kami parang walang ibang mundo. We’d sit under the acacia tree, the afternoon sun filtering through the leaves, casting dappled light on the grass. Everything felt suspended in time, like the outside world didn’t exist.

"Do you think plants feel things?" Yohana asked one day, lying on her back as she stared up at the branches.

I smiled, pulling at a blade of grass. "Siguro. Baka nga mas sensitive pa sila sa feelings natin."

She turned her head to look at me, grinning. "Like, when we’re sad, do you think the flowers get sad too?"

"Siguro," I replied, laughing softly. "Or maybe they just grow better around happy people."

She chuckled, and I watched her eyes crinkle at the edges—one of those moments where she let herself relax, let her guard down just a little. I lived for those moments, the ones where she stopped pretending everything was fine.

But they never lasted long.

I noticed it more with each passing day. Yung pag-iwas niya sa mga malalalim na tanong ko. If I asked about her family or her future, she’d give me vague answers, always dancing around the truth.

"Let’s not talk about heavy stuff, Fay," she’d say with a playful grin, leaning back against the tree trunk. "We’re here to relax, not to think too much."

And so, I let her steer the conversation away, even when all I wanted was to know more.

One afternoon, as the sun dipped low in the sky, painting the horizon in hues of orange and pink, I found myself lying on the grass beside her.

"Do you ever feel scared?" I asked quietly, staring up at the sky.

She was silent for a moment, and I turned to look at her. Her expression softened, her usual playful smile replaced by something more vulnerable.

"Sometimes," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "But I don’t like thinking about it. Kasi kapag inisip ko, baka hindi ko kayanin."