As I sit here amidst the university’s constant buzz and echoing sounds—papers rustling, voices overlapping, students rushing to and fro—I'm swallowed by the relentless pace.
My nose is stuffed, my cough still clings, and the cold seems to have settled into my bones, making me feel like a piece of driftwood cast into this frenzied current.
Just last night, I’d managed to make it back to my boarding house, hitching a ride with my cousin.
Yet, a part of me feels like I’ve left my spirit somewhere back home, cozy and far away from the whirlwind of campus life.
In this moment of hazy reflection, my focus suddenly snaps back as I notice one of my classmates walking toward me.
I’m sitting alone by the edge of the practice space, watching my friends rehearse our assigned folk dance, tinikling, for PE.
I’d rather stay here on the sidelines, resting, because the thought of jumping and dancing with my current state feels like scaling a mountain.
Tinikling isn’t even my strong suit, and in all honesty, I’d wanted to opt out.
But I kept quiet, going along with everyone else’s enthusiasm.
“Dae, join us for practice now, even just once. Sir needs photos of all of us for attendance, so come on, can you handle it?” my classmate pleads as she reaches me.
I muster a tired smile and nod, rising to follow her back to the center where everyone’s gathered.
As I approach, a few familiar faces turn to greet me with friendly smiles, instantly making me feel a bit better.
The air around us hums with the faint scent of sweat and anticipation; everyone’s ready to begin.
I fall into my position at the back, relieved to be paired with a classmate I get along with.
She’s someone I consider kind, someone who makes me feel comfortable—a small blessing in a day filled with challenges.
We start the routine with my partner and me holding the bamboo poles, swaying them in rhythm as our other two group members leap between them gracefully, feet landing perfectly in time.
They make it look effortless, almost like a dance from another world.
But as soon as they finish, it’s our turn to switch, and I feel my nerves creep in like an icy chill.
The bamboo poles are now held steady by our friends as my partner and I step to the center, taking on the challenge ourselves.
My body feels heavy, my movements stiff and uncertain.
I stumble a few times, my footing clumsy, feeling as if my limbs are rebelling against me.
The added weight of my cold makes every leap feel like an impossible feat.
Finally, with a flash of the camera, the documentation concludes, and I signal to my group that I’m tapping out for the day.
Luckily, my classmates understand.
They nod in agreement, and my partner assures me she’ll keep practicing for both of us.
Relieved, I return to my quiet corner, sinking down to find some semblance of peace in the midst of the bustling activity.
Then, something prickles at the back of my mind, like an invisible thread tugging at my attention.
There’s this strange sensation, a feeling that someone’s watching me.
I look around, glancing left and right, my gaze sweeping the room as I try to locate the source.
My heart suddenly skips a beat when my eyes find him.
Up on the second floor, leaning casually against the railing, stands a figure dressed in a crisp white uniform with a bag slung over his shoulder.
For a moment, I can hardly breathe.
It’s Rizal.
I haven’t seen him in what feels like ages, and now, here he is, watching.
A memory rushes back from high school—one of the only other times I saw him without his glasses.
He looked striking back then, but today, without the frames obscuring his face, he looks… well, he looks even more handsome, more refined, like a character straight out of one of my stories.
My cheeks grow warm, and I can feel my heart racing in a way that has nothing to do with my cold.
Just as I begin to process the surprise, a realization hits me like a wave of icy water—he’s been watching us practice this whole time.
Every stumble, every misstep I’d made, he must’ve seen it all.
A sense of embarrassment bubbles up, threatening to drown me, and I can practically feel the blush creeping up my neck.
Suddenly, my body feels too heavy, too clumsy, too exposed under his gaze.
I don’t know whether to laugh at the absurdity of it or simply melt away in humiliation.
Desperate to look anywhere else, I let my eyes wander across the practice area, pretending to be absorbed by something else.
But the curiosity nags at me, relentless and unyielding, so after a few minutes, I can’t resist sneaking another glance his way.
This time, I catch him looking directly at me, and our eyes meet.
For a second, the world around me blurs and fades.
His gaze holds mine, and I can feel an unspoken connection flicker between us like the faintest spark, sending my heart into a wild frenzy.
The sensation is dizzying, like standing at the edge of a precipice, teetering between exhilaration and the urge to hide away.
My mind races, a thousand thoughts flooding in at once.
Should I stand up and walk to the restroom, try to compose myself, put some distance between us?
Or maybe I should find another spot, somewhere he wouldn’t be able to see me.
But why?
Why should I go out of my way to avoid him?
In the end, I stay put, sinking back into the background, letting the noise and activity of the room wash over me like waves on a distant shore.
I keep my gaze fixed elsewhere, doing my best to focus on the other students practicing nearby.
The day has been tiring, chaotic, and anything but easy, but this unexpected glimpse of him has brought a strange thrill to it, a mystery that I can’t quite place.
It’s not the best day by far, but as I sit there, cheeks still warm and heart still fluttering, I realize it’s been made unexpectedly memorable in a way that only he, with his familiar gaze, could have brought to life.
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Non-FictionLife often presents itself as a series of hurdles, each one taller than the last. These hurdles, though daunting, are not meant to break us but to shape us into who we are meant to be. It is through our darkest nights that we gain the strength to fa...
