Dying Embers

Chapter Seventy-Two

Chapter Seventy-Two: The Goodbye Before the Goodbye

It's been days. Paulit-ulit ang tawag ni Psalm, pero hindi ko sinasagot. Missed calls piling up, messages na hindi ko man lang binubuksan. Kung talagang gusto niya akong kausapin, he knows where to find me. Pero hindi siya pumunta. Hindi rin ako naghanap.

I haven't seen Chance either. Kahit ilang beses pa akong pumunta sa bahay nila Henry, kahit pa may mga moments na magkakasama kaming lahat, he just... stopped showing up. I want to ask Henry. Or Nimbus. Or Jilliana. Pero parang may nakaipit na takot sa lalamunan ko. I know he's still here. I can feel it. At kung nakaalis na siya, I'm sure sasabihin naman nila sa'kin. Walang dahilan para itago iyon.

I sit on the edge of my bed, staring at the blank stretch of wall in front of me. Para bang doon naka-project ang lahat ng nangyari. Wala akong plano for today. Wala akong lakas. But deep down, I know. Hindi ko na puwedeng takasan ito.

The truth is, I did love Psalm. In a messy, complicated way, 'yong tipong hindi mo alam kung blessing ba siya o slow burn heartbreak. There were warm mornings, 'yong tawa niya, 'yong lambing niya, 'yong way he held my hand like he was choosing me every time. But there were nights, too, mabigat, nakaka-anxious, especially when Chance crossed my mind.

It was a love that ached even when it felt soft. A love stitched together by fear, longing, and the tiniest scraps of hope. Mahigpit kong hinawakan, pero laging may parte ng sarili kong hindi sa kanya. Loving him felt like trying to cup water with my bare hands: beautiful, necessary, pero laging may kumakalusot, may nawawala, kahit anong pilit kong hawakan.

I thought I was ready. Ready to burn the bridge between me and Chance. Ready to tell Psalm the truth about what happened between me and Chance. Pero pagkatapos ng lahat... the timing felt cruel.

Sometimes I wonder if I even have the right to feel hurt. Or if the easiest path is just to walk away quietly. Kasi sa totoo lang, none of us were honest in the first place.

She's not someone I can handle.

The words keep replaying, like a bruise I keep pressing just to see if it still hurts. And it does. Of course it does. Paano nga ba nila kakayanin itong unhealed version ng sarili ko... kung ako mismo hindi ko kaya?

I exhale shakily. The room feels heavy. My phone rests against my palm like it's made of stone. I stare at the notifications, hindi ko sila mabuksan. But today... I'm choosing to move. Kahit pa hindi ako handa.

I unlock my phone. My fingers hover.

Then I type:

To Psalm:

'Let's meet.'

The moment I press send, something inside me tightens, parang may humigpit na lubid sa dibdib ko. I am not ready. God, I am so not ready. But I owe this to him. To myself. To the version of us that tried.

I send him the place.

I stand, pull whatever clothes my hands land on. Hindi ko na iniisip kung maayos ba. This isn't about looking okay.

This isn't about fixing love. This is about ending it quietly, gently, before it rots in our hands.

Because sometimes... loving someone means letting go of the version of you that loved them. And maybe that's the part that hurts the most.

That afternoon, tahimik ang buong café. Just the faint hum of conversations, the soft clinking of cups, and the occasional hiss of the espresso machine. I chose a table sa pinakagilid. I ordered two coffees, kahit alam kong baka hindi ko rin malasahan ang akin. I cupped the warmth between my palms, letting it anchor me, habang hinihintay ko siya.