Maine
The ceiling is stark white and blinding, void of color and life. I can see cobwebs on the corner and maybe a bit of dust floating about, but I can honestly say that this ceiling is a perfect representation of my life.
Empty.
I woke up this morning feeling okay. That was a first–I don't think I've ever felt okay. Nights are always bad for me–the dreams come even if I don't want it to and I usually wake up wanting to scream.
It's a Sunday and I decide to head down to the coffee shop again. The day is gloomy, the clouds have come out to play and it doesn't look like the sun is going to grace this day with warmth. It's a bit unfortunate really, because I wanted to see the sun today.
"You're up early," Ninna, my favorite barista says as I line up for my first cup of coffee for the day. I just shrug as she hands me my drink, the black inky liquid sloshing inside the plastic cup, the bitterness seemingly waking up my senses. Ninna shakes her head. "Smile, Maine. Everything's going to be fine."
"Thanks Ninna." I don't really know what fine is anymore, but I guess she doesn't have to know that.
It's almost lunchtime but the coffee shop is still full and all the seats are taken except for one–the same seat I took yesterday at the community table. There's a couple who's just about to eat each other's faces off beside the empty chair but I just don't have it in me to care anymore.
"Well, you're back," a familiar voice says and my eyes stray towards the boy sitting in front of me. Mr. Brown-eyed guy (who apparently also has this dimple on his left cheek) is staring curiously at me.
Half of my head is telling me I should just leave, but I woke up feeling like a person today so I decide to just let it be. The empty seat called for me and I placed my stuff on the table, hands pressed against the dark wood.
"Hi," he says, reaching a hand out. I stared at it. "Alden. I was the uh– never mind."
He withdrew his hand, brows furrowed contemplatively. He seemed like he wanted to say something but his mind drew a blank as he stared at me.
I tried to ignore him but it seemed like it was a futile effort. He's still staring at me and it's making me conscious of myself.
"What?"
"Nothing," he says, frowning ever so slightly. "Why do you look so sad?"
"Why do you care?"
He snorts, squinting his eyes at me. "Because."
"Because?"
"You tried to slice your arm open with a butter knife in front of me, you know," he tells me and I narrow my eyes at him because his voice is starting to catch everyone's attention. "I saved your life, miss!"
"From a butter knife?"
He grins smugly. "Oo naman. Eh kung napuruhan ka nun?"
He's insufferable that's for sure, but his pretty face kind of makes up for it. I sighed as I slammed my hand on the table, frowning at him.
"Anong gusto mo?"
"Pangalan mo, for starters," he says, reaching his hand out again. "Ulitin natin yung kanina. Alden Richards, and yes, that's my surname, and yes, I'm a Filipino."
"May nagtatanong sa 'yo ng nationality mo dahil sa surname mo?" I ask curiously, reaching out for his hand. "Maine Mendoza."
"Maine."
I nod. "Maine. Or Meng. Pwede din Meng."
"Nice to meet you, Maine." He says and I briefly wondered if it was nice to meet him too.
Alden
She is annoying and quite possibly the most stubborn human being in the planet. She also does not speak unless you talk to her, and she can sit in a chair for hours at a time without even moving to go to the bathroom. The baristas of the coffee shop seem to know her well because they just randomly appear, carrying steaming hot mugs of coffee for her and a quiet message. "Smile, Maine," they'd say, but she would only reply with a tight-lipped reaction.
"So, Maine?" I try asking her again, but she only rolled her eyes at me. "Ano, suplada ka lang ba talaga o anti-social?"
She's intriguing–and that's something, really, because I normally don't care that much about people.
A week after she told me her name, Maine sat in front of me, her eyes blazing. It's intense to say the least, and it kind of scares me that this woman in front of me could yield so much emotion in her eyes.
"I'm not very good at talking to people," she says.
Truth is, nobody is good at talking to people.
"Congrats, we're on the same boat."
There's a bit of me in her, with the way her eyes speak more than her words. I can see that she keeps much to herself, but there isn't anything else that I can see beyond that. Her fingers weave words on the pages she always writes on and I'm genuinely curious with what she's been writing.
"Ang kulit mo," she tells me after my nth attempt at peering over her notebook. "Ano bang gusto mo?"
"Naccurious lang ako," I say and she stops, hands pressed over her notebook. My eyes ghost over her arm where her long-sleeved shirt has ridden up, the faint scar a startling bright white against her tanned skin. "Why were you trying to kill yourself?"
Her eyes are wide with panic as she stared at me, tugging the sleeve of her shirt down.
"San mo naman nakuha yang idea na yan?"
"Kailangan ko pa ba i-remind sa 'yo yung first time na nagkita tayo?"
Her fingers twitch against the grain of the table, nails scratching the hardwood.
"It's hard for me to stay happy," she whispers quietly and I nod my head, willing to understand.
"Can I now honestly say that we're friends?" I ask and she falters for a bit.
"Can't we just be two people who know each other?"
"We can," I tell her, pocketing the piece of paper she's been doodling on earlier. She doesn't seem to notice. "Pero ano naman ang punto na magkakilala tayo, kung hindi tayo magiging magkaibigan?"
She smirked. "Wala akong kwentang kaibigan."
"Okay yun, pareho tayong walang kwenta," I say, tapping the table as I stood up. "See you soon?"
Maine smiles sadly. "Maybe."
