Tindahan ng mga ala-ala

Senior year smelled like chalk and almosts.

Colleen Kaye Montinola- moved through the HUMSS halls like a question no one could answer yet - 12th grade, a future POLITICAL SCIENCE student, sharp-tongued, with law written in the way she fought for things, and in the way she never fought for herself. Aiden Callister San Jose moved through the same building like a quiet footnote - 12th grade, a future COMPUTER ENGINEERING student, a future Computer Engineer who creates softwares. Chill. Present. But always one step behind her light, or maybe just careful not to cast a shadow over it.

They shared the same love but lived on different floors of time. Same bell. Different countdowns. She was running out of days. He was running into a future he's still unsure about. She fell the way rain hits glass - fast, loud, desperate for something to hold her. He stayed the way fog stays - close enough to blur the edges, far enough to never be touched.

There were no years between them. Only timing. Only the space between them, between almost and too late. When the last bell rang, the hallways emptied, and she understood something no textbook taught: that some falls make no sound at all. They just echo. In empty rooms. In drafts never sent. In a word that could mean goodbye, or wait for me.

Almost.

Copyright © 2026 sage_lovestowritee.
All Rights Reserved.