Yasiel Lyzer POV
Sometimes I wonder… what does it feel like to be normal?
To wake up in the morning without the need to hide, without having to cover up the truth, without feeling like you constantly have to prove yourself to a world that refuses to listen. A quiet morning where breathing is enough, where the light of day is a comfort, and where your existence is accepted no matter who you are. But every time I glance at the mirror, I'm reminded again and again that I do not belong to that world.
With every beat of my heart, a secret screams. A truth I've tried to bury, pushing it into the deepest silence, into questions I never dared to ask. But no matter how hard I try to drown it, it resurfaces rising from the dark, pleading for answers.
And at night, that's when I feel it most.
I don't know why my dreams are different. They always take me to places that don't seem to exist in this world, with voices calling out names I can't remember when I wake up, lights that aren't from the sun, and sensations that make me feel like I'm more than what I am now. Sometimes, a voice in my dreams tells me that I am a god a being far removed from the world I've known.
But how can you believe such things when your mornings begin wrapped in cold, inside a broken-down shack?
This morning, the air feels colder. The wind quieter, but my insides louder. I'm wrapped in a thin blanket that barely does anything against the chill seeping through the gaps in our wooden walls. But I don't complain. I'm used to it. This is the world I grew up in not luxurious, not comfortable, but real. Real, even if there are parts of myself I still can't face completely.
I slowly sit up, trying to shake off the heaviness in my chest. It doesn't come from the cold, but from a question one I've long denied. Outside, I can hear neighbors chatting, children laughing and chasing one another, and the growl of tricycles in our narrow alleyway. Sounds of life, of everyday rhythm, of belonging to the world.
But me? It's another day of hiding.
I walked toward the old mirror in the corner of our tiny room. A small crack runs along the edge like a scar that never healed. It has been a silent witness to my gradual changes over the years. I lower my glasses, forcing myself to be brave.
And here I am again. Staring into eyes I've never fully understood. Crimson red. As red as blood, or fire from an unknown source. I blinked, hoping the color would change, hoping this was still just a dream.
But like always… it wasn't.
I know no one with eyes like this. No one in my family. No one in our neighborhood. No one in my world. And the longer I stare, instead of growing used to it, I only feel more unsettled. Or maybe… just more curious?
"Why are my eyes like this?" I whisper, barely audible even to myself. "Why me?"
Before, hiding was enough. Black contact lenses. My old dark glasses. The act of pretending to be normal. But this morning, it's no longer enough. I can't keep convincing myself that ignorance is okay. Something within me is stirring something older than I am, deeper than who I currently am.
I look at myself again at my short hair, my body that can't be boxed into "male" or "female." I am intersex. A word I first read on a faded medical form, a label that felt like it wasn't mine but one I decided to claim. Intersex. A word that both answers questions and births new ones.
And now, here again are my eyes another piece of the puzzle I can no longer ignore.
"Asiel, wake up! You'll be late!" my Aunt Erich called from the kitchen.
"Coming, Auntie!" I answered, snapping myself back into the present.
I scanned our small home the patchwork wooden and metal walls, the ceiling with a hole where sunlight sometimes streams in, and the furniture collected and preserved through the years. This is where I grew up. This is where I was accepted.
And Aunt Erich is the only person who never once asked about my eyes, but also never offered any answers. I love her, and she is the reason I still feel like I have a home. But even with her kindness, it feels like she's holding secrets I've yet to uncover.
After getting dressed, I put on my contact lenses and glasses—once again hiding the truth I didn't want the world to see. I slung my old backpack over my shoulder, the one with a hole on the side that I never bothered to fix, and took a deep breath before stepping out our small door.
Another day of hiding. Another battle against a world I still don't know whether I'll ever learn to accept… or eventually change.
As I descended the narrow steps of our rundown home, I was immediately greeted by the familiar scent of freshly fried dried fish and warm garlic rice. My stomach tensed—not just from hunger, but from the comfort of something certain, a morning that seemed untouched by the questions gnawing at my heart.
The old kitchen window was already open, and sunlight poured freely in, drawing streaks of light across the scratched floor—lines of gold that seemed to breathe on their own. Bits of dust danced in the sunbeam, swirling gently in the air, as if each speck carried a story waiting to be told.
Standing in the middle of that light was Aunt Erich, still wearing her apron, her hair neatly tied back, and faint wisps of steam rising from the pan she had just used. Every movement she made felt like a rhythm—a dance born of years of care, patience, and unwavering love.
"Come eat, sweetheart," she said with a smile the kind that didn't hide anything, the kind only someone who accepts you without fully understanding you can give. She set down the last plate on the table and sat across from me.
"Good morning, Auntie," I greeted as I sat down gently, trying to hide the weariness clinging to me from a night of questions.
"Your cooking smells amazing."
"Of course it does," she replied with a wink, handing me a cup of hot coffee frothy on top and rich with the scent of care.
"For my favorite niece-nephew. A little wake-up treat. You've got a delivery later, don't forget."
I looked up at her while chewing the garlic rice. The dried fish was crispy, perfectly salty, and the rice carried the subtle memory of garlic fried in well-used oil.
"Where to?"
"To LJ Café. The one near your university. I'll handle the rest of the orders later, but they specifically asked for you to deliver the cupcakes. The owner said they want you to hand them over personally. Special request, apparently."
I frowned, pausing mid-bite.
"Me? Why?"
"That's what I asked," she said with a sigh, sipping her coffee.
"Maybe they just want to meet you. Who knows? Maybe you've got a secret admirer over there." She even gave me a teasing wink, trying to lighten the mood.
I shook my head, chuckling softly. "Come on, Auntie. It's just cupcakes, not a love letter."
"Well, you never know," she answered with a hopeful tone, as if every joke she made carried a silent prayer.
"Maybe your true love is waiting behind that cupcake box."
I smiled, but the weight in my chest didn't lift. To be honest, even jokes like that felt like shoes I couldn't fit into. Yes, they were funny. Yes, they lightened the mood. But part of me still felt… missing a part I've been quietly searching for in the silence.
"Auntie…" I began, gently placing my spoon down. "Can I ask you again… about my eyes. Have they always been like this?"
A sudden silence filled the room. She stopped sipping her coffee, slowly set the cup down, and looked at me. I saw the hesitation in her eyes not from unwillingness to answer, but from knowing every answer might come with pain.
"Yes, Asiel," she finally said. "Since you were born, your eyes have always been like that. Even when you were just a baby, they were already red. It's not a disease or a disorder like others may say. It's natural for you."
"Does it mean anything?" I asked, my voice soft, almost a whisper, as if I was afraid of the answer.
"I don't know, sweetheart," she replied gently. "I don't know where you truly came from. I only raised you. I don't know your full story. But I believe… the time will come when you'll discover everything. When it's right."
I stared down at the table in silence. The coffee slowly cooled in its cup. The rice, though it tasted like home, had suddenly become bitter on my tongue. I could feel the weight of everything she didn't say. And in the middle of all that, I felt the emptiness again—a hole inside me, not from a lack of love, but from a lack of truth.
"But there's one thing I know for sure," she added. "Whoever you are, Asiel, you're not a bad person. And God loves you… even when you can't understand yourself."
I smiled, though tears began to well in my eyes. In that smile was a quiet gratitude. Even when the world was confusing, even when I didn't know who or what I really was, I knew there was one person who believed in me.
"Thank you, Auntie."
After finishing my food, I stood up and grabbed the plastic container of cupcakes neatly arranged, tied with a silver ribbon. It looked like a gift meant for someone I didn't know… or maybe for a part of myself that I've long been trying to find.
"I'm heading out now, Auntie" I said, slinging the old backpack over my shoulder, its worn fabric stitched with memories.
"Take care, sweetheart," she replied. "Text me when you get there, okay? And remember… no matter how hard life gets, you're never truly alone."
I smiled, hugging her tightly firmly but gently, as if in that embrace, I was trying to draw the strength I needed for the day.
"I will. You take care too," I said, and with every step out the door, I felt another chapter beginning to unfold. Quiet, mysterious, and full of questions. But beneath it all… there was hope.
As I stepped out of the house, the morning air touched my skin—a quiet breeze that carried secrets. I secured the cupcake bag onto the back of my bike, its tires already worn thin but still faithful. My hands gripped the handlebars etched with years of scratches, rust, and late-night escapes from the silence of home. Sitting down on the seat, I felt the cold metal beneath me, a sharp reminder that today was no ordinary morning.
Pedaling slowly out of the narrow alley, I looked up at the sky—bright blue, cloudless—but inside me, something weighed heavy. A thudding in my chest that wasn't anxiety, more like a premonition… or a memory struggling to resurface.
"Life's funny," I whispered to myself. "Like a cupcake. Sweet on the outside… but sometimes, there's bitterness hidden deep inside."
The bike's chain clinked as I moved, joining the symphony of daily sounds around the neighborhood: the rumble of tricycles, a baby crying, the rhythmic sweeping of walis tingting, and the carefree laughter of the usual corner guys. With each pedal, I felt time move forward. And yet, I couldn't help but ask myself again:
Why do I have eyes like these?
How much longer can I pretend everything's fine, when every day I stare into the mirror searching for answers behind eyes that don't feel like mine?
Turning the second corner, I reached the more familiar part of the barangay. The scenery hadn't changed—loiterers who never seemed to go home, drunk on sleep or cheap gin; mothers gossiping while sweeping, like queens ruling dusty kingdoms. It was a world content in its routine. And I—still looking, still asking—where do I belong in it?
At the third corner, I saw LJ Café. It was small, mostly wood inside, with a lingering scent of espresso and cinnamon. The signage above the entrance was faded but dignified. Right next to it was the convenience store I often visited—not for its stock, but for the quiet it offered late at night.
I parked my bike by the post and made sure the cupcakes were still secured. Before heading in, I took a deep breath. There it was again—that unexplainable thump in my chest.
Opening the door, I was greeted by the warmth of freshly brewed coffee, buttery croissants, and soft jazz playing in the background. It felt like being embraced by a morning I didn't expect. Inside, students hunched over laptops, couples whispering at tables, and an old man reading a newspaper while sipping latte.
"Lyzer! Just in time. Miss Saavedra's been looking for you," said Lani, the ever-cheerful cashier.
I frowned. "Miss Saavedra?"
Before I could ask more, a voice cut through the café—sharp, refined, with a tone that came with both entitlement and certainty.
"Finally. Took you long enough."
I turned. A woman stood in the far corner of the café, one hand on her hip, eyes fixed on me like I owed her something. Her skin was like polished cinnamon, her hair tied back so neatly it looked sculpted. The black blazer she wore wasn't just formal—it was armor, stitched with elegance and quiet threat.
And her eyes—that's where I froze. Deep. Sharp. Like pits that, if you stared too long, you'd fall in and never find your way back.
"Uh… did you order the cupcakes?" I asked, trying to mask the tremble in my voice.
"Obviously," she replied, arms crossing with precision. Every movement she made carried weight, like her time wasn't just precious—it was expensive. "I've been a regular customer here. But this is the first time I've been disappointed with the timing. Do you even realize I have a meeting to get to?"
Embarrassment rose in my throat like bile. But more than that, there was a strange ache in my chest. Like I hadn't just been late—I had somehow failed her on a deeper level.
"Sorry about that, Miss…?"
"Jaz. Jaz Saavedra."
I blinked. Something in me stilled. That name. Jaz Saavedra. It echoed like a bell, loud and inescapable. I couldn't recall where I'd heard it… or maybe I hadn't heard it at all. Maybe I had felt it. A whisper from a past I never fully grasped. Jaz Saavedra. It rang through my head like a church bell at noon—sharp, impossible to ignore.
She inspected the cupcakes meticulously, like a scientist reviewing samples under a microscope. Her eyes scanned each frosting swirl, each ribbon, every detail of the packaging. After a long moment, she gave the smallest nod—a nod shorter than a breath, but somehow enough to stitch back together my crumpled dignity.
"They'll do," she said. "But next time, be on time."
I scratched the back of my head, trying to smile even as my pride felt like it had just been brewed and spilled. "Noted," I muttered.
She turned briefly to Lani. "Charge it to my account."
"Yes, ma'am," Lani replied, sneaking a glance at me from the corner of her eye. It said something like: Wow. Intense.
Just as Jaz was about to walk out, she looked back at me.
"See you around… Lyzer, right?"
My grip on my bag tightened. How did she know my name? She didn't ask. She didn't guess. She knew. As if it wasn't something she learned—it was something she remembered.
"Ah, yes… that's me," I replied with a hesitant smile. But inside, I was shaking. There was something in her voice, in her gaze, in the way she owned my name that made it feel like I wasn't just a delivery guy to her.
As the sound of her heels clicked against the café floor and faded into the distance, something lingered in the air. Not just her perfume—a sophisticated scent of confidence and stories—but a silence louder than music.
She walked out without looking back. But something told me this wasn't the last time we'd meet. Not even close.
I was left standing there, in front of the cupcakes, surrounded by the scent of coffee and the hum of jazz music. But my world suddenly fell silent, and inside me was the thundering of a drum with no rhythm—loud, disoriented, and aching.
I stepped out of LJ Café. I walked past the convenience store.
When I arrived at Sacred Heart University, I immediately felt a shift in the air. It wasn't like a usual Monday, filled with noise, laughter, and the clatter of shoes against the hallway floor. Today, there was a strange stillness in the atmosphere—an unsettling kind of silence that didn't comfort but instead pulled sound away like a black hole. The students weren't just walking; they were hesitating, turning aside, as if avoiding one particular path—one person—they couldn't confront or dared not cross.
I slowly got off my bike and parked it under the shade of an acacia tree near the gate. As I tied my shoelace, my eyes were busy scanning the area. And then I saw her.
A woman. Beautiful—yes—but not in the way of magazine covers or billboards. Her beauty was the kind that pierced straight through you, not just caught by the eye but felt deeply. It was the kind that came with its own soundtrack, each step cinematic, impossible to ignore. She wore a deep burgundy corporate dress, a thin gold-accented belt, and a coat draped over one arm like it wasn't just for warmth—but for declaration: I have arrived.
The world seemed to spin around her. She became its axis. No one dared to block her path. Even the guards at the admin office held the door open for her—not just out of courtesy, but with a reverence carved into their movements. Her steps were deliberate, neither excessive nor lacking, each one filled with silent authority.
I couldn't help but stare. Something rose inside me, something I couldn't name. It wasn't just admiration—it was fear, anxiety, and an odd sorrow. Like I knew her. Like she was a missing piece from a part of my life I never even realized was gone.
"Hey, Lyzer!"
I jolted as someone tapped my shoulder. I turned and saw Faeryn—my friend who always had a knack for stabbing serious moments with sarcasm.
"You're staring again," she said, raising a brow. "Is that a ghost or love at first sight?"
I shook my head, trying to clear the weight in my chest. "No… I was just looking at her. She's… stunning."
Faeryn followed my gaze toward the admin office. The moment she saw who I was talking about, her expression changed—like she suddenly remembered something.
"Oh, her?" she said with a mischievous grin. "Yeah, she's stunning all right. But that's not just a face. That's Lyzariah Jazmine Leovierre. One of the youngest, most powerful lawyers in the country. And more than that—she's taking over the entire legal division of Leovierre Corporation."
I froze. The name hit my ears like a grenade. "Leovierre Corporation?"
"Yep," Faeryn confirmed, her grin deepening. "That multinational empire that basically owns the modern world—real estate, tech, media, fashion, finance, everything. And she's now the face of their legal empire."
Time stopped. Not because I was shocked—but because of the sheer weight of that name. Leovierre. It wasn't just some corporation you mention in casual conversation. It was the kind of name etched in the annals of power and history. I knew people like them stood in towers so high that I, down here, felt like an ant at their feet.
I looked toward the admin office door. Behind it, I felt a strange mix of light and shadow. And that woman—Jaz—felt like the threshold between two worlds I wasn't ready to walk into.
"What's her full name again?" I asked, unable to hold back the curiosity that had started to take over every inch of me.
Faeryn smirked, her eyes reading my expressions like an open book.
"Lyzariah Jazmine Leovierre," she said, each syllable carrying a weight of its own. "But most people just call her Jaz."
Jaz.
Something inside me twitched. A flash of lightning across memory. I stared off into the distance—but really, I was back in that moment in the café, just a few days ago. The woman with the sharp eyes, the cool voice, the way she said my name without asking for it—'Yasiel Lyzer, you're late.'
Her.
Jaz.
Lyzariah Jazmine Leovierre was Jaz Saavedra.
A chill shot down my spine—not just from shock but from the weight of a connection that had just come alive. The woman I thought was just a demanding customer was the same woman now revered across the university—and likely the entire country.
"Wait… so the Jaz I met at the café… that was her?" I whispered, my mind racing.
Faeryn, now fully amused by my reactions, raised an eyebrow. "At the café? You mean… you've seen her before today?"
I nodded slowly. "Yeah. She was the one who ordered the cupcake."
Faeryn burst into laughter. "Oh my god, Lyzer. So you two already met? She knows you?"
"Feels like... yes. But it also feels like she knows me better than I know her." I scratched the back of my neck, unsure which was more unsettling—that she somehow knew who I was, or the feeling that maybe I've known her too… but forgot.
Faeryn suddenly fell silent, her expression turning serious. "You know, Lyzer, I've been hearing things. Strange things. Some professors got reassigned without warning. Certain files were locked down. 'Confidential,' they said. And now she's here. In admin."
I glanced back at the admin office. The door remained closed, yet it felt like something was happening behind it—something not meant for the ears of ordinary students like us. A cold breeze brushed past us, as if carrying a whisper from the silence. A warning? Or an invitation?
"I think something's going on," Faeryn whispered. "And I think you're part of it."
"Part of it?" I let out a weak laugh. "Me? I'm not even sure I picked the right course."
But inside, there was a voice answering her—a voice both familiar and distant, tender and cold: Lyzer, why do you keep forgetting me?
I stiffened at the weight of the memory. But nothing came back.
All I knew was that my heart was beating with fear… and anticipation.
"Let's go, Lyzer," Faeryn said. "We still have class."
I nodded, but with each step away from that door, I felt like I left a part of myself behind—something deep inside me that desperately wanted to know the truth.
We split off to our respective classrooms, and while everyone else was preparing for their first subject, I found myself swallowed by a cloud of questions and fascination. I didn't have class in the first hour, so I wandered. Not for academic focus, but to escape the noise inside me—the chaos Jaz had stirred.
My steps took me to the library—the quietest corner of the university. Calm, cool, filled with the heady scent of paper and ink, intoxicating for those who wanted to forget… or remember. It was where I usually sought clarity. But today, I wasn't the one searching.
I was the one being found.
As I entered, the old charm of wood and yellow lamplight welcomed me. Students were scattered about—reading, writing, yawning through their stress. I walked between the aisles of shelves, my fingers brushing lightly along the book spines as though seeking contact.
In a quiet corner, I noticed a familiar librarian—an older woman with glasses, gently setting down a stack of heavy books near me. I approached, not to sit, just to see what she was shelving.
Corporate Law.
I frowned. A field I always avoided. My heart leaned toward Human Rights—cases with soul and struggle. I had no love for the world of papers, contracts, and a justice system that often served the rich. Yet, something in that moment pulled me toward those books.
And then I saw it.
Lyzariah Jazmine S. Leovierre.
Her name, embossed on the cover of a black hardcover book with golden edges. The letters glowed in my vision, floating above my logic.
I quickly picked up the book and opened it. On the authors' page was her photo. Dressed formally, with minimal makeup yet an undeniable aura. Her eyes were sharp—eyes that always seemed to be searching, or perhaps more accurately… knowing.
My knees weakened.
Her.
The woman I saw at the café. The woman who turned the entire campus into an audience as she entered the admin office. A woman draped in mystery and power. Jaz.
Jaz was Lyzariah Jazmine S. Leovierre.
The book nearly slipped from my hands, but I managed to place it down. My chest was pounding like war drums. I stood up, half-ready to run. But I forced myself to breathe, to calm down.
I sat back down and slowly turned the pages again.
Atty. Lyzariah Jazmine S. Leovierre, the youngest corporate lawyer to be appointed as the Chief Legal Officer of Leovierre Corporation…
Each word sank deep into my brain. Chief Legal Officer. Corporate Litigation. 27 years old. High-profile cases.
We were only a few years apart, but it felt like we came from entirely different universes. She was a being of logic, law, and legacy. Me? Just a student still questioning my own path.
And yet… why did I feel something pulling between us?
Like there was a history I couldn't remember.
A feeling I couldn't name.
A wound that had long healed, but ached again in her presence.
I jolted when I sensed someone pass behind me. Their steps were soft. No words. But the presence—cold, sharp, familiar.
I slowly turned around.
A tall woman stood near the bookshelf. Her body slightly turned, her face partly hidden—but her aura was unmistakable.
Was it her?
Was it Jaz?
I stood—not because I was sure, but because I couldn't stop myself. It was like a voice was calling, one only I could hear. Every movement she made sent a current between us, though we hadn't even locked eyes.
But before I could move closer, she turned away.
She walked off—quick, but not hurried. Steady, but not aggressive.
I couldn't stop myself.
I followed.
I didn't know why. I didn't know what I was chasing. I didn't know if I was the one looking for her, or if she was trying to awaken something long buried in me.
With every step, I felt like I was approaching a secret.
And in my heart, one question kept whispering:
Who are you really, Jaz?
We had a past.
And whatever that was…
I needed to know.