I rushed to see Mayor.
I still carried the heaviness in my chest, a mixture of bitterness and sorrow wrapping itself around every fiber of my being.
As the rain fell, it felt like it was sympathizing with us, its somber rhythm blending with the quiet sobs i tried so hard to hold back.
When i arrived, the place was already filled with people, supporters who had gathered wholeheartedly despite the cold and wet surroundings.
In their eyes, you could see exhaustion and regret, tears they were struggling to keep in.
You could feel the weight of emotion in the air, as if the lungs of the world had given out for a moment.
And in the middle of it all stood Mayor Andy, not the fiery leader who always smiled for the cameras, but just a man burdened by the weight of it all.
His eyes reflected the battles he had fought and the dreams now forced to pause. He was silent, yet his presence was felt, still strong, though touched by fragility.
He spoke, thanking every heart that believed in him, every hand that offered help, every dream that was shared with him.
He didn't craft his words to invite tears or to hide the pain, but to show a kind of bravery that could only come from sincere love for his town.
Standing there, you could sense that despite the loss, he remained a light, still a beacon of hope in the storm.
When he came close to me, I couldn't hold back my tears.
I sobbed, and he wiped away every hitching breath with an embrace that was firm, warm, full of understanding.
He hugged us one by one, those of us who had persevered, endured, traveled through every barangay, every corner, every road, right up to this day that felt like a cruel nightmare.
I looked around at the eyes of the supporters, those who had shed tears, who had slept so little just to help, who cried quietly at night with no one to turn to but God and themselves.
"Thank you," Mayor Andy said, his voice low but steady, cutting through everything.
"Thank you for the trust you gave. Thank you for the dreams we couldn't fulfill today. That's life, it doesn't give us everything. Maybe God has a better plan for us."
I looked at him, and in his eyes, I saw a promise, that he would rise again, that he would return, that he would fight once more for the town he loved with all his heart.
As time passed, the rain began to ease, but the cold lingered.
It wasn't just the chill of the weather, but the chill in everyone's hearts.
Yet in every hug, in every gathering, there was warmth that tried to seep into each weary soul.
I saw the tired, blinking eyes of my companions.
Not all of them wanted to show their vulnerability, but behind every smile was a hidden ache.
There were lolas who had brought rice and water for everyone.
There were young people who still held up their placards, once cheerfully shouting "Tuloy ang laban!" Now the signs drooped, as if paralyzed by defeat.
But despite everything, the sense of kinship remained.
The feeling that we're not alone.
In those moments, we didn't need words.
Our tear-filled eyes said everything.
This wasn't just a loss.
It was a reminder: that the true fight doesn't always end in victory.
That there are days when you have to accept defeat in order to grow stronger.
And like the rain, which even when slowing down never fully stops, so would we.
We'd keep going, wounded but unbroken.