It was supposed to be just lunch. One quick meal at the carinderia near Southwestern University's back gate—neutral territory, no pressure. But somehow, it turned into a weekly thing.
Stella didn’t mind.
At first, it was just a coincidence. Vince would message, "Still on Campus? Are you free for lunch?" and if she was, she'd say yes. They would eat, chat briefly, and then go their separate ways. No expectations. No awkward silences. He didn't press too much or ask things she wasn't ready to answer. He didn’t make her feel like she owed him anything—not even an explanation for why she avoided him for over a year after he got expelled from St. Adrian’s.
There was something oddly comfortable about his presence. Familiar, but not suffocating.
Eventually, Vince started coming more often—during breaks between classes, or when he was in the area for practice or errands. It became almost routine. Sometimes he brought Lawrenz along—a lanky, talkative guy from his basketball team who had a habit of making Stella laugh at things she didn’t even find funny. Other times it was just Vince, lounging in the botanical garden like he belonged there, balancing his basketball on one foot while waiting.
“You’re becoming a fixture,” Stella muttered once, stepping out from her class only to find him waiting for her again.
“Like a bench?” he grinned.
“No,” she rolled her eyes. “Like the lamppost they forgot to remove during renovations. Still standing despite being unnecessary.”
Vince laughed at that, unoffended. “Better than being totally forgotten.”
They'd walk around the campus during breaks—Stella’s tote bag always weighed down with books, Vince usually carrying nothing but his phone and a small towel slung around his neck. Sometimes they'd end up at the university gym, where Vince would drop by to greet old coaches or play a quick game. Other times, Stella would drag him to the library when she had homework, where he’d occasionally doze off beside her while pretending to study.
It was simple, and weirdly easy.
“You’re not like this with everyone, no?” Vince asked one afternoon while they sat by the bleachers of the SWU open court. She had bought barbecue sticks and puso; he was sipping Coke from a plastic cup with a straw, sweat still glistening on his neck after a quick scrimmage.
“Like what?”
“Comfortable,” he said.
Stella bit the end of her barbecue stick, not answering right away.
“I’m just quiet with people,” she said eventually. “Not everyone understands that.”
He nodded, as if he knew what she meant.
“That’s not a problem to me. You’re more fun to talk to when you’re quiet,” he teased.
“Is that a compliment?”
“It’s… true.”
She chuckled.
By the time midterms came around, Vince had memorized parts of her schedule. He would drop by unannounced—bringing siomai when she skipped lunch or sitting beside her while she crammed a paper. At some point, even her classmates stopped asking who he was. Everyone assumed they were either dating or "talking," but Stella didn’t bother correcting them. She didn’t even know what they were.
She just knew it felt safe.
And safe was a rare thing for her.
Once, he caught her alone at the campus chapel. She didn’t hear him come in until she noticed a figure slide into the pew behind her.
“Praying?” he asked softly.
“Partly,” she replied. “Just… quieting the noise.”
He didn’t speak after that. They sat there, a few rows apart, until the chapel bell rang for curfew.
Then came the day he brought Lawrenz again, the same Lawrenze Mateo from grade school and high school—goofy, stubborn, acts tough but actually soft-hearted. He’s like Vince in a lot of ways... but he was never like Regie, the cruel.
Lawrenz was different—louder, more animated—but even he learned to read Stella’s silences. She didn’t mind his presence. He made the trio feel less like something fragile.
Still, Vince was the one who lingered.
One rainy Friday, he stayed with her in the library until closing. They shared earbuds, listening to the same playlist while she annotated her notes. She caught him watching her sometimes—not in a creepy way, but like he was trying to memorize the way she furrowed her brow when confused or how her lips moved slightly when she read silently.
“Do you miss Bohol?” he asked out of nowhere.
She paused, then nodded.
“But I don’t think I can go back,” she added.
“Why?”
She hesitated. “It feels like everything there has already happened. Like if I went back, I’d just rewind instead of move forward.”
He hummed, nodding slowly. “I get that.”
“Do you?”
“I got expelled from the place that held all my memories,” he shrugged. “Nothing left to go back to.”
They shared a look.
For a second, it felt like they were finally about to talk about it—the thing that’s been hanging over them since the start.
The rain didn’t let up that night. Stella offered her umbrella. Vince declined, then walked her to her boarding house anyway.
“Are you sure?” she asked, standing at her gate.
“Yeah,” he said, tossing the basketball under his arm. “Besides, you have books. I just have this.”
She nodded slowly, before walking inside.
From her window, she watched him jog through the rain.
Oddly comfortable.
That’s what it was.
And that terrified her more than she cared to admit.
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