The first hints of dawn were a faint, ethereal gray against the horizon when Tristan's eyes snapped open. He hadn't slept much, his mind a whirlwind of nervous anticipation and a quiet, building courage. Today was the day. Not the day of the Battle of the Bands, but the day he had to ask Christine to watch him sing. It was a mission far more terrifying than any a floating window could ever assign.
He got out of bed and walked to the bathroom, the cool tile a welcome shock against his bare feet. He splashed cold water on his face, trying to wash away the lingering shadows of his anxiety. He looked into the mirror, his reflection staring back at him. He was just Tristan, a boy with a dream and a new-found confidence. But in that moment, he felt like the old Tristan again—shy, quiet, and completely overwhelmed.
He took a deep breath and began to practice. "Hey, Christine," he said to his reflection, his voice a low, shaky murmur. "I was just wondering if... no, that's too weak."
He shook his head, a look of frustration on his face. He tried again. "Christine, do you want to come and watch me sing tomorrow? In the Battle of the Bands?" The words were a little better, a little more confident, but they still felt wrong. He practiced for a few more minutes, his voice gaining a quiet, rhythmic confidence, his posture straightening, his eyes meeting his reflection's with a new kind of fire. He was ready.
After his solitary practice, Tristan went back to his room and got ready for school. He chose his clothes carefully, a clean, simple shirt that felt both casual and presentable.
He wasn't trying to impress anyone; he was just trying to look like the confident version of himself. He grabbed his bag, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, and walked out the front door, the cool morning air a welcome shock against his skin.
He met Marco and Gab at their usual meeting place, and they immediately noticed his nervous energy. "Dude, what's wrong with you?" Marco said, a playful jab in his voice. "You're a nervous wreck. You haven't even talked to her yet."
"I know, I know," Tristan mumbled, his eyes cast down at his shoes. "It's just... I don't know when to do it. She's always with her friends. It's impossible to get her alone."
Gab, his face a picture of a wise, quiet confidence, just nodded. "Don't worry, Tris. We'll figure something out. Today isn't about classes, it's about preparation. And we're going to prepare you for the biggest mission of all: the mission to ask your crush out."
The walk to school was a mix of nervous anticipation and a quiet, rhythmic camaraderie. The streets of Dasmariñas were bustling, but in their own little world, the three friends were a unit, a brothers, a team.
As they walked into Dasmariñas National High School, the air was thick with a new kind of energy. The hallways were decorated with red and pink hearts, posters advertising the Battle of the Bands and the other Valentine's Day events, and the rhythmic hum of students preparing for the next day's festivities. The classes today were short and light, more of a formality than a real lesson.
The teachers, too, were in a festive mood, their lessons a quiet, forgiving presence.
Tristan's mind was in a daze. He couldn't focus on the lessons, on the assignments, on anything. He was constantly looking for Christine, trying to find a moment when she was alone. But every time he saw her, she was surrounded by her friends—a boisterous, laughing group of girls who were always together. He saw her in the hallway, at the cafeteria, and even in their shared classes, but he could never find the right moment. The morning flew by in a blur of nervous glances and missed opportunities.
The final bell for the morning classes rang, a sweet, melodic sound, and Tristan, Marco, and Gab met in the canteen for lunch.
Tristan slumped into his seat, a look of defeat on his face. "I can't do it, guys," he said, his voice a low, tired murmur. "She's never alone. I don't know what to do."
Marco and Gab, their faces a picture of a quiet, reassuring confidence, just looked at him. "Dude," Marco said, his voice a low, serious whisper. "That's why you have us. We're your wingmen. We're a team, and we're going to get this done. We have a plan."
"Yeah," Gab added, a wide grin on his face. "We're going to distract her friends. We'll find a way to get them to go somewhere else. We'll create a diversion. And when they're gone, you'll have your chance. It's perfect."
Tristan looked at them, a look of a tired but genuine gratitude on his face. "What are you guys going to do?"
Marco leaned in, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. "We're going to tell them there's a problem at the art room, that they need to come help. You know how much they love art class."
"Yeah," Gab added, "and when they're gone, you'll have your shot. It's a win-win."
Tristan just shook his head, a quiet, genuine smile on his face. He had the best friends in the world. He had a team. He had a brother s.
The final bell of the day, a sweet, melodic sound, rang at exactly 3:00 PM. The school, which had been a quiet, focused place, erupted in a flurry of activity. The plan was in motion.
Marco and Gab, a blur of motion, walked over to Christine and her friends. They said something to them, their voices a quiet, frantic hum. Christine's friends, a look of a frantic but excited energy on their faces, immediately turned and ran towards the art room.
Tristan's heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic, nervous rhythm. This was it. This was his chance. He took a deep breath, and with a new-found courage, he walked towards Christine.
She was standing there alone, a beautiful, graceful presence in the bustling hallway. She was looking at her phone, a small, quiet smile on her face. Tristan walked over to her, his heart a steady drumbeat in his chest.
"Hey, Christine," Tristan said, his voice a little shaky, but firm.
Christine looked up, a look of surprise and a quiet, genuine smile on her face. "Hey, Tristan," she said, her voice a soft, melodic whisper.
Tristan's mind went blank. His heart, which had been a steady drumbeat of courage, was now a frantic, nervous mess. He couldn't find the words. He couldn't find his voice. He was just Tristan, a shy, nervous boy with a crush.
But then, a new kind of courage, a quiet, rhythmic courage, filled his heart. He thought of his songs, of his practice, of his team. He was a singer. He was a performer. He was a new kind of leader.
"I... I was wondering if you wanted to come and watch me sing tomorrow," Tristan said, his voice a little shaky, but firm. "In the Battle of the Bands. I'm... I'm the new vocalist for Juan Karlos's band."
Christine's eyes widened, a look of surprise and a quiet, genuine smile on her face. "Really? You're a singer? I had no idea." She looked at him, a new kind of look in her eyes, a look of a quiet, genuine admiration. "Of course I'll come, Tristan. I would love to. I'll be there."
A wave of pure, unadulterated joy washed over Tristan. He had done it. She had said yes. He had asked his crush to watch him sing, and she had said yes. He was no longer just a quiet, shy boy; he was a singer, a performer.
He saw Marco and Gab walking back, a wide grin on their faces. He walked over to them, his face a picture of a triumphant, ecstatic joy. "She said yes!" he said, his voice a loud, boisterous whisper. "She said yes! She's going to come and watch me sing!"
Marco and Gab, a look of a shared triumph on their faces, gave him a high-five. "I told you, man," Marco said, a wide grin on his face. "You're a rockstar. You're a winner."
"We're a team, Tris," Gab added, a look of a quiet, genuine pride on his face. "We win together."
Tristan's heart was a steady drumbeat of happiness. He had a mission to win, a team to lead, and a new kind of courage to carry him through. He thanked his two friends for their support, and with a quiet, confident smile, he walked to the music room, his heart a symphony of hope and joy.
The rehearsal was a a blur of music and rhythm, a celebration of a newfound courage and a shared dream. Tristan sang with a new-found confidence, his voice a powerful, resonant presence.
After the rehearsal, Tristan went home alone, his heart a steady drumbeat of happiness and quiet anticipation. He had a mission to win, a team to lead, and a new challenge to face. He had to be a rockstar.
He closed his eyes, the floating window disappearing into the darkness, and he drifted off to sleep, his dreams filled with images of jerseys, basketballs, and the triumphant clamor of a championship trophy. He was ready.