The Monday morning sun greeted Tristan not with a jarring alarm, but with a golden, gentle glow, seeping through the gaps in his curtains like a warm promise. Today was different. There were no drills, no textbooks, no looming pressure of a game. Today was the class outing. Weeks of simmering anticipation, of whispered plans and excited group chats, had distilled into this singular, perfect morning. An energy bubbled just beneath his skin, humming like a half-forgotten song suddenly remembered.
Tristan sat on the edge of his bed, a pair of neatly folded swim trunks lying beside him. He took a deep breath, his lungs filling with the clean, calming scent of freshly laundered sheets as he ran through a final mental checklist.
Swim trunks? Check.
Towel? Check.
Sunblock? His mom had insisted. Check.
Extra shirt? Check.
His gaze lingered on the insulated lunch bag on his desk. His mother had been up since dawn preparing his baon. He could still smell the faint, delicious aroma of lemongrass and charcoal from the chicken inasal she'd packed. Alongside it were banana-leaf-wrapped garlic rice, a couple of ripe bananas, and a small container of perfectly cubed sweet mangoes. A small, proud smile touched his lips. It was a lunch made with care, a tangible piece of home he would carry with him.
He grabbed his phone, the screen glowing brightly in the soft morning light, and typed a quick message.
To: Marco, Gab (Group: Black Mambas)
Tristan: Ready for today? Waiting at the usual spot.
Seconds later, his phone buzzed.
Marco: On my way. Better have your A-game ready for the water races. I'm not losing to you twice in one week.
Gab: Bringing my camera. Prepare to have your most embarrassing moments immortalized. Memories incoming.
Tristan chuckled, the easy warmth of their friendship stretching across the digital space.
Minutes later, he arrived at the familiar street corner that served as their unofficial headquarters. Marco was already there, bouncing on the balls of his feet, his impatience a kinetic force. Gab stood beside him, holding a small handheld camera, already framing imaginary shots of the passing tricycles.
"Ready to conquer the waves, Captain?" Marco called out, clapping Tristan on the back as he approached.
"Or at least not get a major sunburn," Gab added dryly, peering through his camera's viewfinder at Tristan. "Try to look heroic."
Tristan just shook his head, grinning. "Let's just make it unforgettable."
They piled into a jeepney, their laughter and excited chatter mixing with the familiar rattle and hum of the city waking up. The wind whipped through the open windows, carrying the scent of morning traffic and baking bread from a nearby panaderia.
The half-hour journey melted away, and soon they were pulling up to the sprawling entrance of the resort. Under the welcoming sun, sparkling blue pools glittered like scattered jewels, and tall palm trees swayed in a soft, rhythmic dance against the clear sky.
As they walked in, they were immediately enveloped by the sounds and sights of their classmates. A vibrant kaleidoscope of colorful swimwear, booming laughter, and carefree chatter filled the expansive grounds.
And then he saw her.
Seated at a bamboo cottage a short distance away was Christine. She was laughing at something a friend had said, her head tilted back slightly. Her dark hair, a cascade of black silk over the bright straps of her swimsuit, caught the sunlight in a way that made it seem to shine from within. For a long, suspended moment, time slowed.
The world around Tristan muted to a dull, distant roar, until it was only her, the sound of her laughter, and the soft rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze.
He blinked, a sharp nudge to his ribs jolting him back to reality. He realized he'd been standing frozen, just staring.
"Bro, earth to Tristan," Marco whispered, his voice laced with amusement. "Your mouth is open. You're gonna catch a fly. Close it before she sees you looking like a lovestruck puppy."
Gab, ever the documentarian, had his camera up. With a quick jab of his finger, he captured Tristan's stunned, deer-in-the-headlights expression. "And… freeze frame on the hero's moment of realization. Perfect."
Shaking off the daze, his face flushing, Tristan followed his friends to the changing tents. Their own boisterous laughter filled the small space as they changed, the sound a comfortable shield for his rattled nerves.
Moments later, the trio emerged and headed for the main pool. The cool, chlorinated water looked impossibly inviting.
"Alright, this is it," Gab declared, holding his waterproof camera aloft like a trophy. "Time to make some waves."
They didn't need a second invitation. They cannonballed into the pool, sending a huge splash that earned them playful shouts from nearby classmates. The water was a refreshing shock, washing away the last traces of sleepiness and anxiety. The pool became their arena of joy.
Marco immediately challenged Tristan to a race to the other side, their competitive instincts kicking in as they churned through the water with powerful strokes.
Gab, meanwhile, organized a game of retrieving a thrown coin from the pool floor, his long limbs giving him an unfair advantage as he dove deep into the blue. It was a perfect break from the rigid structure of practice, a release from stress and expectation.
Hours passed in a sun-drenched, water-logged blur. As twilight began to paint the sky in soft shades of mauve and orange, the energy of the group began to wind down. People were getting out of the pool, wrapping themselves in towels, and gathering at the cottages.
Tristan found himself toweling off his hair near the snack bar, when he saw Christine sitting alone on the steps of her cottage porch, gazing out at the sunset. His heart did a familiar, frantic little flip. It was now or never.
Taking a steadying breath, he walked over. "Hey," he said softly, his voice sounding surprisingly calm. "Is this seat taken?"
She looked up, and a small, friendly smile graced her lips. "Hey, Tristan. No, it's all yours."
He sat down beside her, a comfortable foot of space between them. For a moment, they just watched the sky, the silence filled only by the distant laughter of their friends.
"So…" Tristan started, his courage warring with his nerves. "Can I ask you something kind of personal? You don't have to answer if you don't want to." She turned to look at him, her expression open and curious. "I've seen you and Aiden together a lot. And I was just wondering… are you guys… a thing?" He let the question hang, his voice trailing off.
Christine's smile faltered slightly, becoming more thoughtful. She looked down at her hands. "Aiden and I… it's complicated," she admitted, her voice quiet. "We're really close, and he's one of my best friends. But… I think he wants it to be more than that. And I'm just not sure if I feel the same way. It's confusing."
Tristan's heart hammered against his ribs. This was his chance. "I'm only asking because… well, to be honest, I've kind of liked you for a while now," he confessed, the words tumbling out in a rush. "But seeing you with him, I didn't want to get in the way or make things awkward. I just wasn't sure where, or if, I stood at all."
Christine looked at him, and this time her smile was different—warmer, more direct. "Tristan, you're a really kind and genuine person. I'm… I'm glad you told me. It means a lot."
A soft, easy laugh passed between them, the evening calm settling over them, erasing the tension. As they walked back toward the group, Marco and Gab immediately broke away and surrounded Tristan, their faces alight with mock seriousness.
"So?" Marco demanded in a loud whisper. "Report, Captain! Did you get the official swimsuit approval, or did you crash and burn?"
Gab snorted, already reviewing the footage on his camera. "He was over there for a while. He'd better have brought his A-game."
Tristan rolled his eyes, but he couldn't suppress the wide, happy grin spreading across his face. "Shut up, you guys."
As darkness deepened, the entire class gathered around a long, rustic table laden with a feast of shared dishes—grilled tilapia, crispy lumpia, bowls of rice, and platters of fresh fruit. Stories and jokes flew freely, the atmosphere crackling with the vibrant, uncontainable joy of youth.
Someone pulled out a guitar, and after a few popular pop-rock songs, a classmate called out, "Hey, Tristan! I heard you can sing! Give us something!"
A chorus of cheers and pats on the back erupted. "Yeah, Tristan, sing for us!"
Tristan swallowed, a familiar flutter of nerves in his stomach, but his heart felt steady. He took the offered guitar, its worn wood warm in his hands. He thought for a moment, then began to strum the opening chords of a classic—Yeng Constantino's 'Salamat'.
His voice, when he began to sing, filled the night air. It wasn't perfect, but it was gentle and full of earnest emotion.
"Kung ito man ang huling awiting aawitin / Nais kong malaman mong ika'y bahagi ng buhay ko..." (If this is the last song I will ever sing / I want you to know you are a part of my life...)
The boisterous crowd hushed, captivated. He could see the glow of phone screens recording the moment, but he focused on the faces illuminated by the tiki torches. He saw friends with their arms around each other, he saw couples holding hands, and as he sang the chorus, he met Christine's eyes across the table.
"Salamat, at tayo'y nagkasamang muli / Salamat, dahil mayroon akong ikaw..." (Thank you, and we are together once more / Thank you, because I have you...)
When the final chord faded, a moment of profound silence hung in the air, before it was broken by a wave of heartfelt, genuine applause. Tristan smiled humbly, a warmth flooding his entire being that had nothing to do with the tropical heat.
Marco punched his shoulder lightly. "Dude! Since when were you hiding a whole harana singer in there, Captain?"
Gab grinned, lowering his camera. "Forget embarrassing moments. You just made a core memory for the whole class."
Later, as the outing wound down, Tristan found himself looking up at the vast, star-dusted sky. Today was more than just a fun day at a resort. It was a day of small victories—of courage found, of connections made, of friendships deepened.
He whispered softly to the night, a promise to himself and to the friends who stood with him. "Whatever comes next… we face it together."