I stared at the clock on my study table as it ticked closer to five in the afternoon.Why was I nervous?
It wasn't like this was a real date. It was nothing more than an experiment. A trial run. A business deal between two college students who didn't know what they wanted from each other.
And yet, my heart betrayed me by drumming in my chest like it had missed a beat.
I shook my head and looked at the pens neatly lined up in my pencil case. They were still too new, the ink too crisp, the plastic covers still bearing the faint smell of fresh stationery. Pens as a confession gift. Of all the things.
I sighed, stood up, and checked myself in the mirror. My uniform was still neat, but I let my hair down from its usual ponytail. Not because I wanted to impress him—of course not. I just told myself it was too hot to keep it tied.
Right.
When I stepped out of the house and walked to the jeepney stop, he was already there. Again.
Abednigo stood under the orange glow of the late afternoon sun, his back straight, his black backpack hanging loosely from one shoulder. He spotted me almost instantly, his expression brightening in a way that looked too genuine to fake.
"Seira," he greeted, as if my arrival had solved all his problems.
"You're early. Again," I said, eyeing him.
"I didn't want to be late," he admitted.
I rolled my eyes. "One of these days, you'll realize punctuality and showing up thirty minutes ahead aren't the same thing."
His lips curved upward, like he'd just been given a secret compliment. "Dully noted."
The jeepney ride into the city wasn't as suffocating as this morning's. Maybe because I had gotten used to his presence, or maybe because the late afternoon breeze filtered through the open windows. He sat beside me again, careful to keep his elbows tucked in like he was afraid of invading my space.
We didn't speak much until we got off near Roxas Avenue. The street was alive with the sound of sizzling oil, laughter, and vendors calling out for customers. The aroma of chicken barbecue, kwek-kwek, and all other kinds of street foods wafted through the air.
"This place is…" he trailed off, scanning the colorful stalls, "…lively."
I couldn't help but laugh. "That's one way to put it. Ever tried street food?"
He hesitated. "…No."
"Seriously? Not even fish balls?"
He shook his head, looking faintly embarrassed. "My parents don't like me eating outside food. They're strict about health."
I grinned, sensing an opportunity. "Well, too bad. You're with me now. And this," I gestured to the bustling avenue, "is non-negotiable."
We stopped by a stall selling barbecue. I ordered chicken skin, my favorite guilty pleasure. He stared at the skewers for a long time, brows furrowed, before finally pointing at one. "Uh… pork barbecue, please."
When we found a spot to sit on a low plastic bench, I noticed the way he held the stick delicately, as if it might explode in his hands.
"You don't have to treat it like a lab experiment," I teased, biting into mine.
He gave me a sheepish look. "It's my first time. I don't know the protocol."
"Protocol? It's food, Rodriguez. Just eat."
He obeyed, taking a tentative bite. His eyes widened. "This is… good."
I smirked. "Told you. Street food is superior. Cheaper, tastier, and you don't have to pretend you're fancy."
Something in his expression softened. "You seem… comfortable here."
The way he said it wasn't a casual observation—it was tinged with curiosity, almost admiration. I shrugged. "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"
He hesitated, as if weighing whether to push further. "You're different in class. You always look… reserved. Here, you seem… freer."
I blinked at him, caught off guard. Not many people noticed the difference. Most just thought I was consistent—the "friendly girl who doesn't get too close."
"…Maybe because I actually like it here," I said finally, popping another piece of chicken skin into my mouth. "I don't have to think too much. People just… eat and live. No pressure to act a certain way."
He nodded thoughtfully, as if filing away the information like data for a research project.
We wandered from stall to stall, sampling kwek-kwek, isaw, and takoyaki. He was hesitant at first but slowly warmed up, and by the third stall, he was the one dragging me to try something new.
"You're going to get addicted," I warned as he bought a second serving of kwek-kwek.
"Then it's your fault," he said with a rare smile, his lips betraying his enjoyment.
I stopped mid-step, surprised. His smile was small, crooked, but genuine. It made him look less like the quiet top student everyone thought of as a robot and more like… a twenty-year-old guy just living his life.
I quickly looked away before he noticed I'd been staring.
Later, we found ourselves sitting on the low steps of a closed bookstore, sipping melon juice from plastic cups. The night market buzzed around us, but in that little pocket of space, it felt oddly private.
He cleared his throat. "Can I ask you something?"
"Depends."
"Why did you say yes? To the… deadline couple thing."
I sipped my juice slowly, buying time. "I already told you. Because you were honest."
"But that's all?"
"That's enough." I gave him a sidelong glance. "Besides, you gave me pens. Useful gifts beat flowers any day."
He chuckled, a low sound that startled me. "Noted."
I tilted my head. "What about you? Why me?"
His smile faded. He looked down at his cup, fingers tightening around it. "…I don't know. I don't have a logical reason. It just… feels like I should. Like if I don't, I'll regret it."
For a moment, the sincerity in his voice disarmed me. It wasn't a line, it wasn't flattery—it was just him, raw and unpolished.
"You're terrible at this," I muttered, though my lips curved despite myself.
"I know," he admitted quietly. "I've never dated before."
"Figured."
"…You?" he asked carefully.
I shook my head. "Not really. Not seriously."
We fell into silence after that. Not the suffocating kind, but the kind that settles between two people when words aren't necessary. The sounds of vendors and laughter filled the gap, but for once, I didn't feel the need to run from it.
By the time he walked me back to the jeepney stop, the sky was already blanketed in stars.
"Thanks for… tonight," he said awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot.
I smirked. "For letting you try kwek-kwek? You're welcome."
He laughed softly. "No. For agreeing to this. Even if it's only temporary."
For a second, something tugged at my chest. I ignored it and slipped my hands into my pockets. "Don't thank me yet. You've still got fifty-nine days left to prove you're worth it."
His eyes sparkled, the corner of his lips tilting upward. "Challenge accepted."
As I rode home that night, pens in my bag and his words echoing in my head, I realized something I hadn't expected:
This experiment might actually be fun.