The city lights sparkled like scattered diamonds from Zen Gomez's balcony, but even their brilliance could not erase the emptiness she often felt. To the world, she had everything: a powerful father, a beautiful mother, and a house filled with marble and chandeliers that symbolized wealth. Friends admired her lifestyle, envied her comfort, and praised her charm, but none of them knew how hollow it sometimes felt. Zen had grown up waiting for love that rarely arrived, her father too busy with business, her mother too consumed by appearances. Over time she learned to wear laughter like a shield, to shine so brightly that no one would guess how invisible she sometimes felt in her own home. Her mother's words—"appearances are everything"—had become an armor she wore daily, though it weighed heavier than anyone realized.
It was this quiet hunger for something real that made her say yes to the volunteer project in the small town. Zen had expected the work to feel foreign, and it did—her grip on the hammer was clumsy, her movements awkward compared to the others. But she refused to give up, determined to prove that she could stand in a world beyond her polished upbringing. That was when she noticed him. Peter Gamboa did not smile, did not offer easy conversation, did not look at her the way others usually did. He caught a falling beam with practiced strength, his hands steady, his expression unreadable, and though she whispered thanks, he said nothing. Later, under the shade of a tree, she had tried again: "You work hard." His answer—"Everyone works hard"—was simple yet heavy, carrying truths she could not see. His bluntness unsettled her, not because it was cruel, but because it stripped away the pretense she was so used to. That night, lying awake in the guesthouse, she replayed his words again and again, wondering why his silence stirred her more than anyone else's praise ever had.
The next morning she arrived at the site earlier than most, telling herself it was to prove she could work harder, though deep down she wanted to see him again. She found him already there, hammer in hand, sweat dampening his shirt as he worked with quiet determination. She hesitated but stepped closer, offering lightly, "You're here early." He only nodded, his focus unbroken, and the dismissal stung—but it also deepened her intrigue. Zen was not used to being overlooked, and yet something about his indifference pulled her closer instead of pushing her away. For the first time in years, she felt alive in a way she couldn't explain. It wasn't love—at least not yet—but it was a spark, a dangerous one, and as the sun rose over the quiet town, Zen Gomez realized that Peter Gamboa was going to be impossible to ignore.