(State U Gym B — One Month Later)
The season changed without telling anyone.
Rain stopped visiting every afternoon; the air turned thin and tired.
The gym lights buzzed like old thoughts refusing to fade.
Mika Yamaguchi Alvarado sat alone at the scorer's table, sorting attendance sheets.
The others had left hours ago.
Only the echo of sneakers remained — phantom sounds looping where real laughter used to live.
A basketball rolled from under the bleachers and bumped her foot.
She didn't pick it up right away.
She just stared at it, the way people stare at things they can't throw away yet.
Coach Yssa
"Still here?"
The voice snapped her out of the trance.
Coach Yssa stood at the door, holding a mug that smelled like burnt coffee and calm.
"Just organizing, Ma'am."
Yssa smirked. "It's organized enough to graduate."
Mika smiled, thin.
The coach walked closer, lowering her voice.
"You two fought?"
"We didn't fight."
"Then why does it sound like one of you left the soundtrack on mute?"
Mika blinked at the scoreboard's dull glow.
"It's nothing, Coach."
"Mm-hmm. Nothing always looks like that."
Yssa tapped the mug, let the echo fade, and left her alone again.
The Message
Her phone vibrated once on the table.
Tom Ramos → [Sorry about earlier. Didn't mean to sound rude. You okay?]
She stared at it.
Typed Yeah.
Deleted it.
Typed Fine.
Deleted again.
Finally sent nothing.
The ball rolled away from her shoe and stopped in the half-light.
The Walk Home
Outside, the campus was half-asleep.
Students crammed in study nooks, food stalls closing.
She walked the long way — past the empty court, the covered walkway, the old Fine Arts building they once snuck into.
The place looked smaller now.
Maybe she'd grown.
Or maybe distance had a way of shrinking everything you thought mattered.
A jeepney roared by, splashing her shoes.
She didn't even flinch.
Room 2B
Her roommate was out.
The desk lamp buzzed quietly, haloing her notes.
She opened her planner and added a new page:
Manager Rule # 7.5
Caring out loud changes the air.
Caring in silence just changes you.
She closed the notebook, pulled the blanket up to her chin, and stared at the ceiling until the hum of the city turned into waves.
End of Interlude — "The Weeks We Don't Talk About."
(Next: Episode 8 — "The Last Train to State U.")