I'm still here, eating with my old nemesis. Not at the café, but inside his house, at the kitchen counter, finishing a plate of pasta.
And take note, it's been fifteen minutes since he held my hand. Up until now, he still hasn't let go. He's still holding it gently, like he's waiting for something. And my heart, which never knows how to listen, is pounding again and again.
I missed you too.
I really want to say it. But I'm scared of misunderstanding things again. Because all he said was, "I missed you." He didn't say he loves me. Or he wants to go out.
All he says are vague things that make my heart melt.
So, how could I assume? Who even am I to him?
I slowly pulled my hand away and looked in another direction as I took a sip of the soda.
"T-this soda actually goes well with pasta, no?" I said, trying so hard to change the topic.
Then I placed the glass down and took another bite, even though my hand was still shaking a little. As if things weren't awkward enough, he just had to say that he missed me.
"Do you ever think about high school?"
The fork in my hand froze mid-air.
"W-what kind of question is that?" I asked without looking at him.
Nova didn't back down. "You were...different then. You're loud, annoying, and competitive as hell. But you're honest and, surprisingly, kind. Then all of a sudden, you became timid and...quiet."
I forced a laugh. "You make it sound like I died."
"Sometimes it feels like that."
I looked up sharply, and our eyes locked. There was something raw in his expression. Like, he wants me to bring up something at that point.
I want to ask him about that time.
But I choose to leave. Like I did back then.
I stood up quickly, scraping the chair back.
"I need to go."
"Noah—"
"Thanks for dinner," I said, voice cracking.
I didn't even grab my jacket. I bolted out the door and down the street, breath catching in my throat, heart pounding like I was seventeen again.
Just like before, I told myself that once I got home, I'd sleep it off. That maybe if I buried myself beneath the covers, the weight in my chest would lift by morning. That reality would quiet down, fade into dreams, and I'd wake up pretending none of it happened.
"Hey, kuya!"
A sharp slap landed on the back of my head, and my face sank deeper into the bed cushions. My body was heavy, too heavy, like someone had stitched weights into my limbs while I slept.
"What the hell, Henzo!" I groaned, my words half-muffled against the pillow I was clinging to like my life depended on it.
"Kuya, you've been in bed the whole day. You haven't eaten anything since this morning!" His voice carried that signature Henzo mix of concern and exasperation.
I grunted, eyes stubbornly closed. My body refused to cooperate, sunken in a kind of stillness that didn't feel like rest. He yanked the blanket off me, letting the cold air slap my skin.
"I don't know what's wrong with you, but please, take care of yourself," he said, voice sharp with unspoken worry. I heard the rustle as he folded the blanket, almost too gently. Like he didn't want to admit he was scared.
With great effort, I sat up. My arms felt heavy, and my chest was tight. I rubbed at my eyes, wishing the simple act could erase everything I was trying so hard not to feel.
"What's our food today?" I mumbled, yawning mid-question.
He shot me a sharp look.
"Whatever. I've been waking you up since earlier. I wanted us to have breakfast at the café, but you wouldn't get up."
"Go take a shower. Eat outside. And come back with snacks, okay?" He pushes me aside my bed and starts taking off my pillow case and bed sheet.
"You just want to go over to Hero's—ow!" I yelped when he jabbed my ribs.
"Whatever. Just go shower!" he lashed out, already walking off. I heard the washing machine rumble to life from the laundry area.
At least he did the laundry. Thank God.
But the thought of doing anything still felt like lifting a car with my bare hands. Still, I pulled myself up. And dragged my body toward the bathroom.
Steam curled around the small space like fog. As hot water poured down, I pressed my palms to the wall and closed my eyes. The heat pricked at my skin, but my chest felt colder than ever.
What was I doing?
I wasn't supposed to feel like this again. I had left all this behind, and again, left him behind. But the truth was louder in silence.
I never stopped loving him.
The sound of his voice still haunted me, and the way he said Noah still lingered at the back of my mind.
I stepped out of the shower, towel slung over my shoulders, and dressed without thinking.
Because how do you carry yourself knowing that the version of you someone once loved no longer exists?
How do you walk the same streets, breathe the same air, talk to the same person, when you're not the same anymore?
Sometimes I wonder if Nova misses me… or if he just misses the memory of me.
The boy who used to challenge him for fun, who competed with him in everything just to feel seen. The one he gave chocolate to after every debate. The one he called Noah gently, like the name meant more when it came from him.
But that boy, the one who laughed too loudly and believed love was simple, died the moment I walked away after my confession. And he died again yesterday, when Nova looked me in the eyes and told me he missed me.
But this time, I knew why I ran.
I didn't know how to stay.
I saw the truth in his eyes and realized I didn't want to be hurt again, and that terrified me.
I wasn't ready to open my heart again.
That version of me, the one Nova might have loved, is long gone. And now I don't even know if I deserve to stand in front of him again, pretending I'm still someone worth loving.
I sighed as I closed the door behind me, standing on our old porch. I didn't have a destination in mind. But maybe I could go to the convenience store and grab lunch.
That was the plan. A clean, safe, snack-filled plan.
Until fate decided to mess with me. Again.
Because the moment I stepped out of our house and walked outside our subdivision, there he was.
Walking along the street, sweat dripping from his temple, carrying three boxes, and, dear God, wearing an apron and his café uniform.
I froze.
Then I immediately turned around, shielding my face with my palm. Please, don't let him see me.
But of course, his hawk eyes spotted me.
"Noah?"
My heart twisted after hearing my name from his mouth. Being soft-hearted really is a curse.
I slowly turned, painted a smile on my face like a good actor, I am. "Oh, hi!"
He blinked, as if unsure I was being real. Before he could say anything else, I blurted out, "Need help?"
I didn't wait for a reply and hurried over. I didn't want to remember what happened last night. To hell with that.
"Uh, sure. Just take the smaller box on top," he said, jutting his lips toward the smallest box stacked above the others.
I reached for it, thankful it was light. I tried to act normal, whatever that meant now. Buti na lang at magaan lang 'to.
"Let's go," I said, and walked ahead of him, but damn those long legs, kasi nakakasabay pa din siya.
Because even in the most mundane things, Nova always found a way to keep up with me. Expected from someone as unbeatable as him.
So, we walked, side by side, down the street. And despite the sun above us and the distance we tried to keep between our elbows, everything felt too close. Whenever our elbows accidentally touched, I could hear my heart jump up and down.
And please, my chest was already pounding so hard I could barely breathe, and now I was practically suffocating from how good he smelled.
When we entered the café, we were greeted by the smell of browned butter, sugar, and vanilla. The kind of smell you would smell in a bakery.
My brows furrowed. "Are you baking something?" I asked, taking him aback.
He nodded, "Yup, trying a new recipe." He casually said, placing the box on top of the counter.
"You can drop that here," Nova said, motioning to the counter. "That one's just syrups."
"The sweet stuff?" I muttered, trying not to look at him too long.
"Exactly. Like you."
He said it so casually, then immediately froze. "I mean the syrup." He cleared his throat and organised the other boxes.
"Right," I said quickly, looking away. "Obviously."
Jen, stop falling. I slapped my forehead. My heart was pounding like it was about to burst out of my chest.
No, Jen. You can't be Noah right now.
"You hungry?" he asked, breaking the silence and the sound of cars passing by. His voice was gentle, measured, but I could hear the hesitation hiding behind it, like he wasn't sure if he was allowed to ask.
"I was gonna make grilled cheese," he added, already moving behind the counter like he expected me to say no.
And for a second, I was going to.
I had every intention of turning him down, nodding politely, pretending I had errands to run, some imaginary schedule to follow.
But then my stomach growled. Loudly and freaking traitorously.
It was stupid. Embarrassing.
I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, arms awkwardly crossing over my chest like I could protect myself from the intimacy of the moment.
I heard him chuckle, but I just ignored it and muttered a quiet.
"Sure," I said quietly. "I haven't eaten yet."
He raised an eyebrow, giving me a teasing look. The corner of his mouth lifted as he stared at me dead in the eye.
"What a surprise," he muttered, already reaching for a loaf of bread.
I forced a weak and automatic smile. "I've been busy."
He didn't even look up from the counter as he replied, voice laced with dry sarcasm. "With what? Practicing how to hibernate?"
I blinked at him, mouth slightly ajar, clutching my chest as I glared at him.
"No, practicing how to use surgical sutures to sew that mouth of yours." I scoffed, and he chuckled again, but this time loud and clear for me to hear, making me roll my eyes.
"Just sit down there." He pointed at the small table and chair just beside the counter, which I obeyed quietly, but secretly rolled my eyes.
"Bossy," I whispered, as I watched him slicing the bread now, hands steady. His fingers curled around the knife in that same confident way.
"Did you bake the bread too?" I asked, eyeing the golden crust.
He nodded with a small grin. "Of course."
"Wow," I said after a pause, stepping closer to the counter as the scent of butter drifted through the air.
"Look at you being all professional," I commented, making him chuckle softly.
"Of course, I do my best," he said with a smirk, tossing me a glance over his shoulder.
And I looked away.
That smirk used to make my knees weak. Somehow, it still did.
I fidgeted with a sugar packet left on the counter just to keep my hands busy and not me awkwardly sitting infront of him as he cooked.
Why did this feel like something more than just grilled cheese?
Why did it feel like a quiet offering? A peace treaty?
He turned back to the stove, adding butter to the pan. The soft sizzle echoed in the stillness.
And I stayed there.
Hungry for food, yes.
But more than that, hungry for whatever this was between us.
And terrified that I didn't know how to ask for it anymore.
"I was really in need of help today," Nova said, while putting the bread into the pan. "But my partner couldn't make it."
I stiffened. "Ah, yung partner mo."
"Yeah. We co-own the café," he said, casually. "I run this branch. They manage the one in Naga City. There was an emergency, so I'm alone today."
My stomach twisted.
Who was this partner? Someone he met after high school? Someone close enough to build a business with?
He flipped the bread with practiced ease, the golden side crisping up as the buttery smell filled the air.
Then I glared at him, "And I look like I have no job?" He turned his head slightly, the corner of his lips lifting into a grin.
"You look like you just rose from the dead." He teased, as I rolled my eyes, a soft scoff escaping.
"Well, I'm sorry chef that I look like this while you look good there." I suddenly blurted out, making me stop.
What the heck am I saying? F***.
He shrugged, flipping the other side of the sandwich. "Ah, maybe it's the apron because this brings out the best in me." He smirked, pointing at the apron, while I just rolled my eyes at his comment.
The sizzle of the pan filled the silence that followed. The butter popped like tiny fireworks, warm and loud against the stillness. For a second, it was just us, the quiet hum of the counter, and the weight of the words we weren't saying.
Then, without looking at me, he spoke firmly but calmly.
"You've been avoiding me."
His words landed like cold water.
I thought he would let me go again this time. But nope, he's there staring at me.
"I haven't," I said quickly, too quickly.
"You have," he countered, voice low but steady, not accusing but just certain.
My jaw tightened. "N-no, just been a little busy lately."
I lied.
He didn't say anything. He just turned away and plated the sandwich, sliding it toward me with slow, deliberate hands. As if he was trying not to shake.
I stared at it and picked at the crust with my fingers, picking it at the edge of the bread. Inhaling the smell of cheese, butter, and bread in front of me makes my stomach growl in hunger.
Why couldn't I just eat it?
But that wasn't the question I wanted to answer.
Why couldn't I just...stay?
"You always run," he said, voice lower. Like a quiet truth he'd been holding onto.
I felt it like a punch to the ribs, making my hand pause over the sandwich.
"It's easier," I whispered, barely audible.
His arms crossed over his chest as he leaned back against the counter. "To run?"
I nodded, eyes still on the food. My fingers curled into fists on my lap, nails digging into my palms.
The shame came in waves, thick and suffocating. I hated how honest I'd been. And how small I felt sitting in front of him.
"What are you so scared of, Noah?" His voice was softer now.
It wasn't as if he was demanding, but rather frustrated and tired. Like he'd asked himself that question a hundred times, and now he was asking me just to confirm what he already knew.
I stared at the sandwich again, willing myself to speak, but the words stayed caught in my throat.
What was I scared of?
You.
You're the one I'm scared of loving, again.
But I would never tell him that.
"I don't know," I murmured, my voice barely a breath.
"Maybe I'm scared of grilled cheese."
He let out a laugh, soft, surprised. "That bad, huh?"
"You've improved since high school," I replied, a small smirk tugging at the corner of my lips before falling away. He rolled his eyes but smiled, the corners of his lips lifting just enough to make something inside me ache.
The silence returned, but it wasn't the same. It hung between us now, thicker, heavier. Every second stretched, like the room was holding its breath along with me.
"You don't have to stay," he said finally. His voice was soft, but there was something beneath it.
He wasn't showing on his face, but I could feel some pain in his words.
And that made a tug on my heart. Why?
I looked at him, this time, really looked. The slope of his shoulders, the soft furrow in his brow, the way his hand gripped the edge of the counter, knuckles white, and the hope in his voice, dressed up like indifference.
"I don't want to leave," I answered before I could stop myself.
Because it was true.
He looked at me again. And I hated that he still had that power. That one glance from him could make me feel exposed, like he could see every wall I tried to build.
"Then stop running."
I swallowed.
I don't even know what were talking about anymore.
Like always, he's always vague.
Like he's waiting for something but not saying anything.
I couldn't take it.
So I stood up. Left the sandwich untouched, though I'd been starving all day.
I avoided his eyes, as I felt my throat was tight, while my legs felt shaky. As if one step, I'd fall...again.
"I should go," I said, my fingers were trembling.
He didn't move and didn't stop me.
He just stood there with that same expression he had back then when I first confessed.
But his silence hurt more than any words.
I took a step toward the door.
Then paused.
My back to him.
Say something, Jen. Anything. Tell him you're scared. Tell him you miss him. Tell him you still—
But my lips wouldn't move.
So I left.
Again.
Walked out of the door fast, like I was being chased by my own feelings. Like if I stayed one more second, I'd break down right there in his kitchen.
And as the door shut behind me, the warmth of the butter and the scent of grilled cheese clinging to my clothes, I realized...
I wasn't just running from him.
I was running from the truth.
From the love I never stopped carrying.
And the possibility that maybe, he never stopped carrying it, too.