Ruz's POV
The morning was peaceful.
Too peaceful.
I was buried deep in my blankets, floating somewhere between dreaming and consciousness when I heard the door open.
I didn't bother to see who it was.
Why would I? There was no Kairo anymore. No enemies hiding in shadows. No school. No exams. No Adrian to ruin my peaceful sleep.
Wait.
Adrian.
My eyes snapped open.
Someone was standing at the foot of my bed.
"Good morning, sleeping beauty."
Before I could process what was happening…
Splash.
A full glass of water hit my face.
Not a sprinkle. Not a gentle wake up call. A full, aggressive, ice cold waterfall of betrayal.
I shot up so fast my vision blurred. Water dripped from my hair down my face onto my pillow. My shirt was soaked through. My dignity had left the house.
"Did you just throw water on my face?" My voice was low. Dangerous. The voice I used right before committing violence.
"I just wanted to wake you up," Adrian said, holding the empty glass like a trophy. "Look at the sunshine. Feel the morning breeze. Isn't life beautiful? Aren't you grateful to be alive?"
I smirked a little.
A dangerous one.
The kind of smirk that said I'm about to make you regret every decision you've ever made.
"I'll show you a beautiful life."
I lunged.
He hurled the glass straight at me. I caught it midair without even flinching, set it calmly to the side, and then charged at him like a storm unleashed.
I chased him out of my room into the hallway. His room was directly across from mine, a fact I had always hated because it meant he could bother me within seconds, could launch attacks from close range, could ruin my mornings with maximum efficiency.
"YOU RUINED MY SLEEP."
"I IMPROVED YOUR MORNING."
"YOU RUINED MY PILLOW."
"PILLOWS ARE REPLACEABLE. YOURS WAS UGLY ANYWAY."
"LET ME REPLACE YOUR FACE FIRST."
We burst into his room. He tried to close the door. I stuck my foot in. He slammed it anyway. My toe hurt like hell. I didn't care. Pain was temporary. Revenge was forever.
"You're going to regret this," I threatened.
"I already regret nothing," he replied proudly, backing away from me like a coward.
I shoved the door so hard it flew open and hit the wall. He ran to his desk. I looked around for a weapon. His lamp. He loved that lamp more than he loved most people.
I grabbed it.
He grabbed his notebook.
We stood there, weaponized objects in hand, breathing hard, eyes locked, neither willing to back down.
"You wouldn't," he said.
"Try me."
"It's a limited edition. Signed. By the designer himself. There are only fifty in the world."
I looked at the lamp. Looked at him. Looked at the lamp again.
"…Never mind."
I threw it anyway.
He caught it.
"Nice try," he said, cradling the lamp like a baby.
"I wasn't trying to hit you."
"Then what…."
I lunged.
Grabbed his arm. Twisted. He yelped like a kicked dog. I shoved him onto his bed. Grabbed his pillow. Smashed it into his face with the force of a thousand grudges.
"THIS IS FOR THE WATER."
"MMPH MMPH MMPH…."
"WHAT'S THAT? I CAN'T HEAR YOU. SPEAK UP."
He tried to kick me. I dodged. He rolled off the bed, grabbed my ankle, and pulled. I stumbled. Fell onto the floor. He grabbed my wrist. I grabbed his hair. He also grabbed mine.
"You're going bald," I said.
"You're going to die."
"Let's see who dies first."
"LET GO OF MY HAIR."
"LET GO OF MINE FIRST."
"I WAS HERE FIRST."
"YOU STARTED THIS."
"YOU EXIST."
"THAT'S NOT AN INSULT."
"IT IS TODAY."
Tita's voice from downstairs: "WHAT IS HAPPENING UP THERE?"
We both froze.
"NOTHING," we screamed at the same time.
We glanced at each other, still gripping each other's hair like our lives depended on it.
"Tita and Tito are home?" I whispered.
"They're home," he whispered back.
"IT DOESN'T SOUND LIKE NOTHING!" Tita yelled.
"IT'S SIBLING BONDING!" Adrian shouted back without missing a beat.
"THAT'S NOT BONDING. THAT'S WARFARE!"
"IT'S BONDING THROUGH WARFARE!" I yelled
We let go at the exact same time, the way we always did when parents got involved, the way we had perfected over years of shared trouble and ran downstairs.
Tita was waiting at the bottom of the stairs.
Arms crossed. Eyebrows raised. The look that said I am disappointed in you, and also I love you, but mostly I am disappointed.
"Do you want to explain what that noise was?"
"No," we both said.
"Too bad. Explain anyway."
Adrian pointed at me. "She attacked me."
"You threw water on my face."
"To wake you up."
"THAT'S NOT WAKING UP. THAT'S ASSAULT."
"IT'S ASSAULT WITH GOOD INTENTIONS."
"THERE'S NO SUCH THING."
Tita sighed. Like who had been dealing with us for years and had long since given up on understanding us.
"Both of you. Sit."
We sat.
On the couch. Side by side. Glaring at each other like angry cats.
Tita stood in front of us. Hands on her hips. The position of power.
"Adrian. Throwing water on your sister's face is not an appropriate way to wake her up."
"She sleeps too much."
"She needs sleep."
"She needs discipline."
"YOU NEED DISCIPLINE."
"THAT'S WHAT I'M SAYING."
Tito appeared from the kitchen, holding a cup of coffee, trying to look innocent. "Good morning, everyone. Beautiful day, isn't it?"
"Antonio," Tita warned.
"What?"
"Don't encourage them."
"I'm not encouraging anyone. I'm just observing."
"You're smiling."
"I'm genetically predisposed to smiling."
"You're enjoying this."
"I'm enjoying my coffee."
Tita turned back to us.
"You're both grounded."
"For what?" Adrian asked.
"For disturbing the peace."
"Our peace or the neighbors' peace?"
"EVERYONE'S PEACE."
Tito tried to intervene. "Honey, maybe…"
"DON'T."
"I was just going to say…"
"DON'T."
"They're young. They have energy. They're expressing themselves."
"THEY'RE EXPRESSING VIOLENCE."
"It's sibling violence. It's different."
"IT'S NOT DIFFERENT."
"IT IS IN THIS HOUSE."
Tita stared at him.
Tito slowly backed away.
"I'm going to drink my coffee in the garden."
"Good idea."
"I'll be back."
"NO YOU WON'T."
He left.
Coward.
Tita turned back to us.
"You're not leaving this house today."
"We weren't planning to."
"AND YOU'RE CLEANING THE LIVING ROOM."
"That's fair."
"AND THE KITCHEN."
"Also fair."
"AND ADRIAN'S ROOM."
"THAT'S NOT FAIR."
"Life isn't fair."
"THAT'S WHAT I KEEP TELLING HER."
"SHUT UP."
We shut up.
After the scolding session ended, which took approximately fifteen minutes, during which Tita listed every crime we had committed since birth we finally got to greet them properly.
"How was London?" I asked, sitting on the couch.
"Cold," Tita said.
"Rainy," Tito added.
"The meetings were exhausting."
"The food was excellent."
"The traffic was terrible."
"The architecture was beautiful."
Tita looked at him. "Are you going to let me finish?"
"I thought we were tag teaming."
"We're not tag teaming. I'm talking."
"And I am supporting."
"You're interrupting."
"I'm adding value."
"You're adding noise."
Tito looked at us. "See what I have to deal with?"
"You chose her," Adrian said.
"I did."
"Then suffer in silence."
Tita laughed. The tension broke. The way it always did.
"The trip was fine," she said. "There are still some issues with the company. But they're handleable. We're not worried."
"Should we be worried?" I asked.
"No. Your Kuya is handling things here. We trust him."
"Bold choice," Adrian muttered.
"I heard that," Tita said.
"Anyway," Tito said, pulling out a large bag from behind the couch, "we brought something for you."
My eyes widened.
Adrian's eyes widened.
Chocolates.
A whole bag of them. Expensive ones. The kind that came in fancy boxes with ribbons and foreign writing on the labels.
I stood up. Adrian stood up. We both reached for the bag at the same time.
Our hands collided.
"Let go," I said.
"You let go."
"I saw it first."
"I touched it first."
"That's disgusting."
"Your face is disgusting."
Our hands wrestled for control of the bag. Fingers twisting. Grips tightening when Tita reached over and took the bag away from both of us.
She held it above her head.
Out of reach.
"Say please."
"Please," we both said immediately.
"Nicely."
"PLEASE WITH SUGAR ON TOP AND A CHERRY AND A LITTLE BOW."
She looked at us.
Then handed us the bag.
We grabbed it. Tore it open. Chocolates spilled everywhere. Wrappers flew through the air like confetti. Truffles rolled across the couch, across the floor, across our laps.
Adrian grabbed three. I grabbed four. He tried to steal one from my hand. I bit his finger.
"OW."
"That's mine."
"You bit me."
"You deserved it."
"That's assault."
"That's justice."
Tito burst out laughing. The kind of laugh that came from deep in his belly.
"I missed this," he said.
"You missed chaos," Tita said.
"Same thing."
"Different thing."
"Same thing in this house."
Tito looked at me. "You want to cook lunch today?"
I froze.
Mid bite. Chocolate melting on my tongue. The sweetness distracting me from the question.
"Cook?"
"Yes. Cook."
"Yes, cook."
"Let's do it. Together."
Adrian looked offended. "Why her? I can cook."
"You burned water last week."
"Water doesn't burn."
"You found a way"
We ignored him. Tito look at me. "So? What do you say?"
I looked at Tita. She was smiling. Soft. Warm. The smile that said she missed this too.
"Fine," I said. "But I'm choosing the menu."
"Obviously."
"And Adrian isn't allowed in the kitchen."
"HEY."
"You threw water on my face."
"THAT WAS HOURS AGO."
"I hold grudges."
"SHE HOLDS GRUDGES," Adrian told Tito.
"I noticed," Tito said.
"DO SOMETHING."
"I'm staying out of this."
"COWARD."
"Experienced."
The kitchen smelled like garlic. Like onions. Like home.
Tito tied his apron. I tied mine. We stood at the counter like two generals preparing for battle.
"What are we making?" he asked.
"Adobo. Rice. Lumpia. And that dessert you taught me. The one with the mangoes and the cream and the thing that makes it crunchy."
"Ambitious."
"You taught me to be ambitious."
"I taught you to cook."
"Same thing."
We started.
Tito chopped vegetables. His knife moved fast. Precise. The vegetables fell into neat piles, uniform and perfect.
I marinated the meat. Soy sauce. Vinegar. Garlic. Bay leaves. Pepper.
"Remember when you first tried to cut an onion?" he asked.
"I cried for an hour."
"You blamed the onion."
"The onion was aggressive. It attacked my eyes."
He laughed. "You were eight. Standing on a stool. Holding a knife like it was a weapon."
"It was a weapon."
"Against onions?"
"Against anyone who tried to take my food. The onion was just the first victim."
We worked in rhythm. Side by side. The way we used to.
"You're quieter than usual," Tito said.
"I'm focusing."
"You're thinking."
I looked at him.
"I'm going to miss this," I said.
"The cooking?"
"No." I went back to what I was doing. "The family chaos."
He was quiet for a moment.
"I'm going to miss it too."
I looked at him again.
"The family chaos?"
"No. You."
I stared at him.
He kept chopping.
"Tito…."
"Your father," he said quietly, not looking up, "he's human. And humans make mistakes. He made many. Big ones. The kind that can't be easily forgiven. The kind that leaves scars."
I said nothing.
"He has his reasons. I'm not saying what he did was right. It wasn't. But you should give him a chance. To be your father. To try. To earn his place in your life."
"He had years to try."
"He was afraid."
"Of what?"
"Of failing you. Of being rejected. Of reminding you of everything you lost. Of looking at your face and seeing her."
I looked at the adobo simmering on the stove. The sauce was dark. Rich.
"He really loved your mother, you know," Tito continued. "When your Lola was against their marriage, he didn't run. He came to her. Fought for their love. Spent a month trying to impress her. Brought flowers every day. Sat through her lectures. Proved himself over and over."
"Mom was difficult."
"She was chaotic. Mischievous like you, She gave him a hard time on purpose. Made him prove himself. And he did. Every time. He never gave up. Not once."
I was quiet.
"He's a good person, Ruz. Complicated. Flawed. But good. He was also afraid of his own father. Afraid of disappointing him. Afraid of losing everything he had built. That fear made him make terrible choices."
"So I'm supposed to forgive him?"
"I'm not saying forgive. I'm saying try." He finally looked at me. "You're his daughter. That comes with responsibility too. For both of you."
I looked at him.
"If he wants to try, let him. And don't hold back anymore. Don't protect yourself so much that you forget to live."
The adobo simmered. The lumpia sizzled in the oil. The rice steamed in the cooker.
The kitchen smelled like childhood. Like safety. Like home.
We cooked in silence for a while.
Then Tito spoke again. "You should ask Rafael about their story. Someday. When you're ready."
"Maybe."
"He'll tell you. If you ask."
"Maybe."
He didn't push.
That's why I loved him.
Adrian appeared at the doorway.
"It smells good," he admitted. His voice was grudging, like the words were being pulled out of him against his will.
"You're not allowed in here."
"I'm just smelling."
"Smelling is allowed. Touching is not. Looking suspicious. Breathing is tolerated."
He leaned against the doorframe. Watching. "You look like you know what you're doing."
"I do know what I'm doing."
"That's new."
"I've always known."
"You've always pretended."
Tita appeared behind him. "Both of you. Set the table."
"Why us?" Adrian asked.
"Because I said so."
"That's not a reason."
"It's the only reason you need. I am your mother. I do not need reasons. I need obedience."
"That's tyranny."
"That's parenting."
Adrian looked at me. "She's impossible."
"She's still our mother."
"Shut up and set the table," Tita said.
We vanished so fast it was like we dissolved into thin air. One second we were complaining and the next we were outside of the kitchen setting the table like two perfectly innocent angels who had definitely not been committing domestic warfare upstairs in the morning.
Lunch was loud.
Kuya appeared at noon, tired from work, hungry from skipping breakfast, looking like he had been wrestling with spreadsheets and had lost. He sat at the head of the table, his usual spot, the one that commanded respect and also had the best view of the TV.
He was watching everyone. Judging silently. The way he always did.
"You cooked?" he asked, looking at the spread of food.
"Tito and I," I said.
"Together?"
"Yes."
"Is it edible?"
"Try it and find out."
He took a bite of adobo. Chewed. Swallowed. His expression was unreadable the way it always was when he was deciding whether to compliment me or insult me.
"…It's….. acceptable."
"Acceptable?"
"High praise from me. You should be honored."
"Your standards are broken."
"Your cooking is mediocre."
"Your face is mediocre."
"Children," Tita warned.
"She started it," Kuya said.
"I'm not a child. I'm a young adult."
"You act like one."
"YOU ACT LIKE AN OLD MAN."
"I'm twenty five."
"EXACTLY. TWENTY FIVE ACTING LIKE FIFTY FIVE."
Adrian snorted into his rice.
Tito laughed out loud. Full The laugh that filled rooms and chased away shadows and made everything feel lighter.
"This is what I missed," he said.
"Family?" Tita asked.
"Azmain. Roasted by Ruz."
"You encourage her," he said, annoyed.
"Always," Tito replied.
Tito raised his glass. "To surviving exams."
"To survive each other," Adrian added.
"To survive Kuya's lectures," I said.
Kuya glared. "I don't lecture."
"You lectured me for an hour last week about proper phone etiquette."
"Because you answered my call with 'what do you want.'"
"That's efficient."
"That's rude."
"Same thing."
"DIFFERENT THING."
We ate the food and argued about every single topic we missed those days and laughed all is well, like always.
The food disappeared. The plates emptied. The conversation never stopped, it flowed like water, like wine, like something that had been building up for weeks and was finally being released.
At some point, Adrian tried to steal the last lumpia.
I stabbed his hand with my fork.
He yelped.
Tita sighed.
Tito recorded everything on his phone.
"This is going in the family album," he said.
"That's blackmail," Adrian said.
"That's love."
"Same thing."
"Different thing."
"SHUT UP AND EAT," Tita said.
We shut up and ate. Afraid of Tita's angriest version.
After lunch, we cleaned up.
Tita washed the dishes. I dried them and Adrian put them away. Kuya sat at the table, pretending to read his phone, actually watching everyone.
"You're staring," I said.
"I'm observing."
"Same thing."
"Different thing."
"You're annoying."
"I'm older."
"Same thing."
He almost smiled.
Almost.
Tito walked in with dessert. Mangoes. Cream. The crunchy topping. The recipe he had taught me years ago, when I was with lola, the one that took three tries to get right.
"Who wants some?"
"ME," everyone said.
We ate on the couch. Squished together. Too many people for too little space. Adrian's elbow was on my side. My foot was in Kuya's space. Tita was using Tito's shoulder as a pillow.
"This is uncomfortable," Adrian said.
"This is family," I replied.
"Same thing."
"Different thing."
"Shut up," Kuya said.
We laughed.
The afternoon faded into evening.
The sun set outside the window, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple. The lights turned on inside, warm and golden. The chaos never stopped, it just changed shape, shifted form, became something softer.
At some point, Tita fell asleep on Tito's shoulder. Her breathing was soft. Her face was peaceful. She looked younger when she slept
Kuya excused himself to his office. "Work," he said. "Some of us have responsibilities."
"Some of us have trauma," Adrian said.
"Same thing."
"Different thing."
"GO TO YOUR ROOM."
Adrian went to his room.
I sat on the couch. Alone. Quiet.
Tito sat beside me.
"Tired?" he asked.
"Good tired."
"That's the best kind."
We watched the darkness settle outside the window. The city was still awake, lights scattered across the darkness like stars that had fallen to earth.
"I'm proud of you," he said.
"For what?"
"For surviving every chaos, also the dangerous ones, for growing up as my strongest child, for becoming who you are. For not letting the world break you."
"I didn't do it alone."
"I know. That's why I'm proud."
I leaned my head on his shoulder.
He didn't move.
We stayed like that for a while.
No words. No chaos. Just peace.
Then Adrian screamed from upstairs.
"WHO TOOK MY CHARGER?"
I smiled.
Peace never lasted in this house.
And honestly?
That's exactly how I liked it.