If Cielo had a public reputation at school, it could be summarized in three words:
"Funny. Smart. Fragile-ish."
The "-ish" was important. It gave people room for curiosity, fear, and unnecessary commentary.
—
"Cielo," Jessa said one morning, walking beside her under the acacia trees, "honest question."
Cielo adjusted her cap. "If this is about my emotional damage, I charge consultation fee."
"It's not that."
"Good. Continue."
Jessa pointed at the sky. "Do you ever feel like the sun is… watching you?"
Cielo didn't even hesitate. "Yes. Like it's my ex checking my Instagram stories."
Jessa burst out laughing. "That is not normal."
"It is in my condition," Cielo said proudly.
—
They were halfway to their shaded classroom when the teacher announced:
"Group activity today! Move closer to your assigned partners!"
Cielo immediately stepped backward.
Jessa grabbed her arm. "Don't retreat like it's war!"
"It is," Cielo whispered. "The sun is mobile today."
—
"Cielo!" Ma'am Delos Reyes called gently. "Stay under shade, okay?"
"I always do," Cielo replied. "Like a responsible introvert."
The class laughed.
Everything was normal.
Almost suspiciously normal.
—
Until it wasn't.
—
They were discussing biology—again, because apparently the universe had a theme today.
Ma'am Delos Reyes wrote on the board under the trees:
"HUMAN HOMEOSTASIS & ENVIRONMENTAL STRESS"
"Homeostasis," she explained, "is the body's ability to maintain internal balance despite external changes."
Cielo raised her hand.
"Yes?"
"So," Cielo said, "my body failed that group project?"
The class laughed.
"Yes," the teacher said. "But with very specific external triggers."
Jessa leaned over. "Your body really said 'I don't collaborate with sunlight.'"
"Correct," Cielo whispered.
—
The teacher continued:
"When exposed to certain environmental stressors, the body can overreact—causing immune responses, histamine release, and systemic symptoms like dizziness or fainting."
Cielo nodded slowly.
"Ah," she said. "So my body is basically an overdramatic employee filing emotional complaints."
Jessa laughed. "HR would hate you."
"I would be HR's problem," Cielo said.
—
Then it happened.
Not dramatically.
Not like in movies.
No slow-motion collapse.
No warning music.
Just—
A shift.
The air felt heavier.
The shade didn't feel as complete.
Cielo blinked.
Once.
Twice.
"Hey," Jessa said, noticing, "you okay?"
Cielo opened her mouth.
"I'm—"
But the sentence didn't finish.
Because her vision tilted slightly.
Not fully black.
Just… unstable.
Like reality had loosened its grip.
—
"Ma'am," Jessa called quickly, "something's wrong."
The teacher looked up immediately.
"Cielo?"
Cielo tried to respond.
She really did.
But her body had already made its decision faster than her pride.
Her knees weakened.
The world blurred.
And then—
Nothing.
—
The next thing she heard was voices.
Far away.
Then closer.
"Get water."
"Move her to shade—more shade."
"Cielo, can you hear me?"
She tried to open her eyes.
It took effort, like lifting something heavy underwater.
When she finally did, she saw Jessa's face first.
Panicked.
And behind her, Ma'am Delos Reyes—calm but alert.
And above them all, the familiar ceiling of leaves shifting gently.
"Hey," Jessa said quickly, squeezing her hand, "you fainted again."
Cielo blinked slowly. "Wow. Update: my body still dramatic."
Jessa exhaled in relief. "Don't joke right now!"
"I have to," Cielo whispered. "It's part of my survival protocol."
—
The teacher knelt beside her.
"Do you feel dizzy? Pain? Burning?"
Cielo thought for a moment.
"Emotionally? Yes."
"Cielo."
"Physically? Also yes. But manageable."
Ma'am Delos Reyes nodded. "We'll notify your mother."
At that, Cielo immediately sat up a little.
"No, no, no. Don't call Ma. She will start negotiating with the sun again."
—
Too late.
—
That afternoon, Aling Rosa arrived.
Fast.
Too fast.
Like she had personally sprinted from worry to reality.
"CIELO!"
The entire class went silent.
Jessa whispered, "Oh no. Boss fight has arrived."
—
Rosa rushed to her daughter's side, immediately checking her face, her arms, her breathing.
"You fainted AGAIN?!" she said, voice cracking between anger and fear.
Cielo winced. "Technically, I prefer 'brief system shutdown.'"
"Do not joke!"
"I'm trying to stay emotionally stable!"
—
Rosa turned to the teacher.
"What happened?"
Ma'am Delos Reyes spoke calmly. "She was under shade. Likely triggered by environmental exposure or fatigue."
Rosa exhaled sharply, then looked back at Cielo.
"You promised me you would be careful."
Cielo blinked. "I was. I was being extremely careful while existing."
—
Jessa raised her hand slightly. "Ma'am Rosa, she actually did stay in shade. The sun just… updated its software."
Rosa stared at her.
"…What?"
"She means," Cielo said weakly, "my body is unpredictable."
Rosa closed her eyes.
A long breath.
Then softer:
"I don't know how to fix this anymore."
—
That sentence landed heavier than the fainting.
Cielo reached for her mother's hand.
"Ma," she said quietly, "you're not supposed to fix me."
Rosa looked at her.
Cielo gave a small smile.
"I'm not a broken chair."
Jessa whispered from behind, "She did fix one of those last week though."
"Jessa, not now," Cielo muttered.
—
Rosa finally sat beside her daughter.
And for the first time that day, she stopped moving like a crisis response team.
Just… stayed.
"I hate this," Rosa whispered.
"I know," Cielo said.
A pause.
Then Cielo added lightly, "But on the bright side… I fainted in shade this time. That's improvement."
Rosa let out a reluctant laugh through tears.
"That is not improvement."
"It is in my statistics."
—
And for a moment, under the trees, surrounded by worried teachers and laughing classmates trying not to panic…
Cielo was not just the girl who fainted.
She was the girl who came back.
Again.
And again.
And somehow still joked about it.
Even when the world didn't know whether to laugh or cry with her.