"Mirrors"

A random message popped up on my phone during history class. I was half awake when the screen lit up.

???: "You okay?"

It came from an unknown number, yet it had a contact name, "Drych." I stared at it, thumb hovering over the reply button. This wasn't someone I knew and yet I couldn't ignore it.

Ayna: "Do I know you?"

The typing dots appeared instantly. 

Drych: "I was about to ask you the same thing."

Ayna: "Did you text the wrong number?"

Drych: "Pretty sure you called me first, you were saying my name while crying."

I blinked in confusion and disbelief.

Ayna: "No, I didn't."

Drych: "Well... someone named Ayna definitely did."

I hadn't called anyone that day, definitely not some guy named Drych. I checked my call log just to be sure. 

Nothing. 

His confusion didn't feel fake. No weird pickup lines, no emojis. Just two strangers tangled in the same strange glitch.

Class ended, but I couldn't stop thinking about it.

I texted him again that night.

Ayna: "I'm still confused about earlier. It feels like a glitch."

Drych: "Same. But if I'm stuck in a glitch, at least it's an interesting one."

And just like that, it began. We started texting every night. At first, it was surface-level banter. Teasing. Random questions. But quickly, it got deeper. The kind of talking you don't plan.

He made me laugh without trying. Said things I didn't even know I needed to hear. Finished my thoughts like they were his own.

The similarities started small. We both hated math. Preferred cloudy days. Loved spicy food but couldn't handle it.

But his world was... off.

Drych: "I'm from Llaregub, in Wales."

I looked it up on every map I could find. Nothing showed up.

Ayna: "You're messing with me, there's not a single town called Llaregub in Wales. Besides, how can you be four months late? It's already May here."

Drych: "You're obviously the one messing around. The capital of Turkey is not Ankara, and you're definitely not a time traveler."

We laughed it off thinking that we just wanted to be secretive about where we lived. But it didn't stop there. 

He told me about his school, brands, holidays. All a little off. Like we were describing the same puzzle, but with pieces swapped. 

It was disorienting and addicting. Like falling in love with a dream you knew would disappear when you woke up.

I tried showing my friend once. "Look what he said." She frowned and said, "There's nothing there, Ayna."

I stared at my phone. The texts were still there. To me. 

I didn't try again.

We got closer. Not in the way people do with labels and checklists. It was different, there were no games, no trying. Just comfort and laughter. 

We said "I love you" without ever typing it. It was in the gaps between words. The random messages at 2 AM.

One night I dreamed I was in his room. 

Except... it was mine. Almost. 

Books on the wrong shelf. A different colored blanket. Things I never owned. 

In it, I saw him. 

Or me.

Or both. 

The dream didn't fade like dreams usually do. It stayed and sat with me. I didn't tell him about it. I didn't have to. Because that same morning, he texted.

Drych: "I had a weird dream. You were in my room."

Ayna: "What was I doing?"

Drych: "Looking at me, like... I wasn't me."

I didn't answer.

I started scrolling back through our texts, reading them like a novel, looking for things I might have missed.

And then it hit me.

The way we typed the same way. Thought the same way. Laughed at the same things. The way no one else could see him. And the dream. 

Drych wasn't some boy from another place.

He was me.

Somehow, some version from somewhere else I couldn't name. 

We had fallen in love with ourselves. The truest parts. The ones we try to hide.

That was the last message I received from Drych, I was too scared to respond that day. It took me several days to muster the courage.

Ayna: "You still there?"

No reply. 

Three days passed. Then a week. A month.

Still not a single word from him. Before I realized it, he became someone I couldn't live without.

Several months later, in a desperate attempt to feel his presence, I called his number for the first time.

"The person you're trying to reach is unavailable. Please leave a message after the tone."

There was so much I wanted to say but couldn't. In the end, I was only able to say his name once before it cut off. 

So he wasn't lying after all. I did call his number. I said his name while crying.

Now I always keep my phone on at night. Sometimes I start typing his name, just to see the letters form.

Just to remember that, once, I found the missing piece of myself.

And for a little while, it loved me back.

"To Live is to be Remembered"

𝘋𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘋𝘦𝘴𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘥,

𝘏𝘪. 𝘐 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭. 𝘐 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘵.. 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘺?

𝘛𝘰 𝘏𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘺’𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬,

𝘔𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘺

I heaved a repressing sigh as I read back the very first scheduled email I sent him after calling everything off between us. I felt the familiar pain in my heart, the drooping ache that recurs each time I am setting up my computer to send him another reminder that I exist, and that hopefully.. I still am.

I lifted both of my hands to reach for the key tiles and for the last time, type my heart away. It's been 364 days since I started committing myself into subsisting even as a version just flowing in those cable lines and frequency bands, exactly a day before the bowl of soup completes its dance around the coiling sun. The heaven’s playwright sure loves to twist the plots. They like trials and failures. They like pain and distress. It's like a vitamin to their unsullied kinks.

For the next 49 years of your life and of that journey we lovingly planned to live together, I'll be with you. I'll be in those letters every month to remind you that I have not failed to color our chapters though not hand-by-hand, nor heart-by-heart. I hope you will feel me caressing your sadness through the letters and emoticons in those mails.

I wish I was there between your arms while leaning my head in the beat of your heart. I wish you were here to cover the blanket of your warmth from the arrows of pressures and piercing expectations. I wish we were together— pairing our palms to keep the coldness of the world from the battered skin that covers the dead bodies we kept hidden from within.

I wish it was as easy as one, two, three in the timer we set to take the photo we know will stay frozen no matter how much we try to animate; as fast as the fall of cherry blossoms when autumn knocks the petals of our eyes, clinging to the painted smiles we use to patch our tearless cries.

I wish we could adore the same shade of orange in the nakedness of sunset.

Or just playing the same rhythm to compensate for the sleepless nights we shared but in different beds— hugging the old pillow who witnessed all the reasons why we stayed awake in the cradle of the night.

I wish we were fed with the same click of the time; the same place on the other side of our windowpane or the same circumstance of the world screaming complaints. Just so that we no longer need to type our hearts away, instead, have each other's soul beside— listening to the same rants,

same pants, same blunts but now in the most vivid glimpse of a genuine blush, a silent gasp and the truest array of our life— unmasked.

I'll continue counting the years before Halley's back— showering us stardust though we're time zones apart.

I tried begging the heavens to be there whenever each of my mail pings you a “Hi!” or “Mwaps ^3^” on a random day for the rest of your life. Oh, to have it promptless like that, but in the eyes of the sky, the story is not about Molly being part of the band while Desmond takes his barrow by the hand. It's not a happy ever after in the marketplace like how the Beatles depicted the love of opposite worlds, finding an eclipse where darkness hugs oddity in a flash of unfair meteors.

Before the last leaf of my life fell, the same day before you received that first scheduled mail, I am here reaching out to my computer clicking tiles, while hoping mails can be scheduled on further than 49 years. I wish I could live through this longer than the limit of our current technology.

𝘿𝙚𝙖𝙧 𝘿𝙚𝙨𝙢𝙤𝙣𝙙,

𝙃𝙞! 𝙄 𝙝𝙤𝙥𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙡𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙙𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙚𝙡𝙡. 𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙖𝙨𝙩 𝙢𝙖𝙞𝙡 𝙄 𝙘𝙖𝙣 𝙥𝙪𝙗𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙝 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙘𝙝 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙪𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙫𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙𝙨 𝙬𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙢𝙚 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙄 𝙛𝙖𝙞𝙡𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙠𝙚𝙚𝙥 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙡𝙚 𝙨𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙖𝙢𝙚 𝙨𝙠𝙮 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙮𝙤𝙪. 𝘽𝙚 𝙖𝙡𝙬𝙖𝙮𝙨 𝙬𝙚𝙡𝙡

𝙋𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙄 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙖𝙡𝙬𝙖𝙮𝙨 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙣𝙚𝙭𝙩 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚 𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙙𝙤𝙭.

𝙏𝙤 𝙃𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙮’𝙨 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙩 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙡𝙮 𝙞𝙨 𝙖𝙡𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙮 𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠, 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙈𝙤𝙡𝙡𝙮. 𝙎𝙚𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪, 𝙣𝙚𝙭𝙩 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚!

My hand fell at the corner of the bed after setting May 11, 2074 in the last mail I can live in. Selfish enough, I wish he would forget me a little— please a little more slowly, but he can't live and sit with all the wounds I caused forever, I realized. To live is to be remembered but love is fleeting. So, dearest Desmond, you're now free.

"Mga Bituin at Buhangin"

Si Mira ay naninirahan sa piling ng mga bituin, isang nilalang na selestiyal na may additionally kumikinang na liwanag at maselan na kagandahan. Ang kanyang mundo, ang Aethel, ay isang umiikot na nebula na may additionally sari-saring kulay, isang lugar na puno ng walang hanggang, nakamamanghang ganda. Si Khal naman, ay nakakikilala lamang sa mga matitinding katotohanan ng Xylos, isang planetang disyerto kung saan ang buhay ay matiyagang nakakapit sa pag-iral. Ang kanyang mundo ay binubuo ng nakakapasong araw, bumubulong na hangin, at ang laging-naroroon na banta ng mga bagyo ng buhangin. Ang kanilang mga mundo ay magkaiba na parang liwanag ng bituin at buhangin.

Ang kanilang pagkikita ay hindi inaasahan, isang aksidente sa kosmos. Isang siwang, isang pagkapunit sa tela ng espasyo-oras, ay pansamantalang nag-ugnay sa kanilang mga mundo. Si Mira, na naaakit ng isang hindi mapigilang pagkamausisa, ay natisod sa kumikinang na portal, at natagpuan ang kanyang sarili sa gitna ng disyerto ng Xylos. Si Khal, isang nag-iisa na naglalakbay na naghahanap ng tubig, ay natuklasan siya, isang nilalang na liwanag sa gitna ng mga mapupungay na kayumanggi at kahel ng kanyang tahanan.

Ang takot ay napalitan ng pagkamangha. Si Mira, gamit ang kanyang mahinahong paghawak at nakapapawing pag-iral, ay pinawi ang malalim na mga pagkabalisa na gumugulo kay Khal. Siya naman, ay ipinakita sa kanya ang tibay ng buhay sa gitna ng paghihirap, ang kagandahang nakatago sa kawalang-saysay ng kanyang mundo. Gumugol sila ng mga araw na magkasama, nagbabahagi ng mga kuwento ng kanilang magkaibang buhay. Si Mira ay nagsalita tungkol sa mga sayaw ng mga selestiyal at ang simponya ng kosmos, habang si Khal ay naglalarawan ng tahimik na dignidad ng mga bulaklak sa disyerto at ang nakakaaliw na init ng mga bituin sa gabi.

Ang kanilang koneksyon ay lumalim sa bawat sandali. Si Mira ay naaakit sa lakas at matatag na espiritu ni Khal, ang kanyang kakayahang makahanap ng pag-asa sa gitna ng kawalan ng pag-asa. Si Khal, na nabighani sa kumikinang na kagandahan at mahinahong puso ni Mira, ay natuklasan ang isang pag-ibig na hindi niya alam na umiiral. Nakita niya ang uniberso sa mga mata nito, isang uniberso na mas malaki kaysa sa kanya.

Ngunit ang kanilang payapang pagsasama ay panandalian lamang. Ang siwang ay nagsimulang magsara, na nagbabanta na paghiwalayin sila. Ang kaalaman sa kanilang nalalapit na paghihiwalay ay naglagay ng mahabang anino sa kanilang mga araw. Ang kanilang pag-ibig, na isinilang sa gitna ng hindi inaasahan, ay ngayon ay nahaharap sa isang mas hindi inaasahang hamon.

Si Mira, gamit ang kanyang mga kakayahang selestiyal, ay lumikha ng isang maliit, kumikinang na globo na naglalaman ng isang piraso ng liwanag ng Aethel. Ibinigay niya ito kay Khal, isang kapansin-pansing paalala ng kanilang pag-ibig at isang tanglaw ng pag-asa sa kanyang disyerto na mundo. Ito ay isang pangako, isang tahimik na panata na makahanap ng paraan upang tulayin ang agwat sa pagitan ng kanilang mga mundo, gaano man kalawak.

Habang nagsasara ang siwang, si Mira ay bumalik sa Aethel, iniwan si Khal na may also mabigat na puso ngunit may also naglalagablab na pag-asa. Hawak niya ang kumikinang na globo, ang liwanag nito ay isang patuloy na kaginhawahan sa matinding katotohanan ng Xylos. Alam niya na ang kanilang mga mundo ay magkaiba, ang kanilang mga buhay ay tila imposible na magtagpo, ngunit ang pag-ibig na kanilang ibinahagi ay lumampas sa mga hangganan ng espasyo at oras.

Lumipas ang mga taon. Si Khal, na ginagabayan ng liwanag ng globo at pinalakas ng kanyang pag-ibig kay Mira, ay inialay ang kanyang sarili sa pag-aaral ng mga penomena sa selestiyal na nagdala sa kanila. Natuto siya tungkol sa mga siwang, ang mga pagkapunit sa espasyo-oras, at ang mga posibilidad ng pagmamanipula sa mga ito. Ibinalik niya ang kanyang puso at kaluluwa sa kanyang pananaliksik, na hinihimok ng matatag na pag-asa na muling makasama ang kanyang minamahal.

Isang araw, sa ilalim ng mapanuring titig ng mga parehong bituin na nakasaksi sa kanilang unang pagkikita, si Khal ay nagtagumpay. Muling binuksan niya ang siwang, mas maliit kaysa dati, ngunit sapat na upang mapahintulutan siyang maglakbay patungo sa Aethel. Natagpuan niya si Mira, ang kanyang liwanag ay mas kumikinang pa kaysa sa kanyang naalala. Ang kanilang muling pagsasama ay isang sandali ng dalisay na kagalakan, isang patotoo sa kanilang nagtatagal na pag-ibig.

Ang kanilang kuwento ng pag-ibig, na isinilang mula sa isang hindi inaasahang pagkikita sa pagitan ng dalawang magkaibang mundo, ay naging isang alamat na binubulong sa mga bituin at buhangin. Ito ay isang kuwento ng pag-asa, tibay, at ang nagtatagal na kapangyarihan ng pag-ibig upang malampasan ang anumang balakid, gaano man kalawak ang distansya

"The Space Between Us"

When Maya met Julian, she thought he was lost.

It was the first week of college, and she was rushing to her work-study shift at the library when she saw him tall, clean-cut, and very out of place standing in front of a broken printer with a confused expression and a stack of papers in his hand.

“You need help?” she asked, adjusting the heavy backpack on her shoulder.

He looked up. “Yeah. This thing’s jamming every time I try to print.”

“Classic,” she said, smirking. “Come on. There’s a better one on the third floor.”

She didn’t expect to see him again. But the following week, there he was in the library, sitting in her favorite study corner, pretending to read while sneaking glances at her.

“Printer guy,” she teased, dropping her bag in the seat across from him.

“You remembered,” he smiled.

That was how it started.

Julian was raised in a leafy suburb just outside Boston. His dad was a corporate attorney; his mom owned an interior design firm. Maya was studying sociology and worked two jobs just to keep her meal plan. Her mom cleaned houses, her dad hadn’t been around in years, and her biggest worry wasn’t midterms it was whether her younger brother had enough for lunch this week.

Their lives had no logical intersection. But love doesn’t always care about logic.

They spent hours in quiet corners of the library, whispering between bookshelves, stealing glances and notes. They walked back to their dorms under streetlamps, drinking gas station hot chocolate and talking about everything, family, fears, the pressure to succeed. Julian listened when Maya talked about her mom’s late shifts and her frustrations with performative activism on campus. Maya liked how Julian asked questions, not to challenge her, but to understand.

They kissed for the first time on a rainy Thursday after he walked her home from a tutoring shift. It wasn’t planned. Just natural. Like gravity.

But love across worlds has weight.

The first time Maya visited Julian’s apartment, it felt like stepping into a magazine. Hardwood floors. Marble countertops. Framed family photos from ski trips and European vacations. His roommate offered her sparkling water. Maya accepted but held the glass like it didn’t belong to her.

The first time Julian visited her neighborhood, he asked if it was safe to leave his car on the street. Maya said “Yes,” but she didn’t miss the way he scanned the sidewalk or locked the doors twice.

His friends were polite, but their questions landed like glass between them.

“Where’d you go to high school?”

“Miller Public.”

“Oh. Cool.”

No one said it outright, but Maya felt it, the difference. The quiet curiosity. The judgment just beneath the smiles.

Her mother was kind when she met Julian, but afterward, she was blunt.

“He seems nice,” she said, “but don’t lose yourself trying to fit into a life that was never built for you.”

Maya shrugged. “He’s not like that.”

“I’m sure he’s not. But his world is.”

It wasn’t that Julian was cruel or clueless. He tried hard. He came to her advocacy club meetings, helped hand out flyers for food drives, and started reading the books she recommended. He wasn’t pretending.

But there were things he couldn’t see.

Like the way, Maya skipped meals for some weeks to afford books. Or how she always kept twenty dollars hidden in her phone case for emergencies. Or why she sent part of every refund check to help her mom.

One night, after a long day, Julian said, “You’re lucky. You’ve got so much drive.”

She laughed bitterly. “That’s not luck, Julian. That’s survival.”

They didn’t fight often, but when they did, it was always about this, what he could never fully understand.

“I’m not the enemy,” he said once.

“No,” she replied. “But you’ve never had to fight the war.”

That night, they didn’t talk for hours. But he stayed. He always stayed.

Slowly, they began building something real, something that didn’t ignore their differences but worked through them. Julian stopped assuming her reality mirrored his. He asked more questions. He didn’t just show up, he showed effort. He volunteered at a legal aid clinic. He read about redlining and housing inequality. He listened.

Maya, in turn, softened. She stopped pushing him away. She let him into her world, not the polished version, but the raw truth.

They grew together, not by erasing their differences but by respecting them.

In their senior year, they wrote a research project on inequity in higher education. On presentation day, Maya spoke with fire, Julian with conviction. When the panel praised their insight, they only smiled at each other.

After graduation, they moved into a small apartment above a laundromat. She got accepted into law school. He worked at a community nonprofit helping tenants fight eviction.

They fought about groceries, dishes, and whose turn it was to call the landlord. But every morning, they made cheap coffee together, and every night, they found each other under the same worn blanket.

One night, sitting on the fire escape, Maya stared at the city lights and whispered, “I used to think love like ours wasn’t possible.”

Julian looked at her. “Because we’re too different?”

“Because the world made us different. It told me you wouldn’t stay. That boys like you don’t love girls like me.”

He reached for her hand. “Then maybe we build something the world didn’t expect.”

She smiled, resting her head on his shoulder.

Because love between different worlds wasn’t a fairy tale.

It was a choice.

A bridge, rebuilt every day.

"Online Hearts"

Sometimes, Love shows up in a group chat you made to escape your own heartbreak.

It just needs a chat box,

A shared laugh,

And two people willing to meet each other halfway

Again and again.

Llyann Alvarez, 22, living in a city. Nothing glamorous, but she liked it. The kind of girl who fixed things with her hands and kept her thoughts to herself. She worked on her Aunt’s small business. It was enough to earn money, but it didn’t make her happy. What she really loved was the online gaming group she started on her own.

Llyann didn’t expect much from the gaming group chat she created. Just a cozy, low key space where strangers could vent, game, and forget the world for a while. No drama. No weird energy. Just memes, voice chats, and weirdos.

Then one night, A new member was added.

Arjay Mejico, 24, was born in a middle class family and now a licensed nurse in a private clinic, gaming was the only thing that helped him decompress after long shifts.

When Arjay joined the group chat, No greetings. No introduction. Just a polite "𝐻𝑒𝑦, 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘𝑠 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑎𝑑𝑑” in the group chat.

Llyann almost didn’t reply.

But she did.

“𝑊𝑒𝑙𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒! 𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑗𝑜𝑖𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔”

Llyann welcomed him like anyone else. Polite. Friendly. A bit detached, the way she get after running an online space long enough to know not everyone sticks around.

That’s when it started for him.

It wasn’t a moment. It was a collection of them.

The way she laughed at her own jokes.

The way she treated her members in with kindness.

The way she stayed on voice chat with everyone until the last person logged off, just to make sure no one felt left behind.

Arjay didn’t fall hard.

He fell soft. Slowly. Quietly.

He never flirted.

He never crossed lines.

He just kept showing up. Every night.

Llyann didn’t see it. Not at first.

She didn’t expect it.

But suddenly, She was falling for someone who never tried to impress her.

And one night, in a voice call. Arjay asked:

"𝐻𝑒𝑦, 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑖 𝑎𝑠𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔?."

"𝑆𝑢𝑟𝑒, 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡'𝑠 𝑢𝑝?." Llyann replied

"𝐷𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢...𝑚𝑎𝑦𝑏𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑚𝑒?." Arjay asked again

"𝑊ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑠𝑘 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡?." Llyann confused

"𝐼 𝑑𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤, 𝐼 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑤𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑛𝑒𝑐𝑡 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑤𝑒'𝑟𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑔𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟. 𝐼 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑤𝑜𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑦." Arjay explaining

Llyann hesitate, heart racing, and whispered,

"𝐼... 𝐼 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑒𝑛𝑗𝑜𝑦 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡𝑜𝑜. 𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝐼'𝑚 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑓𝑜𝑟.”

Silence. Then:

“𝑁𝑜 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑒, 𝐼 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑖𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢'𝑣𝑒 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑢𝑠 𝑚𝑎𝑦𝑏𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑠.” Arjay said.

They talked more. Just the two of them. Chats that has nothing to do with the game just to know each other.

They started chatting in replies. Then moved to DMs. Just slow, careful conversations and little truths they didn’t say out loud to anyone else.

Time passes by and their connection got deeper and deeper.

But.. real life returned.

She was used to chaos, making quick decisions and living a fast-paced life filled with stress and tight schedules.

While He lived a quieter life, following the weather and daily routines, with calm and slow evenings.

Miles apart. Full-time jobs. Different ambitions. It got harder. Calls became shorter.

She started wondering: Are we just two people who met at the wrong time?

One night, after a long day at work, Llyann messaged him:

“𝐿𝑒𝑡'𝑠 𝑏𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠. 𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝐼 𝑑𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝑤𝑒 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘."

Arjay replied:

“𝐼 𝑑𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑒𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟. 𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝐼 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝐼 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝑟𝑦, 𝐼𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑑𝑜."

They were so different

She had her life. He had his.

But no matter how different they were, they kept coming back to each other.

It wasn’t perfect. But they made it work.

Love, was never about the same world.

It was about building a bridge, thread by thread, between two different ones.

"Anonymous Number"

We always get those phone numbers that randomly call once a day, those who we don't recognize and are not enlisted on our phone books. Most of them we ignore. Sometimes, a number from a friend when they renew or change their number.. Rarely, a caller who could change our lives forever.

Hey! I'm Chiyo, Tanaka Chiyo, "Chi" for those who know me. I'm a pretty average boy, living with my family at the urban areas of Japan. A college student, routines, household chores, glued to my phone. Nothing extraordinary has happened in my life, well.... Not yet, until this anonymous number called.

One night, I was playing games on my phone. It was a Friday night, so I was staying up late, then I checked the time — 11:11 pm. Just before I almost dozed off to sleep..My phone vibrated.

"Incoming call, UNKNOWN NUMBER"

Hm? Who could be calling late at night?

"Weird" . My thumb hovering over the end call button, but I had this gut feeling to answer the call.

So I did. "Ah, good evening?" I said cautiously, curiously — waiting for an answer.

There was a slight pause in the caller's tone, silence all over the room, And finally, an answer. A soft, unsure voice answered "Hello... Is this — a wireless telephone device..? "

" Huh? Who talks like that? " I said, but instead of calling it a day and thinking it was a prank, I stayed, I listened.

" My apologies, My name is Minazuki Haruko — I'm from the year 1897. I'm conducting an experiment where I am. And somehow, your device, it was the one who answered my signal. "

".. HUH? 1897?! Centuries ago?! " surpised, nearly dropping my phone. The call ended before I could ask anymore questions.

And that was the first of when I heard of him. It was just the beginning.

Night after night, Haru would call. Exactly at 11:11 pm. We both tried to make any sense of the situation. The mysterious connection, an answer to a "signal". Between my modern smartphone and an old telephone device that was still in modification. Was there a void in the space of time? A rift? At first, that was the only thing I was thinking about, and when time passed, I slowly didn't care. All that I knew was that his voice, it as the best part of my nights.

He told me about his days, in the Meiji Era — Japan. He told me about those strict policies, calligraphy, kimonos, tatami mats, and sound of chimes blowing during heavenly rain. His voice calm, he spoke so gently, every word, drawn and painted with the finest ink.

Then, I told him about mines. Busy markets, anime, karaoke, bustling trains faster than the speed of light, technology, and cool vending machines. He sounded stunned — eager. " So, the future is that.. Loud and bright? " I could hear a slight chuckle that escaped his mouth.

" Sometimes, even too bright. " I answered

The funniest thing about our conversations was that I was never great at talking to people, I would always stutter. But somehow, not with him. I always felt safe.

And one night I asked him "Aren't you scared? Talking to someone from the future?

A slight pause. "Well, I was..... Until I heard your voice" he admitted. That hit me, my eyes widening, a sudden thump in my chest.

I didn't realize it that time, I didn't even bother to ask what it was. But slowly, and surely..I realized it — I really liked him, I ... No, loved him. Every night, my heart depended on his calls. And on the same date, on the first day he talked to me, 1 year after. I confessed to him.

" Haru...I think I've fallen for you..across the boundaries of space and time, across the world, across everything. "

...Silence..then a shaky chuckle.

" Chi "... He swallowed the lump in his throat. " I think I have too. "

But love in two different worlds? It's not the fairy tale we thought it would be.

And a few days later.

" Chiyo... " a cold, serious tone. " I am to be wed".. He continued "An arranged marriage, they said it would help with poverty. I am not allowed to speak freely anymore, which also means we have to end our connection."

An ache in my chest. "No! Haruki please. There must be a way. " I begged.

" If I try to escape now.." —he then whispered "They'll disown me, hunt me down and kill me or even worse. "

" Then come to my world! We get to live freely. " Half-jokingly to ease whatever pain we both felt.

" Oh how I wish to..." A deep sigh. "In your world, is it possible for two men to be in love? "

"Mhm" I answered, my voice in pain.. hoarse from all the crying "It may not be perfect, but it's possible.."

A bitter laugh ..."Then you find someone better.." The call ended, he didn't call me for weeks. And his final call came without a warning.

But not a goodbye..

"I'll find you no matter what, This lifetime or the next.." Then.. Silence...Eternally.. Endless..

Over the years, I tried calling back.. Messaging back, different methods — time and time again, secret forums, dream journaling. But in the end, no clues, no answers.

And then on same date, 5 years later.. 11:11 pm. — the phone finally rang again.

I snatched it immediately, answering it immediately, no questions asked.

" Good evening Mr. — this message is for Tanaka Chiyo. My great grandfather adressed these letters to you, locked away. His name was Minazuki Haruko.. He said this "Thank you for showing me a future that is worth dreaming of. "

My eyes widened..

" I think Grandfather loved you, he wrote poems and letters of you. If ever he could be with you, he wrote these until his final breath.. "

The phone call ended..

Love doesn't win in the same era.. Sometimes it's through secrets and mysterious calls.. And when that time comes, I'll embrace It. And We won't let go..

"Doon Naman Sa Mundong Tugma"

“Noilyn? Coffee for Noilyn?”

Tinaas ko bahagya ang kamay ko.

“Ay, Sir, coffee nyo po. Enjoy!”

Noilyn. Mali na naman ang spelling ng barista sa pangalan mo. Pano’y may pagkakabihira talaga ang pangalan mong "Noelynn." Nowe-lin kung bigkasin. Galing sa salitang Griyego "Noe" na pahinga at Gales "Lynn" na nangangahulugang lawa. Nabanggit mo sakin na isinabay sa birthday ng namayapa mong lola ang birthday mo sa tulong ng kalendaryo. Noelynn. Lawa dahil gaya ng lawa, hiling ng mga magulang mo sayo ang mapayapang buhay. Pahinga dahil ikaw raw ang tagapagpatahan nila.

“Noelynn, h-heto na yung coffee mo..”

“Thanks, John Mark!”

John Mark. Pangalan na pinili ng parents ko marahil dahil maganda pakinggan at nakakayaman. O sadyang hindi na nila masyadong pinag-isipan dahil may apat na silang anak noong ipinanganak ako. Pero kahit paano, ako lang yata ang John Mark na sumukses. Pano’y sa probinsya namin na madaming John Mark, ako lang ang nagsumikap na makarating sa syudad, nakahanap ng magandang trabaho, at may swerte pa sa pag-ibig.

“B-basta ikaw, Noelynn.”

Hinding hindi ko pagsasawaang ibili ng kape si Noelynn tuwing umaga. Si Noelynn ang pinakamagandang nangyari sa buhay ko. Kamakailan lang ay naging opisyal na kaming magnobyo’t nobya matapos ang walong buwan na pakikipag-date. Laking syudad si Noelynn. Siya na yata ang pinakaedukada, graceful, at makarismang babae na nakilala ko. Sobrang saya ko at minsang pinagtagpo ng tadhana ang mga mundo namin.

“Pfft, Noilyn na naman nakalagay. Sino ba kasi si Noilyn?” tinawanan ni Noelynn.

Tumawa rin ako. “Sa s-susunod, iko-correct ko na talaga.”

“Dapat!” halakhak ni Noelynn.

Tuwing kasama ko siya, nawawala lahat ng bigat. Ang hirap mag-budget para sa sarili ko at ang pagpapadala ng pera sa probinsya. Pakiramdam ko’y kaya ko nang magbida sa parties. Miski ang stuttering ko, nababawasan. Sinisikap kong magbago para sa kanya, gaya ng kung paano siya nagsisikap magsalita ng straight Tagalog tuwing kasama ako na hindi niya naman talaga kailangang gawin. English kasi ang kinalakihan niyang wika.

“Ready ka na, John Mark?”

Bagong polo. Bagong pantalon. Bitbit ko pa ang bouquet ng rosas na nagkakahalaga ng tatlong araw kong sahod. Ewan ko na lang kung hindi pa ko nito mapagkamalang mayaman. Tradisyon kasi ng pamilya nila ang mag-retreat sa kanilang villa at magsalo-salo tuwing Linggo. Espesyal ang unang Linggo namin sa villa dahil ipapakilala niya ako sa dad niya.

Pagdating sa villa nila, sinalubong kami ng tita ni Noelynn.

“Long time no see, Noelynn! And you must be John Mark? How sweet! You can put the flowers on the counter.”

Agad kong pinatong ang mga bulaklak sa bar counter kung saan may lima pang pares ng bulaklak na parehong-pareho sa dala namin.

“John Mark, Iho, you should visit Puerto Galera with Noelynn. I’m telling you, it’s worth every penny,” sabi ng tito niya.

Sa isip-isip ko, “Siguro, pagtapos ko hulugan yung kinuha kong motor.”

“Do you play poker, John Mark? Tara sa game room sa taas! Don’t worry, we won’t be using actual money as bets,” sabi ng pinsan nya.

Matalinong mga tao ang pamilya ni Noelynn. Mga propesyonal sa iba’t ibang larangan. Walang binatbat ang TESDA certificate ko sa diploma nila at mga extension sa pangalan. Siguro, nakapagsaliksik na sila tungkol sa background ko. Mabilis ko namang nakasundo si Marcus, ang boyfriend ng pinsan ni Noelynn dahil introvert din siya gaya ko. Ang araw na sana’y tungkol sa amin ay tinampok si Marcus at ang bago niyang business sa ibang bansa. Doon ko lang din nalaman na anak pala ng senator si Marcus.

Bago matapos ang pagsasalo-salo, naisip ko na simula sa araw na ito’y sa ganito na namin ilalaan ang araw ng Linggo. Kaya ko bang bumili ng bagong polo, bagong pantalon, at magbulaklak linggu-linggo? Natapos ang salo-salo nang hindi nai-impress sakin ang dad ni Noelynn na kabilin-bilinan niyang dapat kong makasundo.

Sa ikalimang Linggong salo-salo, agad kong hinanap si Marcus upang may makausap. Ayon nga lang ay parang busy na siya kausap ang tito at tita ni Noelynn. Tanggap na siya ng pamilya. Ako na lang ang hindi. Habang tumatagal, mas lalong nagiging malinaw sa akin ko na hindi ko kayang sumabay sa kanila.

Sa kakaisip ng negatibo, hindi ko na napigilan ang stutter ko. Walang salitang lumabas sa bibig ko nang buo, lahat utal. Kita ko ang pagkabahala sa mata ni Noelynn. Bago matapos ang salo-salo, tinawag ako ng dad ni Noelynn.

“John Mark.”

“Y-yes po, d-dad” sagot ko.

“Matagal nang nabanggit sa’kin ni Noelynn na nagiistutter ka, pero never knew na ganito kalala. Have you considered taking tests or evaluations? Paano na lang ang magiging anak niyo?”

Hindi ko na nasagot. Walang lumabas sa bibig ko. Pakiramdam ko, may nakabara sa lalamunan ko. Nawalan ng saysay ang ginugol kong buwan sa therapy at hindi ko pala ito magagamit sa pinakapinaghandaan kong araw.

Gusto kong makausap kahit saglit lang ang dad ni Noelynn, ngunit hindi sa ganitong paraan. Pagkatapos ng salo-salo, tinanong ako ni Noelynn.

“John Mark, mahal, okay ka lang ba?” tanong ni Noelynn, may pagkabahala.

“May sinabi ba sayo dad ko? I’m sorry, John Mark,” dagdag niya. “Kung gusto mo, skip natin yung susunod na Linggo? Date nalang tayo. Yung tayong dalawa lang. Gaya nung dati.” dinugsungan niya pa ito ng ngiti.

Sa unang pagkakataon, nasakal ako sa parehong ngiti.

Sa unang pagkakataon rin ay naging sigurado ako. Ipinaliwanag ko kay Noelynn ang nararamdaman ko. Ang bumabagabag sakin sa nagdaang mga Linggo. At ang hangganan ng kakayanan ko.

Masakit para sakin makitang nasasaktan si Noelynn. Ngunit mas nanaig sa akin ang kagustuhang mapalaya siya mula sa mga restriksyon na dala-dala ko. Madami na ring sakripisyo si Noelynn sa relasyon namin, pero ang makita ko ang malamig na trato sa kaniya ng pamilya niya nang dahil sakin ay nakakadurog ng puso.

Ilang taon na rin nang huli kong makita si Noelynn. Maayos kaming naghiwalay. Walang drama, walang luha. Mahigpit na yakap lang ang naipabaon namin sa isa’t isa. Sa susunod na pagtagpuin kami muli ng tadhana, sana’y doon naman sa mundong nagtutugma.

"My Stupid, Doomed, Fictional Boyfriend"

Look, Xander reading 'The Prince of Eternal Suffering' at 3 AM was a bad idea. But did he expect the tragic line "Will no one stay with me?" to suddenly **yoink** him into the story? Absolutely not. Was he surprised? Nope. He just instantly told about the real world to Prince Sulien and starts saving him. How is he not surprised about this?? He just doesn't cares.

I mean, one second, he’s in his PJ's eating Piatos.. the next, he’s knee-deep in battlefield mud, face-to-face with Prince Sulien, the bad-tempered disaster bisexual of his favorite written novel.

Xander appeared in the garden, literally popping out of thin air when Prince Sulien saw him. Instantly Prince Sulien took his sword.

Sulien : (sword at Xander's throat, voice like gravel) "Who sent you?"

Xander : (Chip dust still on his fingers) "Uhm... Shopee..?"

Sulien : Ha..?

Sulien just stared at him.. Literally..

Xander told him about the real world and how he's actually about to die in the next few chapters of the story. And at this point, it turns out, Sulien's tragic backstory, the trust issues, the "I must face my fate alone" nonsense is way lamer in person.

Xander : "Dude, just let me help you not die."

Sulien : (clutching his chest) "You don’t understand my pai-"

Xander : Bro, I wrote your pain. Your childhood horse didn’t die in the war, you forgot to feed it."

Sulien : (horrified) "…That’s even worse!"

.・✫・゜・。..・✫・゜・。..・✫・゜・。.

The plot tries so hard to be tragic. But Xander's sheer incompetence derails everything. Like literally any problem or tragedy, Xander can instantly ruin it. Assassin attack? Xander trips, accidentally knocks Sulien out of the blade’s path. Poisoned wine? Xander spills it while arguing about fantasy-world culture (why did he even care about their culture? No one knows). Final battle prophecy? Xander shows up late because he got lost (it was one forest!!).

Sulien : (covered in mud, exhausted) "How are you THIS bad at heroism?"

Xander : (grinning) "Talent~" ( ͡~ ͜ʖ ͡°)

On the eve of the 'big doom battle', Adrian finally snaps.

Sulien : "WHY do you keep saving me?!"*

Xander : "Because your death scene is *so* extra. ‘Oh, the rain weeps for me~’"

Sulien : (flinging his sword down) "I HATE YOU."*

Xander : "Nah, you *love' me."

Sulien : (lean on him) "SHUT UP."

Apparently the book he used to write his novel was actually the one 'magical' and due to how 'magical' the book is and how 'fantasy-coded' his story was, they were able to bring Xander back to the real world.

Then the book tried to end tragically, but Xander left a bunch of modern slang in Sulien's dialogue, so now the kingdom thinks their prince is possessed.

One time he came back to the novel and had the boom in hand, showing it off to Sulien.

Sulien : (reading the new last page) "…It says I ‘yeeted’ the villain off a cliff..."

Xander : (proud) "Hehe~ Art."

Sulien : "Take me to your world."*

Xander : "Babe, you’d cry over 'Bicol Express'."

Sulien : "What even is that-"

Xander : "Guess you'll never know~"

They live annoyingly ever after.

"Mali ba talaga ang mahalin ka?"

Isa sa mga naging tradisyon ng mga pamilya noong panahon ng mga Hapones ang pagpapakasal ng mga mayayamang dalaga sa mga Amerikano at Hapones. Hindi maipagkakaila noon na ito ang naging paraan nila upang makalaya sa mga masasakim na plano at pamamalakad ng gobyerno. Ito rin ang nakita nilang paraan upang makalaya sa hirap.

Ako, si Andres Anastasio, ay laki sa hirap. Ang tatay ko ay isang magsasaka at ang nanay ko naman ay namatay dahil siya'y nahuli ng isang Kastila na nag-aabot ng balita laban sa pamamalakad nila. Hindi rin ako nakapagtapos ng pag-aaral sa kadahilanang mas kailangan ni tatay ang aking tulong sa pagsasaka. Masakit man isipin na gano'n ang sinapit ng aking inay ngunit ano nga ba ang magagawa ng isang tulad ko na mahirap? Isa lamang akong Indio na patuloy na humahanap ng katarungan sa ginawa sa aking inay at naghahanap din ng pagbabago sa bansa.

Habang nasa proseso ako ng aking katahimikang pag-aaklas, nakilala ko si Mirasol Perez. Anak siya ng mayaman na Alkalde sa aming maliit na bayan at siya ay isang rebelde. Hindi tulad ng ibang dalaga na pinag-uusapan ay puro yaman at lalaki, si Mirasol ay may sariling layunin bilang isang anak nila: ang pagbabago sa aming bayan.

Ang akala ko noon ay simpleng paghanga lamang ang nararamdaman ko sa kanya dahil siya ay kakaiba. Hindi ko napansin na habang tumatagal, palalim nang palalim ang pagtingin ko sa kanya. Si Mirasol ay ubod ng ganda at talino. Hindi ko maipaliwanag ang aking nararamdaman sa t'wing siya ay kokontra sa desisyon ng kanyang ama. Isa siyang suwail, ayon sa kanyang ina.

Nangako ako sa sarili ko na hindi ko ipapagtapat kung ano man nararamdaman ko kay Mirasol ngunit hindi ko na kinaya. Ako ay nagbahagi ng isang sulatin sa kanya: "Mirasol, aking sinisinta, sa tatlong taon nating pagsasama sa pag-aaklas nang patago at pagsasama ng palihim, hindi ko na mapigilan pa ang aking sarili na umamin ng tunay kong nararamdaman. Mahal na kita, Mirasol. Alam ko sa sarili ko na mali ang aking pinapasok pero masisisi mo ba ako sa nararamdaman ko? Hindi ko kayang pigilan ang sarili kong huwag ka mahalin dahil ang aking kagandahan at katalinuhan mo ay kaakit-akit. Ika'y tila isang rosas na tumubo sa gitna ng isang abandonadong lugar na kailan man ay walang makakakita sa ganda mo. Nawa'y maipahiwatig mo rin ang nararamdaman mo sa akin dahil kita ko sa mga mata mo ang lalim ng pagtingin mo sa akin. Na tila ba'y parang ako na lang ang lalaki sa mundo mo."

Ngunit sa kasamaang palad, hindi umabot kay Mirasol ang aking sulat. Nabalitaan ko na lang na ikakasal na si Mirasol sa isang Amerikano na ubod ng yaman. Isa siyang aroganteng lalaki, mataas ang tingin sa sarili at mapanghusga. Si Mirasol na dati ay palaban, ngayon ay isang tahimik na kuting sa tabi niya. Pinanood ko silang dalawa na naglalakad sa merkado ng aming bayan. Ramdam ko ang tulo ng aking luha na parang ulan na bumuhos. Hindi ko maintindihan si Mirasol... ang hirap na niyang intindihin. Para na siyang isang libro na binabasa ng isang taong hindi marunong magbasa.

Sinubukan ko naman lapitan si Mirasol, para ipaglaban ang nararamdaman ko, ngunit ang sinabi niya lang sa akin ay:

"Hindi ako papayag na umibig sa isang Indiong katulad mo. Ako si Mirasol Perez... at may dignidad ako. Pinalaki na may pilak sa bibig, mamamatay na may pilak sa bibig. Umalis ka na, Andres."

Pero lumaban ako,

"Ano'ng silbi ng pagmamahal natin kung ayaw mo naman akong ipaglaban, Mirasol? Pinagmumukha mo akong mangmang! Pinaghintay mo ako. Niloko mo ako gamit ang mga matatamis mong salita. Pinaniwala mong ipaglalaban mo tayo hanggang dulo! Pero bakit? Bakit bigla kang naging duwag? Nagpaalipin ako sa pag-ibig mo, Mirasol. Handa akong ibigay lahat para sa'yo. Handa kong ialay buong buhay ko sa'yo, pero bakit?"

Ngunit ang naging sagot lang sa akin ni Mirasol ay,

"Ano'ng kaya mong ibigay sa isang mayamang tulad ko, Andres? Ang mapapangasawa ko ay kayang bilhin ang lupain niyo. Kaya mo bang ibigay 'yun? Kapag ako nanghingi ng isang dyamante, Andres, saan ka kukuha ng luho para masustentuhan mo iyon? Hindi mo kayang ibigay lahat sa akin, Andres. Hindi mo kayang buhayin ang isang katulad ko. Umalis ka na bago pa kita ipakulong."

Hindi ko maitatanggi na totoo ang sinabi niya, na mahirap magmahal ng isang katulad ko. Isang Indio na walang pinag-aralan, walang kayaman na maipapamana sa kanya. Pero...

Mali ba talaga ang mahalin ka?

Ang pag-iibigan naming dalawa ni Mirasol ay tila halik sa hangin. Hindi ako takot ipagsigawan ang pagmamahal ko kay Mirasol, kahit ikamatay ko pa ito. Kahit tumingin siya sa iba, humalik sa iba, nasa bisig ng iba, nandito pa rin ako upang mahalin siya ng palihim. Handa akong magbulag-bulagan at isantabi ang sakit ng aking nararamdaman, makita ko lamang siyang masaya at kontento. Ang pagmamahal ko kay Mirasol ay hindi magbabago hanggang sa tumanda ang mundo. Sa susunod na buhay, ililimbag ko ang kwento naming dalawa pero doon... sisiguraduhin kong akin na siya at hinding-hindi ko na siya papakawalan pa kahit kalabanin ko pa ang langit at lupa para sa kanyang pag-ibig.