Before You Let Go

The morning after Caelan Vasquez died, the school didn’t look any different.

Same cracked pavement sa entrance ng **San Aurelio Academy**. Same students rushing through the gate kahit late na. Same guards checking IDs like the world hadn’t changed overnight.

Pero may mali.

Hindi ko agad ma-explain. Basta iba ang bigat ng hangin. Parang lahat ng ingay sa paligid, pilit lang. May mga estudyanteng nagbubulungan sa hallway. May teachers na magkakatabi sa may faculty room, their faces too serious for a regular Monday morning.

At first, inisip ko baka may emergency meeting lang. Baka may nasirang aircon. Baka may exam na biglang na-move.

Anything.

Anything except what it actually was.

Pagpasok ko sa classroom, tahimik na ang lahat.

That was the first strange thing.

Our class was never quiet. Laging may tumatawa. May nakikipag-away over borrowed correction tape. May nagmamadaling mangopya ng homework five minutes before checking.

But today, everyone was in their seats.

And Caelan’s chair was empty.

Hindi ko alam kung bakit doon agad napunta ang tingin ko. Maybe because his seat was always occupied before the bell rang. He wasn’t the type to be late. He was the type to sit quietly near the window, earphones in, notebook open, pretending not to hear the world.

I barely knew him.

I knew his name. I knew he was good at drawing. I knew he liked sitting alone during lunch. I knew he once lent me a pen during a quiz without saying a word.

That was it.

That was all I knew about Caelan Vasquez.

Then our adviser entered the room.

Ma’am Dela Cruz looked like she hadn’t slept. Her eyes were swollen, and for a few seconds, she just stood in front of us, holding the class record against her chest like it was the only thing keeping her steady.

No one spoke.

Not even the boys at the back.

“Class,” she said quietly. “I need you to listen carefully.”

My stomach dropped.

I don’t know why. Maybe some part of me already knew bad news before it was spoken out loud.

Ma’am took a breath.

“Caelan Vasquez passed away last night.”

For a moment, nobody reacted.

Passed away.

Ang soft pakinggan. Parang natulog lang siya. Parang umalis lang siya somewhere and forgot to come back.

Then someone whispered, “What?”

Ma’am’s lips trembled.

“He died by suicide.”

The room went completely still.

And I remember thinking, stupidly, impossibly, that Caelan’s chair looked too empty.

Like it was waiting for him.

Like any second, he would walk in late, wearing that black hoodie of his, avoiding everyone’s eyes as he made his way to the window seat.

But he didn’t.

He wouldn’t.

Caelan Vasquez was dead.

And I didn’t even know him enough to miss him.

So why did it feel like something inside me had cracked?

The bell rang.

Usually, iyon ang signal para magkagulo ang lahat. Chairs scraping against the floor. Bags being zipped. Students rushing out like five seconds of freedom could save their entire day.

But this time, no one moved right away.

Parang lahat kami, naghihintay na may magsabi na joke lang. Na mali lang ang balita. Na any second now, Caelan would walk through the door and everyone would laugh awkwardly because, God, ang pangit naman ng joke na ’yon.

Pero walang dumating.

Slowly, tumayo ako. I didn’t even remember putting my notebook inside my bag. Basta alam ko lang, kailangan kong lumabas. Kailangan kong huminga somewhere na hindi ko nakikita ang empty chair niya.

“Lyra!”

I froze.

Si Mika, best friend ko, halos patakbong lumapit sa akin sa hallway. Her eyes were wide, her phone clutched tightly in one hand.

“Did you hear? Si Caelan daw—”

“Alam ko,” I said, sharper than I meant to.

Napahinto siya.

I swallowed, suddenly ashamed. “Sorry. I just… I don’t want to talk about it.”

Mika’s face softened. “Okay. Sorry rin. I didn’t mean to—”

But I was already walking away.

All morning, parang iisang pangalan lang ang kaya bigkasin ng buong school.

Caelan.

Caelan Vasquez.

The quiet boy. The weird boy. The boy near the window who always wore black hoodies kahit ang init. The boy some people suddenly claimed they knew, even if yesterday they wouldn’t have noticed him standing beside them.

By lunch, may guidance counselors na sa library. May announcement na rin from the principal, asking everyone to be respectful, to give Caelan’s family privacy, to talk to someone if things felt too heavy.

Respectful.

Privacy.

Funny how people only learned those words after someone was gone.

I spent lunch behind the old science building, sitting on the low cement wall near the garden no one took care of anymore. I wasn’t hungry. Every time I tried to eat, parang may nakabara sa lalamunan ko.

I barely knew him, I reminded myself.

But then I remembered the pen he lent me during a quiz last semester.

The sketch of a wing I once saw on the corner of his notebook.

The way he always looked like he wanted to disappear, and how nobody asked him why.

Including me.

My phone kept buzzing in my skirt pocket.

At first, hindi ko pinansin. I thought it was Mika, maybe checking if I was okay or asking where I went. But when I finally pulled it out, I saw the class group chat moving too fast.

**Did you guys know?**  

**Grabe, si Caelan pala.**  

**I heard he was always alone.**  

**May nakita akong post ng cousin niya.**  

**Guys, stop sharing screenshots.**  

**Ang scary naman.**  

**May pasok pa ba bukas?**

I stared at the messages until the words blurred.

People didn’t know what to do with tragedy, so they passed it around like gossip and pretended concern made it better.

Then someone sent an old stolen photo of Caelan sitting near the window, his head bent over his notebook.

My chest tightened.

He didn’t even know that photo existed.

And now people were zooming in on it, reacting to it, turning him into something to discuss.

I turned my phone off.

For the first time that day, I was angry.

Not loud angry. Not the kind that makes you slam doors or throw things. It was quieter than that. Heavier. The kind of anger that sits under your ribs and has nowhere to go.

Because a boy was dead.

A real boy.

A boy who carried extra pens. A boy who drew wings on paper. A boy who sat two rows away from me and probably had entire thoughts, entire fears, entire dreams I would never know.

And somehow, the world was already trying to make him smaller than that.

The rest of the afternoon passed in pieces.

A teacher tried to discuss a lesson and gave up halfway through. Someone cried in the restroom. Mika saved me a seat in English, but I sat near the back instead. During last period, Ma’am Dela Cruz returned to our classroom with another announcement, her voice thinner than before.

“Caelan’s family has allowed students to visit tonight,” she said. “The wake will be at Veloria Memorial Hall. Viewing Room 3.”

My fingers tightened around my pen.

Veloria Memorial Hall.

Viewing Room 3.

“Please go only if you feel emotionally ready,” Ma’am added. “And if you do attend, be respectful. This is not a school event. This is his family’s grief.”

No one made a joke.

No one whispered.

Even the air seemed to stay still.

I wrote the details in the corner of my notebook even though I didn’t need to. The words looked strange beside my unfinished English notes.

**Veloria Memorial Hall. Viewing Room 3. Tonight.**

Before I could even think about it properly, I already knew I was going.

Not because we were friends.

Not because I had the right to grieve him.

But because something inside me kept whispering that if I didn’t go, I would regret it for the rest of my life.