Chapter 4 : Start With Hello

Napabalikwas ako ng gising na parang may humila sa akin pabalik sa katawan ko.

For a few seconds, hindi ako makahinga.

My room looked the same. Same cream-colored curtains. Same messy desk. Same stack ng unread books sa gilid ng kama. Same school bag na nakasandal sa chair, half-open dahil hindi ko na naman inayos kagabi.

Pero mali ang lahat.

Because the last thing I remembered, I was falling.

Darkness. Candles. Death.

Caelan’s name written under a flame that was almost gone.

“Start with hello.”

Napatakip ako sa bibig ko.

Oh my God.

Hindi panaginip iyon.

It couldn’t be.

My phone buzzed again beside my pillow.

I grabbed it so fast muntik ko na siyang maihagis.

Mika: Girl, bilisan mo. First day na ng month, late ka na naman.

Mika: Ma’am Dela Cruz is already here.

Mika: If you die today, I’m not explaining this to your mom.

My hands went cold.

First day ng month.

I checked the date.

And for a moment, parang bumagsak ang buong katawan ko sa kama kahit nakaupo lang ako.

It was weeks before Caelan’s wake.

Weeks before Veloria Memorial Hall.

Weeks before his empty chair.

Weeks before everyone learned his name only because he was gone.

“Hindi,” I whispered.

But the date stayed the same.

My heart started beating too fast.

I threw the blanket off me and stood, pero bigla akong napaupo ulit when the room tilted. My knees felt weak. My hands were shaking. Everything was too normal, and somehow that made it worse.

Sa labas ng kwarto ko, narinig ko si Mama.

“Lyra? Gising ka na ba? You’re going to be late!”

Normal voice. Normal morning. Normal life.

Except I wasn’t normal anymore.

I looked down at myself. Pajamas. Messy hair. No candle. 

Then my wrist started to burn.

Napasinghap ako.

Sa loob ng left wrist ko, just below my palm, may markang hindi nandoon dati.

27

Hindi siya tattoo. Hindi rin sulat ng ballpen. It looked like a pale scar, almost white against my skin, shaped so neatly na parang may nag-ukit nito habang tulog ako.

Twenty-seven.

I pressed my thumb over it.

Mas lalong uminit.

“Okay,” I breathed out. “Okay. So definitely not a dream.”

Great.

Amazing.

Very comforting.

I had twenty-seven days to stop a boy I barely knew from dying, and Death’s grand instruction was basically, say hi.

Ang helpful. Ten out of ten.

“Lyra!” tawag ulit ni Mama.

“Gising na po!” I shouted, voice cracking.

I got ready in record time. As in, record time for me, which meant I still looked like I lost a fight with my closet. I pulled on my San Aurelio Academy uniform, fixed my hair just enough para hindi mukhang tragedy, then grabbed a jacket kahit mainit.

I needed to hide the mark.

Hindi ko pa kayang ipaliwanag sa kahit sino kung bakit may number sa wrist ko.

Especially not when the explanation involved Death in a white barong and a hallway full of candles.

Pagdating ko sa kitchen, nakatayo si Mama near the counter, holding her mug of coffee. She took one look at me and frowned.

“Are you okay?”

I froze.

Apparently, going back in time didn’t make me better at acting normal.

“I’m fine,” I said too quickly.

Her frown deepened. “You look pale.”

“Late lang po ako.”

“That’s not new.”

“Wow. Good morning din, Ma.”

That made her smile a little, but her eyes stayed worried. “Kumain ka muna.”

“I’ll buy something sa school.”

“Lyra.”

“I promise.”

I kissed her cheek before she could ask more questions, then practically ran out of the unit.

The whole ride to school, I kept my left hand hidden inside my jacket pocket.

Every ordinary thing felt wrong.

The tricycle driver complaining about traffic. The vendor arranging banana cue near the gate. The Grade Seven students laughing too loudly by the guardhouse. The morning sun hitting the windows of San Aurelio Academy like nothing terrible had ever happened here.

Like nothing terrible was waiting.

I stopped outside the gate.

Students moved around me, brushing past, talking, laughing, living.

And then I saw him.

Caelan Mateo Vasquez was walking through the gate.

Alive.

My entire body forgot how to function.

He wore the same uniform as everyone else, pero somehow he still looked separate from the crowd. Black hoodie over his white polo kahit bawal. Earphones in. Bag slung over one shoulder. Messy hair falling near his eyes like he didn’t care if the world saw him clearly or not.

He was holding a sketchbook against his chest.

Alive.

Breathing.

Annoyed-looking.

So painfully, impossibly alive.

My eyes burned.

No.

No crying.

Not here. Not now. Not in front of the security guard who already looked like he wanted to ask why I was standing frozen near the gate like a lost statue.

Start with hello.

Death’s voice slid into my head.

I swallowed.

Okay.

Hello.

Simple. Normal. Human.

I could do hello.

Caelan passed me.

My mouth opened.

Nothing came out.

He kept walking.

Fantastic.

First attempt: failure.

I rushed after him before I could lose my nerve. “Caelan!”

He stopped.

Slowly, he turned around.

His eyes landed on me, sharp and guarded.

Not dead.

Not a photo beside a candle.

Not a name outside Viewing Room 3.

Alive.

“You called me?” he asked.

His voice was lower than I expected. Quiet, but not soft.

I nodded too fast. “Yeah. Hi.”

Silence.

He stared at me.

I stared back.

Somewhere behind us, Mika shouted my name from the hallway, but I ignored her because apparently I had chosen public humiliation as my new morning hobby.

Caelan blinked. “Hi?”

Wow.

Beautiful.

Amazing work, Lyra.

Death would be so proud.

“I’m Lyra,” I said, even though we had been classmates for years and this was possibly the dumbest opening line in human history.

“I know.”

Right. Of course he knew.

My face heated. “Right. Obviously. I mean, we’re classmates. So. Yeah.”

His brows pulled together slightly. “Do you need something?”

Yes, actually. I need you to not die.

The words almost came out.

I bit them back so hard my throat hurt.

“I just wanted to say hi.”

Caelan looked at me like I had personally ruined his morning.

“You stopped me to say hi?”

“Technically, yes.”

“Okay.”

He turned around.

Panic shot through me. “Wait!”

He stopped again, shoulders tense.

I had no plan.

Absolutely none.

So my brain, clearly under pressure and not built for crisis management, grabbed the first memory it could find.

“Thank you for the blue pen.”

Caelan slowly faced me again.

“What?”

“The blue pen,” I said, feeling more ridiculous with every word. “Last semester. Surprise quiz. My pen died. You lent me one.”

His expression changed.

Not much.

Just a tiny flicker, like he remembered but didn’t want me to know he remembered.

“That was months ago.”

“I know.”

“You’re thanking me now?”

“Better late than never?”

He stared at me.

Then he said, “You never returned it.”

My mouth dropped open. “I didn’t?”

“No.”

“Oh my God. I’m a thief.”

That caught him off guard.

For half a second, something almost like amusement moved across his face.

Almost.

Then it disappeared.

“It was a cheap pen,” he said.

“Still. I owe you.”

“You really don’t.”

“I do,” I insisted, too quickly. “I mean, not in a weird way. Just, you know, basic human decency.”

“Human decency,” he repeated flatly.

“Yeah.”

“Before eight in the morning?”

“Rare, I know.”

This time, he didn’t smile.

But he didn’t walk away either.

That felt like a win.

A small one.

Microscopic, maybe.

But still a win.

Then Mika appeared beside me, breathless and suspicious. “Lyra, Ma’am’s going to mark you late if you don’t move.” Her eyes shifted to Caelan. “Oh. Hi.”

Caelan gave her one polite nod.

Mika’s gaze snapped back to me with the kind of expression that promised interrogation later.

I silently begged her not now.

She did not receive the message.

“Are we making new friends?” she asked.

“No,” Caelan said immediately.

“Ouch,” Mika muttered.

I forced a laugh even though my stomach twisted. “We’re just talking.”

“Were we?” Caelan asked.

I shot him a look.

He looked almost bored, but there was something defensive underneath it. Like every word had a wall behind it. Like he had already decided I was either joking, bothering him, or planning to use him for something.

Maybe all three.

And maybe I couldn’t blame him.

Because before all this, I had noticed him only in pieces.

The quiet boy.

The black hoodie.

The sketchbook.

The empty chair.

I hadn’t thought about how it might feel to be reduced to details by people who never bothered to ask for more.

The bell rang.

Caelan adjusted his bag. “I’m going to class.”

“Same,” I said quickly.

He gave me a look. “Congratulations.”

Mika made a tiny choking sound that might have been a laugh.

I glared at her.

Caelan walked ahead.

I watched him go, my heart still beating too fast.

“That was weird,” Mika said.

“I know.”

“Since when do you talk to Caelan Vasquez?”

“Since today.”

“Why?”

Because Death told me to start with hello.

Because in twenty-seven days, you’re going to sit in a classroom where his chair is empty.

Because I saw his candle almost burn out.

Because I know something none of you know, and it’s already crushing me.

I shrugged. “He lent me a pen.”

Mika stared. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Girl, you are so strange sometimes.”

“You have no idea.”

Classes passed like a dream I had already lived through once, except now every small thing felt loaded.

When Ma’am Dela Cruz checked attendance, I held my breath before she said his name.

“Vasquez?”

“Present,” Caelan answered from near the window.

One word.

Normal.

Alive.

My chest hurt.

During Math, I knew Sir Ramon would give a surprise quiz before he even reached for the papers in his folder. During English, I remembered the exact joke Mika would whisper under her breath. During lunch, I knew someone would spill iced tea near the canteen entrance.

It all happened.

Every tiny thing.

Proof after proof that I was really back.

And underneath my sleeve, the mark burned every time I looked at Caelan.

By afternoon, I found him behind the old science building.

Of course I did.

That place again.

Same low cement wall. Same abandoned garden. Same cracked pots with dead plants no one bothered to throw away.

But this time, Caelan was there before the grief.

He sat alone with his sketchbook open on his knees, earphones in, pencil moving fast across the page.

I almost turned around.

Then the mark on my wrist burned.

Fine.

Okay.

Message received.

I walked closer.

Caelan looked up before I could speak. “Are you following me?”

“No.”

His eyes dropped to where I had clearly walked directly toward him.

“Okay,” I said. “Maybe a little.”

He closed his sketchbook.

The movement was quick.

Protective.

That hurt more than it should have.

“I’m not going to look,” I said.

“I didn’t ask.”

“I know. I just wanted you to know.”

He studied me for a second. “You’re acting weird.”

“People keep telling me that today.”

“Maybe listen.”

I sat on the other end of the cement wall, leaving enough space between us para hindi siya ma-threaten. “Can we start over?”

Caelan frowned. “From what?”

“From this morning.”

“You mean when you stopped me at the gate to thank me for a pen from last semester?”

“Yes. That.”

“I’d rather not relive it.”

“Fair.”

Silence.

A bird landed on one of the dead plant pots, then flew away immediately, like even it didn’t want to stay in this awkwardness.

I took a breath.

“Hi,” I said, softer this time. “I’m Lyra.”

Caelan stared at me.

Then, very slowly, he said, “I know.”

“You’re supposed to say your name.”

“I’m aware.”

“Then say it.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m trying to be normal.”

“You’re failing.”

I pressed a hand to my chest. “That was honest. Hurtful, but honest.”

For a second, I thought he might actually laugh.

He didn’t.

But his shoulders loosened a little.

“I’m Caelan,” he said at last.

“I know.”

His eyebrow lifted.

I smiled a little. “See? Annoying, right?”

This time, the corner of his mouth moved.

Barely.

But I saw it.

And because I was apparently desperate for any sign of progress, my stupid heart treated it like a miracle.

Then his eyes dropped to my wrist.

My sleeve had slipped.

The mark was showing.

Caelan’s expression changed.

“What’s that?”

I yanked my sleeve down. “Nothing.”

“That didn’t look like nothing.”

“It’s just, um, ink.”

“Scar-looking ink?”

“I’m artistic.”

“You’re not in visual arts.”

I blinked. “How do you know that?”

He looked away. “I notice things.”

The words landed between us.

Quiet.

Heavy.

I notice things.

Maybe he did.

Maybe he noticed everything and just pretended not to care because caring had become too dangerous.

“What number was that?” he asked.

My throat dried.

“Nothing important.”

“Lyra.”

It was the first time he said my name.

I hated how it made me freeze.

I stood too quickly. “I have to go.”

His eyes narrowed. “You’re really bad at lying.”

“I know.”

“Then maybe stop doing it.”

“I can’t.”

The honesty slipped out before I could stop it.

Caelan went still.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then he looked down at his sketchbook. “Whatever it is, I don’t want to be involved.”

Too late, I thought.

But I only nodded.

“Okay.”

I started walking away, then stopped.

“Caelan?”

He didn’t look up.

“Thanks for saying your name.”

A pause.

Then, quietly, “Thanks for returning the pen four months late.”

I looked back.

He was holding out a blue pen.

My chest tightened so hard it almost hurt.

I walked back and took it carefully.

Our fingers brushed.

The mark on my wrist burned bright under my sleeve.

Caelan noticed me flinch.

Before he could ask, I stepped away.

“See you tomorrow?” I asked.

He looked like he wanted to say no.

Actually, he looked like he wanted to say absolutely not, please disappear from my life and take your weird energy with you.

Instead, he said, “Try not to be late.”

It wasn’t yes.

But it wasn’t no.

For now, I would take it.

On the ride home, I sat by the window with the blue pen in my hand and the number 27 burning softly beneath my sleeve.

Day one.

I had said hello.

I had made him suspicious.

I had lied badly, panicked twice, almost cried at attendance, and somehow managed to make Caelan Vasquez speak to me more in one day than he probably had in the last three years.

Progress?

Maybe.

Disaster?

Also maybe.

I leaned my forehead against the window and closed my eyes.

Death was right.

This was going to cost me.

Because Caelan wasn’t a problem to solve. He wasn’t a mystery boy in a sad story. He was alive. Guarded. Sharp. Real.

And if I wanted to help him, I couldn’t just save the idea of him.

I had to know him.

Even if he didn’t want me to.

Even if I had no idea where to begin.

My wrist burned again.

I opened my eyes and pulled my sleeve back just enough to see the mark.

27

Still there.

Still waiting.

I tightened my grip around the blue pen.

“Okay,” I whispered to myself.

Tomorrow, I would try again.