Chapter 6: Kape Amparo

By dismissal, I had one goal.

Simple lang.

Huwag hanapin si Caelan Vasquez.

After everything that happened yesterday, I told myself na kailangan ko namang kumalma. Hindi pwedeng lagi na lang akong nakabuntot sa kanya. Baka bago ko pa siya mailigtas, isipin na niyang baliw ako.

So, naturally, less than five minutes after the final bell, nakita ko siya.

Of course.

Caelan was walking ahead of me near the side gate, black hoodie pulled over his uniform kahit ang init, sketchbook tucked under one arm, earphones in. He moved through the crowd like sanay na siyang umiwas sa lahat. 

Then something slipped from between the pages of his sketchbook.

A folded piece of paper landed near the stairs.

He didn’t notice.

I stopped.

For one second, I stared at it like it was some kind of trap.

Because with my luck? Baka mamaya cursed paper pala ito. Or Death’s version of a sticky note.

But Caelan kept walking.

“Caelan!” I called.

He didn’t hear me.

Or maybe he did and chose peace.

I picked up the paper and hurried after him, but the crowd near the gate swallowed him too fast. By the time I reached the sidewalk, he was already crossing the street, disappearing behind a passing jeepney.

Great.

I looked down at the paper in my hand.

I knew I shouldn’t open it.

Obviously.

Personal property. Privacy. Basic human decency.

So I only looked because it was already half-open.

Which was not the same thing.

Mostly.

Written in messy handwriting was a list:

**sugar**  

**condensed milk**  

**paper cups**  

**Lola’s meds - 6 PM**  

**electric bill due Friday**  

**Kape Amparo**

Under that was an address.

My chest tightened.

Lola’s meds.

Electric bill.

Kape Amparo.

Caelan didn’t look like someone who carried grocery lists and due dates inside his sketchbook. But then again, that was the problem, wasn’t it? I kept realizing I didn’t know anything about him.

“Lyra?”

I almost jumped.

Mika appeared beside me, eyes already suspicious. “Why are you staring at paper like it personally offended you?”

I folded it quickly. “Caelan dropped this.”

Mika’s expression changed. “And you’re going to return it?”

“Yes.”

“Now?”

“Yes.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Girl.”

“What?”

“You know this is how horror movies start, right?”

“It’s a piece of paper, Mika.”

“It has an address, doesn’t it?”

I didn’t answer.

She groaned. “Lyra.”

“I’ll just return it. Quick lang.”

“To Caelan.”

“Yes.”

“The same Caelan who looks like he wants to disappear into a wall whenever people talk to him?”

My wrist pulsed under my sleeve.

Twenty-six.

“I know,” I said softly.

Mika studied my face. For once, hindi siya nag-joke agad.

Then she sighed. “Text me your location. Real-time. And if you don’t reply in ten minutes, I’m calling you until your phone explodes.”

“Okay.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know.”

She looked like she wanted to ask more. Maybe why I cared so much. Maybe why I looked like every conversation about Caelan had weight she couldn’t see.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she said, “Be careful.”

I nodded.

The address led me three blocks away from San Aurelio Academy, past the cleaner streets near the school and into a busier part of the city where buildings stood closer together and wires tangled above like black thread. May sari-sari store sa kanto, karinderya with plastic tables, a small printing shop, and a bakery that smelled like warm bread and margarine.

Then I saw it.

**KAPE AMPARO**

It was small. Squeezed between a laundry shop and a cellphone repair stall with a half-dead sign. The café had dark green paint on the door, slightly chipped, and a window fogged from the inside. Warm yellow light spilled out onto the wet sidewalk.

It didn’t look fancy.

But it looked alive.

I stood outside for maybe thirty seconds too long, holding Caelan’s paper like an excuse.

Then the door opened.

Caelan stepped out carrying a trash bag.

He froze when he saw me.

I froze too.

For one horrible second, we just stared at each other.

Then he said, “No.”

I blinked. “No what?”

“No to whatever this is.”

“I came to return something.”

“That sounds like an excuse.”

“It is literally paper.”

I held it out.

His eyes dropped to it, and the change in his face was quick. Small, but there. His jaw tightened as he snatched it from my hand.

“You read it?”

“Not on purpose.”

“Lyra.”

“It was open.”

“That’s not a no.”

I looked down. “Sorry.”

He didn’t answer right away.

The silence felt worse than if he had snapped at me.

Then, from inside the café, an older woman called, “Cael? Sino ’yan?”

Caelan closed his eyes like he was asking the universe for patience. “Wala po.”

“Wala?” the woman repeated. “May boses ang wala ngayon?”

I pressed my lips together.

Caelan gave me a warning look.

Too late. I smiled.

The door opened wider, and an older woman appeared behind him. Gray hair in a bun, glasses hanging from a chain around her neck, apron dusted with flour. Her eyes landed on me, sharp but warm.

“Ay,” she said. “Classmate?”

Caelan muttered, “Unfortunately.”

I ignored him. “Good afternoon po. Lyra Villanueva.”

The woman smiled. “Amparo. Lola niya.”

Kape Amparo.

That made sense.

“Nice to meet you po.”

“Pumasok ka muna. Ulan na naman.”

“I’m okay po, I just—”

A loud crash came from inside.

All three of us turned.

Someone had dropped a tray.

Caelan moved before anyone else did. He pushed the trash bag aside and went back in, fast. Lola Amparo followed, muttering something about “naku, itong araw na ’to.”

I should have left.

That would have been the normal thing to do.

Return paper. Say sorry. Exit.

But through the open door, I saw Caelan crouch near the counter, picking up broken ceramic pieces with his bare hands while a younger boy stood nearby looking like he was about to cry.

“Don’t touch it,” Caelan said, voice low but not harsh. “Ako na.”

The boy sniffed. “Sorry, Kuya.”

Kuya.

Something in my chest pulled.

I stepped inside.

The café smelled like coffee, bread, and rain. Mismatched tables. Wooden chairs. A corkboard full of old receipts, school flyers, and faded photos. May small shelf ng books sa gilid, mostly old paperbacks with cracked spines. The place was busy in a quiet, chaotic way. Two customers were waiting near the counter. A woman was packing pastries. The younger boy kept saying sorry under his breath.

Caelan looked up and saw me.

“What are you doing?”

“Helping.”

“No.”

I grabbed a broom leaning near the wall. “Too late.”

He stared at me like I was a headache in human form.

Lola Amparo, however, looked pleased. “Good. Hija, sweep mo muna ’yan. Cael, kamay mo.”

“I’m fine.”

“Kamay mo,” she repeated.

Caelan stood, annoyed, but let her check his fingers.

May maliit na cut sa thumb niya.

It wasn’t serious. Pero the way he quickly pulled his hand back made me think he hated being fussed over more than the actual wound.

I swept the broken pieces while the younger boy watched me with wide eyes.

“What’s your name?” I asked softly.

“Miro.”

“Hi, Miro. I’m Lyra.”

“Classmate ka ni Kuya Cael?”

“Yeah.”

His eyes widened more. “May friends pala siya?”

I choked on air.

Caelan, from the counter, said, “Miro.”

“What? Totoo naman.”

I looked down to hide a smile.

Caelan did not look amused.

For the next twenty minutes, I somehow became unpaid staff of Kape Amparo.

I wiped one table. Then another. Then Lola Amparo asked me to put bread into paper bags. Then Miro taught me which tongs to use for ensaymada because apparently may system sila and I was already violating it by existing.

Caelan stayed behind the counter, moving like he had done this a thousand times. He made iced coffee, counted change, packed orders, checked the oven, answered his lola, and corrected Miro’s homework between customers.

All while still wearing his school uniform.

All while looking like this was normal.

No wonder he was tired.

A woman arrived around six carrying a plastic bag of medicine and groceries. She had tired eyes, her hair tied loosely, and flour on one sleeve like she had been rushing all day.

“Ma,” Caelan said.

His voice changed.

Not softer exactly.

Just careful.

The woman looked at him, then at me. Surprise flickered across her face.

“Oh. Hello.”

I straightened quickly. “Good evening po. Lyra po. Classmate ni Caelan.”

“Marisol,” she said, giving me a small smile. “His mom.”

His mom.

I swallowed.

In another timeline, this woman had already lost him.

Here, she was standing in front of me with medicine in one hand and grocery bags in the other, not knowing how close the world was to breaking.

“Nice to meet you po,” I managed.

Marisol looked at Caelan. “You brought a friend?”

“We’re not—”

“She returned something,” he cut himself off, like even explaining was exhausting.

Lola Amparo hummed from behind the counter. “Tapos tumulong pa.”

Marisol’s smile warmed a little. “Thank you, Lyra.”

“It’s nothing po.”

But it wasn’t nothing.

Not to me.

Because every minute inside Kape Amparo made Caelan less like the quiet boy by the window and more like someone holding up too many corners of a life no one at school bothered to see.

Around seven, the café finally calmed down.

Miro had disappeared upstairs. Lola Amparo was counting coins by the register. Marisol was writing something in a small notebook, her brows furrowed.

Caelan sat at a table near the window and opened his school notebook like he still had energy for homework.

I sat across from him because apparently I had learned nothing about personal space.

He looked up. “You’re still here.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I didn’t thank you.”

“Your lola did. She has better manners.”

He snorted.

Small.

Almost nothing.

But it happened.

I pulled out my own notebook. “Do you always work after school?”

His pencil stopped.

Wrong question.

I knew it immediately.

His face closed off. “Do you always ask things that aren’t your business?”

“Sorry.”

Silence.

Rain tapped softly against the window.

I stared at my notebook, hating myself a little. I kept doing this. I kept reaching for answers because time was running, forgetting that Caelan wasn’t a locked box I could force open.

“I’m not trying to pry,” I said after a moment. “I just… I didn’t know.”

“That’s usually what happens when people don’t ask.”

The words were quiet.

Not cruel.

That made them hurt more.

I nodded. “Yeah.”

He looked at me then.

For once, I didn’t defend myself.

I didn’t explain.

I just let the silence sit there.

After a while, he sighed and tapped my notebook with his pencil. “You’re doing that wrong.”

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Your equation.”

“I haven’t even started.”

“Exactly.”

I looked down at my math homework and made a face. “Math hates me.”

“Math doesn’t care about you.”

“Wow. Comforting.”

He pulled my notebook closer. “Here.”

“You’re helping me?”

“Don’t make it emotional.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You were about to.”

I smiled despite myself.

He showed me the steps, not patiently exactly, but not mean either. More like he was annoyed at the numbers on my behalf. Every time I got one part right, he tapped the paper once and moved on. Every time I got something wrong, he looked personally offended.

“You skipped a sign,” he said.

“Maybe the sign skipped me.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“It meant something emotionally.”

“Numbers don’t care about your emotions.”

“Neither do you, apparently.”

He paused.

Then, very quietly, “I didn’t say that.”

I looked up.

He was staring at the paper, not at me.

But his ears had gone slightly red.

Oh.

My chest did something stupid.

Before I could respond, my wrist burned.

Sharp. Sudden. White-hot.

I gasped and grabbed my arm.

Caelan’s head snapped up. “What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Lyra.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re literally holding your wrist like it’s on fire.”

Because it was.

Under my sleeve, the mark pulsed against my skin.

I already knew before I looked.

Still, I turned slightly away and pulled the fabric back just enough.

**25**

My stomach dropped.

Twenty-five days left.

Another day gone.

“Lyra,” Caelan said, closer now.

I yanked my sleeve down.

Too late.

His eyes had already caught something.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“Stop saying nothing.”

“I can’t explain it.”

“Try.”

“I can’t.”

His jaw tightened. “Can’t or won’t?”

I looked at him.

There was irritation in his face, yes. But underneath that, something else.

Concern.

Small. Hidden. Unwelcome, probably.

But there.

My throat tightened.

“I’m not ready,” I said.

It was the closest thing to truth I could give.

Caelan stared at me for a long second.

Then he leaned back.

“Fine.”

I blinked. “Fine?”

“Yeah. Fine.” He looked away. “But don’t lie badly and expect me not to notice.”

A laugh slipped out of me, shaky and small. “You notice everything?”

“Unfortunately.”

The word stayed with me.

Unfortunately.

Like noticing hurt him.

Like the world kept showing him things he wished he didn’t see.

At eight, I finally stood to leave.

Lola Amparo insisted I take pandesal. Marisol added two pieces of cheese roll “for the road.” Miro asked if I was coming back tomorrow because, apparently, I swept better than Caelan.

Caelan looked offended.

I accepted the paper bag with both hands. “Thank you po.”

Outside, the rain had stopped. The street was shiny under the lights, and the air smelled like wet pavement and coffee.

Caelan walked with me to the tricycle stop without saying that was what he was doing.

Very Caelan.

“You don’t have to walk me,” I said.

“I know.”

“Then why are you walking me?”

“My mom is watching from the window.”

I glanced back.

Marisol quickly moved away from the curtain.

I smiled.

Caelan groaned. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Your face is loud.”

I laughed softly.

For a few seconds, we stood under the waiting shed, not talking. The night felt less heavy than before, but maybe that was dangerous. Maybe I was starting to forget that every almost-normal moment had a deadline under it.

Then Caelan said, “Don’t come back just because you feel sorry for me.”

I looked at him.

His face was turned away, but his voice was tight.

So that was what he thought.

That I saw his family, his work, his tiredness, and decided he was pitiful.

The idea hurt more than I expected.

“I won’t,” I said.

He looked at me.

“I’ll come back because your lola’s hot chocolate is good,” I added. “And because Miro clearly needs supervision with the tongs.”

Caelan stared.

Then he looked away, but not fast enough.

I saw the almost-smile.

“Your reasons are stupid,” he said.

“Still reasons.”

The tricycle arrived.

I climbed in, clutching the paper bag against my chest.

“Text when you get home,” Caelan said.

I froze.

He immediately frowned. “My mom will ask.”

“Right,” I said, trying not to smile. “Your mom.”

“Don’t make it weird.”

“Too late.”

“Lyra.”

“Good night, Caelan.”

He sighed. “Good night.”

As the tricycle pulled away, I looked back.

Caelan was still there under the yellow light of the waiting shed, hands in his hoodie pockets, watching until the tricycle turned the corner.

My wrist throbbed softly beneath my sleeve.

Twenty-five days.

I had learned something tonight.

Caelan was not invisible.

He had a lola who teased him, a mother who looked tired but loved him, a little brother who called him Kuya, a café that smelled like coffee and rain, and a life full of people who would break if he disappeared.

And somehow, he still believed leaving might hurt less than staying.

I held the warm paper bag tighter.

I didn’t know how to save him yet.

But now I knew one thing for sure.

Caelan Vasquez was carrying more than anyone at school could see.