Chapter 1

I had exactly five hours and twelve minutes to pack for a trip I never wanted to take.

"Ma'am Luna, the ticket is already in your email," saad ni Joy habang papalapit siya sa work cubicle ko. "Manila to Honolulu. Direct flight, 2300 hrs tonight."

"Tonight?" I stopped typing mid-sentence. Natulala ako sa cost report na nakaflash sa laptop ko, half-finished and staring back at me. "Joy, the summit opens tomorrow. Bakit naman biglaan to?"

"Because Sir Ramon only just found out he can't go. Tumawag siya from ER."

Napatayo ako sa gulat at pangamba. "The ER? Bakit, anong nangyari?"

"Kidney stones. Sobrang sakit daw po. He said, and I quote, 'Tell Luna she's presenting for me.'"

I sat back down slowly, like my knees had filed a resignation letter.

My name is Soluna Serrano, but everyone calls me Luna. I work as a senior project engineer at Kagawasan Builders, and I am good at three things: quantities, schedules, and telling subcontractors no in four different tones of voice. Hindi ako ang tipo na kayang tumayo at mag present in front of two thousand strangers at Pacific Rim Sustainable Cities Summit and pitched a ₱4-billion township to foreign investors.

That was Ramon's job. Ramon Katigbak, our vice president, with his silver hair and his voice like a radio announcer. Ramon loved stages. I loved spreadsheets.

"Okay," I said. "Okay. Breathe." Taking slow deep breaths para kumalma ang utak ko. "Joy, please forward me his slides, the investor list, and the hotel confirmation."

"Already sent, ma'am. You know, pwede ka naman humindi kay Sir Ramon." Pag-aatubili nito.

"I can't Joy. Kapag hindi ako ang pumunta, we’ll lose the pitch slot. And kapag nawala iyon, Sandoval-Legaspi takes the investors."

Everyone in our office knew about Sandoval-Legaspi Construction— the competitor with the glass-tower headquarters in BGC, the glossy brochures, and a habit of winning bids by margins so thin they felt personal. Ganoon kalakas ang kalaban para magdalawang isip ako na tumanggi.

 I closed my laptop. Five hours and ten minutes.

My place in Mandaluyong is a small one-bedroom condo. I dragged my gray hard-shell luggage out of the closet and started throwing things inside with the efficiency of a woman who had survived many deadlines.

Blazers, three of them: black, navy, cream. Slacks. My good heels, the ones that hurt but made me look like I had my life together. A dress for the networking night, which I held up to the mirror and immediately folded away, as if it had insulted me.

Then I went to the shelf by the window and took down my most cherished item: isang asul na Royal Dansk cookie tin.

Mukha itong may lamang butter cookies. In my lola's house, it held a sewing kit for thirty years. In mine, it held something far more serious: a rainbow of yarn, three crochet hooks, a tangle of stitch markers, at isang maliit, and a small population of stuffed animals na hindi lalampas sa palad ko.

I crochet. Amigurumi, to be exact, the tiny art of making little creatures out of yarn. I started the week Paolo left, because I couldn't stop my hands from shaking and couldn't stop my brain from replaying that night. By the second day, I had a deformed turtle. By the end of the month, I have a zoo.

I named them after work disasters. Si Mr. Delay, ang pagong. Si Baboy Budget, a pink pig with a coin slot embroidered on his back. Si Sir Contingency, a kuwago with enormous, worried eyes who sat on my monitor and whom absolutely no one was allowed to touch. Alam ng buong Kagawasan Builders ang "stress zoo" ko. Pinagtatawanan nila ako, pero secretly, three project managers had asked me to make them one.

I put the tin in my luggage.

My phone buzzed. Trina.

Trina: Girl, narinig ko. HAWAII?? Sir Ramon's kidney stones is the best thing that ever happened to your love life.

Luna: Work trip 'to, Tri. Hindi love life.

Trina: Nobody said love. LIFE sabi ko. Love is just under life. Pack the dress, Luna.”

I stared at the phone. I did not tell her about the dress. She simply knew these things, the way mothers knew things.

I tossed the dress into the luggage.

Umupo ako sa sofa and let the quiet settle over me. Eleven months. That's how long it had been since Paolo, on this very sofa, over a cold box of takeout.

“I just don't feel the spark anymore, Luna.” he said without looking at me. Parang lamp lang ako. As if I'd been unplugged.

I held myself from crying and did not make a scandal. I said “Okay. Thank you for being honest." and watched him take his jacket. When the door closed, the takeout was still sitting there, untouched. Dalawang oras akong nakatitig doon. Then I cried in the shower for forty minutes and went to work the next day with concealer and a very straight back.

Since then, there had been work and yarn. And that’s okay. Work didn't leave. Yarn didn't need sparks.

I zipped the luggage shut.

NAIA Terminal 2 at ten in the evening was chaos: balikbayan boxes, crying toddlers, tired families saying goodbye in three languages at once. Nag-check in ako, dumaan sa immigration, and found a seat at the gate, kung saan binuksan ko ulit ang slides ni Ramon for the fifth time

Slide one: Kalayaan Heights: A Township for the Filipino Family.

Aaminin ko, it was good. It was the kind of project that made me proud to be an engineer. Affordable housing, green spaces, a school, a clinic. Real community.

Tumunog ang cellphone ko. Ramon.

"Sir? Are you okay?"

"Luna." His voice was weak, and for the first time ever, not radio-announcer smooth. "I'm sorry, Luna. I wouldn't ask if I had another choice."

"Sir, it's fine. Magpagaling ka. I'll handle it."

"You're the only one who knows this project better than I do.” A pause. “Listen. Investors don't care about slides. They want to see someone who believes. You believe, Luna. You just don't show it. Show it, please."

Napalunok ako sa pressure. "I'll try, sir."

"Don't try. Do." Another pause, longer. "And Luna? Anuman ang mangyari diyan, huwag kang magagalit sa akin, hija."

"Magagalit? Sir, bakit naman—"

 "Luna, the nurse is here. Safe flight."

The line went dead.

I stared at my phone. Then I looked out at the dark runway, at the blinking lights, at my own faint reflection in the glass: a twenty-nine-year-old woman in a navy blazer with her hair tied back so tightly it gave her a headache.

Show it.

I didn't know how. I had never been good at showing. I was good at holding it together.

I picked up my bag, squared my shoulders, and walked toward the plane.

I had no idea that this trip would change my whole life, or that it would begin, the way the worst things and the best things always do, with a man I couldn't stand.