Chapter 2

It wasn’t as hot as yesterday afternoon, but the air in San Felipe was still thick and sticky. Yet inside the mansion, it felt different.

Every corner of this land seemed to hold its own story. From the peaceful koi pond, to the kalachuchi trees with their yellow-white blooms, to the rosal bushes I loved taking care of.

I was kneeling by the greenhouse, holding a small dipper of water. In front of me was the rosal plant that my father and I had planted a year ago. It had grown taller now, fuller, its flowers blooming more than ever this summer. It was more fragrant, and more alive.

“Hello again,” I whispered as I watered it. “You’re so beautiful. I hope you last long enough to see me grow up, too.”

I opened my sketchpad and began to draw the curve of its leaves and blossoms. Simple as it was, I wanted to capture every detail. The rosal wasn’t just a plant to me. It was a friend.

“Aya, you’re going to wear a hole through that paper,” my father joked from the other end of the greenhouse as he worked on planting new seedlings. “But it’s good. You really capture the details.”

I smiled. “Just practice, Tay.”

A few minutes later, Jun arrived—Aling Berta’s son. He was carrying two dippers of water, still panting slightly.

“Nanay said to help you out for a while,” he said cheerfully.

“Perfect,” Tatay replied, wiping his hands. “Go water the new plants at the far end.” He pointed toward the back of the greenhouse.

“Okay.”

I quietly watched him move. We were both used to this kind of work, but I couldn’t help laughing at how focused he looked.

“Jun, careful. You’ll drown the poor plants,” I teased.

He looked up at me.

“I know what I’m doing, Aya.”

Still, he watered more gently afterward, and before going back to work, he gave me a quick, playful wink.

I laughed for real that time.

The day passed in easy chatter like that, until the light slowly faded. While watering the rosal again, I noticed the last rays of the sun glinting over its leaves, making them look like they were glowing.

When Jun finally said goodbye, he waved.

“Aya, see you tomorrow. Nanay might send me again.”

“Sure, thanks,” I replied.

I stayed by the rosal, sitting cross-legged, continuing my sketch even as dusk deepened. I turned on the small desk lamp I always kept nearby for drawing, plugged into an extension cord from the quarters. It wasn’t bright, but enough to trace the shadows of the leaves.

My hand always felt light when holding a pencil. I could capture details quickly, even with just a glance. Tatay always said I had an eye for things others didn’t notice.

Then I looked up at my favorite tree. It was the mango tree at the far end of the yard. Big, old, heavy with fruits. Some had fallen, but many ripe ones were still high up where no one bothered to reach.

“Tomorrow, it’s your turn,” I whispered to it.

So the next day, I followed through with my plan.

“Don’t you climb that tree, okay?” Tatay shouted from the greenhouse, still focused on his seedlings.

“Yes, Tay,” I called back. But in my head, I’d already decided.

I wasn’t usually disobedient, but it was a waste to let those ripe mangoes go bad.

It was summer break anyway, and I helped Nanay and Tatay every day. I liked what they did. But sometimes, I wanted to do my own thing. And today, my mission was mango-picking.

As I walked toward the tree, I ran into Mang Tonyo, broom in hand and wearing his usual hat.

“Aya, where are you off to? Don’t go too far, your mother might look for you,” he reminded.

“Just behind the house, Mang Tonyo!” I shouted back, smiling.

The place was quiet, hardly anyone around.

I grabbed the short rope I’d hidden near the tree—good for pulling down low branches. But climbing was more fun.

“Okay, Aya… ninja mode,” I muttered to myself as I started to climb.

I was used to this. I’d been climbing trees since I was a kid back in the province. When I reached the higher branches, I was greeted by the golden-green sheen of the mangoes, their sweet scent thick in the air. I closed my eyes briefly, smiling.

I plucked one. Then another. I tucked them into the hem of my shirt. Perfect.

But as I reached for another mango near the top—

CRACK! A branch gave way beneath me.

“You’re going to fall.”

My eyes widened. A voice. Deep. Unexpected.

I looked down. And there he was.

Tall, in a crisp white shirt, hair neatly trimmed, a watch on his wrist that probably cost more than my father’s monthly salary. He was looking up directly at me. He wasn't angry, wasn't amused, but with something like quiet wonder in his eyes.

Sir Zedrick Madriaga.

My heart pounded so hard I almost lost my balance.

“N-no, sir,” I stammered, barely finding my voice. “I’m getting down now.”

He shook his head.

“You’re on the wrong branch. That one’s old, and it won’t hold you.”

He pointed to a thicker one.

“Use that instead.”

I froze for a moment. He didn’t yell. He didn’t scold me. Just… concern.

Carefully, I shifted my weight, gripped tighter, and climbed down slowly. It felt like forever before my feet finally touched the ground. My knees were shaking.

“Thank you, sir,” I said softly, unable to meet his eyes.

My hands were sticky with sap, leaves tangled in my hair, and I probably looked like a walking bird’s nest.

“Why are you picking mangoes?” he asked. His tone wasn’t harsh—if anything, it held a trace of amusement he tried to hide.

I glanced at the fruit in my hands.

“They just looked… too good to waste.”

He looked straight at me, and I met his gaze for a brief second. His eyes were dark brown, deep enough to make you want to keep looking.

“My sister Sofia loves mangoes, too,” he said. “She always asks our staff to get some for her.”

I blinked, trying to think of what to say.

“Ah, yes, sir. I see her sometimes in the kitchen.”

“I see.” He glanced at the mangoes. “You know which ones to pick. I was watching. You have a knack.”

I blushed.

“It’s… the smell, sir. If it’s sweet, it’s ripe.”

“Hmm. A good strategy.”

He tilted his head up to look at the tree again, then back at me.

“I’m Zed, by the way.”

A jolt went through me when he said it. Of course I knew who he was. But still, I smiled faintly.

“Amaraiah, sir. But you can call me Aya.”

“Aya,” he repeated. Simple, but it sounded like he was testing it on his tongue.

“It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Before leaving, he brushed some dust off a fallen mango. It was such a small gesture, but not the one I expected from him.

Then he looked back at me.

“Make sure you wash those. And don’t climb like that again. Your parents will worry.”

Before I could even answer, he was already walking away—toward the pathway, not looking back.

And me? I just stood there, holding two mangoes and feeling a strange warmth bloom in my chest. I couldn’t tell if it was embarrassment, nerves, or something else entirely.

When I got home, I still had the mangoes in hand. My palms were warm, but sweat cooled my neck. I wasn’t sure if it was from climbing... or from him.

Once inside the kitchen, I quickly hid the mangoes under a basket. If Nanay found out, I’d never hear the end of it.

“Aya?” she called from the laundry area. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Uh… I was helping Tatay,” I said, fumbling for an excuse.

She came out carrying wet clothes, giving me a long look.

“Be careful, okay? Don’t wander off. We can’t afford to cause trouble here.”

I just nodded.

“Yes, Nay.”

But even as I tried to act normal, that strange flutter in my chest wouldn’t go away. It wasn’t heaviness. But it felt more like a sweetness I couldn’t admit.

At dinner, we sat together as always. The smell of adobo and freshly cooked rice filled the air. It should have been comforting; it was my favorite. But my mind was elsewhere.

“Aya, eat up,” Tatay said, placing a piece of meat on my plate.

“Yes, Tay,” I replied absently.

Nanay noticed.

“You’re quiet. Something on your mind?”

I shook my head quickly.

“No, just tired.”

They exchanged looks.

I kept chewing, pretending to listen. But the truth was, a single name had already replaced every thought in my head.

After dinner, I stepped outside for some air. I ran into Jun, who was carrying a basin of water, his shirt soaked.

“Hey, Aya,” he said teasingly. “You look out of it.”

I frowned.

“Out of it? No, I’m not.”

He grinned.

“You’ve been daydreaming all day. What, did you see a ghost?”

“You’re ridiculous,” I said, turning away. But I still heard him laughing.

That night, lying in bed, the crickets were my only company. Under my blanket, I’d hidden the mangoes.

I tried to sleep, but his face kept returning. The way he pointed to the right branch, the calm way he said his name, and especially the sound of my name on his lips.

He didn’t smile. Yet something lingered. Not heaviness, but more like a quiet thrill I couldn’t explain.

I sighed. Nanay’s words echoed in my head...

Aya, focus on your studies. Don’t get carried away by silly things.

But tonight, I couldn’t help it. What if it wasn’t just concern or curiosity I saw in his eyes?

Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was just my imagination. I was young, and he... he belonged to another world.

But before I finally drifted off, the last thing I remembered was his voice, and my name in it.

And like the mango I’d risked climbing for, I knew it was dangerous.

But the sweetness of that memory was impossible to resist.