Chapter 3

“Good morning, anak.”

I heard my father’s voice before I even saw him.

I was by the kalachuchi tree, leaning lightly against the trunk with my sketchpad on my lap. One hand held a pencil; the other rested on the tree’s rough bark. Even with the heat and stickiness in the air, the fragrance of the blossoms softened everything. It’s a simple scent that felt like a quiet embrace.

“Good morning,” I answered, smiling a little.

My father was drenched in sweat as he arranged pots along the side of the greenhouse, but his movements stayed calm—like he never tired of planting.

“Hey, Aya!” Jun called, lugging a long hose. “Don’t stand there, you’ll get soaked.”

“I know, Jun. Go easy with that,” I said, hands on my hips, pretending to be stern.

He smirked. “You’re one to talk. You’re the one who’s always giggling around here.”

I rolled my eyes, then laughed. He was almost my age, but he always moved like an older brother, especially when he helped my father.

After sketching a few kalachuchi blossoms, I went over to the rosal and watered it carefully. Each drop sounded like a tiny beat in a song.

“You’re beautiful again today,” I whispered, as if it could hear me. “I hope you last until my next vacation.”

“You’re talking to that plant again?” Jun appeared beside me.

I arched a brow. “Yes. Why, got a problem with that?”

He shook his head, trying not to smile. “None. Nanay just says you’re weird for doing it. But look at your plants are lusher than everyone else’s.”

I couldn’t help smiling, even though I tried to play it cool. “That’s because they understand me.”

He shook his head in mock surrender. “You’re something else, Aya.”

Before I could answer, someone called out. “Aya!” My mother peeked from the quarters. “Ma’am Sofia is asking for you. She wants to see you.”

I froze. Ma’am Sofia?

“Right now?” I asked, a tight flutter in my chest.

“Yes. In the sunroom.”

I snapped my sketchpad shut, quickly smoothed my hair, and headed to the mansion.

The blast of air-conditioning and the sheen of marble greeted me as I stepped inside. The chandelier above looked like stars hanging from the ceiling. It was intimidating and inviting at the same time.

When I reached the room, I saw Ma’am Sofia on the big sofa with a thick book in her hands. She smiled the instant she saw me.

“Aya! You came,” she sang happily. “I’m bored to death in here, so I called for you.”

I sat at the end of the sofa, back straight. “What would you like to do, Ma’am Sofia?”

“Just stay. You can draw while I read. Otherwise I’ll die of boredom.”

I nodded, a small smile slipping out. I opened my sketchpad and began drawing the sunroom window, where the orchids were arranged. Their petals looked like crystal in the morning light; every curve felt like a secret whispered into the quiet. It was as if I’d never seen them this beautiful before.

We stayed silent until the door opened.

He walked in. My eyes widened.

Sir Zed.

There wasn’t anything particularly dramatic about the way he moved by just steady steps. But for me, the whole room shifted. His presence seemed to swallow the noise. The space felt smaller.

“Kuya!” Sofia called, delighted. “Look, Aya’s here with me.”

He stopped and glanced over. Our eyes met. It lasted only a second, but it was enough to freeze my hands and heat my cheeks. My heartbeat quickened, and I looked down at once.

“Mm.” His reply was brief before he went to the shelf.

“Kuya, can you keep Aya company for a while? I’ll just get some juice,” Ma’am said, standing up.

I stood too. “I can get it, Ma’am Sofia—”

She shook her head, grinning. “No need, Aya. Sit. Kuya won’t bite,” she teased, and slipped out.

We were left alone.

Only the ticking clock filled the room. It was so quiet that I forced myself to look busy with my drawing, but from the corner of my eye I saw him stop near the table.

“You draw?” His voice was low, almost a murmur.

Startled, I covered my sketchpad. “Y-yes. Sometimes.”

“Don’t cover it. What are you drawing now?”

I hesitated, then inched it toward him. It was the window and the orchids.

“This… because the light here is beautiful. It gives color even to the silence.” I stopped, realizing I’d said too much.

His tone softened. “That’s good. You notice the details.”

So simple, but the world seemed to pause. For a moment, all my focus gathered around him, and his voice. It was the gentleness that pressed against my chest.

He wasn’t as hard to talk to as I’d thought.

I shrugged a little. “It’s just… practice.”

He nodded slightly. “That’s how you learn. Details matter.”

I don’t know why, but I felt the weight of every word. It was as if he meant more than drawing.

When Ma’am Sofia returned, I nearly thanked her for breaking the spell.

She carried two glasses of juice. “Kuya, did you talk to Aya?”

He glanced up from the notebook in his hand. “Yes.”

“Good!” Sofia smiled and handed me a glass. “You should hang out with us more, Aya.”

“I might just get in the way,” I replied quickly.

“No way,” she laughed. “I’d rather have someone to talk to than be alone here.”

I couldn’t think of anything else to say, so I just smiled. As she walked out again to get another book, I thought about how different the two of them were.

On my way back to the quarters, my cheeks were still warm. Our conversation had been simple, but why couldn’t I forget it?

Along the path, I caught whispers from the household staff.

“They say Sir Zed will take over the business,” Aling Berta murmured.

“Yes, poor thing. It was such a heavy load projects and responsibilities. He hasn’t even had the chance to choose a life for himself,” Manang Belen added.

I bit my lip. Earlier he’d looked tireless to me. But hearing those whispers, I wondered about the burdens you couldn’t see. And somehow, I admired him even more.

Back in my room, I lay down. I tried to close my eyes, but his words kept coming back.

Details matter.

That simple line carved itself into my mind.

I shouldn’t feel this. I don’t even have a name for it. But there it was—quiet, insistent, impossible to ignore. I pulled the blanket over my head, clutching my sketchpad to my chest, and asked myself the same question...

Why does it feel different when it’s him who speaks?

And before I finally fell asleep, one thing was clear. It was unnamed, forbidden as it was, and it had already settled in. And I could no longer pretend it wasn’t there.