Chapter 4

The mansion was quiet at night.

Not like in the barrio, where you could hear crickets, barking dogs, and the laughter of neighbors. Here, the silence was different. It was more orderly, and almost rhythmic. The soft footsteps of house staff in the hallway, the faint rustle of curtains, the distant clinking of dishes from the kitchen.

I was at the back, helping Nanay and Manang Belen prepare for dinner. The scent of nilagang baka filled the air, mixed with the aroma of freshly cooked rice and the faint sweetness of wine prepared for the table.

“Aya, bring this pitcher of water to the dining room,” Nanay instructed.

She didn’t look at me, her focus on arranging dessert.

“Me?” I asked, pausing with wet hands from washing.

“Yes. Just go straight in, set it down at the end of the table, and come right back.”

I took a deep breath, wiped my hands, and lifted the heavy pitcher. Before stepping out, I checked my reflection in the cabinet’s glass and smoothed my hair, tucking away stray strands.

When I pushed open the large double doors, a rush of cool air from the dining hall greeted me. The long table stretched across the room, where the Madriaga family sat.

At the center was Don Alfredo Madriaga—his back straight, his presence was calm yet commanding. He was like a professor who didn’t need to speak to be respected. On his right sat Ma’am Celeste, composed and elegant, but her gaze was sharp enough to see things you tried to hide.

At the far end was Ma’am Sofia, who waved the moment she saw me.

“Aya!” she whispered brightly, careful not to draw too much attention.

And beside her was Sir Zed. Silently focused on his plate, lifting his glass. His eyes flicked briefly toward me before lowering again. He didn’t say a word, but that single glance was enough to make heat crawl up my ears.

I forced myself not to freeze in place.

I walked forward slowly and placed the pitcher on the table.

“Good evening, po.”

For a brief second, everyone looked at me.

“Who is this?” Ma’am Celeste asked. Her tone was calm, but her words cut sharp. “Do we have new help?”

It felt like a splash of cold water. I didn’t know if I should answer, but Sofia spoke up first.

“No, Mama. This is Aya,” she said quickly. “Mang Ben and Aling Myrna’s daughter. She’s helping them this summer, and she’s my friend.”

Friend. The word felt warm, like a gift I didn’t expect. As if she had quietly pulled out a chair for me at a table I didn’t belong to.

She smiled.

“She’s really good with plants. And she draws beautifully. Sometimes she keeps me company in the sunroom.”

Ma’am Celeste’s brows creased slightly, weighing Sofia’s words. She didn’t respond right away, but the silence carried weight.

“She’s pretty. And young.” Her tone wasn’t kind or cruel... just assessing.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Sir Zed move slightly. He dabbed his lips with a napkin and glanced my way. It was so quick I might’ve missed it if I hadn’t been watching him.

“Ben’s daughter?” Don Alfredo asked, his voice low but clear. “How old are you, hija?”

“Sixteen, po,” I answered fast, hardly breathing.

He nodded, as if calculating something.

“So you’ll be in college soon. Do you know what course you want to take?”

My nerves tightened. I couldn’t say nothing, so I gathered my courage.

“Agriculture, po.”

Sofia let out a small, delighted “Wow!” while Ma’am Celeste’s gaze only grew more intent. I could feel Sir Zed pause, his glass halfway lifted.

Don Alfredo smiled faintly.

“Agriculture? That’s rare for girls your age. Most would say business, medicine, or law.”

I exhaled slowly, steadying my voice. “I just want to show that what my father does matters. That being a gardener isn’t just a job.”

The room fell quiet, and I could hear my heartbeat echo in my ears.

Don Alfredo nodded. “That’s admirable. We need more people who see value in what others overlook. Study well, and you’ll go far.”

A small smile tugged at my lips, warmth blooming in my chest. But that warmth froze under Ma’am Celeste’s next words.

“Ambitious words for someone your age,” she said coolly. “I hope you understand that it’s not easy.”

Her tone wasn’t loud, but her gaze carried a chill that pricked at my skin. My face burned, and I looked down.

Dinner went on. They talked about business. About land development in another town, a new greenhouse project. I stayed quiet, pouring water where needed.

When I reached Sir Zed, his head was lowered. He looked up briefly as I poured into his glass.

“Thank you,” he murmured softly, barely audible over the table chatter.

I almost froze again, nearly spilling the water. But I managed to nod and step back, though my pulse wouldn’t slow. His voice echoed louder in my mind than the rest of the conversation combined.

“Zed will handle most of the groundwork,” Don Alfredo said, turning to his son.

Sir Zed gave his father a reserved nod. Responsibility seemed to rest on him like second nature.

“Aya,” Sofia called suddenly, “you should show Mama your sketchpad sometime! She draws the garden so well.”

I nearly dropped the pitcher. “Oh, no, Ma’am Sofia…”

I glanced nervously at Mrs. Madriaga, who didn’t seem eager to entertain her daughter’s enthusiasm.

But Sofia kept smiling. “She’s shy but really talented.”

From across the table, Zed looked up again. Just a brief look, but it was enough to hold me still.

“If you’re serious about it,” he said in a low voice, “keep drawing. Small things become big when you do them consistently.”

His tone was unexpectedly gentle. Those were simple words, but they sank deep.

“Th-thank you,” I whispered, barely audible.

I caught Mrs. Madriaga’s eyes flick toward her son, then back to me—a silent signal that I could leave now.

So when I returned to the kitchen, I set the pitcher down quickly. Nanay and Manang Belen were both watching me, expectant.

“Still alive,” Manang Belen joked, while laughing softly.

“What happened?” Nanay asked simply.

“Nothing. I just served the water,” I said, trying to sound casual.

But inside, everything was still vivid—the cold sharpness of Ma’am Celeste’s stare, and the quiet, unreadable way Sir Zed had looked at me.

Later, lying in bed with my unused sketchpad in hand, I opened it and looked at my drawing of the kalachuchi. I remembered Don Alfredo’s words and Zed’s.

You’ll go far.

Keep drawing.

I smiled faintly, though I didn’t know why. Maybe it was because, for once, something that mattered to me had also mattered to someone else.

But then Ma’am Celeste’s image returned. Those watchful eyes, calm yet capable of cutting down dreams with a single remark.

And I realized maybe it was a mistake to let their family notice me at all. My world was small, while theirs was vast. Maybe I’d be safer staying invisible.

But how could I hide now? When I’d already heard my own name spoken from Sir Zed’s lips?

I closed my eyes and hugged my sketchpad tight. I didn’t know where all this would lead, but one thing was certain...

I would never forget the first night when I faced all of them, together, at the same table.