THE WEIGHT OF LIMP

Metro Manila, June 2016

Magnus Zumatra leaned against the balcony railing of his penthouse apartment in Makati, watching the city lights twinkle below like scattered diamonds. At thirteen, he was already taller than most of his classmates, his dark hair cut short, his brown eyes serious beyond his years. The brace on his left leg was lighter now, more of a support than a necessity, but it still reminded him every day of the fall that had changed his life.

“Magnus, dinner’s ready,” Delara called from inside. She was fifteen now, beautiful and confident, a regular presence in his home. She’d been by his side through every physical therapy session, every doctor’s appointment, every moment when he’d wanted to give up and never walk again.

“Coming,” he said, pushing off the railing and making his way inside. The limp was barely noticeable now, but he still hated it — hated the way people looked at him with pity, hated the way his mother fussed over him, hated the reminder that he wasn’t as strong as he wanted to be.

They ate in the dining room, his parents sitting at either end of the long table. Roberto Zumatra was as imposing as ever, his broad shoulders and deep voice commanding attention without trying. Elena Zumatra was smaller, her features delicate, her eyes always watching Magnus with a mixture of love and worry.

“Delara tells me you’re thinking of joining the debate team at school,” Roberto said, cutting into his steak. “That’s excellent. Public speaking is an important skill for a leader.”

Magnus nodded. “I want to be able to stand up for what I believe in. Like you do, Father.”

“Good man,” Roberto said, smiling. “And how are your studies going? We still expect you to take over the company one day.”

“I’m doing well,” Magnus said. “Top of my class in math and science.”

“Excellent,” Elena said, reaching across the table to touch his hand. “We’re so proud of you, anak. You’ve overcome so much.”

Magnus pulled his hand away gently. He hated that word — overcome. It made it sound like his leg was a problem to…something he’d fixed, rather than a part of who he’d become.

After dinner, Delara joined him in the study, where shelves lined with books stretched from floor to ceiling. She’d brought two glasses of mango shake — his favorite.

“Your mother was right,” she said, sitting across from him on the leather sofa. “You’ve done amazing things, Magnus. You never let your leg hold you back.”

“It doesn’t hold me back,” he said sharply, then softened his tone. “Sorry. I just… I don’t like being treated like I’m fragile.”

“I know,” she said, reaching out to touch his arm. “That’s why I’ve always admired you so much. You’re stronger than anyone I know.”

He looked at her, at the way her dark hair fell over her shoulders, at the kindness in her eyes. She’d been his rock for years now. When he’d woken up in the hospital all those years ago, she’d been the first face he’d seen, holding his hand and telling him everything would be okay. She’d never let him feel sorry for himself, never let anyone else make him feel less than he was.

“Do you ever think about Tera?” he asked suddenly.

Delara’s expression didn’t change, but he noticed her fingers tighten around her glass. “Sometimes. Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know,” he said, turning to look out the window at the city below. “I was cleaning out my old room today and found the chess set I made for her. I just… wonder what happened to her. If she’s okay.”

“Father says she’s in Europe, studying something medical,” Delara said casually. “She probably doesn’t think about us at all.”

But Magnus wasn’t so sure. He remembered the way Tera had looked at him when they were children — like he was the only person in the world who mattered. He remembered how she’d always let him win at hide-and-seek, how she’d shared her lunch with him when he forgot his, how she’d built forts with him even when Delara said it was childish.

“Do you really think she pushed me?” he asked.

Delara set her glass down carefully. “Magnus, you know I wouldn’t lie to you. I saw what happened — she was upset, she ran up the stairs ahead of you, and you fell trying to catch up. It was an accident, but she was scared and ran away instead of getting help.”

He wanted to believe her. He needed to believe her. But a small part of him — the part that still remembered Tera’s smile, her laugh, the way she’d never looked at his leg like it was a burden — couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.

“I should probably throw away that chess set,” he said, though he knew he never would.

“Do what you think is best,” Delara said, standing to leave. “Just remember who’s always been there for you.”

After she’d gone, Magnus pulled the old wooden chess set from his desk drawer. He ran his fingers over the white queen — the one he’d carved specially for Tera — and wondered if he’d ever see her again.