At the Edge of Day and Night

They say rain is peaceful, a lullaby for the broken. But as I stared out the window, watching the downpour smear the city in gray, I couldn't help but hate it. It ruins everything: my plans, my shoes, the way I feel about the day. 

It shows up uninvited, lingers too long, and always leaves a mess behind — kind of like men. People romanticize the rain, call it gentle, healing, soft. But I see it for what it is: a burden I have to prepare for, something I have to protect myself from. Just like men, I never face it without a shield — never without an umbrella.

But Tycen? He’s different. I met a lot of different guys in my nineteen years of existence, but this is the first time I met someone like him. Someone who never talks big, he didn’t even try to impress me with cheesy pick-up lines or long paragraphs. 

He didn't try to portray himself as a perfect person; he made mistakes and never rushed things with me. He’s a puzzle. I’m not too fond of mystery, but he’s so mesmerizing, which makes me wonder if I would ever be able to solve it. 

Sometimes I know him, sometimes I don’t. He reminds me of the moon. Only his little part was seen. 

Can I really do this? Can I tell him how I feel, even when it's clear we’re just friends? But if I keep this to myself, I might go crazy! I’ve never fallen for someone this hard before.

I picked up my phone, went through my Messenger, and clicked Tycen De Verra's account. 

Okay. 

I'll do it. 

I'll confess.

“Hi!” I typed and deleted it.

“Hey! What are you up to?”  I typed again and deleted it. Nah, too formal. 

We’ve been talking for nine months, but this is the first time I’ve ever caught myself wondering, how would I bring myself to him?

“Yo, what's up?” And I sent it. 

He read it right away and typed. I gasped. A tight knot formed in my stomach, twisting so hard I thought I’d be sick. I’d never felt this kind of nervousness before, like my whole body was holding its breath, waiting for him to shatter me or save me.

Those three dots beside his picture make my heart flutter. What the hell is wrong with me?

“Here, flirting with others.”

“You?” 

He replied. Okay. Is it a joke or what?

Okay, I need to calm down first and go with the flow. Chill. I breathed in and out before replying.

“For real? Hahaha, show me an example of you trying to flirt. Wanna see how much you suck with it.” I replied.

“I can’t think of anything to do besides flirting.”

“You’ve been playing games all day, don’t forget,” I reminded him gently.

It’s been a while since we talked. I’ve been juggling schoolwork and responsibilities at home, yet I still made time for him whenever I could.

But how could he think I only talk to him when I feel like it? When he knows exactly what I’m dealing with? If I truly just wanted to talk whenever I wanted, I’d be messaging him 24/7.

“Busy on schoolwork,” I replied to his message.

"You?"

“LOL. That's great, then. You're studying now for real.” He replied. My left eyebrow arched.

“Hey! You make it sound like I’m not serious about school!” I said, sitting up from where I was lying on the bed.

The truth is, he’s the reason I went back. He pushed me to try again, and he’s been checking in on me ever since.

“Yes, you're not.”

“Excuse me, I’m the most hardworking in our class! It’s just that I didn’t have any major subjects last semester,” I said.

He reacted with a ‘haha’ to my message, and just like that, I found myself smiling. 

“Oh, really? So just because it’s not a major subject, it’s okay not to take it seriously?”

“What the hell is wrong with you, Id. LMAO.” He replied. 

I love it when he calls me by that name—the one only he uses, the one that feels like mine because he gave it to me.

I was about to change the topic when he suddenly sent me a photo. At first, I thought it was just another meme—he always drops those out of nowhere. Sometimes it’s his face making some ridiculous expression, or a random shot of the sky—those are my favorites.

It's a girl. Her skin is as white as sugar, and the color of her eyes reminds me of almonds. Her hair is medium length and wavy—exactly his type. 

“That's her.”

“The one I’m flirting with right now.”

My heart sank.

I didn’t know what to say, or how I was even supposed to react. Suddenly, everything in me went quiet, numb.

I had no right to be mad. We’re just friends. That’s been clear from the start.

So what’s the big deal, Sydney? Come on, get it together.

But no matter how much I tried to reason with myself, it still hurt.

“That's cool,”  I replied. 

“HAHAHAHA." He replied.

And then it hit me—I did the same thing to him.

Back then, I was so scared of falling that I kept looking the other way. I distracted myself with other guys, kept talking to them, even when he was already right there.

Damn it.

“Well, actually, I’m already famous in LifeAfter,” he said—it was the game he introduced to me.

“Every girl there keeps bothering me to cohabit.”

I rolled my eyes and tossed my phone to the other side of the bed. Then I buried my face into my favorite pillow—Winnie the Pooh.

Does he really not like me? Not even a little?

Am I not attractive to him at all? Or is it because I kept pushing him away—and now he’s finally learned how to live without me?

Maybe I made it too easy for people to walk away. Maybe I’ve always been easy to leave.

I shouldn’t be this sad.

I told myself that, over and over.

I’ve known this from the beginning—people come and go.

I’ve been left behind before.

This one… this one shouldn’t hurt too badly.

I consoled myself with that lie, hoping one day it might feel like the truth.

I sit again and pick up my phone.

“Don’t forget me when you get famous,” I joked, hitting send. He saw it right away and started typing.

“How I wish in real life, too.”

You’re already loved, Tycen. By so many people around you.

You just don’t see it—your eyes are always half-closed to the ones who matter.

“What a greedy person.”

“You’ll regret that,” I teased.

“How so?”

“I know you know how attractive I am. It’s exhausting trying to stay humble,” I said, trying to lighten the mood.

“Pft. What a joke.”

I laughed softly, but deep down… I didn’t want this to end. I didn’t want us to end.

Then he dropped the next message:

“But you know what? That girl—she’s kind of taller than you.”

Ouch.

I stood up, walked to my study table, and threw myself on the swivel chair with a low, frustrated growl.

“You like her?”

Please say no.

I begged silently.

“Of course.”

Damn it.

“I thought you hated Koreans?” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady, even in text. The emotions were rising—unnecessary, maybe, but real all the same.

I tapped my right shoulder with my left hand, gave myself a small nod. Sat up straighter. Placed both hands on the table, trying to hold myself together.

“I like everyone,” he said.

“She’s not pure.”

“She’s half German.”

I reacted with a dry “Haha” to his message. Not pure. Half German… half Shepherd? I thought bitterly.

“And she’s also taking engineering. Just like you.”

Do I really have to sit through this? Listen to him talk about another girl? Again?

“HAHAHAHA,” I replied.

“HAHAHAHA,” he echoed.

And somehow, those four letters suddenly felt heavier than anything else he had said.

“That's cool.”

“Why?”

“I don't know why it happened like this.”

“What?”

“HAHAHA, I no longer know. It's all up to you.”

After that, our conversation continued—but he was distracted, and I couldn’t understand him anymore.

Still, I tried. I really tried to understand him, even when it felt like he was slowly pushing me away.

So after a while, I stopped replying.

Maybe we were only meant to meet as friends. Maybe that’s all we’ll ever be.

But this—us—will always have a space in my heart.

You are the only rain I never wanted to end.

You made me dance in the rain when I thought I’d be only a mess in it.

I stared at my phone, scrolling through our conversation.

I went back to the beginning—to the very first message.

It was from him. He messaged me first.

I smiled bitterly, the taste of regret settling on my tongue.

There’s no going back now.

And if I don’t confess soon… There might never be another right time.

What am I so afraid of?

The sound of aggressive knocking snapped me out of my thoughts. I had been lost in memories, thinking about Tycen and everything that happened between us three months ago.

Then Paris's voice echoed.

“Mom!”

Paris stood in the doorway, her eyes wide, panting. She clutched her right hand to her chest and used the other to steady herself against the doorframe.

I didn’t even ask. I rushed past her.

My heart pounded as I sprinted toward Mom’s room. I barged in, just like Paris had, and the sight stopped me cold.

She was lying on the floor. Motionless.

Everything after that felt like instinct. My body moved before I could even think. I dropped to my knees beside her, gently tapping her cheeks, my voice trembling as I called out to her.

“Mom… Mom, please.”

"Mom, mom, can you hear me?" I tried to steady my voice, making it loud and clear. Don't shake. I reminded myself. 

No response.

I heard Paris' footsteps rushing up behind me.. I took a deep breath to steady myself..

“Mom? Mom, can you hear me?”

I tried to steady my voice—loud, clear, firm. Don’t shake, I told myself. Don’t panic.

No response.

I heard Paris’ footsteps rushing up behind me. I took a deep breath to steady myself.

“Paris, call Papu,” I said, calm but urgent, eyes still locked on Mom’s motionless body.

Paris quickly turned and ran back to my room. Then—crash. Something broke.

“Calm down!” I shouted—not harshly, just enough to snap her out of it. I heard her exhale sharply, then the sound of the call connecting. G-Pops answered.

I turned back to Mom, focusing all my attention on her.

I called her name again and again, tapping her cheek gently.

I checked for signs of life—pulse, breathing. She’s breathing. She’s still with us.

Papu arrived soon after, and we brought her to the hospital.

Now, I stood in front of Doctor Del Rosario again.

Familiar white walls. Familiar faces.

The kind of déjà vu that made your chest tighten.

I once promised myself that if I ever saw these people again—the nurses, the doctors—I’d meet them under better circumstances. That I wouldn't be standing here as my mom’s guardian again.

But here I was.

And all I could think was—I failed her.

Again.

What have I even been doing this past year?

I went back to school. I started smiling again. I let myself breathe a little. I thought things were fine. I thought she was fine.

I thought I was doing okay. That I wasn’t lacking.

But if that were true… then why am I here again?

Why am I standing in front of Dr. Del Rosario as my mom's guardian again? Why do I see the same faces again? 

We promised each other to meet in a different situation, not this! Dr. Del Rosario smiled at me. I see it again, the smiles I used to see every second of a month. I hate it to death; I hate those sympathy smiles. 

Paris tapped my shoulder; I looked at her, and she pointed at the window. I turned, and there she was. Mom. Sitting up. Waving at me.

I felt a burning sensation inside my eyes, and tears started to well up. Even my mouth starts to waver. 

I waved back, then turned and nodded at Paris. She nodded back and started asking the doctor questions.

I walked away and headed for the Social Services Office.

When I knocked and opened the door, Ma’am Maricar and Ma’am Chiha both looked up, stunned. They were both shocked to see me. I smiled at them, different from the smile I used to wear when I saw them before.

"Sydney!" they said in unison. 

I bowed slightly. “Good evening, Ma’am,” I greeted, stepping in.

They stood and walked toward me. Ma’am Chiha took my hand and smiled—the same smile that warmed my frozen heart last year.

“What brings you here? Missed us?” she teased.

I chuckled lightly and held her hand that was holding mine.

"Mom was unconscious for an hour… I panicked; that's why we're here. But she's good now. I guess.", I whispered. 

Ma'am Chiha squeezed my hand. She reminds me of Mom. Her smile, her jokes, and the way she talked to me.

"You did great, Syd." Ma'am Maricar smiled warmly as she gently patted my hair. "All of us here at the hospital—we’re so proud of you."

I felt that familiar burning in my eyes again, and this time, my throat was so dry it ached.

"It's alright to cry now," she said softly. "You deserve to let it out."

I looked at Ma'am Maricar, then at Ma'am Chiha, and without a word, I wrapped my arms around them both.

"Thank you.", I whispered. 

They gave me another twenty percent discount voucher again, and I bid goodbye and headed straight to the cashier. Luckily, I saved up money, and the bill wasn't that pricey. Ma'am Chiha and Ma'am Maricar are lifesavers! 

When I returned to the ER, Dr. Del Rosario was still there. He was checking something on the patient's chart. He looked up, and our eyes met.

“I already explained everything to your sister,” he said. “Why did your mom lose consciousness, and what to do next.”  Dr. Del Rosario said. I smiled a little and nodded my head. I wonder why he's in the ER. Maybe because he's my mom's doctor after all.

"Thank you, Doc.", I told him.

"Good job, Sydney, you did so great!" He patted my right shoulder, his smile warm and genuine.

"I'm done seeing that hard look on your face every time we cross paths," he added with a chuckle.

I cracked up at his joke, and he laughed too.

"That’s right—smile. We’re all so proud of you. You’ve matured a lot."

I nodded, silent but grateful. He walked past me, and I turned toward Mom’s bed.

Papu was asleep in the chair beside her. Paris and Mom were talking and laughing like nothing had happened, as if the world hadn’t almost collapsed just hours ago.

I stopped in my tracks, just watching them.

I can’t go through that hell again.

Please, Lord… help me. Help me be better than this. Don’t take Mom away from Paris. She’s too young. She still needs her.

And Mom… she deserves better than this.

I picked up my phone from my pocket and called an Uber. I sighed and smiled first before continuing to walk. Paris and Mom looked at me at the same time.

"How do you feel?" I asked Mom gently.

She raised her left hand, wiggling her fingers as if unsure what to sign. After a moment of playful hesitation, she lifted her middle finger and said, "Good."

We all burst out laughing the moment she realized she had just flipped us off.

"Ay!" Mom quickly fixed her fingers and gave us a thumbs up instead.

Paris and I nodded, smiling. She went right back to chatting with Mom.

"I'll just go check on the Uber. Paris, wake Papu and help Mom get up," I told her before heading out.

When we got home, Papu left right away. I asked him to stay the night since it was already late, but he insisted on going home.

Later, I went to Mom’s room to check on her. She was already asleep. Still, I gently woke her up—just to make sure she was okay.

She opened her eyes, saw me, and smiled.

"Good night, Mom.", I whispered, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

"Good night.", she replied in a sleepy voice. 

I silently closed the door and checked on Paris's room. She's at her table doing her assignment. I checked the time, and it was already one in the morning. I knocked lightly and got her attention. She slid her headphones on her neck and looked at me.

"What?" she asked, her tone neutral but not cold. I leaned on the door.

"Thank you.", I said softly and slowly walked towards her. 

I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her into a tight hug. She hugged me back without hesitation.  "You better stop doing that now and get some sleep. I'll help you with that tomorrow.", I  said gently as I pulled away.

"Good night," she said.

“Good night,” I whispered, then kissed her forehead.

When I reached my room, I slammed myself onto the bed. What a night. My eyes were heavy, but I still had to clean up, lock the doors, and fix the mess we left. I groaned, dragging myself up with all the resentment I could muster. I grabbed my phone, planning to turn on the flashlight—

—But my eyes froze.

Messenger.

Notifications.

Tycen.

I dropped my phone on the bed like it was on fire. My hands flew to my chest, where my heart was now pounding like a drumline.

No. No way.

I slowly turned toward my phone again, breathing like I’d just run a marathon.

Was it really him?

It was.

Tycen.

I spun around, one hand on my forehead, the other on my hip.

Damn it.

Did I accidentally click something on our old chat? Did I react to something? Why is he messaging me?

He has a girlfriend.

And me? I was finally halfway through moving on—fifty percent! That’s progress!

I can’t go back to zero. I won’t.

But I picked up the phone anyway.

Boldly. Stupidly.

And opened the message.

"Id."

That’s it. That’s all his message said.

Only one person calls me that. What a rude jerk.

I chuckled to myself, shaking my head. Still the same Tycen.

I glanced at the timestamp—6:50 p.m.

I checked the time now—1:30 a.m.

Damn.

Why now? Why you?

I typed: "Hey."

Sent.

Delivered.

Why am I panicking?

Shit.

He saw it.

Now he's typing.

"It's ok. HAHAHAHA"

Okay—what?

I sat on my swivel chair and leaned back, letting it spin slowly in a counterclockwise motion. My mind was racing, but my body? Just floating.

"It's nothing. I just wanted to open up."

I stopped spinning.

Leaned forward.

Elbow on the desk. Chin in hand.

Weird.

Why me?

We hadn’t talked in months, and now he’s suddenly here, wanting to “open up”?

How am I supposed to say no, when I’ve been dying to hear from him?

"Yeah, sure. What happened?"

I already have a hunch. But please, not that. I root for your happiness, always. I just hope this isn’t the kind of pain I’ve been bracing for.

"I liked someone, these last months."

Pain. That’s the only word I know right now. While I watched those three dots blink. My heart kept whispering—don’t do this. please.

But I stayed.

Because he listened to me once, when no one else did.

And this—this isn’t a sin, right?

Just listening.

Just… being there.

Even when it hurts.

"She's rich and intelligent. She's kinda hard to reach."

"She likes me too."

"So we kinda fling."

"But now we reached the point of toxicity."

"Since she's brilliant, I decided to keep up with her."

"I studied harder, even though I always told you to work smart—but I suddenly worked hard. Lol."

"I got tired."

"I got things to do but still managed to give her time."

"I don’t even have time for myself."

I stared at the screen until my eyes blurred, then closed the tab altogether. I leaned back and let my head fall against the chair, neck stiff and heart heavy.

That’s exactly what I felt, Tycen.

Exactly.

I followed you and lost myself, too.

You told me I only talked to you whenever I wanted — But you never saw that I made time even when I couldn’t afford to. You didn’t see the guilt, the mental gymnastics just to balance everything, 

The responsibility I carry that you’ll never understand. And still, I always tried.

I opened the tab again. Four unread messages. And he was still typing.

"She even threatened me that she’ll leave me."

"Since I don’t give her attention."

"And she told me that she has someone new."

"Which is obviously an upfront."

"I just can’t understand."

"It’s tiring."

"I told her that her reason was too shallow."

"Tsh."

What the hell do you want me to say?

I stared blankly at the blinking cursor.

I’m not your therapist.

I’m not your emotional rebound.

I’m not your safety net.

But I am still in love with you.

And that’s the sickest part.

So I typed: “Damn.”

That’s all I could say.

That one word carried everything I couldn't afford to let slip.

And then—

Shit, the door!

I jumped up from the chair, grabbed the padlock from the shelf, and ran out.

Locked the gate.

Shut the front door.

Tossed the dishes in the sink and covered them like muscle memory.

Everything automatic. Everything was a blur.

Back in my room, I collapsed into my chair and checked my phone again.

He replied.

"What?"

Of course. You always want an explanation from me. But when I needed one, you gave me silence.

"That's sad."

"Yeah, I know. I really liked our story, though. It was beautiful."

"But I guess... we're not meant to be."

"We’re both too shallow."

"She’s kind, beautiful—but narrow-minded."

"Are you giving up on her?"

Why am I even asking this? What do I want to hear?

"Luckily, I cut ties with her. She controls me too much."

"Plus, the family problems."

A quiet heaviness settled in. I could feel it from him — the sadness, the disappointment, the love that was still there despite it all. And I didn’t want to be part of that.

Not as his escape.

Not as his "maybe."

Not again.

I shifted the conversation.

"How are you?"

"I'm good, actually. On the way to making the dean’s list."

"HAHAHAHA"

"I'm bad at telling stories, sorry."

I smiled faintly. He's still the same.

I still like him.

And I still want out of this conversation before it eats me alive.

"That's cool!"

"Yeah, but was it really like that?"

"I mean… is that how it works? Why can’t she understand?"

Ask yourself that, Tycen.

Because I’ve been trying to answer the same damn question for months.

"Maybe because she doesn’t experience what you're going through. Maybe that’s why she can’t understand?"

"What a lame reason."

So it’s not your reason then? What is?

"She told me I treat her badly."

"When all she ever wanted was attention."

And there it is. The answer. The irony. Of course, that’s why you’re hooked on her. You’re both mirrors of each other—desperate for attention, then blaming the world when it’s not enough.

I chuckled quietly.

"Aww."

It was all I could type. Because if I kept talking, I’d start roasting him. And God, did I want to.

Then he asked, "What about you? How are you?"

I rolled my eyes. What a shift. Too little, too late.

"Except for being pretty?"

"Foul."

"Yeah, I'm good."

"Well, thank you for today."

"Always. Good night!"

"Good night, Syndi."

That name. Only he calls me that. It still stings, even when it makes me smile.