CHAPTER TWO

The world is quietest at 5:00 AM. In the heart of the city, before the jeepneys begin their cacophonous roar and the heat of the sun turns the pavement into an oven, there is a blue, cool stillness. I arrived at the bakery just as the first light began to bleed through the smog. Mr. Baker was already there, his silhouette visible through the frosted glass of the shopfront.

​"You know, Mr. Baker," I said, lifting a heavy tray of freshly baked pandesal to the display shelf, "you really ought to consider a full-time apprentice. Someone who doesn't have to run off to differential calculus in the middle of the morning."

​Mr. Baker paused, a dusting of flour on his apron looking like a map of a distant galaxy. He shook his head slowly. "No, Harris. I’m contented with you. Besides, if I hire some stranger to take over the day shift, where does that leave you? You’d be out of a job, and I’d be stuck with someone who doesn’t know how to stack the bread properly."

​"It’s okay," I insisted, though my stomach tightened at the thought of losing the steady income. "I could find something else. I just worry about you being here alone when I’m at school. And... I wanted to talk to you about the envelope from yesterday. You gave me two thousand, five hundred pesos. My salary is only three hundred. I brought the rest back."

​I reached into my pocket, but Mr. Baker let out a booming laugh that echoed off the tiled walls. "Funny kiddo! Did you even bother to read the note I tucked in there? Keep your money, Harris. I didn’t miscount; I gave it to you because I wanted to. Consider it a bonus for dealing with an old man’s grumbling."

​He turned back to the counter, dismissing my protests with a wave of his hand. "And I don't need anyone else ‘accompanying’ me. You’re enough of a headache as it is."

​As the clock struck 7:00 AM, the city began to wake. The silence was replaced by the distant honking of horns. I gathered my worn-out backpack, checking to make sure my notebooks were tucked away.

​"Mr. Baker, I have to go. Classes start soon," I said, heading for the door.

​"Wait!" he barked. He scurried to the counter, rummaging through a stack of brown paper bags until he produced a sturdy, insulated lunch box. He thrust it into my hands.

​"What's this?" I asked, feeling the unexpected weight of it.

​"It's lunch. Now get moving before the guards lock the gate on you. Enjoy that 'cheap' food," he said with a wink, literally pushing me out the door.

​I walked toward the university, the lunch box clutched to my chest. In a world where my own father treated me like an invisible stain on his reputation, this old baker was feeding me. It was a debt I wasn't sure I could ever repay.

​

​By noon, the humidity had reached its peak. The university cafeteria was a swarming hive of students in crisp uniforms, laughing over expensive lattes and air-conditioned comfort. I took my usual route up the back stairwell to the rooftop. Up here, the wind blew harder, and I didn't have to feel the sting of being the "poor kid" among the elite.

​I sat on the ledge and opened the lunch box. My breath caught. Mr. Baker hadn't just packed me leftovers; he had prepared a feast. Slices of tender beefsteak swimming in onions and soy sauce sat beside a vibrant vegetable salad and two scoops of perfectly steamed rice. It was still warm.

​"Thank you, Lord," I whispered to the sky. "And thank you, Mr. Baker."

​The food was incredible—rich, savory, and cooked with a level of skill that belonged in a five-star hotel. I ate every grain of rice, savoring the fact that for once, I wasn't just fueling my body; I was being nourished. I spent the next hour lost in a business textbook, the sun warming my back until the lines of text began to blur.

​The silence of the rooftop, combined with the heavy meal and a week of four-hour sleep cycles, finally caught up to me. I leaned my head back against my bag, intended to just close my eyes for a minute.

​The next thing I felt was a gentle, persistent shaking of my shoulder.

​"Hey, sleepyhead! Wake up. The world didn't stop just because you did."

​The voice was melodic, floating through the hazy fog of my dreams. I struggled to pull myself back to reality, squinting against the late afternoon sun. Sitting there, looking down at me with an amused expression, was the girl from the waiting shed.

​"Hey... it’s already dismissal time. Are you planning on sleeping here all night?" she asked.

​I bolted upright, my heart racing. "What? Dismissal? How long was I out?" I checked my watch and groaned. I had missed my two most important afternoon lectures. My scholarship depended on attendance, and the weight of my failure crashed down on me. I buried my face in my hands. "I skipped my classes. I can't believe I did that."

​A soft hand landed on my shoulder. "It’s okay. Don't stress yourself out. Everyone crashes sometimes."

​I looked at her, truly seeing her for the first time in the afternoon. She was beautiful in a way that felt effortless. "What are you even doing up here this late?" I asked.

​She didn't answer directly. Instead, she looked toward the stairwell door. "We need to get out of here. The guards lock the roof and the main gates by 6:00, and it's already five-fifty. Come on!"

​Before I could grab my lunch box, she seized my hand. Her skin was incredibly soft—the kind of softness that came from a life without manual labor. She pulled me toward the stairs, and we ran.

​We reached the main gate just as the heavy iron bars clicked into place. The security guard was already walking toward the guardhouse, ignoring our shouts.

​"Oh, no," she whispered, her shoulders sagging. "What now?"

​I felt a wave of guilt wash over me. "I'm so sorry. If you hadn't stayed to wake me up, you'd be home by now. This is entirely my fault."

​"Don't say sorry," she replied, her voice soft. We realized then that we were still holding hands. We pulled apart instantly, both of us looking in opposite directions, the air between us suddenly thick with awkwardness.

​"Is there a back gate?" she suggested.

​"The gates in this school are automated," I explained. "Once they're locked, they stay locked until the morning shift. Do you have a phone?"

​"My battery died an hour ago," she sighed. "I was waiting for my ride, but I wandered up to the roof because... well, I saw you go up there earlier." She blushed, a deep crimson that reached her ears. "What about yours?"

​"I don't have one," I answered honestly. In a school where everyone had the latest iPhone, admitting you didn't own a cellphone was like admitting you didn't have a pulse.

​She didn't judge me, though. Her eyes just grew wide as the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long, jagged shadows across the campus. "It's getting dark. This place is huge and... kind of scary at night."

​"Don't scare yourself," I said, trying to sound braver than I felt.

​"I'm terrified of the dark," she admitted, instinctively reaching out and grabbing my arm.

​I reached into my bag and pulled out a small, rugged flashlight I kept for the early morning walks to the bakery. I clicked it on, and the beam cut through the gloom.

​"Boy scout, huh?" she teased, her grip on my arm loosening just a bit as she smiled.

​"Something like that," I said. "I'm Harris, by the way. I realize we've spent a lot of time in the rain and in the dark without actually meeting."

​"I'm Kelly," she replied. "But everyone calls me Kel."

​We began to walk toward the administration building, hoping to find a night watchman. As we walked, the reality of my situation hit me. I was trapped. I was missing my night shift. Mr. Baker was alone at the counter, likely wondering where I was. I stopped walking, my mind racing.

​"Are you okay? Why did you stop?" Kelly asked, her voice trembling. "You're scaring me."

​"I'm just thinking about my job," I confessed. "I'm supposed to be at work right now. My boss... he's an old man. He relies on me."

​Kelly looked at me with confusion. "You're worried about a job? You go to this school, Harris. You’re smart. You’re probably from some wealthy family—don't tell me you're stressed about a part-time gig."

​I looked at her—really looked at her—and realized she couldn't even conceive of a life where a missed shift meant a missed meal. I didn't correct her. Instead, I took her hand. It was cold, shivering from the evening chill.

​"Just hold my hand," I said, looking her directly in the eyes. "If you're scared, stay close. I'm not going anywhere."

​For the next hour, we wandered the perimeter. The school felt like a haunted fortress. We eventually found ourselves sitting on the steps of the chapel, the only place with a working floodlight. We talked about small things—music, the books we liked, the weird habits of our professors. For a few hours, the gap between the billionaire’s daughter and the baker’s apprentice didn't seem so wide.

​Finally, we saw the sweeping beams of flashlights.

​"Kelly! Over here!" a woman’s voice called out.

​Kelly let go of my hand and ran toward a panicked-looking woman in a formal uniform "Nanny Petty!"

​As the guards opened the side gate and the black SUV idling outside pulled forward, Kelly turned back to look at me. She looked like she wanted to say something, but her nanny whisked her into the car. The guards lingered, eyeing me with suspicion.

​"Next time, no more couples hiding out after hours," one guard grumbled. "Or we'll report you to the Dean."

​I apologized and walked into the night. It was 8:00 PM. My shift was over, and I had failed everyone.

​At 4:00 AM the next morning, I was at the bakery door before Mr. Baker even arrived. When he saw me, his eyebrows shot up.

​"Hey, kid. You vanished last night. I had to close the shop myself. Do you have any idea how many people wanted ensaymada at seven o'clock?"

​"I am so sorry, Mr. Baker. I got locked inside the school. I fell asleep on the roof and didn't wake up until the gates were shut." I hung my head, expecting a lecture.

​Instead, he let out a soft sigh. "You fell asleep because you're exhausted, Harris. You're working twenty hours a day. You're human, not a machine." He patted my shoulder as we went inside. "I guess you were right. Maybe I do need to hire another pair of hands."

​"Really?" I asked, surprised.

​"On one condition," he said, pointing a flour-covered finger at me. "You’re the one who has to find them. I don’t trust anyone else's judgment."

​We worked in silence for a while, the familiar rhythm of the bakery soothing my frayed nerves. As I mopped the floor, I thought about the beefsteak from the day before.

​"Mr. Baker, that lunch... it was incredible. You really should open a restaurant. You’re wasting your talent on just bread."

​"A restaurant?" He snorted. "What for? I’m an old man, Harris. I don't need millions of pesos or a chain of stores. I just need enough to keep the ovens warm."

​"Don't say that," I said, stopping the mop. "You could live a long time. You could see your own brand everywhere."

​"Hahaha! Don't get all sentimental on me, kid. I'm still here today, aren't I?" He disappeared into the back and returned with another small bag.

"Here. Take this. It’ll help."

​I knew what was inside. More than just food, it was a gesture of belief.

​"I appreciate it, Mr. Baker. Truly. I just hope you stay around long enough to see me graduate. I’m going to need a chef for my victory party."

​We laughed together, the sound rising with the steam from the ovens. I looked at my hands—the hands that had held Kelly's the night before—and realized that while I might have nothing in my bank account, I was starting to have everything that actually mattered.