Part 1 "I’m Yam"

😎 "I’m Yam" 

I’m Yam. Don’t ask about the name—it’s pointless. Not exotic or poetic, and certainly not short for “yummy.” More like “yamot”—fate’s way of saying it’s annoyed I exist. I’m 24 years old and five-foot-three of sarcastic, tan, semi-delusional energy. Some say I’m weird. I say weird is giving me too much credit.

Now, let’s skip the intro. You don’t need a full resume for what happened that night.

It was 10pm. I was trudging through Eskineta Madilim Street—a narrow back-alley with zero lights and infinite bad vibes. If purgatory had an address, this would be it. The shadows hung heavy like regret. This wasn’t your average creepy place. This was “don’t breathe too loud or you might summon something” territory.

I was halfway through the alley when I heard it.

“Help...”

Cue goosebumps. It wasn’t loud, but it reverberated like a whisper inside a coffin. I froze for a millisecond, decided ghosts probably weren’t real, and kept walking.

“Help, I said! You son of a—”

Whoa. Did this ghost just curse at me?

That’s new.

You’d think a wandering soul would be polite while begging for salvation. Not this one. Rude.

I stopped and scanned the area. Nothing. I whispered to myself, “I swear I’m not high... why am I hearing voices like I’m chasing dragons?”

I picked up my pace. Fast. My nerves? Shot.

“Hey!!! Where do you think you’re going?! I said HELP ME, asshole!!”

Okay. Pause. Was the ghost... speaking English now?

Asshole???

Who taught the spirit modern slang? Was it watching N*****x in the afterlife?

“Damn it, ghost! Shut it and follow the light already!” I shouted, full Pinoy sass.

Dogs howled in protest like they’d just witnessed paranormal disrespect.

Then came a response I didn’t expect.

“What light? There’s no freaking light here, man! Look UP! I’m hanging here!”

I looked.

And—no lie—it was like laundry on a line. But instead of shirts, it was a dude. His legs were looped through wire like spaghetti gone rogue. The rest of him hung upside-down, head dangerously close to cracking against concrete.

“What the hell are you doing up there?” I gasped.

“Save the questions. Just get me down, please!”

He was desperate—but also kind of... absurd?

Still, I hunted around for something to stand on. Found a crate. Lifted him down with more sweat than strength.

He landed clumsily, then straightened himself.

“Thanks, bro. Thought I was a goner.”

“Goner from hanging like someone’s sock? Chill. The sun would’ve found you in a few hours,” I replied.

Also—“bro”?

We’re bro-ing now?

“Anyway, how’d you get up there?” I asked, eyeing him now that he was upright.

And—woah.

Eyes: sharp and deep

Nose: sculpted

Lips: slightly chapped, probably kissable

Stubble: hello, rugged vibe

Hair: soft dishevelled waves

Body: lean but defined

Height: towering over me

Skin tone: glowing like he eats expensive almonds for breakfast

Was this guy the lost child of Aphrodite and Apollo?

Too handsome to be just “some dude.”

Before he could speak, he asked, “Got a smoke?”

“Nope, just candy.”

“That’ll work.” I handed him a mint. He peeled it and, instead of sucking it like a normal person, chewed it while staring at me.

I blinked. Who chews mint like gum?

“Anyway, I’m Franc.” He offered his hand.

I hesitated. Then took it. His palm was warm—warm, not clammy or awkward.

“Yam,” I said. His brows lifted.

“It’s not a great name,” I muttered, pulling my hand back.

“Nah, it’s cute,” he replied, flashing a grin with enough charm to power a small island.

“So... how did you get tangled up there again?” I asked.

“Got drunk. Some jerks thought it’d be funny to string me up like laundry. Woke up swinging from the wires.”

We both glanced at his former suspension zone.

“You’ve been there this whole time? That’s cold. Whoever did that has zero soul,” I said.

He shrugged. We started walking toward the brighter part of town.

Side note: he was really tall. My head barely made it to his chest. I tried not to look directly at him—I’d combust from secondhand hotness.

When we reached the sidewalk, the streetlights exposed him in full. He wasn’t just good-looking—he was unreal. Celebrity-level, but also... human. I hadn’t seen him in any teleseryes, so he had to be a regular guy. Right?

Then he plopped down on a bench. Looked ready to nap.

“You’re sleeping here?” I asked.

“Obvious, isn’t it?” he said, already lying down.

“What a snob. Fine, sleep here. Good luck waking up hung like a piñata again.”

He didn’t answer. Just shut his eyes like a kid pretending he wasn’t cold or tired. I couldn’t shake the image.

I sighed.

“Hey. Wake up. Just crash at my place. I’d feel guilty if you got mugged or floated into another wire trap. It’s nearby anyway.”

He opened one eye, then stood.

“Do you at least have an electric fan?” he asked.

Wow. No “thank you.” Just a request for cooling technology?

Maybe that’s why he got hung up. Too cheeky for public space.

Still... I led the way.

Because lucky for him—I’m nice.