Let’s keep this story blooming, 🌼! We're entering Part 6 now, and it’s time to shake things up. In this chapter, Yam and Franc take a leap into the world outside their cozy bubble. But new places mean new faces—and one of them holds a piece of Franc's tangled past. Let’s see what unfolds when comfort meets complication.
We didn’t plan the day. It just happened.
Franc was scrolling through his cracked phone while I dug through my closet like I was preparing for a music video shoot. We weren’t going on a date—not officially. We were just “going out.” But I still wanted to look like I knew how to make sunlight jealous.
“You like stripes or solids?” I asked, holding up two shirts like they were celebrity guests.
Franc didn’t even look. “Whichever makes you feel invincible.”
The audacity. The charm. I chose stripes.
We grabbed street food—kwek-kwek, fishballs, and those mystery burgers that defy both science and stomach logic. Franc ate with unapologetic enthusiasm, like he hadn’t tasted grease in years.
“Where have you been hiding all my life?” I asked between bites.
“Upside down, apparently.”
We laughed.
Everything felt... easy.
That is, until we reached the boardwalk. Crowds moved like slow rivers, and the sea breeze tangled my hair into a chaotic masterpiece. Franc stopped walking.
“What?” I asked.
He didn’t answer.
His body stiffened. Eyes narrowed.
I followed his gaze and saw a guy standing by the railing. Tall. Pale. Sharp jawline and a pair of sunglasses that looked like they were bought for intimidation, not sun protection.
“Do you know him?” I asked.
Franc’s jaw clenched. “Yeah.”
And that one word had weight.
The guy spotted Franc and smiled—half polite, half painful.
“Well, well,” he said, approaching. “Didn't expect to see you alive and vertical.”
Franc didn’t reply.
“You still tangled in trouble?” the guy asked, nodding toward me like I was a prop.
Franc stepped forward. “Yam, this is Leo.”
Leo glanced at me. “Friend?”
“Something like that,” Franc said.
Leo scoffed. “Figures.”
There was tension so thick I could bottle it and sell it as perfume for emotionally repressed exes.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” Leo said. “Some of us were worried. Not me, but... some.”
Franc stayed silent.
Leo leaned in closer. “Still running?”
Franc’s voice was flat. “Not today.”
Leo glanced at me one last time, then walked off like he’d just dropped a ticking time bomb and wanted a front-row seat to the explosion.
“What was that?” I asked, once Leo was out of earshot.
Franc sighed. “An old mistake.”
“You want to talk about it?”
Franc looked at me—eyes tired but open. “I will. Just... not here.”
We wandered until the boardwalk turned into quieter streets. There, beneath a rusted streetlamp, Franc spoke.
“Leo used to be a friend,” he said. “We did stupid things. Got into messes. One night, things went too far. I got drunk and woke up strung up like a joke. No one came to help. Except you.”
I took his hand.
“You’re not there anymore,” I said.
Franc nodded. “But sometimes, I still feel upside down.”
“I’ll keep steady for you,” I replied.
His grip tightened.
“You really mean that?” he asked.
“Even with the creaky fan and my cursed aunt.”
He laughed again—low and real.
“You’re incredible,” he whispered.
“No, I’m Yam,” I replied. “Incredible’s just part of it.”
We walked home slower than usual, hand in hand, knowing that whatever was coming next, it wouldn’t be perfect.
But it would be ours.
🌀 Want to go for Part 7 next? We could dive deeper into Franc’s past with Leo, or maybe explore a moment where Yam has to face something personal too. The story could tilt into heartbreak, suspense, or even a beautiful breakthrough—your call, and I’ll take us there. Just say the word, and we’re flying.
🪴 Into Part 45—a chapter where intention meets transformation. The Joy Practice Circle has begun reshaping hearts one whisper at a time, and now someone who sat silently through those sessions finally speaks. This chapter isn’t loud. It’s steady. It’s the moment when quiet strength starts to bloom.She had been coming for weeks.No name.No words.She sat near the bookshelf, always in the same blue hoodie, always with a sketchpad she never opened. Her presence was a quiet enigma, a shadow that lingered in the corners of the room. Yam noticed her glances—how her eyes flickered toward entries in the “Lessons on Staying” notebook but never reached for the pencil. It was as if she was searching for something, a connection, but was hesitant to bridge the gap.Franc, ever the observer, began painting her silhouette into the background of one new mural, calling it “The Watcher Who Waits.” The mural depicted a vibrant landscape, a tapestry of colors and emotions, with Ren’s figure standing a
🕊️ Here’s Part 43—the chapter where a single page from the “Lessons on Staying” notebook sparks something deeper. Sometimes the words we write aren’t just reflections—they’re invitations. And in this chapter, one entry becomes a door someone didn’t know they were allowed to open.The notebook grew heavier—not with weight, but with meaning.Yam flipped through it one quiet morning, tracing pencil marks like fingerprints, each line an echo of someone’s inner world. The pages rustled softly, like whispers of confessions left behind. One entry caught his eye, written in tidy, deliberate handwriting:“I left when things got beautiful because I didn’t know how to hold joy.”It stopped him cold.Later, he showed it to Franc. They sat in the corner of the studio, light filtering through dusty windows. Franc read it slowly, his finger gently following the words. He exhaled softly, then quietly said, “I think I’ve felt that too.”They left the page open, like an invitation.That afternoon, a v
🌙 Continuing into Part 42—a chapter that embraces questions without rushing answers. As Yam and Franc open their notebook to others, they discover that staying isn't a rule... it's a rhythm. One that some people dance with, some stumble through, and some have never dared to learn. Let's gently unfold that truth.The notebook labeled “Lessons on Staying” sat in the corner like a quiet challenge.At first, it remained blank.Yam and Franc didn’t push.They simply placed a single pencil beside it. Not a pen. Because staying, they agreed, might need erasing sometimes.The first entry appeared after three days.A shy line, almost apologetic:“I stayed because I didn’t have the energy to leave. Is that okay?”Yam read it aloud that night. Franc placed a heart sticker beside it.Then came another:“I wanted to leave. Then he asked if my sadness could stay with him too. And it did.”Visitors began treating the notebook like a confession booth.A girl wrote:“My parents taught me that staying
🌾 Here’s Part 41—the chapter where the archive begins to breathe. Not just a collection of art and words, but a seed for others. Sometimes the greatest legacy isn’t in how loudly we’re remembered, but how gently we invite others to begin. The archive arrived. Boxes of soft and a covered books stacked beside the studio’s shelf. Their names printed on the spine. Inside: echoes of verses, photos of chalk-stained fingers, stories written in panic and painted in peace. Yam held the first copy for a long time before opening it. Franc traced the cover with his thumb, murmuring, “It feels like memory decided to stay.” They didn’t host a launch. Instead, they left copies around the studio, posted one to Yam’s aunt, donated five to the local library, and placed one in the sari-sari store near the tricycle stop. They called it “a quiet release.” But quiet travels. Within a week, the studio saw new guests. One woman in her 60s who walked with a cane, saying, “I saw your book at the st
🌿 Let’s gently open Part 40—the moment where visibility meets introspection. Yam and Franc have shared their love with the world through murals, words, and whispers. Now, the question shifts: What do we leave behind—and who carries it forward? This chapter isn’t closure. It’s planting.The studio had never been this full.Not crowded. Just alive.Visitors still came daily, some from nearby towns, others after long bus rides. Most walked in quietly, touched the wall, left something behind.Yam stood near the doorway one afternoon, watching a group of students sketching fragments of the sunflower mural.“I heard it was inspired by a shelf,” one whispered.“No,” another said. “It was inspired by choosing someone after falling.”Franc, leaning against the window, whispered, “Are we folklore now?”Yam smiled. “We’re becoming memory.”Later that week, a letter arrived.Not email.Envelope. Handwritten. Sealed with a sticker of a crescent moon.It was from a university professor.“Your stud
🌬️ Drifting into Part 39—the chapter where the world begins to look in, curious about the haven Yam and Franc have created. Fame isn’t their goal, but truth ripples. And when someone asks to tell their story, it forces them to wonder: What version of us do we share? Let’s write it gently.It came in an email with the subject line:“Feature Proposal: Studio of Staying”A journalist from a national publication had discovered the studio through festival articles and social media whispers. They wanted to visit. Interview Yam and Franc. Photograph the wall. Write about the love that lingers in the corner of Baler.Franc read the message twice.“They want to spotlight us,” he said slowly.Yam nodded. “Feels weird.”“Feels... loud.”They didn’t reply immediately.Instead, they sat with it.On one hand, the idea of their small sanctuary being shared with strangers who didn’t know the story behind crooked shelves and echo walls felt thrilling.On the other hand—what if the world misunderstood