All Chapters of A Splash of Colour: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

-PROLOGUE- For a quiet moment, I watched as the screen of my phone dimmed. Then, with a breath I didn’t know I was holding, I finally shut it down—disconnecting myself from the world. A soft chuckle slipped from my lips. If I had known that being selfish could bring this much relief, I might’ve done it sooner. Now I understand what they meant by not putting all your eggs in one basket. For years, I gave everything to my family—my time, my energy, my peace—leaving none for myself, aside from empty promises of 'next time'. I loved them so much that I forgot to love myself, too. So, for once—just this time—I want to indulge. In nice things. In ordinary things. In the kind of life twenty-seven-year-olds are supposed to have… outside of work and survival. The sunset stretched across the sky in shades of lavender, gold, and rose. It was breathtaking. And yet, a strange bitterness crept in. How many sunsets had I already lived through? And why couldn't I remember a single one?

C-02: The Gentleman with an Umbrella I quietly enjoyed my food, eyes fixed on the shore where the waves rolled in gently. A breeze drifted through the open bistro, bringing with it the faint scent of sea salt and sunscreen. From my peripheral vision, I spotted Mr. Drunk Bag Stealer—leaning against one of the wooden railings just outside. He had a phone to his ear, brows furrowed as he spoke in hushed tones. I kept my gaze low, hoping he'd just pass by. But instead, to my dismay, he walked into the bistro and took a table—just two rows across from mine. I guess this place really is that popular. Trying not to let him ruin the moment, I shifted my focus back to my meal. The food was beautifully plated and flavorful, each bite perfectly balanced with the sweet tang of the blueberry lemonade soda. For something so simple, it hit all the right spots. I’d been having the same breakfast for the past three days, though. Maybe it was time to branch out. Tammarah did say there were plenty

C-04: The Unpredictable Gentleman I was right to grab a hat before going out. The sun was already climbing toward its peak, casting a blinding shimmer across the sand. Almost everyone I passed had a smoothie in one hand or a freshly cut coconut in the other. I figured I should grab something refreshing too—one for me, and one for Isagani. Just the thought of being alone with him again sent butterflies into a full frenzy in my stomach. “Hi… I’ll have two, please,” I told the vendor, offering a polite smile. Moments later, with two chilled coconuts in hand, I made my way toward the activity area where we had agreed to meet. From afar, I saw a figure chatting with a group of tourists. At first, my heart skipped with hope—until I got closer. The figure turned. My heart dropped. “Don’t worry,” Thomas said, stuffing his hands in his pockets casually. “He just sent me to tell you he’s running a bit late.” Of course, it had to be him. His eyes flicked to the coconuts I was holdin

C-06: A Visit to the Parisi's Beach House I couldn’t hold back the happy squeal that escaped my lips as the jet ski surged forward, skimming across the waves. The wind whipped through my hair, tangling it into a hopeless mess—but I couldn’t care less. “See? Told you it’s fun!” Isagani laughed, glancing over his shoulder to check on me. I nodded enthusiastically, my grin stretching ear to ear. True to his promise, he had taken me jet skiing—and even volunteered to drive. I couldn’t have asked for a better companion. “Hold on tight!” he shouted just before twisting the throttle again. I barely had time to brace myself before we picked up speed, slicing through the water. I instinctively tightened my grip around him, the heat of his back warming my arms, the rush of the ride mingling with a sudden burst of butterflies in my stomach. Adrenaline and something else—something softer—buzzed through me. By the time we steered back toward the shore, the sun was sitting high, its rays shar

C-08: Almost... but why? The night air was cool, crisp—unusually clear for monsoon season. The sky, though not littered with stars, wore a soft violet hue, and the gentle hum of the sea accompanied my every step as I walked down the path to the bistro. Isagani was already there, standing by the wooden railing, facing the sea as if lost in thought. He looked effortlessly handsome—dressed in a light khaki polo, brown shorts, and matching topsiders. His hair had grown longer in the past weeks, now swept back into a wavy mullet that somehow suited him too well. A breeze ruffled it slightly, as if the wind, too, wanted to touch him. When he noticed me, he smiled—easy, warm, familiar. “Hey,” I greeted, a little breathless. “Sorry I took a while.” He shook his head gently. “You’re just in time,” he said, with that same calm, grounded voice that always felt like an anchor. We chose a table by the edge, overlooking the shore. The scent of grilled seafood and herbs drifted in the air a