POV: Xian The air inside the Makati chapel smells of lilies, old wood, and the faint, heavy scent of candle wax that clings to every corner. My knees feel like they’re made of lead, every breath a struggle like there’s a fist clamped tight around my throat. Nakatayo ako sa harap ng kabaong ni Dad, at parang hindi pa rin tumatalab sa akin na… wala na siya. After all those months watching him fade little by little, forgetting names, forgetting faces—this silence is louder than any of his confused, distant words ever were. I feel a soft, warm hand slip into mine, fingers lacing gently through my cold, trembling ones. Paglingon ko, si Alexandra. Her eyes are red-rimmed, her usual composure worn thin, but her gaze holds steady when it meets mine. She doesn’t say anything—doesn’t need to. She just squeezes my hand, leans a little closer so her shoulder rests lightly against mine, quiet and steady like she’s been there my whole life. “Nandito lang ako, Xian,” she whispers, soft enough on
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