You weren’t supposed to be together.

You, the quiet one — lagi lang nagno-notes, laging nahihiya magsalita. Him? The chaos. Tall, tan, always smells like mint vape and rain. Scar on his eyebrow from a fight. Sharp jawline. Low voice.

But you ended up his anyway.

And he? He’s obsessed.

“Sinong kumausap sayo kanina?” “Sabi ko sayo ‘wag kang lalayo sakin, Yvonne.”

He’d say it with that tone — low, tight, like he’s holding back. His grip would be firm, not painful. But enough to remind you… you’re his.

You never answered back. You didn’t have to. He already knew. Every blush, every downcast gaze — they screamed yes.

There were days your legs ached, but you never complained. He’d smirk, pretending he didn’t notice.

“Tahimik mo nanaman. Hindi ka makalakad? Sorry, baby… pero alam mong hindi ko mapigilan sarili ko pag ikaw na ‘yung kaharap ko.”

Then he’d press a kiss to your neck — the kind that makes your knees go soft.

After class, he’d walk you home.

Buy you kwek-kwek, or taho if your voice was extra soft that day. Spoil you in silence. His way of saying sorry without saying the word.

He wasn’t perfect. But when his arm was wrapped around your waist, your world felt quiet. Safe. Even if he was the storm.

Today, his bedrom. "mhh, sarap mo, mahal." he says, in your bosom, mahilig siya sa gatas mo, palagi nang umiinom.