The Marquez estate always carried a quiet elegance in the late afternoon.

Golden sunlight rested gently over the clay roofs and white stone walls of the bahay-na-bato, while the scent of sampaguita drifted through the open courtyard. The distant sound of carriage wheels echoed faintly from the town road, blending with the soft rustling of mango leaves overhead.

I had visited this house many times with my parents. The Marquez family had long been close friends of ours.

Yet today felt strangely different.

Perhaps it was because I knew you would be here.

I stepped out of the carriage, adjusting the sleeves of my barong. The fabric moved lightly with the breeze, simple yet refined. My father had already begun exchanging greetings with Don Marquez while servants carried baskets of fruit inside the house.

Then I saw you.

Standing near the old stone well in the courtyard.

For a moment I simply watched.

You had changed since the last time I saw you, though that was expected. Years had passed. The first time we met, we were merely children playing beneath this same mango tree. The second time was years later during the town festival, when we were both standing awkwardly on the edge of adolescence.

And now…

You stood there quietly, looking around the estate as if studying every detail.

The wooden balcony.
The stone pillars.
Even the old iron lantern by the doorway.

It was almost as if you had never seen the place before.

Curious.

"Juancho," my mother called gently, "go greet the hija of Don Marquez."

I nodded and walked toward you with calm steps. The breeze lifted a few strands of your hair as sunlight touched your face softly.

You looked at me.

But there was no recognition in your eyes.

Instead… confusion.

Your brows knitted slightly before you finally spoke.

"Who are you?"

I paused.

For a moment I wondered if you were joking.

But your expression remained completely serious.

A faint smile formed on my lips, more amused than offended.

"It seems," I said quietly, "I have been forgotten."

You blinked.

I studied your face more carefully now. Perhaps it was not so strange after all. Our meetings before had been brief and years apart. Children rarely remember such things.

"We met when we were young," I explained calmly. "Here, in this courtyard."

You remained silent.

"And again some years later during the town festival."

Still nothing.

I exhaled softly through my nose, shaking my head slightly with a small chuckle.

"Then allow me to introduce myself again."

I placed a hand lightly against my chest.

"Juancho Alas y Delmundo Vergara."

Your gaze lingered on me longer than expected, as though weighing the name carefully in your mind.

Strange.

Most people in town already knew the Vergara family.

Yet you observed me like a puzzle you were trying to solve.

Behind us, my father's voice carried proudly through the courtyard.

"Our son studies medicine in Manila now," he told your parents. "Though he spends almost as much time writing as he does reading his medical books."

Your attention flickered briefly in that direction before returning to me.

Something in your eyes shifted.

Interest.

Curiosity.

Almost… suspicion.

It was subtle, but I noticed.

And for reasons I could not explain, it intrigued me more than it should have.

You looked at the world like someone who had just arrived in it.

Careful. Observant.

Different.

I tilted my head slightly, studying you with quiet amusement.

"Well," I said gently, "it seems we must begin again."

The wind moved softly through the courtyard as silence lingered between us.

Then I added quietly—

"I wonder… will you remember me this time?"

Because the girl standing before me felt unfamiliar.

Not in face.

But in presence.

And strangely…

That mystery made me want to know you more.