Chapter 2: Happiest Break Time!
The digital clock above the classroom door finally blinked to 1:00 PM, releasing us from our morning prison of lectures. The moment the bell rang, the room erupted into chaos - chairs screeching against linoleum, backpacks zipping open, and the collective groan of students freed from Professor Reyes' brutal Ethics exam. A crumpled ball of paper sailed over my head as the class dissolved into post-exam chatter.
"Finally!" Anton, my seatmate, slammed his notebook shut hard enough to make our shared desk rattle. His dark curls were mussed from where he'd been running frustrated hands through them during the exam. "I swear that woman gets off on making us suffer. Who puts an essay question about moral absolutism in a general education course?"
Across the aisle, Lianne adjusted her glasses with a sigh that fogged the lenses. The fluorescent lights reflected off her brown skin as she carefully packed her stationery set - the expensive Japanese pens she always brought to exams. "Try analyzing Kant's categorical imperative at 8 AM on two hours of sleep. I think I wrote half that exam in Hiragana by accident."
I stretched in my seat, feeling my spine pop after three straight hours of classes - P.E. at 10, General Mathematics at 11, and now Ethics at 12. My stomach growled loudly, reminding me I'd skipped breakfast because I woke up late for the reason as I was tired and didn't get to sleep early.
The scent of sweat and pencil shavings mixed with someone's overpowering vanilla body spray in the cramped classroom.
The hallway outside was already packed with students flooding toward the cafeteria, their voices blending into a wall of noise that echoed off the tiled walls:
"Did you get number seven on the math test? That probability question was brutal!"
"Bro, I guessed on half of them! When did we even learn combinatorics?"
"New Jujutsu Kaisen episode drops tonight! Gojo's finally back!"
"Shut up! Don't spoil it!"
I adjusted the strap of my gym bag, the familiar weight of my packed lunch - two rice balls wrapped in banana leaves and a tumbler of iced tea my mom had prepared before her morning shift - bumping against my hip. As a P.E. major, I had gymnasium privileges during breaks, a small mercy that meant I could avoid the cafeteria mob scene. The hundred or so students lined up at the counter, waiting for their turn to buy food.
The canteen was packed, voices blending into a chaotic mix of conversations. Some students complained about the morning classes, while others excitedly discussed the latest episode of a new anime.
The scent of fried food and steaming rice filled the air, making the wait even more agonizing for those at the back of the line.
----- on the way to the Gymnasium.
The gymnasium's double doors swung open with a familiar creak, revealing a blessedly cooler space where the high ceilings allowed what little breeze there was to circulate. The smells here were comforting in their consistency - polished wood flooring, the faint metallic tang of the weight equipment, and that unique gym scent of sweat and effort that never quite washed out.
Until my eyes immediately found her.
Anne Reyes.
Anne Reyes stood near center court, her silhouette framed by the afternoon sunlight streaming through the high windows. She wore the standard university uniform - a crisp white blouse with the school crest embroidered over her heart and a navy-blue pleated skirt that stopped just above her ankles, revealing toned calves that made half the male student stare at her when she walked.
Her black Mary Jane heels clicked against the hardwood as she turned, the movement making her long, silky hair sway like a midnight waterfall.
Even after all these years, the sight of her still punched the air from my lungs.
Our eyes met across the distance, and she flashed that smile - the one that made my pulse stutter, the one that showed just a hint of her slightly crooked canine tooth that I'd always found inexplicably charming.
"Jake!" She waved me over, her voice cutting through the gym's noise with that playful tone she reserved just for me—the one that carried years of shared secrets and laughter in its melody. The one that said we shared history, memories, inside jokes no one else would understand.
I swallowed hard and approached, suddenly hyper-aware of my sweaty P.E shitt I wore after I changed in the bathroom and the way my hair must look after Coach Garcia's brutal conditioning drills.
"Since when do you hang out in the gym?" I asked, trying to sound casual despite the way my heart was trying to escape my chest.
Anne tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, revealing the small silver studs she always wore. "Since I heard there was a good game happening." She nodded toward the court where two junior players - both Falcons recruits - were warming up, their sneakers squeaking against the polished wood. "I thought you'd be here."
The way she called my name - light and effortless, as if finding her standing in the middle of my gym was as ordinary as morning sunshine - sent an electric jolt down my spine. Heat crept up the back of my neck like rising mercury, spreading across my cheeks until I knew my face must be glowing redder than the Falcons' team jerseys.
Every pair of eyes in the cavernous space seemed to lock onto us at once. From the far court, where the varsity team was running drills, I caught the murderous glares of three starting players - their sweat-slicked faces twisting as they paused mid-play to watch. Nearby, a cluster of cheerleaders turned as one, their pom-poms falling still as they whispered behind cupped hands. Even the janitor pushing his mop by the bleachers slowed to stare, his bucket squeaking in protest.
The air grew thick with the weight of their attention. I could practically hear the unasked questions buzzing between them:
Since when does Anne Reyes visit the gym?
Why is she talking to Dela Cruz like that?
What makes him so special?
Anne stood oblivious to the storm she'd stirred, one hand resting on her hip, the other still raised from waving me over. The fluorescent lights caught the silver charm bracelet she always wore - the one I'd given her for her eighteenth birthday - sending tiny stars dancing across the polished floor with her slightest movement.
---
She then pulled me over and headed towards the bleachers. We claimed seats on the bleachers just as the players - Miguel "Tank" Santiago (6'7", built like a brick wall with biceps thicker than my thighs) and Jomar Lim (6'6", with the quickest crossover in the junior division) - faced off at center court. The air hummed with anticipation, the crowd's murmurs dying down as Tank palmed the ball.
"Ten pesos says Tank wins," I murmured to Anne, watching as he dribbled hard right, then spun left with a move Coach Garcia our basketball Coach called the "Manila Shake" - a brutal combination of hesitation and sheer physicality that left defenders stumbling.
When Anne leaned forward to watch the game, her bare knee pressed lightly against mine - just the briefest contact, but enough to send my pulse hammering. I froze, hyper-aware of the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of my gym shorts, the faint scent of her coconut sunscreen mixing with the gym's familiar smells of sweat and floor polish.
"You're on," she said, flashing me that competitive smirk I knew so well. Her brown eyes sparkled with challenge as she gestured toward Jomar on the court. "Ten pesos says he wins. That kid's footwork is cleaner than your dorm room."
The teasing lilt-(playful tone) in her voice made my stomach flip, but I forced a grin. "You hurt me Anne. And just to remind you dorm's not that bad."
Clang!
The ball hit the rim with a metallic ping.
Swish.
It dropped through the net with that perfect sound every basketball player lives for.
The crowd erupted. Beside me, Anne whistled through her teeth, the sound sending an unexpected shiver down my spine. "Damn."
"I told you, he's good," I said, grinning despite myself. The game was already fading into background noise, my attention hopelessly drawn to the way Anne's skirt rode up just slightly when she sat, revealing a sliver of toned thigh.
A slow smile curled at the corners of her lips as she leaned in closer, her vanilla-and-sunshine scent wrapping around me. "So what?"
Her voice dropped to that warm, intimate register she only used when we were alone - even though we were surrounded by half the basketball team. "I couldn't care less about the game. The company's what makes it worth watching."
Her knee pressed against mine again - not an accident this time - as she tilted her head toward the court with exaggerated disinterest. The fluorescent lights caught the gold flecks in her brown eyes when she glanced back at me through her lashes, and suddenly I forgot how to breathe.
My throat went so dry I nearly choked on my own tongue.
---
But before I could react, I heard a familiar sound.
The squeak of dress shoes on hardwood announced Professor Mark's arrival before he spoke. "Dela Cruz. Reyes." He stood with his ever-present clipboard tucked under one arm, his biceps straining against the sleeves of his polo shirt. At 6'5" with salt-and-pepper hair and the posture of a retired marine, Professor Mark commanded attention without raising his voice.
Anne smiled sweetly up at him. "Good Morning Sir Mark."
Professor Mark - who'd played professional basketball in the PBA before blowing out his knee - raised one thick eyebrow. "Reyes, you're pre-med. Why are you in the gym instead of the library where you belong?"
"Studying human kinetics?" she offered, blinking innocently.
He snorted, the sound echoing in the suddenly quiet gym. Several players had stopped to watch our exchange. "Nice try. Dela Cruz, can I have a word?"
I followed him a few steps away, where he lowered his voice to a growl only I could hear. "You realize half of the basketball team wants to murder you right now, yes?"
A glance over my shoulder and confirmed it - at least five varsity players were glaring daggers at me, their expressions darkening as Anne laughed at something, one of her classmates said. "Noted," I muttered.
"Good." He clapped my shoulder hard enough to make me wince. "Don't do anything stupid. And for God's sake, if you're going to make heart eyes at the most unattainable girl on campus, at least be subtle about it."
My face burned. "I'm not-"
"Save it." He shook his head. "Just remember - conditioning drills at 6 AM tomorrow. Don't be late."
I was about to retaliate but when I heard the time of 6 AM my jaws dropped, that's way too earl!!!!
-----
By 1:20, the game had reached its inevitable conclusion - Tank won by two points, though Jomar had made him work for every basket. Anne checked her phone, the screen's glow reflecting in her brown eyes, and nudged me with her elbow.
"Hey."
"What?" I tried not to stare at the way her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she thought.
"We've got ten minutes more. Wanna grab a real food?" She eyed my lunchbox with undisguised skepticism. "No offense, but your rice balls look sad."
"What?! They're perfectly good rice balls!" I protested, though I knew she was right - they'd gone lukewarm hours ago.
She arched one perfect eyebrow. "They're lukewarm, Jake. There's a difference." Standing, she smoothed her skirt with a flick of her wrists that drew every male eye in the vicinity. "Come on. It's my treat."
I hesitated for all of two seconds before caving. Mom's cooking versus more time with Anne? Not a contest.
"Sure," I said, standing so fast I nearly tripped over my own feet. The walk to the cafeteria was... eventful. Every guy we passed glared at me like I'd personally offended their ancestors. Anne, oblivious or just used to the attention, chatted about her latest anatomy exam while I focused on not tripping over my own feet.
At one point, she stopped mid-sentence to adjust her heel, her fingers brushing my arm for balance. A jolt of electricity shot through me at the contact, so intense I nearly stumbled.
"Are you okay?" she asked, brow furrowing in concern.
"Yeah," I lied, my voice cracking embarrassingly. "Peachy."
After a few minutes of a happy talk, and finished eating she finally suggested to return to our respective classrooms.
-----
We made it back to class with seconds to spare, Anne waving as she headed toward the medical building.
Anton took one look at my dazed expression and groaned, slumping forward to bang his forehead against our shared desk.