Chapter 22

Days passed like nothing had happened.

But in Andi's eyes, everything had changed.

To others? It seemed like nothing was wrong. She still looked fine—poised, elegant, like a modern-day version of the Dalagang Filipina crafted by the heavens themselves. Her outfit was aesthetic: pleated beige skirt, white linen blouse, minimalist pearl earrings, and her signature classic abaniko she'd press to her chest when it was hot or when whispers annoyed her. Her face looked serene. No trace of turmoil.

But behind the powder and a touch of peach blush, there were things concealer couldn't hide.

"Andi's still so pretty, huh?" Whispered a classmate, watching her from the back of the classroom.

"Yeah, she is—but don't you notice? Her eyes always seem deep these days," another one replied.

"Even when she smiles, it's like... it's not whole. There's sadness in her eyes—but her powder's still on point."

They didn't know it, but Andi heard everything. Not because she was nosy—but because her ears were trained to catch whispers. She was used to scanning her surroundings, used to guarding herself.

Every passing day felt like each second carried a weight. Not because of classes. Not because of exams. But because of home. Because of Gesly.

She knew her brother's behavior was getting worse. He was slipping deeper and deeper. Coming home less. His knuckles bloodier every dawn. His answers colder. His gaze more distant.

Still, she chose to stay silent.

Not because she was weak. But because this was her way of loving. Quiet. Steady. Beautiful—even if she was rotting inside.

"Miss Navarro, are you okay?" Her teacher asked when she noticed Andi staring blankly out the window.

She was pulled from her thoughts. She shook her head and smiled. "Yes, Ma'am. Sorry, Ma'am."

Class ended. Then recess. Lunch. Dismissal.

Same routine. Abaniko in her left hand. Prada bag in her right. Back straight. Steps quiet.

But inside the bathroom, alone, she sat down in a cubicle. It was only there she allowed herself to breathe deeply.

She closed her eyes. And quietly told herself: I can't break down. Not yet. Not while I don't have an answer on how to save my brother from his own world.

She stepped out of the bathroom as if nothing had happened. Waved at classmates. Smiled again.

But while standing in the hallway, she felt someone's gaze on her.

Not just because she was beautiful.

But because no matter how beautiful you are… when your aura turns dark, people feel it.

Andi Navarro, the school's pearl maiden, was slowly being unwrapped.

And many were asking: how long can she keep pretending?

Saturday. Supposedly a rest day, but for Andi, it was just an extension of stress—a day not for lectures, but for the weight of her thoughts.

But tonight, she had a date with Alonzo.

At first, she didn't want to go. She was tired—not just physically, but from constantly being "okay." But because of her boyfriend's insistence—her moreno-skinned, gamer, certified human comfort blanket boyfriend—she eventually agreed.

He brought her to a simple rooftop resto in Pasig—quiet, dimly lit, with a city view that seemed to say: Even if your world is chaos, there are still peaceful parts.

"I don't have a fancy setup, babe," Alonzo said as he opened a bottle of water for her. "But I've got food, a soft couch, and lots of hugs. All the essentials."

Andi smiled—but it didn't reach her eyes.

Alonzo noticed.

He quietly observed as they ate. Andi was still refined. She chewed delicately. Her abaniko was tucked neatly into her bag. Her makeup was intact, her lip gloss subtle, gold hoops on her ears. But the sadness lingered. Not loud. Not obvious. But felt.

"You're tired, aren't you?" He asked softly but directly.

Andi looked at him. She paused. But this time, she didn't deny it.

She nodded slowly, then said, "Everything, I think. Home, school, people. Sometimes I just want to sleep the whole month."

Alonzo moved closer, gently held her hand, and softly squeezed her fingers. "Andi... you don't have to be strong all the time."

She looked at him, eyes holding back tears. "But I'm all they have. I don't have a choice—"

"I'm here," Alonzo interrupted, then pulled her into a tight hug.

Not a showbiz hug. Not a cute hug.

But the kind of hug that said, "Fall apart if you need to. I've got you."

"You don't have to fix everything right now," he whispered into her hair. "You don't have to be perfect. You don't have to smile just to convince everyone you're okay. Especially not with me. I'm not one of them."

Andi tried to hold it in. She was used to enduring. But Alonzo's hug was different—whole, sincere, expecting nothing in return. Slowly, her body gave in. Then came the silent sob.

Until she was quietly, then uncontrollably, crying into Alonzo's chest.

No words. No judgment.

Just strokes. And a gentle kiss on the temple. Another on the forehead. As if saying, "You don't need to prove anything. Not now. Not to me."

And for the first time in weeks, Andi wasn't the one in control.

This time, she was held. This time, someone caught her. And there she cried—not because she was weak, but because someone finally told her she was enough. Even without makeup. Even without control. Even while her world was in chaos.

After everything, they just sat there in silence.

Andi resting her head on Alonzo's shoulder, her eyes red and tired. But now, her exhaustion looked different. No longer angry. No longer heavy. Just the kind of tired that had tasted a bit of relief in the middle of the storm.

"I bottled up so much," she whispered.

"It's okay," Alonzo said, playing with her hair. "I don't need to understand everything. What matters is—I'm here."

Andi looked at him. Long and deep. As if trying to see if every word he said was real. And in that gaze, a wall within her seemed to break.

She leaned in. Slowly. Cautiously.

And Alonzo kissed her.

Not wild. Not hungry. But a kiss that asked, "May I?"

And Andi's answer was a soft moan and a gentle pull at the back of his neck.

In a moment, the chill of the night was replaced by warmth. Lips met lips. Fingers brushed cheeks. Hands traced waists.

They didn't need explanations.

The kisses deepened—more eager, more raw. Andi began removing her blazer while Alonzo savored each moment—every step of her letting go.

No more "strong big sister" mode. No more makeup, no more filters.

The Andi in Alonzo's arms now—that was the real her. Vulnerable. Impassioned. Full of feeling.

Alonzo pulled back slightly from the kiss, took a deep breath, and held her cheek. "Are you sure?"

Andi nodded. No fear. No doubt. "You're all I have right now."

And that was all he needed.

He pulled her onto his lap. Brushed her hair back. Kissed her neck, her collarbone, while his hands softly wandered to her waist and thighs. Every kiss was weighted. Every touch, intentional.

With every moan from Andi, it was as if she was shedding months of exhaustion, of pretending, of silent screams.

There was no one else in that space but them. And the only thing they needed was the warmth of each other.