I didn't care about anyone.
I never once thought I'd notice him. All the people I met were either intimidated or amazed by how many awards I'd accumulated ever since I started school. Because of that, I always ended up alone most of the time.
Not that I cared. I was already used to it.
But the truth is, all of the trophies and medals I've won were nothing to me. Because all I wanted my parents to look at me.
I was an only child. My dad owned a company he loved more than us. My mom? She was just as busy chasing status and appearances. Most of the time, they were always out. And when they were home, the house echoed with their fights, screaming here and there, accusations thrown like knives, things breaking, and then silence once one of them finally left.
It was like a never-ending cycle for me.
Maybe because I was never like other kids. Even as a baby, I rarely cried, even when something was wrong. I'd just stare, quiet and still, watching them with calm eyes instead of reaching for toys or babbling like most kids do. I never laughed, never chuckled, not even a smile. Not even then and now.
The only time I ever saw their eyes light up was during recognition day or graduation. That's my son, they'd say, flashing proud smiles for the cameras.
"You're so talented, anak." or "We're so proud." And then, expensive gifts, a dinner in some fancy restaurant, and sometimes a pat on the head.
Back then, I thought, maybe if I kept doing this, if I kept winning, they'd stay. Maybe we could live like a normal family.
I thought if I worked hard enough, I'd be enough to glue the cracks together. So I joined contests I didn't even enjoy. Memorized formulas and even studied advanced topics across different subjects until I turned pain into trophies.
But I was wrong.
Sixth grade graduation. I was valedictorian. I held my medal in one hand and my speech in the other, waiting for them to arrive.
But my mom never made it.
The car crash happened on the way to school. She died, leaving me alone, just minutes before I walked onstage.
And my dad? He drowned himself in meetings and mergers after that. And even when he came home, all he would do was get drunk, and pressure me to be good for my Mom.
That's when I stopped caring about people.
It hit me: people will always come and go. They drift in, leave pieces of themselves behind, then disappear like it meant nothing. And holding on? It only ever leads to disappointment. To pain you're forced to swallow in silence.
At least, that's what I keep telling myself.
I drowned myself in books, buried myself in top scores and achievements, pretending I was fine. I learned how to take care of myself, to walk with my head held high, and to push away anyone who dared come close. The less I felt, the less it hurt.
Or so I thought.
Then came this one guy.
That guy who barged into my life like an unexpected explosion.
He was just that guy, always a step behind me in every contest. The name that trailed mine on every leaderboard, like a shadow I couldn't shake off. People called him my Academic Rival. Some even said he was my Academic Shadow, like he existed just to follow behind me.
To me, he was just another name in the crowd.
Until that day, when he stood onstage and won that damn debate and my heart.
"Nova, please. Come watch with me," Tales begged dramatically, clinging onto my arm while I stayed rooted in my chair, eyes focused on solving the assignment our teacher had just given after class.
"I really want to watch! You know my crush Bea is there," he added with a whine.
I sighed, long and heavy. He was the only idiot I knew who walked around with the confidence of a lion but the brain of a bird when it came to life.
Street smart, sure.
He could charm his way out of almost anything. He could hold his own against anyone. But when it came to love? He was like someone who'd fallen into his own trap. Hopeless in the most frustrating, and admittedly endearing ways.
Almost every day, he had a new girl he was swooning over.
I glanced at my wristwatch. 3 PM.
I guess I could go. After all, I'd already solved the last problem on my list, and there was nothing else to do during our two-hour break.
"Fine. But what's in it for me?" I asked flatly, and he stopped and puckered his lips for a while.
"Of course, I'll treat you to your favorite cheese snacks," he grinned, eyes hopeful.
I nodded once, and that was that.
The chairs were stiff and squeaky, and the air conditioning in the auditorium was too cold, a standard setup for a school-wide debate. I didn't even want to be here, but Tales had whined about his crush being on one of the teams.
"Bro, I swear! That's Bea, Nova! She's the second speaker for the negative team. I stalked the lineup earlier on the bulletin board. She has a pink scrunchie on her wrist, remember?"
I rolled my eyes as Tales clutched his heart like he was in a soap opera.
"Bea with the braid?" I asked. "The one who almost set her lab station on fire last year?"
"Exactly. Dangerous and pretty. My type," he said, proudly.
I didn't respond. I was more interested in seeing how fast this would collapse into scripted arguments. I'd been to enough inter-school competitions to know how these debates usually went. The affirmative praises tradition, negative challenges it, someone cries, end of story.
The moderator, who was a thin man with spectacles that kept slipping down his nose, approached the podium and tapped the mic twice.
"Good afternoon. Today's motion: 'Children must obey and honor their parents at all times, regardless of circumstance.'"
I arched a brow. Interesting.
"Each team will be composed of three speakers. Affirmative speaks first, then negative, alternating until rebuttals. Let's maintain decorum and respect throughout. Affirmative, please begin."
Cue the girl in heels, blazer over her uniform, and cue cards laminated like she expected rain.
"Good afternoon," she began with a practiced smile. "Our parents are the foundation of our lives. They clothed us, fed us, and nurtured us. Obedience, at its core, is an act of love and trust."
The kind of speech that smells like it was drafted in a meeting room full of honors students trying to impress their homeroom adviser.
She made points about filial piety, respect rooted in culture, the family as the unit of society, and sprinkled in a quote from Confucius like salt.
Beside me, Tales leaned closer and whispered, "She looks like the kid who lit their house on fire."
I gave him my usual deadpan look. "Are you serious?"
And he just laughed at my comment.
Then, the other team's first speaker stood.
Him.
The familiar, tall, black-haired guy.
Jenoah R. Bayani.
He walked up with zero flair. His cue cards were folded in half. His uniform was neat, but not stiff, and his steps were quiet as he took the mic.
But when he started to speak, everything changed.
"Good afternoon. We stand in opposition not because we reject respect, but because respect without choice is not love—it's fear."
No preamble. No poetic quotes. Just straight truth.
Then his brows furrowed subtly, like something in his chest had locked into place.
"We talk about obedience like it's the purest form of love. But what happens when that love demands your silence? Your submission? When you're told to honor someone who invalidates who you are?" That made a few students in the front row sit up straighter.
Even I...paused.
He wasn't dramatic. His voice didn't rise. But it carried weight, like every word had been tested against something real.
"We teach kids to obey—but we don't ask if they feel safe. We tell them to be grateful—but not if they're okay. We glorify sacrifice so much, we forget to check if it hurts."
And then came the pause. Strategic, sure. But it didn't feel rehearsed. It felt like he needed it to breathe.
"The love we preach becomes a leash. And children aren't pets. They're people."
Silence was loud enough inside the auditorium, then a beat was heard.
He nodded once and sat down. Passing the mic to his other teammate.
I didn't even realize I was still staring until Tales nudged me.
"Bro. Why did that feel like an emotional slap? Jen is seriously good."
I didn't answer. Because I didn't know either.
But, Jen is his nickname? Sounds like a girl's name.
The next speaker stumbled a little in his opening. He kept glancing at the first girl, Veronica. Like he wanted approval before every sentence.
"W-we acknowledge the emotional weight of the opposition's arguments. However, we maintain that hierarchy in the home is necessary for order."
You could tell he was thrown off. Noah's speech had knocked something loose.
"The...uhm...structure is what protects children. Obedience teaches discipline. Without it, we descend into rebellion, disrespect, and chaos."
I caught myself zoning out. This kid sounded like a concerned Uncle at a wedding toast.
Tales whispered again, "This one's giving. I memorized the whole thing five minutes ago."
Then, he gasped. "Nova, siya na!"
I rolled my eyes as Bea strutted up with quiet confidence. She flicked her braid over her shoulder, glanced at her notes once, then looked straight at the crowd.
"An order built on fear is not an order. It's control."
Okay. That was a solid opening.
Tales threw me a look, eyebrows scrunched, like he needed reassurance or a reality check.
I didn't even blink, just shot him a thumbs up.
The idiot was fishing for approval anyway, like he wanted confirmation that yes, he did somehow end up crushing on someone with actual brain cells this time.
"Children aren't born into contracts. They're born into relationships. And any relationship that punishes honesty is abuse, not love."
She wasn't as introspective as the first guy, but she had punch. Her words had sharpness, like she wanted to prove something, not to the judges, but to someone specific.
"Obedience is only virtuous when it's earned. Not demanded."
Unlike what happened during the first guy's speech, instead of silence, Bea's speech earned applause. Especially sa katabi kong kanina pa sigaw ng sigaw.
"Nova, did you hear that?! 'Obedience is only virtuous when earned'—I'd let her ruin my life." He yelled, pointing at Bea, who now sat down.
"You're embarrassing," I muttered, but my eyes were still on Bea's teammate, the guy who was now eyeing the affirmative team, with a smile.
Marco got up slowly, like he didn't want to be there. His grip on the cue cards was tight. Too tight.
Then, he went rogue.
"I agree with my teammates... but also, I... I have to say something."
Everyone shifted.
"I have a younger brother. He got into trouble last year. My dad—he's strict. He said...things I won't repeat here. And for a while, I thought my brother deserved it. But now I think—maybe he just needed to be heard."
The affirmative team behind him stiffened.
Veronica shot him a glare, but instead of stopping, he just kept going.
"Oho, someone's digging their grave," I heard Tale laugh.
"I still believe in honoring our parents. But... maybe not all the time. Maybe not when it hurts more than it helps."
He's making a mistake there.
Even though I don't have a formal background in formal debates, I know for a fact that you should never agree or argue anything aside from their stance.
The room broke into soft murmurs.
"Dumbass," I murmured while Tales laughed.
The other girl on the Nurture Team, his group, stood up, as he and Bea smiled at her. Cheering her quietly on the side.
Then he spoke again, "We don't want rebellion. We want reflection." He gestured back toward the opposing team.
"Even your teammate—bravely—acknowledged that not all love is safe. That's what we've been trying to say all along."
And then, calmly said, "Obedience should never cost a child their safety, or their soul." He stepped down as the students watching stood up to loud applause.
Even I clapped, and I rarely clap.
The moderator took over, announcing a short break before rebuttal rounds.
I leaned back, staring at the ceiling, mind whirring.
"Hey, you okay? You've been spacing out since Jen started speaking." Tales asked, munching on some chips again.
"I'm fine," I said.
But I wasn't.
Because something had changed.
I stared at that guy whom I've never noticed until today. Until he bravely and openly argued about something I won't even dare to care about.
And now, I couldn't look away.
The moderators whispered among themselves, tallying scores and murmuring into the mic. The room buzzed with anticipation, but I barely noticed.
I was still looking at him.
He stepped down from the podium, calm and composed on the outside, but his hands gripped his cue cards a little too tightly, like his body hadn't caught up to the relief in his chest.
His teammates were already laughing quietly, nudging each other like they knew they'd won. But he didn't join them.
He just stood there, still. Not proud, not excited, just...unburdened. Like he had finally said something he'd been holding in for a long time.
Then came the announcement.
The moderator returned to the podium, clipboard in hand, adjusting his glasses with the same shaky fingers he used to straighten the mic. The chatter in the auditorium gradually died down, replaced by the sound of quiet breathing, shuffling feet, and the faint hum of anticipation.
I didn't think I'd care. Because I came here for Tales, not for this.
But my eyes had been fixed on one person the entire time. That black-haired guy who once existed on the edges of my world is now standing at the center of it.
I even thought after the debate, we wouldn't watch the awarding anymore. But here we are, still watching.
Tales leaned closer. "Bro, this is it."
I didn't move. My eyes were fixed on one person.
The moderator cleared his throat and began, voice even, almost too neutral.
"After careful deliberation, and considering the clarity of arguments, structure of rebuttals, and the emotional and intellectual impact of each speaker—"
The guy was standing beside his teammates, arms crossed, cue cards now at his side. His head was slightly bowed, but his gaze was steady. Bea was whispering something to Alisha, who looked like she couldn't stop grinning.
"—the judges have reached a unanimous decision."
Tales was practically vibrating beside me. "If Bea doesn't win this, I'll go crazy," he whispered.
I barely heard him.
"And the winning team for today's inter-school debate is..." The moderator glanced at the paper, then back up. "Team Nurture, from Grade 12 – Patience!"
Applause erupted across the room.
Bea let out a victorious laugh. Alisha clapped both hands to her mouth in surprise, while he simply blinked. His expression didn't shift much, but his shoulders lowered, just a bit, like he could finally exhale.
The moderator raised his voice over the cheers. "We also have a special award. For Best Speaker—based on impact, delivery, and depth of argument."
I knew the name before he said it.
"Jenoah R. Bayani."
Applause exploded across the auditorium. Students from his class stood up in celebration, some whistling, others clapping like they had known all along he'd win.
And me?
I stayed seated.
But my eyes stayed on him.
He blinked, stunned for a second, like he hadn't expected to hear his name either. Like, winning wasn't even the goal. But slowly, he made his way back to the stage, his movements stiff but graceful, holding onto the certificate they handed him like it might dissolve if he didn't grip it hard enough.
People were cheering.
But I was silent.
Because in that moment, all I could think about was how someone who used to be just noise to me had turned into something far louder than I expected.
Something I couldn't tune out anymore.
Jenoah R. Bayani...Jenoah...no, Noah. That suits him more.
Tales clapped loudly beside me. "Grabe, ang galing niya 'no? Hindi ko inexpect! Parang...totoo lahat ng sinabi niya. Medyo nasaktan ako, 'di ko rin alam bakit."
I didn't respond.
Because I wasn't just impressed.
I was...shaken.
That guy–no, Noah just stood there as people cheered, eyes slightly wide, almost surprised. Like he hadn't expected to win.
He looked down at the certificate handed to him, then gave a small, polite bow.
I kept staring. And that's when it hit me.
He wasn't just another name anymore.
He was a question I suddenly wanted to answer.
Then, before I could even stop myself, I caught myself staring at him.
Despite always being surrounded by people, there was this strange silence about him. A stillness, as if his laughter was just a performance, and inside, he was somewhere else entirely alone.
Then, I started noticing things I wasn't supposed to.
Like how he always had a pack of sour straws tucked in his bag, the kind they sold at the canteen, how he'd chew on one absentmindedly while reviewing in his usual corner seat at the library. How he sat with his back straight, legs crossed, as if even the way he studied had structure.
During debates, I began to see how he'd tug lightly at the hem of his uniform when he was nervous. A small, barely-there habit no one else seemed to notice, but I did. Every time. As if it grounded him.
And then I started wondering.
What would he look like if he smiled, really smiled? Not the polite one. Not the sarcastic, guarded smirk he threw around like armor. But the kind of smile that came out when no one was watching. When he wasn't holding the world together.
What did he look like when he wasn't pretending to be strong?
That's when it started.
Not a crush. Not a revelation. Just...curiosity.
A quiet, persistent kind of curiosity. The warm kind. The dangerous kind. The kind that crept in slowly until it was everywhere.
And I didn't want it to stop.
Especially when I caught him outside our clubroom.
We were trying to focus on the final outline for the upcoming science exhibit when Tales started pacing around the clubroom like a restless dog waiting to be walked.
"Bro, I really don't know if I should flirt with Bea or just watch her from afar like before," he muttered dramatically, arms flailing as he passed behind me for the fifth time in three minutes.
I didn't look up. "You're disturbing my peace."
"Hey, what I'm disturbing is your lack of social life," he shot back.
I sighed and finally looked up from my notes. Tales River was the kind of person who could make silence feel awkward even when it wasn't.
Always annoyingly allergic to stillness. But despite all that chaos, he was one of the few people I tolerated.
Because he had good timing most of the time.
Just not today.
"Do you want me to write the essay in your spot?" I asked dryly, spinning my pen.
"Please don't. Your writing sounds like it's meant for courtroom sentencing." He snapped back, glaring at me.
I rolled my eyes and leaned back. "Then leave me alone."
But he didn't.
He just stopped pacing, leaned his elbows on the back of my chair, and whispered loudly, "You know, I think she has a crush on me too."
"Tales—"
"I mean, come on. How many times have I caught her looking at me during our lab class? Then one day, she asked me what brand of cologne I use. Cologne, Nova. That's personal."
I blinked at him slowly, then returned to my notes, lips pressing into a flat line.
Tales and his delusions were nothing new. The man could mistake a sneeze in his direction as a marriage proposal.
He might just be the most delusional person I've ever met. Not that I know a lot.
"Maybe she was just trying to figure out what not to buy," I deadpanned, rubbing my eyes.
He gasped, grabbing his chest as if I had just stabbed him with a knife. "Wow. You're so harsh. That's why nobody likes you."
I gave him a look. That typical blank, unimpressed look I always wore. "And I sleep peacefully because of it."
Which was true.
I didn't have time for romantic delusions. I didn't need someone orbiting around my world, expecting me to understand feelings I couldn't even begin to name for myself. I preferred the silence and the distance of people irrelevant in my life.
After all, it was cleaner that way. Because people are always unpredictable, loud, and messy.
Tales? He lived for chaos.
And me? I lived for control.
Or at least, I used to.
Tales was about to reply with another dumb joke when a knock echoed at the door.
We both paused.
Tales raised an eyebrow. "Who's that?"
I stood up to check. As I opened the door, the light from the hallway spilled in, and there he was. With his usual straight lace uniform and clean hairstyle.
Jenoah Bayani.
He had one hand on a box, the other mid-air, to knock again. His usual bright expression flickered into surprise when he saw me.
"Oh, hi!" he greeted automatically, almost cheerily. Like he was trained to smile in social interactions.
But something shifted in his expression the moment he looked up at me. His smile faltered. His eyes landed squarely on my chest first, typical, then moved up, freezing once they met mine.
He blinked once.
I didn't say anything. Or more like I couldn't say anything.
I just watched.
He stared up at me like he wasn't expecting me to be the one answering the door. And maybe he wasn't. Maybe he expected some random club member to take the box, say thanks, and shut the door. But not me.
I stood there, still, quiet, unreadable, just like always. It's what I'm good at.
But something was different this time.
Because he wasn't looking at me like a rival.
He was just looking.
"Hey, I told you we need—Oh! Hi!" Tales' voice sliced through the silence as he appeared beside me, grinning when he saw the box.
I stepped slightly back as Tales came forward, smiling at the guy I was still staring at.
"Ma'am Cha asked me to deliver this," Jenoah said, handing over the box, but not to me. He handed it directly to Tales, like I wasn't even there.
Something about that annoyed me.
"Thanks, bro!" Tales beamed as he accepted the box. "Nova, say thanks to—uh...what's your name again?""
I wanted to smack Tales.
Seriously? He's the guy from the debate two weeks ago. Are you crazy? The guy who shook the whole room with just his words. That wasn't someone you forget.
Tales might not have recognized him.
But I did. Too well, actually.
Jenoah laughed, and it was unfair how light it sounded or how normal it sounded in my ears. "I'm Jenoah Bayani. President of the Debate Club," he said, gesturing casually toward the hallway.
"That's where we are."
He didn't even glance at me.
"Ahh! Tales River," Tales nodded. "And this is our dearest N—"
"Yup. I know him," Jenoah interrupted, eyes flicking to me for the first time since the door opened. "Nova Greatstone."
There was something in the way he said my name, it was smooth but sharp, like a knife pressed flat against skin.
"We're rivals, you know?" he added, flashing a smile that was a little too smug.
A little too perfect.
Tales nearly dropped the box. "WAIT, YOU'RE THE JENOAH BAYANI?! Wow, bro, you're amazing at debating!"
I almost smacked him then and there; he should have known him just from his name.
Unbelievable.
Noah just laughed again, rubbing the back of his neck. "Oh, it's nothing."
And for some reason, my brain short-circuited at the sight of him acting...shy.
He never looked like that onstage. Onstage, he was fire and precision and venom in polite packaging.
But here?
He was...soft. Blushing like he was being boiled.
He looked away, nodding toward his club room. "Uh, it's nice to meet you. But I should head back. Club duties and all," he said, motioning toward the group of students waving at him.
Then he turned to leave. I was about to sigh in disappointment.
But halfway through, he paused. He looked over his shoulder.
And this time, looked straight at me.
"Oh—and good luck with your contest. And Nova..." he said my name again, and I swear the hallway got quieter.
"...I'll definitely beat you next intramurals."
Our eyes locked. There was no teasing in his tone. No hint of irony.
It was a declaration.
He smiled. Then turned and walked away with his shoulders proud, grin growing, as if he had just won something I hadn't realized we were competing for.
And I just stood there.
Frozen.
Because for the first time in all the years I'd known him—
I wasn't thinking about beating him.
I was thinking about how he looked when he smiled.
How his voice dipped low when he was being serious.
How I started noticing the curl of his hair behind his ear. The way he tugged at the hem of his shirt when he was nervous. The way he never looked back, except today.
And that stupid little flame I always thought was rivalry?
It wasn't a rivalry anymore.
I had a crush on him.
And I didn't know how to undo that, and I didn't want to.
What I just hoped at that time was that he and I, on the same team, would review side by side. Hanging out, not as rivals, but something softer.
And maybe–no, I was sure, that was when it all quietly began.