Will you Remember me?
Article 1: The Bus
Kaila opened her eyes to the soft morning light filtering through her curtains. For a moment everything felt normal—her room with the posters of her favorite bands on the wall, the stack of textbooks on her desk, the faint smell of last night's sinigang still lingering from the kitchen. She sat up slowly, stretching her arms above her head, and reached for the diary on her bedside table out of pure habit. The worn leather cover felt familiar under her fingers, though she couldn't quite remember why she always checked it first thing.
She flipped to yesterday's page and read her own neat handwriting like it was a letter from a friend she hadn't seen in years.
March 11 – Reviewed for the history quiz. Mom made adobo. Felt tired after practice. Nothing big happened.
Nothing big. That was good. She closed the diary, set it back carefully, and swung her legs out of bed. Eighteen years old, top of her class, daughter of a cop father who always preached discipline and a teacher mother who reminded her every day that hard work opened doors. Moderate life, steady routines. She liked it that way.
In the bathroom she brushed her teeth, splashed cool water on her face, and stared at her reflection for a second. Same girl as always—dark hair tied back in a simple ponytail, clear skin, eyes that still looked a little sleepy. She pulled on her school uniform: crisp white blouse, navy skirt that fell just above the knee, comfortable sneakers because the walk to the bus stop could get dusty. She packed her bag with notebooks, the literature book she was halfway through, and an extra pen just in case. Downstairs her mom had already set out breakfast—rice, fried egg, and a slice of spam. They ate quickly, talking about nothing important: the weather, her dad's night shift, whether she needed lunch money.
"Be safe on the bus, ha?" her mom said as Kaila kissed her cheek and headed out the door.
"I always am," Kaila replied with a small smile. She stepped into the humid morning air, backpack slung over one shoulder, and walked the familiar route to the bus stop. The city was already waking up—jeepneys honking, vendors setting up stalls, the distant rumble of traffic. She checked her phone for the time, adjusted her earphones even though she wasn't playing anything yet, and waited with the small crowd. Just another ordinary school day.
Across town, Eustace Klyve Stern Delgado woke to a sharp pulse behind his left eye. He lay still for a moment in the dim light of his apartment, staring at the ceiling, willing the ache to ease. It never fully left anymore, but some mornings it hit harder than others. He rubbed his temple with two fingers, slow circles, then forced himself to sit up. Thirty years old, and the body was already reminding him it wasn't invincible.
He padded to the bathroom, stripped off his sleep shirt, and stepped into the shower. Hot water beat against his shoulders and back, loosening the tension in the solid muscles he kept in shape with early gym sessions and weekend rides. The steam filled the small space, carrying the clean scent of his usual soap—something woody and fresh. He washed quickly, shaved with careful strokes around the faint scar near his left eyebrow, and dressed in one of his crisp white button-downs and dark slacks. The suit jacket could wait until he reached the firm.
In the kitchen he made coffee, strong and black, and turned on the small TV mounted on the wall for background noise while he checked his emails. The morning news flickered on, the anchor's voice bright and professional.
"…and in local legal news, rising star Klyve Delgado of Reyes & Delgado has secured yet another decisive victory in the high-profile Montalban merger case. Sources say the youngest senior associate closed the deal in record time with zero losses on the table. Colleagues describe him as the golden boy of Philippine law—undefeated since his debut case, and looking more like a leading man than a courtroom warrior. Photos from the courthouse steps have already gone viral, with many calling him the new face of success in the legal world."
Klyve snorted softly and took a sip of coffee. He muted the TV just as his phone rang. Marco's name flashed on the screen.
"Eu, you up? We're heading to the firm early—partners want to prep for the next hearing. You coming?"
Klyve set the mug down. "Can't ride with you today. Bike's still at the shop after that sideswipe last week. Mechanic keeps saying 'next Tuesday.' I'll take the bus."
Marco laughed on the other end. "The bus? Eustace Klyve Stern Delgado on public transport? The ladies at the stop are gonna lose their minds when they see you, Klyve. Don't forget to sign autographs."
"Very funny," Klyve muttered, rubbing his temple again as the ache gave another low throb. "I'll be there when I get there. Tell the team I'll review the files on the way."
He ended the call, grabbed his briefcase, and headed out. The walk to the bus stop was short but already warm. He boarded the crowded bus, found a seat by the window, and leaned his head against the cool glass, sunglasses on to block the glare and the stares. The pressure behind his eye lingered, quiet but constant. He ignored it the way he always did and let the city blur past outside.
The bus rolled forward, heavy with morning commuters. Klyve kept his gaze on the passing buildings, one hand resting on his thigh.
Then the driver slammed on the brakes without warning.
Bodies lurched. A girl standing near the rear door lost her footing completely—sneakers slipping on the dirty floor, arms flailing as she pitched straight toward him.
Klyve reacted on instinct. Strong arms snapped around her waist, catching her before she could crash into the pole or worse. The impact pressed her flush against his solid chest. He felt her hands instinctively grab his shirt, palms flat against the hard lines of muscle beneath the fabric.
Her face ended up inches from his. Wide eyes, flushed cheeks, dark hair slipping from her ponytail. And then he caught the faint citrus scent of her shampoo mixed with the sudden closeness.
"I've got you," he said, voice low and steady right above her ear. "You okay?"
She looked up at him. For a heartbeat their faces were so close he could see the surprise in her expression, the way her breath caught. His own breath—fresh from the mint toothpaste and cool water—brushed her cheek, warm and clean, pulling her in without meaning to.
"Y-yes… thank you," she stammered, voice small and breathless. Her palms were still pressed against his chest. She could feel every defined muscle there—shoulders, pectorals, the ridged abdomen that didn't give an inch even under her weight. Heat flooded her face. She had never felt anything like it before.
He helped her straighten with easy strength, then gave her a small, tired half-smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "No problem. Hold the rail next time. Driver's got a lead foot today."
Kaila nodded quickly, cheeks still burning, and grabbed the overhead bar as the bus started moving again. She stole glances at him the rest of the ride—the tall man with the sharp jaw, dark hair, faint scar near his eyebrow. He went back to staring out the window, one hand occasionally pressing lightly against his left temple. But she couldn't stop thinking about how solid he had felt, how safe those arms had been, and how his breath had smelled so fresh and clean it made her stomach flutter in a way no boy at school ever had.
She didn't know his name yet.
He didn't know hers.
But for both of them, the ordinary morning had suddenly become something neither could quite shake.
To be continue