Somewhere in Manila

“His lies were small at first. Like pebbles in a shoe – annoying, but ignorable.”

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Silent journey, broken trust, quiet healing

The engine hums beneath us, steady and low, like a lullaby sung by tired metal. The bus cuts through the dark like a quiet secret, leaving the lights of Quezon City behind.

We’ve got eight hours ahead of us, Mia. So, I figured this is as good a time as any to tell you everything.

You always said I keep too much inside. That I romanticize chaos. Maybe you were right.

But this isn’t just a story. It’s a confession.

You remember Jules, right? The exchange student from the Netherlands with the messy hair and charming accent. The one who danced to BTS at your birthday even though he didn’t know a single lyric?

Yeah. That Jules.

He was funny. The kind of funny that doesn’t try. He’d mispronounce Tagalog on purpose just to make me laugh. He carried a little notebook in his pocket where he scribbled phrases and questions like “What is Halo-halo?” and “Why do jeepneys look like party tanks?”

I thought he was adorable. So did everyone. But somehow, he chose me.

It started simple. Study groups. Late-night drives to McDonald's. Sharing fries. Sharing secrets. He told me about his hometown. I told him about mine. He said I was easy to talk to. I said he was hard to read.

He liked that.

I should have known from the beginning.

The lies were small at first. Like pebbles in a shoe. He’d cancel plans last-minute. Take phone calls outside. Flinch when I reached for his phone.

I asked once. He smiled. Said I was overthinking.

And Mia, I believed him.

Because when you like someone, you don’t see red flags. You see red scarves in the wind. You think they’re dancing.

We kissed under the overpass near España. Rain on metal. Horns blaring. It should’ve felt wrong, but it didn’t. It felt electric.

I think that’s what made it worse.

He told me he wasn’t seeing anyone.

He said I made him feel new.

He said he wanted to stay longer. For me.

God, I was so naïve.

He met my mom once. She liked him. Said he had “honest eyes.” Ironic, huh?

We took a trip to Tagaytay. Just the two of us. He held my hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.

That night, in a tiny inn with cracked windows and too many mosquitos, he said, “I’ve never done this before.”

“Done what?”

“Fallen this hard.”

And I fell harder.

We weren’t official. He said labels ruined things. Said he wanted to just feel.

I let him feel everything.

The truth unraveled in pieces. Like thread pulled gently, almost kindly.

He went quiet for a weekend. No texts. No calls.

Then a message came. From a name I didn’t recognize.

“Hi. I think you know my fiancé.”

My stomach dropped so hard, I thought I’d never get it back.

I didn’t respond. I went straight to him.

He didn’t deny it.

“She’s back home,” he said. “It’s complicated.”

“Does she know about me?”

“She does now.”

I wanted to scream. Throw something. Break his face or my heart or both.

But I didn’t.

I just stood there. Feeling everything all at once.

He said he was sorry. That he didn’t expect this. That he didn’t mean to hurt anyone.

Classic.

I walked away.

He didn’t follow.

That’s when I knew.

You only chase what you think you deserve.

And I deserved better.

The weeks after were a blur. You remember. I barely ate. Slept too much. Then not at all. I became a ghost with Wi-Fi.

You told me to block him. I did.

You told me to burn his hoodie. I couldn’t.

But I did stop waiting.

And that was something.

Then, last week, a message.

From her.

Just one line: Thank you for telling me without saying a word.

I stared at it for a long time.

Then I smiled.

And deleted it.

Because some things don’t deserve a reply.

They just deserve an ending.

Like Jules.

Like us.

Like this story.

Thanks for listening, Mia.

And for not interrupting.

I think I just needed someone to witness it.

The way we all do, when we finally decide to heal.

The bus hums on. And for the first time in months, so do I.

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