101 Days of Heartbreak Series Book 1: Letters of Heartbreak

Chapter 1

1.

                                                                                           STAGE 1 

                                                                       The White Thread of Innocence

Dear Kamita, 

Do you remember the first day we met? We were seven--- and it was at a park in Makati. I had bruises the size of golf balls from engaging in a fight with three stupid, spoiled rich little boys who thought picking on a girl was cool. I snuck out from right under my nanny's nose so I can think in peace. While I was sprawled on the grass, thinking about things, these three boys started pulling my hair. Their nannies were useless that time as they were huddled near the swings, probably gossiping about the new gardener next door or the cute mailman, who in my opinion, is not really cute and resembles a perverted old man who hasn't had his diaper changed yet. Being the feisty girl that I was, I hit one boy on the nose just to stop the incessant ramblings of nonsense things on my then bratty ears. 

As you might have remembered, all hell broke loose. At least I survived and with only a few bruises and insults from the useless nannies. The boys had bloody noses. I was so proud of myself. 

While I was nursing my wounds, you appeared from nowhere and sat beside me under that tree with a sketch pad in your hand. Remember how I ignored you? I felt confident I can break your nose too if you tried something funny, but you were still a stranger and I might have pitied you for being so thin for a boy. I wasn't fat as a kid, but I still have a few good pounds over you. That's how thin you were so I just opted to ignore you at least at first. 

We spent an hour in companionable silence. You just kept sketching while I was busy rubbing my bruises with strips of grass because I might have read somewhere that plants heal bruises (well yes, but not grass). I noticed your glances. I knew you find me weird back then, but still you never talked. So I was surprised when a piece of paper torn from a sketchpad landed right in front of my face. 

--- 

She looked at him, her thick eyebrows creased in confusion as she alternately gazed at the piece of paper and at the boy. 

He gave her a toothy smile, his own bushy eyebrows lifted in what seemed to be amusement. She only recognized just now that he looked kind of ugly, at least in the eyes of a 7-year-old girl. He has long, thin face; crooked nose; really small eyes, which resemble the slits of metals in arcade games where tokens are inserted; slightly pouty lips; eyebrows, which remind her of an overly used toothbrush; and really pale white skin, which is in contrast to her light brown complexion.  

"What is this?" she asked, looking at the thin boy.  

"I don't speak Tagalog," he replied in strangely accented English, surprising her. "But I know little English," he continued, his ls sounding like rs. 

She nodded wordlessly like an idiot for a few seconds before snapping back to reality and addressing the boy again, this time in English. She lives in a household where English was taught first before the supposed native language. She owes her fluent Tagalog to their maids. 

"I asked what this is," she repeated, pointing a finger towards the piece of sketchpad. "Why did you give me this?" 

He lifted his shoulders and let them fall down, the shape of his back reminding her of a turtle. "For you," was all he replied. She looked at him, about to argue, but her words were hindered by a sound of a female voice calling for a name and speaking in a language she is not familiar with. She and the boy turned their heads to where the voice is coming from.