Missy Maramara didn’t believe in soulmates. At least, not in the romanticized, everything-happens-for-a-reason kind of way. She believed in timing, in choices, in the delicate, deliberate choreography of two people deciding to stay.
And once upon a time, she chose Ariel.
They met in a faculty orientation seminar on a humid June morning, seated beside each other in a conference room that smelled of whiteboard markers and panic. Missy was freshly minted from grad school, bright-eyed, quick-tongued, and unapologetically precise. Ariel, meanwhile, had that kind of presence you don’t immediately notice—until you do, and then you can’t not.
He spoke softly when called upon, but when he did, every word landed with weight.
“‘Wika ang daluyan ng alaala,’” Ariel said during a discussion on Filipino identity in education. “‘Kung paanong inaalala natin ang sarili, ganun din natin binubuo ang bansa.’”
Missy, half-listening, looked up—and that was the first time she saw him fully.
He caught her gaze briefly, smiled. “Too abstract?” he teased after the session, catching up to her in the hallway.
“Too beautiful,” she replied, surprising even herself.
That was the beginning.
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They weren’t the type to fall hard and fast. They orbited first—long talks after lectures, grading side by side at the cafeteria, riding the same tricycle to Katipunan. Missy brought her annotated plays and black coffee; Ariel brought his poetry and taho.
“Bakit laging may pulang pentel pen ka?” he asked one day.
“Because I like making things better,” she said, then smirked. “Scared?”
He laughed. “Only of getting an F in your class.”
One rainy evening after a seminar, they found themselves alone in the Rizal Library, caught in that strange, magical silence between thunderclaps.
“Missy,” he said gently, “do you ever wonder what people will remember us for?”
She looked up from her book. “Yes. But I’m more worried about what we’ll forget.”
Then his hand touched hers.
And that was it.
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They kept it quiet. Partly because they had to, partly because something about it felt sacred. But love, no matter how discreet, leaves traces.
A lingering look during lunch breaks. Missy borrowing Ariel’s scarf and forgetting to return it for weeks. Ariel attending one of her solo performances without telling her he would.
They had their differences. She was structure; he was spontaneity. She needed control; he moved in instinct. But for a while, it worked. It thrived.
Until it didn’t.
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The unraveling was not dramatic. No shouting matches. No big betrayal. Just life, creeping in like a quiet, persistent storm.
Schedules clashed. Priorities shifted. Ariel wanted to start teaching in public schools, closer to his hometown in the south. Missy got offered a fellowship abroad.
“Why can’t we try?” he asked one night in her apartment, frustration evident in his tone.
Missy looked away. “Because we’ll only end up resenting each other.”
“So what, we just—stop?”
She didn’t answer.
He waited.
She still didn’t answer.
——————————————————
The day Ariel left Ateneo, he left her a book—his favorite anthology of Filipino essays. Inside, he wrote:
| “Para kay M.
| Para sa lahat ng hindi natin nasabi.
| – A.”
She never replied. She never knew how.
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Sa Dulo ng Palabas
FanfictionMissy Maramara x Ariel Diccion A love that began in the classroom, fell apart in silence, and found its way home onstage.
