Strings of Fate: The First Loop

CHAPTER 9

I pick up my tray. Inez loops her arm through mine again.

And for the first time all day, I feel fully here.
The afternoon stretches out like a film reel running too fast. Even Choir, which usually lifts me out of my head, feels like a passing moment, like I’m watching myself sing instead of actually doing it.

My lips form the notes.

My voice blends with the others.

But my mind… it’s somewhere else entirely.

That dream still sits on the edges of me, like mist clinging to skin after stepping out of the sea. I can still feel the salt, the air, the way I floated up like gravity forgot me. And then James’s grin replaces the boy in the dream. His wink. That stupid cup of ice cream. Seven out of ten.

The thought makes me smile again, uninvited.

I shake my head as I pack up my things after practice. I don’t know why it’s lingering. Why he’s lingering. It’s just a quiz. Just a boy. Just a glance.

But maybe it’s not.

The air was warm, humming with the usual after-school lull, the kind of quiet that settles over the streets when everyone is either too tired to talk or too busy thinking. I stepped out of the school gates, my bag tugging at one shoulder, my mind still lingering in fragments of the day.

“Betty!”

I turned at the sound of my name and saw Matt catching up to me. Of course, his uniform was still immaculate. Not a single crease on his polo, not a hair out of place. Even now, after an entire day, he looked like he’d just stepped out of a brochure.

“Can I walk with you?” he asked, his voice careful, polite.

I gave him a small nod. “Sure.”

We didn’t talk at first. The silence stretched between us, not awkward, not forced. Just… quiet. Like neither of us knew what to say, or maybe we both knew that whatever we said wouldn’t land quite right.

Still, I could feel him. The way he walked just a step behind, how he kept adjusting the strap of his bag even though it didn’t really need adjusting. I didn’t turn, but I could feel his eyes drifting to me every few steps, soft and searching. Like he wanted to speak but didn’t know which version of me would be listening.

The sky above us was slowly fading to lavender, and the streetlights were beginning to flicker on, one by one. We passed by the corner store and the small park bench where some younger kids were gathered with guitar cases. The scent of fried batter and spiced vinegar drifted on the air, pulling my attention toward a nearby food cart.

“Want something to eat?” Matt asked, gesturing toward it. His voice was careful, but there was something hopeful behind it.

I hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. Why not.”

We stopped at the cart. The vendor smiled, already recognizing me from the last time I was here, with James. But I didn’t mention that.

I ordered isaw, the crispy kind, and a cold bottle of soda. Matt asked for fishballs and water, of course. I watched him carefully hold the stick around his hand like he didn’t want to make a mess.

He stood straight even when he ate. Dipped his fishball into the sauce with precision. Not a drop spilled.

I took a bite of my isaw and felt the familiar tang of vinegar cut through the fat. It was hot, slightly burnt, just the way I liked it. The kind of food that made your fingers sticky and your lips sting a little.

I thought about James, how the first time we ate here he laughed at how much I could eat. How I had dragged him out after tutoring and told him, how he got sauce on his nose and didn’t even care.

Matt, on the other hand, ate quietly. Carefully. Still glancing at me when he thought I wouldn’t notice. But I noticed. I always noticed. The way his eyes lingered when I chewed, or when I wiped my mouth, or even just stared off into the sky for a moment too long.

“You like it here?” he finally asked, his voice soft.

I looked at him. “I think I’m starting to.”

He nodded like that meant something to him, and I wondered what he was holding back. I wondered if I’d ever know.

We walked again, this time slower. The sun was dipping lower now, casting shadows across the pavement. Our feet crunched over dry leaves, and the wind picked up just enough to rustle the strands of hair loose from my ponytail.

When we reached my house, I slowed at the gate. Two houses down, I saw Matt’s porch light already on.

“Well,” I said.

“Well,” he echoed, then smiled. It was small, shy.

“See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” I replied, my voice gentler than I meant it to be.

I watched him as he turned away. He didn’t look back, but his steps slowed near his gate, like he was waiting for something, maybe for me to call out. But I didn’t.

Inside, the smell of kare-kare hit me like a memory, peanut sauce, garlic, a hint of bagoong wafting from the kitchen. My dad stood there, stirring the pot, his apron dusted with powdered mix.

“Hey, anak,” he said, smiling.

I smiled back and nodded before heading straight to my room.

I dropped my bag, pulled off my shoes, and sank into my bed, staring at the ceiling. I could still feel the weight of Matt’s glances on my skin. Not heavy, but there. Lingering.

And yet, all I could think about was James’s grin. That stupid wink. The ice cream melting. The dream I couldn't let go of.

Something was unfolding. I just didn’t know what shape it would take.

The rest of the night went the way it always did.

Dinner with Dad was quiet. Not the kind of silence that begged to be filled, just the kind that settled over everything, like a soft dust. We ate kare-kare in front of the TV, both of us pretending to watch whatever show was on, neither of us really tasting the food. The peanut sauce clung to my tongue longer than it used to. Maybe I was imagining that. Maybe everything just lingered longer lately.

Afterward, I helped him wash the dishes. He thanked me with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Then he went to bed, like he always did, a little too early. I waited a few minutes before I passed his room, paused by the door. The sound came like it always came, soft, muffled, buried into pillows. My father’s cries. Fragile and stubborn. I could picture him lying curled on his side, trying to hold everything in.

I went to my own room, closed the door, turned off the lights.

And I cried too.

Not loudly. Not messily. Just enough to let it out in waves. Like there was a weight inside my chest that needed somewhere to go. A ritual, by now. A quiet mourning, shared but never spoken about. Me and him, each behind our own walls. Our grief folding in on itself, again and again.

I wiped my face and lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling. The only light in the room was from my phone screen, still unlocked beside me. I was about to turn it off when it vibrated.

James Gray:
You awake?

I stared at the message. My heart skipped, or paused, or flipped, I couldn’t tell. I blinked away the tears still caught in the corners of my eyes.

Me:
Yeah. Wide awake.

A pause.

Then:

James Gray:
Good. I’m coming over your house. Let’s drive somewhere.

I sat up, heart suddenly alive.

The room didn’t feel as heavy anymore.

And for the first time that night, I wasn’t just remembering how it used to feel, I was wondering what came next.