INVISIBLE STRING

I - Before the String

The courtyard was already buzzing—students laughing, teachers crossing with folders and coffee in hand, and flyers fluttering on the bulletin board: club meetings, the Foundation Day dance, reminders about clearance. Our school was alive with its usual overachieving chaos.

Nasa entrance pa lang ako ng gate, may narinig na agad akong matinis na boses approaching fast.

"Ano ba, Karylle! Did you bring my hairbrush? Please tell me you brought it, my bangs are rebelling—"

There she was. Jillian Candice Tan. My best friend since first grade. Self-declared future Miss Universe and reigning queen of lunchtime chismis. Basically, a walking beauty disaster this early in the morning.

She looked half-panicked, holding a compact mirror in one hand, chewing on the edge of her ID lanyard with the other.

"I brought it," I said, already digging into my bag. "You're welcome. Again."

"Ugh, my savior. My soulmate. My pambansang conditioner. Alam mo naman na hindi p'wedeng matalino lang, dapat maganda rin" She took the brush and immediately launched into a hair emergency mission.

"Speaking of soulmates," she muttered, suddenly lowering her voice, eyes flicking around. "Did you see him na? I saw him earlier with the new girl."

I didn't need to ask who.

Thirdie Mikhael Ramirez.

Tall. Charismatic. Too charming for his own good. The kind of guy who would help you carry your project and then disappear into the library to annotate poetry and still make it to varsity training.

My heart did a small, annoying flip. The kind it had learned to do whenever his name came up.

"Nope," I said, trying to sound casual. "Not yet."

Candice gave me a look. The one that says liar, liar, string on fire.

"You know," she said, brushing her bangs into place with surgical precision, "if you just asked him what his type is, maybe destiny would get jealous and finally assign you a thread out of pure spite."

"I'm not obsessed with him, Jill."

She gasped dramatically. "Wow, gaslighting me at seven a.m.? Ako pa talaga sinungaling? Babe, I see you staring at his pinky like it owes you rent."

I rolled my eyes.

But she wasn't wrong.

I had looked. I looked every day—during flag ceremonies, on the way to class, while passing by the gym. I'd glance at my own pinky finger, willing something—anything—to appear.

But there was always nothing.

Just... air.

Empty.

No string.

No sign.

No soulmate.

And yet... hope? Always there. Quiet. Waiting.

We reached our building just as the second bell rang. Students flooded in from all directions—hurrying, laughing, yawning. The scent of cologne, and breakfast snacks mingled in the air.

Candice was still talking, something about trying out for the Foundation Day emcees, when I paused.

Mid-step. Mid-laugh.

There it was.

A flicker of red at the corner of my vision.

A thin, glowing thread—like silk kissed by sunlight.