Strings of Fate: The First Loop

CHAPTER 35

The curve of his smile, the tired gleam in his eyes, the way his fingers still trembled slightly on the strings. Everything in him that broke me, healed me, untangled me. Everything in him that made me love him.

And I did.

“I love you,” I whispered.

It felt like a prayer. Like a sigh of relief after holding my breath too long. Like stepping into light after weeks of forgetting what it felt like.

His lips parted, his smile blooming slow and soft.

“And I love you more,” he said.

No hesitation. No irony. Just truth.

In a breath, we were kissing. Not a timid kiss. Not a question.

It was full, of passion, of longing, of everything we couldn’t say before. A push and pull of hearts trying to catch up to all the moments we missed. It tasted like apologies, like grief and hope colliding. Like hunger and home.

His hands were in my hair. Mine on his jaw, my fingers trembling from how much I wanted to remember this exact moment.

We were breathless and starving.

The kiss deepened, tilting into something wild, unspoken. A tangle of everything that had broken us and the force that stitched us back together. Our pain. Our fear. Our healing. Our faith. As if it's all been woven together like strings or threads into something both messy and true, something done by our choice and our fate.

It didn’t feel like the end of something. It felt like the beginning. The first looping of threads to create a beautifully stiched pattern.

We pulled away slowly, breaths tangled, hearts steadying. Our foreheads met, gently, like two waves resting after a storm.

His eyes searched mine, not for answers, but for something quiet and sure.

Then he smiled, sheepish.

“I realized…” he murmured, “we never had a formal date.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You never asked.”

He chuckled softly, then reached for my hand, fingers threading between mine like a habit he never wanted to lose.

“Well then,” he said, clearing his throat a little dramatically. “Ms. Elizabeth Marie Finn… I would be the happiest man alive if you would go on a date with me.”

I felt the laugh before I let it out. It bubbled up from somewhere light inside me.

I gave a tiny nod. “The pleasure is all mine, Mr. James Andrew Gray.”

He grinned. “Saturday?”

“Saturday,” I said.

“Saturday it is.”

And just like that, we leaned in again, not for another kiss, but a quiet hug, his arms warm and strong around me, like the kind of safety you don’t even realize you’ve been missing until you feel it again.

No firework finale. No grand confession in front of a crowd.

Just us. The sea. The stars. A boy who got lost and a girl who broke and healed and chose to stay.

As we sat there in each other’s arms, the waves whispered just below the wall, soft and unbothered, as if they too, knew how fragile and holy this moment was. The air smelled of salt and woodsmoke from distant houses. His heartbeat steadied against my cheek like a lullaby I didn’t know I’d memorized.

And for once, I wasn’t afraid of tomorrow. I don't care if the sun will shine on the West and set on the East. Even if the world would end, as long as he is next to me I thought it would be okay.

All my life I thought healing had to look like strength. Like silence. Like pretending the cracks weren’t there if you just smiled wide enough.

But sitting there with James, I realized maybe healing wasn’t about erasing the damage, it was about growing around it, with someone who chose to stay anyway.

I used to carry a jar inside me. One filled with thoughts I couldn’t say and tears I couldn’t show. I thought I needed to keep it sealed so the world wouldn’t see how breakable I really was.

But somewhere between the fishballs and the Ferris wheel, between the laughter and the drowning and the silence that he filled with music, I forgot about the jar. I forgot about needing to be perfect.

Because something else mattered more.

He mattered.

And maybe... I did too.

As I looked up at the stars, I didn't wish for anything.

For the first time in a long while, I already had it.

There are moments that arrive like soft rain, unannounced, unassuming, but washing over everything you thought you’d carry forever.

Our Saturday date was like that.

We strolled the mall, not needing to talk too much. I watched him, how he stood beside me in the escalator, a little shy when our arms brushed, how he reached for my hand in the cinema when the lights dimmed. We watched some silly action movie, but I only remembered the way he glanced at me during the quiet scenes. Dinner was at a restaurant with white tablecloths and candles too tall for the room. He wore a button-down shirt. I wore a dress that used to feel too fancy. We laughed. We didn't talk about the past. We just... were.

Midterms came. James passed. Eighty-eight average. He burst through the hallway, holding his paper above his head like a trophy. We celebrated at a karaoke bar with Tim, Inez, Corey, and Drake. Tim and Corey got drunk and sang out-of-tune love songs. Inez had to drag Tim outside, threatening to leave him there if he didn’t sober up. James sang something low and sweet. I closed my eyes and let the music blur into laughter.

One night, I stood beside my dad, looking up at Mom’s portrait. Her smile was the same. Mine wasn’t so far anymore. Claire stepped into the room quietly. She kissed my dad’s cheek. She hugged me without hesitation. I didn’t flinch.

December 16. My seventeenth birthday.

My dad bought me a Toyota Vios. I told him he was out of his mind. He said, “You’re my only child.” I couldn’t argue with that.

James gave me a small box. Inside, is a replica of my mom’s gold butterfly charm bracelet. The same design. The same gentle wings. I cried, right there in front of everyone. He didn't say anything. Just pulled me into a quiet hug. Inez lit a candle on the cake and whispered, “Make a wish, B.” But I already had everything I wanted.

Then Christmas arrived. Our first real one, after Mom died. We had noche buena, me, Dad, and Claire. We passed around tupperwares full of sweet spaghetti, ham, macaroni salad, and mango float, laughed over burnt chicken inasal that dad cooked in our backyard, and  we exchanged wrapped gifts under the twinkle of christmas lights. Claire leaned toward me before we cleaned up and said, “Thank you.” I didn’t ask for what. I just smiled.

And then came New Year’s Eve, January 01, James’s birthday. Dinner was at his house. His dad smiled. For the first time, really smiled. His mom, too, looked like the weight she carried finally loosened its grip. After we cleared the table, his father pulled me in for a hug. His mother joined. We stood outside, under a sky about to burst.

James held my hand as the countdown began. "You are the best thing that's ever been mine."he whispered to me.

“Ten… nine… eight…”

We didn't speak.

“Three… two… one---- ”

The sky exploded in color. Fireworks reflected in his eyes as he looked at me.

Everything felt warm. Everything felt full.

Everything felt happy.

…Too happy.

And I thought to myself, the year has turned a new page, nothing more could ever go wrong... right?