Strings of Fate: The First Loop

CHAPTER 37

With my mug cradled between my palms, I settled into the rocking chair on the porch. Darkness still clung to the sky, and the usual clamor from the neighbors was absent... no karaoke, no shouting, just the low, rhythmic chirp of crickets filling the space between heartbeats. The world felt paused, as if waiting with me.

Then the door creaked open and Dad stepped out, worry flickering across his face like a shadow passing through sunlight.

“You’re early,” he said softly.

I forced a small smile. “Not spiraling, Dad. Just... weird dreams.”

He exhaled deeply, the sound almost a question. “Got some coffee left?”

I nodded, and when he returned, he settled down on the porch steps beside me, our mugs warm in our hands, like tiny islands of comfort against the chill.

“How’s school?” he asked, his voice steady but gentle.

“Fine,” I said, watching the first faint traces of dawn spill across the horizon like spilled paint. “Inez is still on me about joining the Campus Prom Queen contest. The lessons are harder now, but I’ll manage.”

His lips twitched, teasing. “And James?”

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “We’re good. Better, even. He’s different now.... good different.”

There was a pause, a quiet weight in the space between us. I nudged him back with a teasing smile. “How about you and Claire?”

His cheeks flushed, and he stumbled over his words. “S-She’s... well, we’re good. She’s kind, supportive... respectful of your mom’s memory.”

I smiled, feeling a tender warmth bloom in my chest. “She’s a good woman, Dad. And her adobo? Absolutely unbeatable.”

We laughed, soft and easy, like a balm on old wounds.

As the sun began to push the night away, I found my mind wandering, tangled in thought... how grief, in all its bitter weight, is oddly the foundation of happiness. It’s strange, isn’t it? That the pain of loss carves the space where joy can root itself more deeply. Without the ache, would the light even feel warm? Like this coffee...  bitter, harsh, with that sharp edge that wakes every sense... it wouldn’t be the same without the mango jam’s wild sweetness spread thick over a plain slice of bread, making the whole thing somehow better.

Life, I think, is made richer by this weaving together of pain and pleasure, the way joy never tastes quite as bright without the shadow of sorrow behind it. We are tangled up in both... grief and hope, loss and love... and that messy, unpredictable dance is what makes everything worth living.

Maybe that’s why I sit here now, holding this cup, feeling the chill in the air and the sweetness on my tongue, and somehow it all makes sense. The bitter and the sweet, the dark and the light... all pieces of the same story, all parts of the same heart.

----------------------------------------------

I slid into the driver’s seat of the Toyota Vios Dad gave me on my seventeenth birthday, the familiar leather cool beneath my fingertips. The engine hummed to life, steady and calm, a quiet promise in the early morning light.

I reached for my phone and pressed play. Taylor’s voice filled the car.... soft and insistent, like a secret whispered across the miles.

“Is this the end of all the endings?
My broken bones are mending
With all these nights we're spending
Up on the roof with a school girl crush...”

The lyrics floated through the cabin, warm and gentle as sunlight filtering through the windshield. The world outside blurred past in soft streaks... trees, houses, the sleepy town still wrapped in dawn’s lingering hush.