Strings of Fate: The First Loop

CHAPTER 52 - AND I LET HER GO...

The sun was dipping when I got there. The court behind the gym was cracked, nets rusted, lines faded into dust.

Matt stood under the rim, spinning the ball on his finger.

“Thought you hated this place,” I called.

“I do,” he said, grinning. “That’s why I figured it was neutral territory.”

I chuckled and tossed him my extra ball. “First to eleven?”

He nodded. “No fouls.”

“No mercy.”

We played hard. Not to win. But to let it out.

All the tension. All the moments we’d been too proud to speak plainly. All the shadows of Betty between us.

It ended 11–9. Him.

I dropped to the ground, catching my breath. “Still can’t drive left.”

He dropped beside me, sweaty and quiet. “Still overthink every shot.”

We sat there. Two boys trying to be men. In a world that expected us to either fight or fake it.

“Betty told me once,” he said slowly, “that you shine too bright. That’s why people don’t always see your darkness.”

I blinked. “She told me you never break. That’s why people don’t notice when you do.”

He looked down. “I envied you, man. The way people follow you. The way you laugh without calculating the cost.”

“And I envied you,” I admitted. “For being solid. For being... enough without trying.”

The silence between us wasn’t empty. It was healing.

Matt leaned back, gazing at the sky. “I think we both loved her differently.”

“And she needed both kinds,” I murmured.

He nodded. “But we weren’t meant to be rivals, James. That was just fear talking.”

I looked at him, really looked. For the first time without comparison. “You were never my enemy.”

“Neither were you.”

We shook hands, then leaned into a quiet, almost-brotherly silence. No score left to settle. No girl to win. Just two boys, finally free.

The following night, Tita Marjorie called my dad and asked if I have time to talk to Olive before they leave and stay at Baguio for good. I hesitated at first but I realized I can't keep on running away from everything. So I promised to see them at the airport.

I walked through the lobby, searching. Then, I found her by the old vending machine with a faded Coke sign and a flickering light.

Olive stood with her hands tucked into the sleeves of a sweater three sizes too big. Her luggage was by her feet. A duffel bag, and a box sealed with duct tape. I didn’t even ask how she got it all here.

She looked up as I walked over. “You’re late.”

“I’m always late,” I said quietly. “But I still show up.”

She rolled her eyes, but the edge was gone. Just sadness now. Tiredness. She’d been carrying too much for too long. I sat beside her, close but not touching.

“I heard you and Betty…?” she began, then stopped.

I shook my head. “No. Not yet. Maybe not ever. That’s not why I’m here.”

She nodded, rubbing her palms against her thighs. “We’re moving to Baguio. Mom says it’ll be cooler there.”

“Yeah. Cooler,” I repeated. “You always liked sweaters.”

She huffed. “You remembered?”

“Of course I did.”

A beat.

“I’m sorry,” I said. Finally. “For all of it. For using you to run from myself. For letting you carry parts of me I should’ve figured out alone.”

She stared at the floor. “I wanted to be enough, James.”

“I know.”

“I thought… if I waited long enough, you’d look at me and see me.”

“I did,” I said. “But I saw you too late.”

Her eyes glistened. “You loved her.”

“Yes,” I admitted. “But I did love you, too. Not in the way you needed. Not the way you deserved. But it wasn’t fake.”

She nodded. “I know. I just didn’t want to be the mistake you regret.”

“You weren’t,” I said firmly. “You were the friend I failed. The girl I leaned on too much. The one who never stopped believing in me when I didn't believe in myself.”

She smiled, small, real, and painful. “You’re growing up.”

“I’m trying.”

She reached into her duffel and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “Read it after I leave. It’s everything I never said.”

I took it like it was fragile glass. “Will I see you again?”

She shrugged. “Maybe in another city. Another version of us. With less baggage.”

We stood, and I pulled her in for a hug. She held on tighter than I expected.

“Goodbye, Drew,” she whispered, using the name she always clung to.

I closed my eyes. “Goodbye, Olive.”

She walked away without looking back.

And I let her go.