A Hundred Almost

CHAPTER 4: ALMOST A PATTERN

Ano kaya ang pangalan niya?

The thought came out of nowhere as I sipped my coffee that morning, staring blankly at my open notebook.

Mr. Orange Bag.

Yun na lang kasi ang tawag ko sa kanya sa utak ko simula nung una ko siyang makita.

Maybe Kyle. He looked like a Kyle. Or maybe Adrian. Nathan? Nope, too common. Whatever it was, I wouldn’t know because asking meant talking. And talking meant acknowledging that he existed in a way I wasn’t ready for.

Besides, bakit ko nga ba iniisip ‘to?

Shaking my head, I shoved my notebook in my tote bag, locked the gate of the apartment, and stepped outside only to see him again.

Standing a few steps ahead, phone in hand, orange bag slung across his shoulder.

Coincidence. Right?

“Focus, Syannah,” I muttered under my breath, pulling out my earphones like it could distract me from the weird fluttering in my stomach.

But then it happened again.

And again.

For three days straight, lagi kaming magkasunod pumasok sa school. Hindi sabay na sabay, pero parang may rhythm. Like he’d be there, slightly ahead, only to slow down at some random point like tying his shoelace, checking his phone, pretending to read a text, just when I’d catch up.

Sometimes, he’d stop entirely near the subdivision gate, pretending to wait for his friends, but the moment I passed, doon lang sila magsisimula maglakad nang sabay.

It was subtle, almost unnoticeable, pero ramdam ko. That quiet acknowledgment, that unspoken moment. And every single time, I’d pretend not to notice, eyes glued to the pavement, pretending my playlist was more interesting than the strange warmth blooming in my chest.

But the truth?

I noticed. Oh, I noticed everything.

***

This morning was different.

Paglabas ko ng gate, wala siya sa dati niyang pwesto. Wala ring nakatambay na grupo ng criminology students sa kanto. For some reason, I felt… disappointed?

And this feeling is weird.

See? Hindi ka dapat umaasa, Syannah.

I adjusted my bag and started walking, eyes on the cracked pavement of Golden Harvest Subdivision. The street was quiet except for the occasional sound of tricycle engines in the distance and the wind rustling through the old acacia trees.

Then came the low hum of a motorcycle behind me. I stepped to the side instinctively, giving way, when—

BEEP!

I nearly jumped. Like, literal na napatingin ako agad.

And there he was.

Mr. Orange Bag. But not him walking anymore, he was the one driving this time, helmet on, but unmistakably him. The way he sat, the bright orange bag strapped securely across his back, and that casual tilt of his head when our eyes met for two seconds too long.

Bakit ka nagbubusina kung wala namang harang? I wanted to shout, but all I managed was to blink and half-raise my hand awkwardly, like some malfunctioning robot.

And then, just as quickly, he sped past me, leaving behind the faint smell of gasoline and this ridiculous question looping in my head.

Nagbubusina ba siya… para lang mapansin ko siya?