5 Years and Maybe

Eric Jeremy (Part 8)

Vien's POV

I woke up to the feeling of warmth and the softest kiss on my forehead.
"Good morning," he whispered, his voice low and gentle.

And just like that—it hit me.
This might be the last morning like this.
The last time I'd wake up next to him.
The last time I'd hear his voice up close, like I belonged in it.

I sat up slowly, reality sinking in with every second.
He had a flight at 9 a.m.
His tita would be arriving soon.
And me? I wasn't part of that goodbye.

I stood up, trying not to look like my heart was crumbling.
I gathered my things, pretending this was easy. Like it was casual.
But it wasn't.

Just as I was about to open the door and leave like some scene from a movie I didn't want to be in—
He stepped in front of me.
Blocking the exit.
And for a moment, we just stared at each other.

I walked toward him, slowly, like the moment might break if I moved too fast.
And I hugged him.
God, I wanted to hug him tighter.
To say so much more.
But how do you hold onto someone who was never really yours?

We were still strangers in all the ways that mattered.
So much left unsaid.
So many things we never had the time to learn about each other.

I let go.
Untied my arms from around him.
And walked to the door.

Just before stepping out, I paused.
I turned to him one last time, memorizing everything.
His face. His eyes. The way he looked like he didn't want this to end either.

And with the softest voice I could manage,
I said his name—
"EJ."

Then I left.
And the door closed like the final scene of a story we didn't know we were writing.

I got home and collapsed onto my bed like my soul just clocked out.
My body ached, my head was heavy, and all I wanted was to forget.
Forget the night.
Forget the way he kissed me good morning like it meant something.
Forget the way he looked at me like we had a chance.
Because let's be honest—we don't.

He's from the U.S.
I'm here.
This isn't a movie.
And I'm not that delusional... right?

So I did what any sensible, emotionally unstable girl would do—
I slept it off.
I shut down.
Buried the night under pillows and silence.

Hours passed. I don't even know how many.
My alarm didn't wake me—
But the vibration of my phone wouldn't stop.
I cracked one eye open and reached for it,
And there it was.

Missed calls.
A lot of missed calls.
And not from my boss, not from my mom.
But from him.

Ej.

"What the hell?" I muttered, my voice hoarse and confused.
And just when I thought that was weird enough, I saw the message:
"Chat me when you get home."

Really?
For what?
We had a fun night.
A good night, sure. But that's all it was... right?

Wasn't it?

I stared at the message for way too long before locking my phone.
Nope.
Not doing this.
Not thinking.
I had work in an hour and a face that looked like regret.

I brushed it off. Got ready. Went to work.
Pretended like I didn't care.
Like he didn't call.
Like I wasn't secretly wondering what he would've said if I picked up.

But God—I was so sleepy.
The kind of sleepy where blinking feels like betrayal.
I powered through the day like a zombie in heels.

Finally, off time.
I went straight home.
And just as I was about to curl up and forget all of this again—
My phone rang.

Him. Again.
EJ.

I stared at the screen.
Froze.

I didn't know what to do.
Answering might mean opening a door I just closed.
Ignoring might mean wondering forever what was on the other side.

But before I could stop myself...
I swiped.

"Hello?"

"Hey!! I've been calling you like a hundred times! I'm finally in Japan!"

His voice burst through the line like confetti.
Before I could even react, my screen flipped to video—
And there he was.
Beaming. Spinning his phone around to show off his tiny but cool Tokyo apartment.

"Look at this place! Isn't it awesome?" he said, grinning.
"Oh—and look what I hauled earlier!"

He was bouncing around like a kid on sugar, showing me random things like he was on a vlog.
I blinked, still catching up.
Why did this feel so casual? So normal?
Weren't we supposed to... not talk again?

But instead, I smiled.
"Wow, that's really cool. I love Japan," I replied softly, settling into the call.
"My favorite food is takoyaki."

He lit up.
"Oh yeah?! Tomorrow I'm totally going to this street market—gonna try everything. I'll send you pics. Maybe I'll rate the takoyaki for you."

I laughed.
"Deal."

"And look at this!" he said, holding up a half-eaten onigiri like it was a rare gem.
"Got this from Family Mart—and some ramen too. Honestly, everything here tastes like happiness."

He was so excited.
Like genuinely glowing.
And despite the ache in my chest from everything that came before...
I was happy for him.

Like, really happy.

Somehow, the conversation just kept going.
He told me about how he accidentally bowed to a vending machine.
I told him about the time I mistook wasabi for avocado.
We laughed.
We teased.
We forgot what we were supposed to be.

Minutes became hours.
The night stretched quietly around us.
I lay in bed, phone on my chest, listening to his stories like a lullaby.

And before I knew it, the world went still.
We weren't just two people from two different countries.
We were just... us.
Talking like no one told us we shouldn't.

The call didn't end with a goodbye.
Just a soft pause. A yawn. A sleepy "Talk to you tomorrow?"

And I nodded, smiling into the dark.
"Yeah. Tomorrow."