I’d been so convinced he was the one, that our meet-cute meant something. Tears spring to my eyes, hot and heavy, as our conversations run a tiring marathon through my mind. I press my palm against my eyes, pushing back the incoming sob. I don’t want to cry over Rafayel. Not ever.
And yet, I can’t help but wonder. Whyme?
Had he plucked the vulnerability from my eyes the first time we met?
Had I walked into that bookstore, so transparent and naked with my desire to love and fall in love, that he couldn’t help but play the game?
Thoughts spiral into a hot ball of pitied despair, one that I hadn’t felt for a while, not since the last rejection.
Am I so hopeless, that I’m not even deserving of love?
I shake my head.No.
I can’t believe that.
Marlon’s words come rushing back at me.
Don’t lose your spark. Don’t lose your love for love.
Willing all thoughts of Rafayel away, I turn on the TV, and flicker through numerous Netflix titles instead. I settle on rewatchingIsa Pa With Feelings, my favourite Filipino romantic-comedy that I pray will grant me some serotonin to cure this migraine while I eat, before taking a nap once the movie ends.
A sudden knocking on my door is what wakes me up later. I blink away the momentary vertigo. Had I imagined the knock?
Knock, knock, knock.
No, I hadn’t.
A sliver of fear runs through me. Even if I’ve been home alone many, many times, the thought of a stranger knocking on my door when I’m home all alone still frightens me.
I crawl out of the couch, and peer at the door from behind the kitchen wall.
That’s when I hear a voice call out.
“Garcia, open up! It’s me!”
My eyes widen. Marlon?
I check my phone, and realise he’d texted me ten minutes ago that he’d be dropping by quickly.
I hurry over to the door, unlocking the latches as fast as I can. Marlon stands at my door, holding a small grocery bag, with that signature grin of his.
“Just wanted to see how you were and drop off a few things” he explains, extending the hand holding the bag forward, “I wish I could stay longer, but I’ve got basketball practice starting in ten.”
I take the bag from him, unsure of what to say. Glancing inside the bag, I see that he’s brought me a tub of Nutella, a hot-water bag, an aloe vera drink, and sanitary pads. All for me. He came all this way forme.
I meet his eyes, my heart threatening to burst from my chest. The memory of his arms wrapped around me, of his fingers against my skin, of his smile at the kpop store flash like lightning strikes inside of my mind.
“Marlon, I-” I begin.
“How are you feeling?”
I could not have felt any better than I do now. With him standing here. My lips open and close, stupidly unable to form words.
I settle on, “I’m - I’m okay, I think. I’m good. Just - uh - overwhelmed with film school right now.”
Marlon smiles, “I’m happy to hear you’re better. But please, relax today, okay?”
“I will - I - Thank you,” I stammer, my fingers tightening around the bag. He’d come all this way for me.
