Later that night, we still hadn't spoken. I didn't even have the time or energy to message him, too caught up in studying cases. I muted my phone just to focus, especially since he kept flooding me with messages.
It was already past midnight, around 12 a.m., and I still wasn't done digesting the case of Gomez vs. The People of the Philippines.
I kept annotating and studying for hours until I eventually fell asleep on my desk. My class wouldn't start until 3 in the afternoon, so I figured I could rest and continue studying in the morning.
But I was jolted awake by loud knocks on my door.
I opened it and saw my yaya. "Ma'am, Sir Razen is waiting for you downstairs."
I was shocked. Without washing my face or brushing my teeth, I quickly stepped out of my room to see him.
He was holding flowers.
Pink Roses—my favorite, wrapped in soft brown paper, slightly wrinkled from how tightly he must've been holding them.
I stood at the top of the stairs, frozen. My hair was a mess, my oversized shirt still wrinkled from sleep, and my face bare of anything except exhaustion. But none of it mattered—not when I saw the way he looked at me.
He wasn't angry. He wasn't cold.
He just looked… tired. Tired and gentle. Like someone who had spent the entire night thinking.
I made my way down the stairs slowly, heart caught somewhere between dread and hope. When I reached the bottom, he held the flowers out to me.
"I'm sorry," he said softly.
I stared at him, not reaching for the bouquet right away. "For what?"
"For walking out. For acting like you were choosing something over me when all you've been doing is surviving."
His voice was calm, but I could hear the weight in it. And I knew it cost him to say that.
"I didn't mean to shut you out," I said, lowering my gaze. "I just… I've been drowning in all of this. The cases. The pressure. The headlines. It never stops."
"I know," he said, stepping a little closer. "That's why I'm here."
He looked at me for a long moment. "Let me take you out. Just for a few hours. Nothing heavy. No pressure. Just you and me."
I glanced at the flowers, then back at him. My chest tightened.
Part of me wanted to say yes. To leave everything behind, even just for a while.
But my mind raced with everything I still had to read. My desk upstairs was covered in notes. My iPad was still open to Gomez vs. The People of the Philippines. Justice Fernandez had moved class earlier. I needed to be ready. I needed to stay focused.
"I… I still have to study," I said quietly, guilt blooming in my chest.
He nodded slowly. "I know. But you also need to breathe. You've been carrying the weight of your father's name, law school, and everything else like you're not human. You can take two hours. Just two."
I hesitated, chewing the inside of my cheek. My fingers tightened around the tulips.
It felt reckless.
And yet… a part of me wanted to say yes—not because I needed the distraction, but because I needed him. The version of him that still chose me, even when I wasn't the easiest to love.
"Just two hours," I said finally. "Then I have to come back and finish the cases."
His smile came slowly, the kind that softened every sharp edge I'd been holding onto.
"Deal."
He held out his hand. I looked at it for a second before slipping mine into his.
I didn't know if we were fixing things. I didn't even know if we could. But for now, for this small window of time, I was choosing to let myself breathe.
And choosing him.
Even if the cases would still be waiting when I got back.
—
"Babe, where do you want to go for our anniversary?" Razen asked, his tone light, hopeful—almost too hopeful. We were sitting at a nearby Starbucks.
He swirled his iced latte with a straw, pretending not to notice that I hadn't looked up in minutes. "I was thinking Paris or London. What do you think?"
I didn't respond.
Not because I didn't hear him, but because I couldn't look away from the page glowing on my iPad screen. Gomez vs. The People of the Philippines.
Another case, another damning piece of jurisprudence that made me feel like I was walking through a maze that led straight back to my father.
Every paragraph felt like a whisper of confirmation—that maybe, just maybe, all those chants in the streets weren't just noise. They were echoes of truth.
"Babe?" Razen's voice came again, a little tighter this time. "Did you hear me?"
My fingers hovered over the screen, mind still spinning. I needed to finish highlighting. Justice Fernandez had said we'd discuss this case tomorrow. I couldn't afford to fumble. Not again.
"I said Paris or London." His voice now tinged with irritation. "Anniversary trip. You know, like normal couples?"
I blinked, lifting my gaze halfway. "I heard you."
He leaned in a bit. "And?"
"I… I don't know. Maybe Paris?"
He didn't smile.
"Babe," he said slowly, drawing out the word like it hurt to say it. "Are you even here with me right now?"
My silence was his answer.
He sighed and gently tapped the table. "You've been drowning in those cases for weeks. I brought you here so we could have a break. So you could breathe. But even now, you can't look away."
I opened my mouth, guilt already rising. "I'm sorry, babe. We have recitation tomorrow and I need to—just give me a few more minutes. I promise."
I was already reaching for the iPad again, already trying to finish the next annotation, already trying to hold on to the illusion of balance.
Then I heard it—the sharp scrape of his chair against the floor.
I looked up, startled. "Razen?"
He stood, grabbing his things with sudden urgency. His jaw clenched, and for a second I thought he was just stepping away to cool off. But then he slung his bag over his shoulder, and I realized—he wasn't coming back.
"I can't do this," he said, not looking at me.
My stomach dropped. "Razen, wait—"
But he was already heading for the door.
I scrambled, knocking over my drink in the process. My coffee splashed across the table, some of it hitting my papers. I grabbed what I could—iPad, notes, pens—my heart racing as I chased after him.
"Babe, wait!" I called, almost breathless.
I was too focused on him. I didn't see the man who had just stepped into the café until I slammed into him full force. My papers went flying, floating to the floor like feathers soaked in panic.
"Shit," I hissed, kneeling down. "No, no, no—these are annotated—dammit."
"I'm so sorry, Miss," the stranger said, bending down to help me. "I didn't see you."
But I barely registered him. My hands scrambled over the floor, grabbing at the color-coded notes, the yellow sticky tabs, the corners of printouts I'd spent hours on. He handed me a few pages. I took them without even looking at his face. "Thanks," I muttered and ran out the door.
Razen was gone.
I stood on the sidewalk, breathing heavily, scanning the street for his tall frame, the familiar set of his shoulders. But all I saw were strangers. He'd disappeared—slipped away like he was never really mine to begin with.
I clutched the papers to my chest, some damp with coffee, others creased from the fall. It didn't matter. Nothing felt intact anyway.
My phone buzzed in my bag. I fumbled it out.
Justice Fernandez: Class starts at 3 p.m. to 8 p.m. tomorrow. Be there on time. Review everything.
A bitter laugh escaped me. Of course.
I stared at the screen, then up at the darkening sky. The world didn't pause when your heart cracked. The world kept demanding. Kept moving. Kept taking.
My fingers ran through my hair in frustration. Should I chase after Razen, explain again, beg him to understand? Or should I go home and keep studying, keep preparing, keep pretending that all of this—the law, the truth, the justice I was desperately searching for—mattered more than the people I was losing along the way?
I stood there, caught between two choices. One heartache born of love, and another born of legacy.
And for the first time, I didn't know which one I was more afraid of losing.