Gravity
Avery's Point of View
I signed the contract with a steady hand and an even steadier face, reminding myself that a clean signature line is not the same thing as a clean history.
Still, the proposal was tight, the milestones were realistic, and their corporate agenda mapped well to our education-and-shelter initiatives, so I let the professional in me win over the noise that kept tugging at the edges.
Sa totoo lang, umaasa akong magtatagumpay ang collaboration na 'to kahit ramdam ko ang static sa hangin, dahil may mga proyektong mas malaki pa sa aming dalawa ni Elliot, at may mga batang mas kailangan ang tapang namin kaysa sa pag-aalinlangan ko.
"Dinner tayo," Kiefer said with an easy grin that read as cordial to the room and strategic to me. He glanced at Elliot and Yuki. "Would you like to join us for dinner?"
"Malamang pagod na sila, Kief," I answered in a tone that kept the meeting warm but the boundary warmer. "They probably have a debrief to run, and I don't want to derail their schedule."
"We're not," Elliot said, level as glass. Of course not.
Napatingin ako kay Yuki, his chief of staff, the ex who turned into an operations machine.
Maybe they worked because they kept the romance out of the spreadsheets, or maybe I was just projecting a trope to keep my pulse from registering anything real.
"Okay," I said, short on purpose, then turned toward the elevators.
Kiefer fell into step beside me, chatting lightly with Yuki about next week's site visit, their civility was almost domestic, a small detail my brain filed away with a thousand others I never asked to hold.
Pagharap ko sa panel, I reached to press the call button at the exact moment another hand lifted. The contact was brief, skin against skin, and every circuit in my body sparked like someone plugged the past into a present-day socket.
His hand was warm, familiar in the muscle memory kind of way, the way you remember the weight of a favorite mug without looking.
For a fraction of a second my fingers almost curled, not to hold but to confirm he was physical and not a well-rehearsed ghost, and the five years between the last text and this elevator shrank to the size of a breath.
Limang taon na mula nang huli naming pag-uusap, at sa iglap na iyon bumalik ang maliliit na bagay.
How he used to press the top floor twice when he was anxious, how he would tilt his wrist so the reflection didn't blind me, how he always stood half a step between me and the door in case it opened too fast.
I pulled my hand back like I'd touched a stove I insisted was off, then focused on my phone to rebuild the distance I owed myself.
Aldrin's name filled the screen which is our Pinoy friend from California who had math in his head and too much time in his kitchen.
He used to bring kare-kare to board retreats and pretend it was for the team when it was obviously for me.
Yes, he had feelings I couldn't return, and he kept orbiting anyway.
Then he called.
"Where are you? I miss you," he said, soft and unhurried.
"I'm still at the office. We're heading to dinner," I replied, already picturing him opening my fridge like it paid rent.
"I'll wait at your condo," he said. "I restocked your tea and I might steal your frozen siomai."
"Don't finish my food," I joked, trying to keep it light.
"I already unpacked. I'm staying overnight."
"Typical," I said, half-smiling. "You refuse to buy your own place."
"Why should I when yours has the best view," he teased.
"Just don't—" I started, as the elevator doors slid open.
A shoulder brushed mine in the shift of bodies and momentum; my phone slipped, kissed the marble, and the screen went black.
"Careful," I snapped on reflex, crouching to pick it up.
"I'll replace it," Elliot said, voice cool, as if procurement could patch a fracture time made.
"No, thanks. I don't need anything from you," I answered, straightening without looking at him.
I stepped forward and a hand landed on my forearm—not a yank, not a bruise-maker, but firm enough to ask for a second I didn't owe.
"Let go," I said, quiet and clear, and after one beat he did.
"That's it," he said, pulse showing only in the tightness at his jaw, "the way you let go of me then?" The sentence wasn't a knife, not exactly; it was a question that knew its answer and still wanted to hear it hurt.
"Back off," Kiefer said from behind me as he slipped between us, not touching, just shifting the geometry so the hallway remembered its rules.
I exhaled through my nose and faced forward, because there were more words than air and none of them would make this elevator ride shorter.
Ang dami kong gustong isigaw at kaya ko ring isambulat ang mga katotohanang itinago ko, pero para saan, kung ang kapalit ay gulo na wala namang maitutulong sa anumang proyekto at planong mas dapat unahin?
Dinner was a performance we all agreed to attend. Kiefer insisted that I ride with him even though my car was downstairs, and I didn't argue because sometimes the simplest logistics are the ones you don't re-litigate in a lobby.
Twenty minutes later we pulled into a restaurant known for discretion and a kitchen that loves vegetables more than I do.
The host led us through a corridor softened by woven panels and low, amber lights that pretended to be sunset.
The dining room opened into a series of semi-private alcoves lined with bamboo slats and framed by plants tall enough to listen in; tables were walnut, the plates were matte stone, and the music was the kind you only notice when it stops.
A server parted a linen curtain and offered us a corner alcove with a view of the small courtyard where rainwater collects in a shallow pool. The placards were already set.
The seating chart was an essay without commas. Kiefer to my left, Elliot across, Yuki beside him like a line drawn with a ruler. We took our seats and the table learned our breath.
Malamig ang baso, mainit ang plato, at nasa pagitan kami ng dalawang tanong na kung kaya ba naming ipagpatuloy ang negosyong sinimulan sa conference room na parang walang sarili kaming kasaysayan, at kung may silid pa ba sa mesa para sa the server asked, and everyone answered like professionals who tahimik na katotohanan na matagal naming iniwasang aminin.
"Sparkling or still,"know that water is neutral.
I let my palms rest flat on the walnut and felt the grain like a map, a reminder that wood survives storms by bending, not by pretending wind does not exist.
At habang inaabot ko ang menu, narinig kong huminga ang lahat sa bilis na hindi magkaiba, at naisip ko na oo, awkward sa upuan namin, pero kaya ko itong upuan hangga't may dahilan.
Children to house, rivers to clean, forests to stitch back together—at kahit anong personal na bagyo ang dumaan, hindi kami pwedeng umalis sa mesa na walang napagkasunduan na mas mabuti kaysa sa naabutan namin.
When the food arrived, the table found a rhythm I didn't share, Kiefer and Yuki fell into an easy back-and-forth about site logistics and volunteer rosters while across from me Elliot did not join any melody, he just watched with that quiet intensity that used to make me feel seen and now only made the air feel thinner.
He reached across the walnut, cut my steak into symmetrical slices, and parked the knife like a flag on my plate as if muscle memory outranked context.
"Thanks," I murmured, meeting his eyes for half a second, "but I'm not incapacitated." I set my fork down with deliberate care and let the message travel the length of the table, this isn't college, this isn't then.
He kept looking anyway, not hostile, just present in a way that made presence feel like pressure.
"Can you stop staring and eat your food," I said, voice even, knife-edges tucked behind napkin-white neutrality.
He obeyed with a small lift of the shoulders, and for a beat I let myself inventory him like one evaluates a building, broader frame under the suit, the kind of fit you get from mornings that start with a rower and discipline, a jaw carved a little sharper than I remember as if stress had learned sculpture, a tie that matched nothing obvious and therefore matched everything, and that face—clean, formal, objectively handsome—wearing a restraint that made the room want to lean in.
Focus, Avery.
I borrowed Kiefer's phone under the table to text Aldrin a quick update about my ETA, because sometimes a mundane message is the line that keeps the past from speaking in capitals.
"Let's go to the club," Kiefer announced, voice light, timing purposeful.
I kept my gaze on the water glass and said I had work, because that was both true and a shield.
"You're the CEO," Elliot said, a half-smile that wasn't a smile, "you make the rules."
"My staff works twelve-hour shifts," I replied, too calm to be cute, "so do I."
"That's what overtime is for," he returned, and something in me bristled at the old dance of challenge and care.
"Fine," I said, not because he'd won but because I could feel the room shifting into a new test and I prefer to choose my battlefield.
While the bill closed I ran a checklist in my head. To limit the alcohol, control the frame, keep the conversation inside the lane of adults who know how to leave with the same dignity they brought in.
G-Hub was the kind of high-end lounge that believed in soft amber lights and drinks with last names. The host led us to a low table framed by tall plants and a view of the dance floor where the DJ kept the bass polite.
Yuki tugged Kiefer into motion the second a favorite song slid in, which left Elliot and me in a small island of upholstery, a bowl of smoked almonds between us, and a menu that read like a passport.
He ordered a pour of Yamazaki 18 for himself and a neat Macallan Rare Cask that he slid toward me without comment.
"I'm not drunk," I said, because clarity deserved to be named.
"Could've fooled me," he answered, not unkind, just honest enough to sting.
"Challenging me," I asked.
"Sort of," he said, and I recognized the tilt in his voice that meant he was about to turn a feeling into a rule.
"Coin game," I offered, because structure is mercy.
"Heads—I ask, and you drink if you won't answer. Tails—you ask." He nodded, the corner of his mouth conceding the tiniest smile, like he'd been waiting for a language we both still spoke.
Flip one: heads.
"Do you still love me," he asked, no theatrics, no throat-clearing. I felt the question land everywhere at once, instead of lying with my mouth, I told the truth with glass and finished both shots quietly.
Tails. "Have you had sex with strangers," I asked, and he held my gaze long enough to respect the question before he lifted his whiskey and drank.
Tails again. "Are you still attracted to me," I said, hearing my own audacity and refusing to apologize for it. He paused, the muscle in his jaw visible even in the low light, then he drank again without a word.
I let a breath I didn't know I was holding leave my body, then shrugged out of my blazer, slid it over the back of the chair, reached up to free my hair from its coil, and worked the top button of my blouse open with the same unhurried calm I use when negotiating a grant.
His throat moved once, a tell he'd never beaten, and he looked away because he's polite even when he's losing.
Heads. "Have you ever slept with someone abroad," he asked, tone curious, not cruel.
"Never," I answered, eyes on his, steady as a contract.
"I only sleep with someone I love." He blinked like the statement had a weight he hadn't accounted for, then let his gaze fall to the table.
"How are you, really," he asked next, abandoning the coin, the game, the armor.
"I thought I was okay," I said, feeling the honesty crack something open, "but the more I try to forget, the more it hurts."
"And you?" I added, because fairness matters even in ruins.
"After you left, I became worse," he said, the words landing heavy but not weaponized. "You were the good thing. Then you were gone."
My throat tightened, that old salt behind the sternum.
"Is Aldrin... your boyfriend?" He asked, voice careful.
"No," I said, and let the sentence stay whole, "he's a friend. I haven't loved anyone since... you." He nodded once, quiet.
"Why did you choose him," he asked, meaning the man whose name we don't like to say.
I watched the light move across the glass and chose silence because some answers aren't safe in rooms with witnesses.
"Because you loved him more," he added, and I drank because the only honest reply is complicated and the room was not built for complicated.
That one cut in a way I couldn't hide, so I stood, excused myself, and let the restroom mirror cool me down.
When I returned he was still there, elbows on knees, staring at his drink like it had a headline he couldn't read.
I walked past him to the bar, put the card flat on the marble, and said, "One shot, please. The strongest one." The bartender glanced at my eyes, weighed whatever he saw, and reached for a crystal bottle I didn't bother to read, because tonight was not about the label—it was about finishing what the coin started without letting the past finish me.
I danced. Like I was weightless.
I let the beat carry me until my body felt light and unpinned from thought, hair loose and eyes closed as the floor thumped under my heels, and for a few minutes I let music pretend that history could be paused if I just kept moving.
Sumabay ang ilaw na umiikot na parang umiilaw ang hangin sa paligid ko, at nang imulat ko ang mata ay may mga lalaking lumapit ng pabilog, mga ngiting hindi ko gusto at mga kamay na masyadong malapit sa balat na hindi para sa kanila. Oh, my gosh.
One slid closer than polite and set a palm on my waist like he owned the hour, heat where I did not invite any, and instinct moved faster than thought as I slapped his hand away with force that said the word no without sound.
Ngumisi siya at hindi pa rin umurong, hinablot ang pulso ko at naramdaman ang balat sa gaspang ng singsing, kaya umatras ako para putulin ang linya niya ngunit lalo siyang humila na para bang laro lang ang lahat.
I pulled free and the crowd shifted but he came again with a grip that pressed instead of asked, and the small circle of strangers felt suddenly tight like a lid on a jar.
"Enough," I said, voice low and steady, yet the music swallowed the warning and he leaned in with breath that tasted of cheap bravado, fingers sliding back to my waist as if my body were an option on a menu.
May biglang dumilim sa gilid ng paningin ko na parang gumalaw ang hangin, at sa sumunod na segundo ay humiwalay ang lalaki sa akin na parang tinamaan ng malaking alon, katawan niyang bumagsak sa sahig na may lagitik ng upuang natamaan.
Si Elliot ang nasa pagitan namin, ang balikat ay nakaharang at mga kamao na naglandas ng dalawang mabilis na suntok na tumama sa pisngi at tadyang ng lalaki, at may tumilamsik na dugo na naghalo sa amoy ng alak at usok ng fog machine.
The man lunged and Elliot met him head on, fists crisp and unhesitating, and the music warped into noise as tables scraped and a glass fell somewhere.
"Stop," I shouted as I wrapped my arms around Elliot from behind, cheek pressed to the back of his suit, trying to anchor a storm I helped summon by staying too long in the center of that ring.
Hindi siya agad tumigil at ramdam ko ang tensyon sa likod niya, bawat hinga malalim at mabilis, kaya mas hinigpitan ko ang yakap ko at sinabing malinaw ang pangalan niya at ang salitang tama na na dapat niyang marinig mula sa akin.
"Elliot, tama na," I pleaded because I could see the edge he was about to step over, and I did not want tonight to add another weight to a ledger already heavy.
He froze as if someone pulled a plug on the rage, chest heaving, then he turned and cupped my shoulders to make sure I was whole and not cracked anywhere that mattered.
"Sa kotse," he said while guiding me toward the side exit that opened to a quieter hallway, eyes still scanning the room in widening arcs like he could catch any leftover danger before it touched me again.
"Ayoko," I answered, planting my feet because a part of me hated the way the night kept trying to manage me.
"Please," he said again, softer this time, not command but request, a bridge I could cross if I wanted to.
"No," I said, because I was still burning and not ready to be shepherded.
"Sakay," he breathed, patience fraying, and I felt my own temper flare as my eyes stung and the floor went blurry.
Umikot ako at tumalikod, luha na hindi ko napigilan, handa na akong lumayo at hayaang kumalma muna ang gabi bago ako magdesisyon kung saan pupunta.
Hinila niya ako pabalik na hindi marahas at hindi rin mahina, sapat para ipatigil ang paglayo ko, at bago ko pa matimbang ang susunod kong hakbang ay hinalikan niya ako na parang tanong at sagot na sabay dumarating.
The first second tasted like shock and salt, breath caught between protest and recognition as his mouth found mine with a care that kept the world from tipping, and my hands rose of their own accord to the lapel of his coat as if to test if the fabric could explain the five years we never spoke.
Humugot ako ng hangin na parang unang beses ulit, at sa pagitan ng mga talukap na nakapikit ay bumalik ang mga araw na maaga kaming nagkakape, ang tawanan sa gitna ng pagod, ang init ng noo niyang idinidikit sa akin kapag kailangan ko ng pahinga, at ang mga away na natatapos sa yakap dahil natuto kaming pumili ng isa't isa kahit may bagyo.
He kissed me slower then, as if remembering the map we drew when the world was smaller, and the room faded until there was only the warmth of his palm on the back of my neck and the steady line of his other hand at my waist where it asked instead of took.
Ramdam ko ang tibok ng puso niya na sumasabay sa akin, at kung paano bumabalik ang katawan sa wika na hindi naman talaga nawala, at sa mismong gitna ng halik ay naroon din ang takot na baka mali ang oras at mali ang lugar at tama pa rin ang pakiramdam.
We pulled apart an inch at a time, foreheads nearly touching, breaths stitching the space that remained, and for a long heartbeat neither of us tried to name anything because names would make it heavier than we could carry out.
Ngumiti ako na halos hindi makita at tumingin sa mata niya na punong puno ng pagod at galit at kung anong hindi pa natatapos, at sinabi ng katahimikan na mahalaga pa rin kami kahit ilang pinto na ang sinarado ng mga taon.
I do not know where any of this will go and I am not ready to pretend otherwise, yet standing there with music thudding like a distant storm I could still feel the thread between us tug, stubborn and warm, refusing to snap.
Sa ngayon sapat na muna ang katotohanang iyon, na may kung anong nasa pagitan namin na hindi pa tapos, at handa akong harapin ang susunod na umaga na may lakas at may hangganan habang tinatanggap na may mga kuwento talagang nagbabalik hindi para guluhin ka, kundi para ipaalala na kaya mo pa ring pumili.
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