The sky is overcast, as if empathizing with the heaviness enveloping my chest. Every raindrop mirrors the ceaseless flow of my tears. I do not know how to release this pain—a pain that seems to be tearing my very being apart. I do not want to lose him. The mere idea of living in a world without him is enough for me to lose my reason to breathe.

Why him? Why must a person as pure as the morning be taken away, while those who sow terror and crime are allowed to continue their wicked deeds? I remember what my auntie told me when I was a child: "God chooses the good ones to bring to heaven first." But why? If that is His plan, why must we suffer? Why must the bitterness of loss be the cost of goodness? I cannot accept it. I cannot understand it. Is this what it truly means to love? A process of slowly severing one's own roots just to let go of the person you love the most?

If I were given the chance to make a wish—a chance followed by a miracle—would I choose to be happy? Or would I choose to give the remaining breath in my lungs just to keep him by my side? My wish is no longer for myself; I wish for him to continue, even at the cost of my own happiness.

May 2023. The month I will never forget.

Gabe and I have been best friends for a long time. People's view of him is nothing new to me—handsome, tall, and always the center of attention. But that is not why he is my world. I love him because of how he carries himself in the midst of a world that is sometimes bitter to him. I remember when he was accused of stealing in class even though he did nothing; instead of getting angry or fighting back, he just smiled at his accusers. "It's their fault if they can't see the truth. Let them be," he said calmly to me as we walked home together.

He is like an angel lost in this world—too kind, too forgiving. Many girls are obsessed with him, and I cannot blame them. But what they don't know, behind our laughter and stories, is the secret I keep tucked away. In his eyes, I am just the best friend who knows every smile and sorrow of his. But every moment I look at him, the only words my heart utters are the ones I have never managed to say: "I wish you would choose me, more than just as your best friend."

Now, as I gaze at our old photos together under the tree in the plaza, I realize that every memory carries a sting of regret. Why didn't I tell him? Why did I let everything stay in the shadows of friendship, until the day came when he would no longer hear the beating of my heart for him?

The rain outside is subsiding, but the storm within me feels as though it is just beginning. I know that with every passing moment, his footsteps are moving further away from me, toward a place where I can no longer reach him.

This May, while Flores de Mayo is happening, Gabe and I are together. I feel the brush of the gentle breeze as I watch him. He holds a fresh rose, ready to offer it at the feet of Mama Mary. As he closes his eyes in prayer, I cannot help but wonder: What could he be wishing for?

Perhaps he is praying for the woman who truly makes his heart beat—the woman I know is not me. Vanessa. That is always the talk of the town. "Hey, Yvonne! You and Gabe are perfect together, you’re like superglued!" our classmates used to joke. I just laugh bitterly. Perfect? Us? In this world, the distance between someone like me and him is vast. I, who am content with simple clothes, no makeup, and prefer to drown in books rather than dress up for the attention of others. I know my place. I am just the best friend.

I stared at him while he held the rosary. His face is so gentle, as if untainted by any trouble or evil. I didn't notice that Sister Bernadette was already beside me. She served as my anchor during the times my world collapsed—when Papa left us and when Mama hurt me repeatedly.

"My child, your staring at your best friend is a bit much, isn't it?" Sister whispered. My face suddenly heated up. I wanted to run, I wanted to make an excuse, but no words came out of my mouth. Sister just smiled, a smile full of understanding. "When are you going to tell him your feelings?"

The world seemed to stop spinning. I looked at Sister, feeling my cheeks flush to my ears. "Sister... what if I am not the one destined for him? I know he likes Vanessa," I replied weakly and shyly, almost in a whisper.

Sister stroked my hair, a touch that seemed to calm my turbulent emotions. Before she could answer, a voice broke our conversation. "Hi, Sister! What are you two talking about?" said Gabe. His eyes are as bright as the sun, full of curiosity.

"Nothing, Gabe. Just checking in on each other. Go ahead, I'll go first and prepare snacks for the children," Sister said with a smile, waving at us.

Minutes passed and snack time began. Gabe and I helped distribute food to the children. Every time I handed a glass or bread, our hands accidentally brushed against each other. Every time his skin touched mine, I felt like I was being electrified. I saw him laugh when a child made a mistake in grabbing juice; his laugh is the music I don't want to end.

As we were cleaning up afterward, Gabe suddenly stopped. He looked far away, at the statue of Mama Mary, and then turned to me. "Yvonne," he called. His voice is serious, far from his usual cheerful tone. "You know, earlier... when I offered the flower, I didn't pray for Vanessa."

My eyes widened. My heart seemed to be pounding in my chest. "A-eh, who then?" I asked, stuttering.

He stepped a little closer. He smelled like soap and cleanliness—the scent I always look for. "My wish was, I hope the person beside me now stays forever. Because she is the only one who knows who I really am, behind all of people's expectations."

He looked straight into my eyes. In that moment, time seemed to stand still. The fear I felt earlier—the fear that I might not be the one he wants—was slowly being replaced by a strange hope. But before I could answer, something snatched his attention. A text message from Vanessa that killed the moment. Gabe's smile was replaced by worry, and suddenly, the distance between us seemed to widen again, even though we were standing right next to each other.

"Yvonne, I have to go," he said without looking at me anymore. "Vanessa has an emergency."

I was left standing, holding the last piece of bread, while watching him run away. That was when I realized: Even if I am the one in his prayers, his heart is still tied to someone else. And the pain I feel now is just the beginning of a long night of waiting.

As the school term began, everything seemed clearer: Vanessa was no longer just a classmate. As a lector in church and an active part of our school life, she was like the light Gabe was always seeking. While they were busy with projects, I was desperately drowning myself in club activities and studies, hoping that through the exhaustion of the body, my heart, which was trying to escape, would also tire out. But no. Love cannot be erased by keeping busy.

I reached a point where I was ready to give in—to let him go for his own happiness. But one afternoon, I couldn't take it anymore. All the walls I had built collapsed.

"Is she really that much more important than me?" I asked with a broken voice while standing in front of him. "I'm sorry, Gabe, okay? I'm not as beautiful as her, and I'm not as smart. But I'm your best friend! Isn't that enough for you to prioritize me even just once in a while?"

I couldn't stop my tears from flowing. The pain I had long been nursing exploded like a volcano.

"Yvonne, don't say that. You are important to me too," he replied, confusion and exhaustion etched on his face. "It's just that Vanessa needs me for the tasks. She is the Secretary, I am the Vice President. This is just work, Yvonne."

"Is this work, or just an excuse to be with her? Admit it to me, are you two together already?!" I shouted, no longer able to keep my voice down. "You don't know how painful what you're doing to me is! Fine, be together!"

I ran out of the room, carrying the weight of the words I shouldn't have said. Days passed, and my whole world seemed to have gone deaf. I didn't know that in the midst of my anger, a worse reality was catching up with us. His heart condition—the mild condition I was always caring for and protecting—suddenly flared up. I only found out that our argument resulted in an episode. His heart, which I considered the most precious treasure, gave up because of the words I uttered.

Now, I am just staring at my phone. I can't bring myself to open it. There are consecutive missed calls and messages from him—apologies that I don't know if I am worthy of receiving. How can I face the person I hurt, if the pain I feel now is the result of my own explosion?

I am the reason. That thought is what continues to kill me. I want to forgive him, I want to hug him and say that I am the one who should apologize, but my conscience is the bars preventing me from approaching him.

While I was staring at the wall of my room, my phone suddenly rang. The name of Tita Elena—Gabe's mother—appeared on the screen. My hand was shaking when I answered it.

"Yvonne, my dear... please, come here to the hospital," Tita's voice was full of exhaustion and pleading. "Gabe hasn't stopped crying. He doesn't want to eat, he doesn't want to let the doctor check on him properly. He keeps saying that it's all his fault, that he didn't think you would feel that way. Please, you're the only one who can calm him down."

I didn't think twice. With every step I took toward the hospital, my heart felt like it was being sliced. When I entered the room, I saw him lying down—pale, weak, and his eyes swollen. When our eyes met, time seemed to stop.

"Yvonne..." he called weakly. He immediately tried to get up, but I stopped him. "Sorry. Yvonne, forgive me. I didn't know... I didn't know that was how you felt. Vanessa and I have no relationship, really none. Sorry if you felt I took you for granted."

In those moments, my anger vanished like a bubble. I saw the fear in his eyes—not fear for himself, but fear of losing me. There, we made amends. His tears seemed to wash away all the resentment I had built up. We embraced, and in that moment, I felt his heartbeat slowly calming down.

But despite that peaceful embrace, there is a secret I am forcing myself to swallow. I still haven't told him the truth.

Why?

Because in front of me, I saw a person who had just come from the brink of death. His heart is fragile, like crystal that would shatter with one wrong move. I am afraid. I am afraid that if I tell him my feelings—that I see him as more than a best friend—it might just be an added burden for him. What if because of the pressure brought by my admission, his heart tires out even more? What if my love, which should be his pillar, becomes the spark for his final weakening?

For now, being his "best friend" is the safest position I can give him. I don't want to be the cause of his breath stopping. I am ready to bury my own happiness, as long as the important thing is to see him continue to breathe, even if the trade-off is the repeated crushing of my own heart as I watch him slowly heal—for another girl, or for a world where I am not the center.