HER

I've always known I was different. It wasn't something anyone told me, but something I sensed in the way people acted around me, the way their emotions seemed to escape them so freely, while I was left watching, distant and unmoved. It's not that I didn't understand feelings—I simply didn't know how to feel them the way others did. Emotions were like a foreign language to me, something I observed but never fully grasped. Even when I was younger, I could see how people would hurt, how they'd laugh, cry, shout, but I never really felt it. It wasn't a choice, it wasn't something I could control—it just... wasn't there.

When I moved to Singapore, the distance only grew. A new country, new faces, but the same quiet inside me, the same lack of understanding of the people around me. It was different from America, of course, but I adapted quickly. That's something I'm good at—adapting, learning the rules, learning how to survive. It was all about survival. I knew how to play the game. I learned the words, the expressions, the gestures. I studied them, like I was studying a foreign textbook, and by the time I was in senior high, I was a master at it.

But it was never about making friends. Friends were a concept I never fully understood. In a way, they were just... a means to an end. People to study, people to work with, people to take advantage of when the need arose. Not that I ever meant harm. It's just how I worked—strategically, methodically. I could manipulate a situation, shift the dynamics to suit me, but it wasn't malicious. I wasn't trying to hurt anyone, not really. I just didn't care enough to understand why people got upset when I did things my way.

And then came Riri.

The day I found out I had a half-sister hit me like a train. One moment, I was fine, living my life—distanced from the people around me, content in my quiet detachment—and then, suddenly, there was this new person, a stranger with my father's blood. Riri. She wasn't even a thought in my mind before then, and now, she was suddenly part of the story.  My story. I didn't ask for her, I didn't want her. But there she was, thrown into the mix like a variable I hadn't calculated. And what really bothered me wasn't her existence—it was how my father had kept her from me. I didn't know if I should be angry or just confused. My father had kept her a secret. Why? Why didn't he tell me? Why had he kept this from me, from us?

But that wasn't the point. The point was, she was there now, in my life. Living with my father. I could feel her presence, like an unspoken tension in the air. And I had no idea how to handle it. I couldn't let her get too close. I didn't want to let anyone close. I didn't need anyone. It was easier this way, to keep everyone at arm's length, to keep them all in check, to never let anyone see the real me.

Riri and I were nothing alike. She was loud, expressive, bubbly in a way I found exhausting. She was everything I wasn't, and maybe that's why I couldn't stand being around her for too long. She was... open. She showed her emotions, letting them out like a burst of energy. And that was terrifying. It wasn't natural to me. I kept everything inside, locked away where no one could get to it. And I hated that she was so different, so open, so vulnerable. It made me question things I didn't want to question.

But even then, I never felt the urge to protect her, to show her affection. In fact, I watched her like I watched everyone else—with careful, calculating eyes, searching for weaknesses, searching for ways I could use her. Not out of malice, not because I wanted to hurt her... but because that's just how my mind worked. I never thought twice about it. I didn't even know it was wrong. It was just how things were.

I had always been good at manipulating situations. It wasn't something I had to try hard at—it came naturally to me. People were so easy to read, easy to predict. I knew what they wanted before they even said it, and I could give it to them, or take it from them, without them ever realizing it. I didn't need to be cruel. I just needed to be smart. And in the end, it always worked out for me. That's how life went for me—logical, controlled, predictable.

But that wasn't what hurt the most. The truth is, I was still missing something—something I couldn't quite name. Maybe it was a connection. Maybe it was understanding. Sometimes, I'd wonder if I was missing out on what everyone else had. I'd see them laugh, see them cry, see them love—and it would make me... itchy inside, like there was something just out of reach. But I never let it show. I buried it. The nagging feeling that maybe, just maybe, there was something more than just surviving.

And then there was the law. Legal Management. I never asked for it. I didn't even want it. I didn't care about the law. But I was smart. Too smart to be stuck in a life that didn't challenge me. The arts—painting, writing, music—they were things I felt, but not in the way that was expected. I could create, sure, but I didn't want to invest myself in something that felt pointless. Law was structured. Law had rules, and I thrived in systems with rules. There was no guesswork. No surprises. It was perfect for someone like me. Someone who didn't feel the need to get emotionally involved.

But that wasn't what hurt the most. What hurt was the fact that I was born this way. This way—this empty way. It's not that I didn't want to feel what everyone else felt; it's just that I couldn't. I couldn't even fake it enough to make sense of it. It's like being stuck in a room full of people who speak a language you'll never understand, trying to find a way out, but the walls are too high. No matter how hard I tried, I was always outside of the experience. I never got to be part of it, because I was never meant to be part of it. It was all too much, and yet, none of it was real.

I've spent my life distancing myself from others, building walls, keeping everyone out. It's the only way I know how to survive. But sometimes, just sometimes, I wonder if it's enough. Or if I'll always be stuck, forever separated by a divide I can never cross.

The sun was barely setting, its light filtering through the windows of the lecture hall. Professor Mendoza's Legal Writing class had dragged on for what felt like hours, and I could see her tiring out, her usual sharpness waning. It was just a matter of time before she'd drop her guard, and that's when I'd make my move. I didn't mind waiting; I'd learned long ago that patience was as crucial a tool as anything else in my arsenal. 

As the lecture came to a close, most of the students were already packing up, eager to flee the confined space. The usual chatter began—the hum of conversations, the rustling of papers—but I stayed still, observing, waiting for the right moment. My eyes flickered over to Professor Mendoza, who was still scribbling something on the board, her back turned to the class. She was distracted, and I knew she'd be open to an approach now. 

I didn't rush. It was important to give her the illusion that I wasn't anxious, that I wasn't in a hurry to confront her. I let my classmates file out of the room, each one blissfully unaware of the small, subtle battle being waged just beneath the surface. My eyes stayed on Mendoza as she shifted her weight, her movements mechanical as she gathered the papers from her desk. The moment she finished, I walked slowly, deliberately, toward her.

The click of my heels against the tiled floor was the only sound in the otherwise quiet room. I watched her glance up as I approached, her eyes briefly registering surprise, followed by a quick attempt to mask it with a professional smile. 

"Keiyi," she said, her voice a little tired. "How can I help you?"

I gave her a polite smile, but my eyes were steady, almost calculating. "Professor Mendoza, I was hoping we could talk about my paper." I let the words fall out gently, but with just enough weight behind them to make her pause. 

Her expression shifted slightly, her eyebrows knitting together, though her lips remained fixed in that professional smile. "Is there a problem with your grade?" she asked, already half expecting me to complain about the paper. I could see the defensive walls going up, but I wasn't going to play that game. Not yet.

"I wouldn't call it a problem," I said smoothly, leaning against the edge of her desk, close enough to catch her scent, the faint floral notes of her perfume mixing with the smell of coffee and paper. "But I did want to clarify a few things in your comments. I've been thinking about it all day, and I don't know if maybe I'm missing something, or if there's something I could improve."

She seemed to relax slightly, but the skepticism in her eyes didn't entirely fade. "You're a bright student, Keiyi," she said, her tone softening just a touch. "But your analysis in this paper felt a little thin in some places. You need to dig deeper, get to the heart of the matter. That's the only way you'll do well in this class."

I nodded, allowing the silence to stretch out just a moment longer than necessary. Then, I spoke again, my voice low and calm. "I've gone through it again and again, and I still think the analysis was sound. Maybe it's just the way it's being perceived. But I want to make sure I'm on the right track. You've always been so clear in your expectations, and I really do value your feedback." 

Her expression shifted at the mention of her "clear expectations," a flicker of pride flashing across her face. She liked being valued. She liked to feel needed. I could see her hesitation, the subtle shift in her posture. She didn't want to appear unfair, especially in front of me. But she didn't want to admit she might've missed something either. That's when I pressed just a little harder.

"I was hoping," I continued, my tone slowing to a near whisper, "that maybe you could take a second look at my paper. Maybe we could go over it together? I really want to understand where I went wrong, if I missed something. I know you've got a lot on your plate, but I'd really appreciate it. Just a second look, just a chance to really go over the details. I think it'll make a difference, don't you?"

Her gaze flickered toward the pile of papers on her desk, then back at me. I could see the conflict in her eyes. She was tired, her patience wearing thin, but she didn't want to give up that easily. The fact that I'd asked for her time—her time, which she so desperately valued—made her reluctant to turn me away. There was the tiniest shift in her demeanor, a deep breath she took before speaking.

"I've already given you my feedback, Keiyi," she said, her voice firm, as though trying to assert some kind of control over the situation. "You should work with that and revise your paper. That's how you improve. But if you really feel like you need more clarification—" She paused. "I suppose I can look at it again. But just this once."

The victory was so close I could taste it. But I knew better than to jump in too quickly. If I pushed too hard now, it would backfire. I let a beat of silence fall between us, just long enough for her to start second-guessing herself. Then, slowly, I let my smile widen—just enough to show appreciation without seeming too eager.

"Thank you, Professor. I really do value your guidance. I think that second look will help me understand where I can improve." My voice was soft, almost humble, but every word dripped with a careful mix of respect and calculated admiration. 

Her shoulders eased, the tension lifting. The walls that had initially gone up around her had begun to crumble, just a little. It was subtle, but it was there. I saw it. She had fallen into my trap, and she didn't even know it. 

"I'll send it to you tonight," I added, as if the decision was already made. "I can come by your office hours tomorrow if you need me to."

Her gaze softened as she looked at me, pride now overtaking the last remnants of her reluctance. "I'll look at it as soon as I can. But remember, I expect to see significant improvement. Don't waste my time, Keiyi."

"Of course not," I said with a small nod, my voice sincere but my mind already racing ahead. "I'd never do that."

She smiled then, the kind of smile that students give when they think they've won a small battle. She didn't realize she had already lost. She was too busy basking in the idea that I had asked for her help, that I had praised her, that I had made her feel like an expert. But I wasn't the one who needed help. I was the one manipulating the situation—shifting the dynamics of the power in the room. 

As I turned to leave, I could already hear her silently congratulating herself for being the "helpful" professor, for showing generosity when it wasn't even warranted. She had no idea that she had just agreed to rewrite my grade without ever realizing it. And when I walked out of that classroom, I didn't just have an altered paper—I had her belief in me. 

_____________________________

"So here's the plan," I said, my voice cold as I glanced at my sister, Ririella Isla Delgado—Riri, as she insisted. She was sprawled on the couch, flicking through her phone, but I could tell she wasn't really paying attention to it. Her eyes kept darting around, a telltale sign that something was weighing on her. Riri always had this knack for showing up at my place unannounced, as if the world owed her a constant stream of attention. But tonight? Tonight, I knew she wasn't here for her usual antics.

She glanced up at me with a lazy smile. "What if we just go to Poblacion, do nothing, and see where the night takes us?"

I let the words sink in, pretending to consider them. Poblacion was the same as always—loud, messy, and full of people trying to escape their own personal hells. We went there often enough, pretending it was an adventure, but really, it was just a distraction. A cheap form of therapy. 

I didn't really want to go. I had other things on my mind—things I didn't need to unpack just yet. But Riri's insistence… it always pulled me in. She was relentless that way. And maybe, just maybe, if I played along, I could use her for whatever she was offering tonight.

"Fine," I said, grabbing my bag and fishing for my keys. "Let's make it different this time. No plans. No expectations."

Her face lit up. "You mean it?"

"Yeah," I said, my voice flat. "We'll just go. See what happens." The truth was, I wasn't sure I cared what happened. But with Riri, there was always something to gain. Something to manipulate, even if it was just for a night. She wasn't the brightest, but she was loyal. And sometimes, that was enough.

We left for the hostel, that familiar dive where everyone came and went. It wasn't much, but it was ours, a revolving door of distractions and hollow moments. People came there looking to be found or to forget. It was where we met most of our "friends," all of them just temporary placeholders. 

Inside, the usual chaos buzzed around us. Rave was there, talking about some new dating app match. I could already see where this conversation was headed, and frankly, I didn't care.

"Should I meet him?" Rave asked, practically bouncing in his seat.

I gave a half-hearted shrug. "Is he near?" 

"Yeah, whatever," Riri chimed in, sipping her cocktail. She wasn't invested either, but it didn't matter. Rave was just a source of noise. 

"Do it, Rave," I added, my tone indifferent. I was already thinking about how to keep things interesting tonight. Riri was slipping into that space she always went to—withdrawn, distant. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was something else, but she was definitely off.

Rave grinned and swiped at his phone. "You guys are the best."

"Sure," I muttered, not really listening. Riri was starting to bother me, though. She was supposed to be the fun one—the wild card—but tonight, she was getting in the way. Her face was blank, and her thoughts, as usual, were a tangled mess that I couldn't be bothered to untangle.

I glanced over at her. She wasn't just distant; she was lost.

"Do it, Rave," I repeated, trying to snap myself out of the funk. The night wasn't about Rave. It was about me. Us. I just had to steer it in the right direction.

Juwan, distracted by her phone, interjected. "What if he's just another catfish? Remember the marine biologist turned plumber?"

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, we all remember that. But Rave's too far gone to care." 

My gaze flicked to Riri again, but this time, it lingered. She wasn't laughing or engaging in the conversation. She was quiet, almost vacant. A part of me wanted to snap her out of it, but that would require effort. And frankly, I wasn't in the mood to play the savior tonight.

"Let's go out, for real," Riri's voice cut through the noise, low but firm. 

I raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean? You want to leave this place?"

"Yeah," she said, standing up without looking at me. "I'm tired of the usual. Let's find something new. Something real."

Real. The word stung a little. She was pushing, trying to get me to care. But I wasn't about to let her drag me into that mess. Still, something about the way she said it caught my attention. Maybe she was trying to make me feel something. Maybe she was asking for help in her own subtle way, the way she always did when she was drowning. I wasn't going to give in to that. Not yet. 

"Are you serious?" I asked, standing up slowly. "You want to go find something real tonight? No plans? No distractions?"

"Yeah," she replied, her resolve clear in her eyes. "Let's just go. Who cares?"

I looked at her for a long moment. The weight in her eyes was too familiar. The same emptiness I'd been running from. But tonight, maybe it was time to let it all go. I didn't know if I was looking for something real either, but it was easier to pretend for now.

"I'm in," I said, the words almost mechanical. "Let's go."

Rave looked up as we stood to leave, his face falling. "Wait, you're ditching me for an adventure?"

"Yep," I said with a half-smile. "Not tonight, Rave."

Riri and I stepped out into the warm night, the air heavy and sticky, but it felt like a chance. Poblacion was alive, but there was something different about tonight. I wasn't running away from my thoughts—I was choosing to ignore them. 

"What do you think we'll find?" I asked, my voice quieter than I meant it to be.

Riri glanced at me, and for a moment, I saw the cracks. "I don't know," she admitted. "But I'm done with the noise. I need something real."

I nodded, not because I agreed, but because I knew what she wanted to hear. For once, I wasn't lying. I didn't need anything real. Not tonight. 

My phone buzzed in my bag. I pulled it out, checking the message from Rave.

"So, I totally ran into that guy. He's actually a lawyer. Who knew?"

I couldn't help but laugh, shaking my head. There was Rave, still chasing after something he'd never quite catch. But tonight wasn't about him. It was about me, and if I played it right, maybe it would be about Riri too.