“Crush mo siya, no?”
Michael nudged Stella with his elbow, eyes squinting behind his blue-rimmed glasses. They were sitting under the acacia tree during recess, sharing a pack of sweet corn chips that left orange dust on their fingers.
“Ha?” Stella blinked, caught off-guard.
“You like Vince.”
Michael grinned. The kind of grin that always came before he dropped one of his signature bombshells. “Kasi lagi kang pinapansin nun eh. Ikaw lang ginugulo niya. Lalo nung bago ka pa lang.”
Stella rolled her eyes. “Hindi nga kami friends.”
“Exactly,” Michael sing-songed. “Pero tignan mo, tingin siya nang tingin.”
She tried not to look—but of course she did.
Across the field, Vince was half-heartedly kicking a soccer ball with two other boys, but his eyes flicked toward their direction more than once.
Stella frowned. “Baka kasi iniisip niya na papagalitan ko siya ulit.”
Michael burst into laughter, crumbs flying. “Hindi! Nahihiya lang ‘yun. Crush ka no’n. Obvious kaya.”
She wanted to deny it.
Wanted to pretend she hadn’t noticed the way Vince always ended up in her group during class activities or how he passed her desk a little too often even when he had no reason to.
But she had noticed.
The staring. The awkward stammer when she actually responded to him. The way he stopped teasing her ever since that day she told him off.
Still, she didn’t say anything.
Because what was she supposed to do with that kind of attention?
They were six. Almost seven. Crushes were still the stuff of teleseryes their nannies watched during siesta time.
* * *
That afternoon, while organizing their art supplies for a Mother’s Day card project, Stella found something tucked in her folder.
It was a small piece of folded paper. Torn from the back of a quiz pad.
No name. No frills.
Just a few shaky words written in pencil:
“Sorry. I like your stickers. —V”
She stared at it.
Then at Vince, who was sitting two seats away, scribbling with unusual focus on his card project.
She said nothing.
Not even when he peeked at her, eyes barely meeting hers before flicking away.
* * *
After class, Michael caught up with her at the school gate.
“Anong sabi mo?” he asked, bouncing his backpack like it weighed nothing.
“Sa ano?”
“Kay Vince.”
“Wala,” she replied, almost too quickly. “Hindi ko naman sure kung siya ‘yon.”
Michael gave her a knowing look. “Pero binasa mo.”
She didn’t answer. Just walked ahead, her braids bouncing behind her, heart beating a little faster than usual.
* * *
Later that night, Stella stared at the folded paper again.
She didn’t throw it away. Didn’t respond either. Just carefully slid it between the pages of her old sticker album, tucked behind a row of rainbow cats and pastel dolphins.
She didn’t understand what it meant yet—this quiet kind of liking.
But a part of her thought maybe someday, she would.
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