The days after the exams slipped by faster than Eli expected. It was as if the entire group had shifted their focus from stress and sleepless nights to one single glowing topic: the camping trip. No matter where they were—between classes, in the hallways, or waiting for a jeepney—their conversations circled back to it, full of excitement and ridiculous suggestions.
At lunch, their table looked more like a planning station than a place to eat. Crumpled paper napkins had been flattened out and scribbled over, forming messy lists of what to bring. Some sheets had doodles of stick figures roasting marshmallows or poorly drawn tents that made everyone laugh. Arguments popped up almost every five minutes, but none of them were serious—they were the kind that ended in laughter echoing through the cafeteria.
"I'll bring snacks," one of their friends announced, raising a finger like a hero in a movie. "Chips, candies, instant noodles—leave it to me."
"You're just bringing junk food," another shot back with a grin. "We need actual meals, not a sugar crash."
"Then you cook it!"
Their voices overlapped, and the whole table broke into laughter. Even strangers passing by couldn't help but glance at the noisy group, smiling at the energy they carried.
Eli sat with them, chewing slowly on his rice while jotting down items in his small notebook. Tent. Extra clothes. Flashlight. Toothbrush. The basics. His handwriting was neat, maybe too neat, as if order would help him keep his thoughts from scattering. But the moment Kai's name came up—"Kai's bringing firewood, right?"—Eli's pen stopped in mid-stroke. His chest tightened, and he quickly pretended to underline the word "flashlight," hoping no one noticed.
That night, at home, packing felt like a task far heavier than it should have been. Eli laid his shirts out on the bed, folding each one carefully. Too carefully. He would fold, pause, then unfold, only to fold them again as if the right crease could quiet the storm inside him. The suitcase remained half-empty, and he stared at the open space like it was mocking him.
"Why am I like this?" he muttered under his breath, gripping a shirt in his hands. "It's just camping. Everyone's going. It's nothing."
He shoved the shirt into his bag and then yanked it back out, running a hand over his face. No matter how much he tried to dismiss it, the image of Kai stayed with him—the calm way he'd spoken in class, the way his voice had cut through all the noise like it was meant for Eli to hear. And then there was that glance, quick but sharp enough to leave a mark.
Eli sighed and finally shoved a jacket into the bag, a little rougher than necessary. He zipped it halfway and pushed the bag aside. Maybe once they were actually there, under the open night sky, all these strange feelings would settle.
Meanwhile, in another corner of the city, Kai was busy too. His room smelled faintly of pine as he stacked bundles of firewood neatly by the door. His movements were unhurried, deliberate, as though he'd been preparing for this trip long before anyone else thought of it. His expression gave nothing away, but there was a steadiness in the way he worked—like someone quietly waiting for something he didn't dare put into words.