The sun slipped behind the old high school, spilling its golden light across the courtyard like a memory that refused to fade — the same courtyard where two kids once spent their afternoons laughing about everything and nothing. experiencing many things together.
Ethan and Lara had been best friends for as long as either of them could remember. Their mothers are bestfriend making their lives twined together like vines on an old fence -inseparable, familiar, inevitable. Summers were spent playing tumbang preso, tago-taguan, and habulan in front of Ethan's house, their laughter echoing across the street as the scent of sunwarmed grass clung to their skin. In the rainy season, they'd huddle beneath the same blanket, watching old movies while the rain drummed softly against the roof, the world outside blurred and distant.
Now, as teenagers, their friendship had changed — not in shape, but in weight. It had become quieter, deeper. There was comfort in the way they moved around each other, finishing each other's thoughts, understanding without asking. And yet, sometimes, the air between them felt different — charged, fragile, like any moment it could break apart..
Things began to change—his feelings did. Ethan would catch himself staring at Lara when she wasn't looking, his cheeks warming before he quickly looked away. They said it was just part of being a teenager, something that would fade with time. 'Don't think too much about it', he told himself. Don't risk or ruin the friendship because of it.
Lara would smile, that soft, effortless smile that always left him speachless. When she laughed, it wasn't loud — just this light, golden sound that made everything around her seem softer, like sunlight through leaves.
Everyone around them used to say they looked perfect together. Ethan would just laugh it off; Lara would roll her eyes, pretending it didn't matter. But for ethan in the quiet moments — like this one, on the old wooden bench by the lake — those words felt truer than either dared to admit. The bench was warm from the sun, the wood smooth beneath their hands. The lake shimmered in the fading light, the surface rippling with gold and silver as dragonflies skimmed across it. Somewhere far off, a dog barked, and a boat creaked lazily against the dock. The whole world seemed to hold its breath around them.
The afternoon wind played with Lara's hair, tugging at the loose strand she'd just tucked behind her ear. The sunlight caught it — golden, fleeting — and for a heartbeat, Ethan forgot to breathe.
There was something fragile about the moment, like a secret balanced on silence. He wanted to reach out, to close the small, electric space between them — to tell her everything his heart had carried for years. But his hands stayed still, heavy with fear.
In the quiet, something unspoken stirred. Their eyes met, and the world seemed to hold its breath. He wanted to tell her that his heart stumbled whenever she laughed, that every late-night call, every shared glance, meant more than she could ever know.
But the words never came. They trembled at the edge of his throat, too afraid to fall.
What if saying it ruined everything?
What if she felt awkward — betrayed by the affection she never asked for?
What if, by wanting more, he lost her completely?
The wind carried the silence between them — soft, lingering, and full of everything he couldn't say.
The thought hollowed him out. People always said it was safer to stay friends — that friends might not have everything, but at least they didn't risk losing it. Sabi nga nila, 'mas mabuti na ang kunti kaysa wala'. So Ethan stayed still. He laughed when he wanted to confess. He smiled when his chest ached watching her talk to someone else. He told himself that sitting beside her like this — close enough to touch, but not quite — was enough. He told himself not to risk it, because losing her would mean losing everything. And yet, deep down, he thought she might feel the same — the glances, the pauses, the almosts.
He just wasn't sure. And that tiny uncertainty was enough to keep him silent. So they stayed where they were — side by side, the evening light softening around them, the wind weaving through the trees with a low, steady whisper. It felt almost like the world was asking them to choose — to speak, or to stay silent. And for now, silence felt safer. But beneath it, something restless stirred — quiet, trembling, and waiting to be found but never did.