In between the cracks of the concrete pavement, a flower sprouted. It swayed in the wind, a stem so fragile. But it was steadfast. Beautiful and defiant. You often told me of courage, Nay: How it could split mountains, push against the torrent of rivers. Much like this flower, I could thrive even in places driving me to self-destruction.

A single, solitary firefly hovered over the petal, its glow flickering. It rose, then, trailing a pillar of steel then bursting into a bulb of streetlight above me. Fewer cars drove by, but the smell of smoke was still thick in my nose, ever prominent in the air.

I stopped right by the street signs. Lualhati Avenue, a place of memories. This was where I stood five years ago when I first traveled to the city, a countryside boy then, seeking an apartment. A home away from home. Till now, the tall skyscrapers and narrow, closed streets overwhelmed me, like I was in another world, one where I do not belong.

I bustled from gig to gig, worked at restaurants. I was grinding myself to the bone just to earn a living, just to earn my right to live here. That maybe, when I have sacrificed enough, my name would mean something. But I was yet to know the fruition of such things.

At the periphery of my sight, I caught a standout motion. Iris was there, her hands apexed in the air, and my attention was ensnared. I smiled, waved back, and crossed the road cautiously. Hands in my pocket, I greeted her, my voice both hoarse and trembling.

“What happened to you?” Her smiled dwindled slightly, leaping to and from the territories of worry.

Perhaps it was the sweat. A thousand glistening beads of them trickling my face. Or was it my eyes that looked dark as ever, almost like I was struck and bruised. I did not know, nor dare to find out.

“I told you earlier,” I sighed. “A thief took my wallet.”

Rain started pouring. At first I thought it was just my nerves, rolling with iced pinprick. But I saw the glass window of the eatery wet with condensation, drops of water running down its surface.

Iris pulled me inside and as always we would sit at the chair closest to the door, as with any establishment. She told me too many times that should calamities occur, we would be the first to know and run. I told her often that her precaution was out of place, that it was too much. But she would respond as poetically as ever: There is no such thing as too much for the people we love.

“What do you want?” She asked, looking at menu, an old, laminated paper, creased and browning in its surface.

“Anything,” I said, cowering.

“Oh come on,” She laughed softly, “I’m not good at reading mixed signals. You of all people know that.”

We ordered our favorite food. Hers was sisig. It was an elaborate dish, a clear contrast to her subtle personality. It was served in a sizzling plate, making it hiss like a hundred serpents. It was a head-turner. The noise and scent and the thin sheet of vapor could entice a room of preoccupied individuals.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Mine was sinigang. It had been my comfort food, especially when you were cooking for me, Nay. Pellets of oil shimmered atop the reddish green broth, and vegetables floated. The server followed up with two servings of rice, scooped with a mug into an empty ceramic plate.

We ate our food and stories interjected every now and then. Sometimes bursts of laughter, sometimes a focused silence. It was spontaneous, though. There was no unoccupied moment; the air between us carried our tales.

Iris had grown up, and though she looked different, she was the same girl you’ve adored. You, Nay, have always asked me: Why not choose Iris? Why not love her?

I would smile. I had pondered on those thoughts for long. There were nights when I would look at the ceiling and I would think of Iris. She was beautiful in so many ways. A bright, gentle spirit. Iris was perfectly imperfect in her own ways.

Nay, I do love her. But my love for her was different, not romantic. I love her still—in my own ways. She was a friend and I treasure her so.

Iris pressed one elbow into the table and her pink sweater sleeve fell down slowly. Underneath, her skin was lined with patches of blackish purple. Bruises. It caught my eye, froze me in time. My thoughts receded into silence.

Iris saw my reaction and she immediately covered those hidden pains.

I looked her in the eye, straight into it. I saw something: a doubt, a sheen of struggle.

“Iris,” I whispered, my voice cautious.

“I’m alright, Raul.” She said, looking away. A lie.

“What did he—” My voice trembled slightly.

“I’m alright!” She said, her voice climbed high and broad.

I leaned back, almost like a retreat.

“We love differently.” She sighed, eyes leaping to and from me. “And sometimes, love hurts. It’s the bitter truth.”

“It is not love if it tears you apart, Iris.” I breathed, subduing the surge of emotions. “Is he threatening you? I can find a way to help you.”

“No, Raul.” She looked away again.

There was only silence between. One that was so loud that it swallowed everything. It persisted till both of us idly agreed to finish our food. The waiter packed it into Styrofoam containers and placed each order on separate plastic bags.

We left the eatery and stood by the streetlight. There, she we waited for tricycles to pass by or jeepneys. But at this time of the night, there were only so few. In about half an hour, the drivers would take rest.

“You can always talk to me, alright.” My voice invaded the empty air between us.

She sighed, glancing at me so briefly that I would’ve easily missed it had I not looked. “I know.” A whisper.

The faint rain fell still, but we did not mind. It washed the streets, misting a cold over the concrete and asphalt.

A jeepney stopped, its engine a metallic, guttural hum. Its headlights pierced the darkness like thin columns of sunlight. Iris left and did not dare say a word. It was fitting that I only watched. There was something that formed between us that day. A wall, perhaps. Maybe, something greater.

I watched the jeepney drift away, carry her. The distance between us had suddenly grown more than ever.