The summer sun hung heavy over our small kitchen, its heat seeping through the thin curtains and making the air almost stifling. My father sat across from me, his suit pristine as always despite the sweat beading on his forehead. It was his armor, the polished shield of a man who knew the weight of responsibility. He cut his pork chop with deliberate precision, pausing to look up at me, his eyes sharp and assessing. “I think it would be a good idea,” he said, his voice as final as a judge's gavel.

I knew what he meant. When my father spoke that way, decisions were set in stone. My mother, delicate and quiet, nodded as she chewed her peas, her gaze flitting between us. Sometimes I thought she enjoyed watching me squirm under his scrutiny, but her soft wink gave me the tiniest sliver of hope.

“You’ve got the grades for the top science high school,” he continued, “but Michelle…Yong… doesn’t. Mr. Lee said she’s been absent too often for her check-ups, and they’re strict on that. So we’ve arranged for both of you to attend the science high school nearby.”

My father’s voice softened a fraction. “I know you love Michelle, so I pulled a few strings. But you have to keep your grades up. I expect nothing less.”

There it was again—that unspoken pressure that I carried like a second skin. My love for Yong was a quiet, persistent drumbeat in my chest, something that defied reason and expectation. I nodded, my heart caught between the burden of expectation and the thrill of being near her. “Thank you,” I managed to say, my voice tight. “I just want to be near her, no matter what.”

Mr. Lee, Yong’s granfather, had been insistent. “She can’t travel far,” he’d said, his voice tinged with the kind of worry that only a parent could have. I could still remember his furrowed brow and the way his hand rested protectively on Yong’s shoulder. Even then, she had smiled brightly, determined to stay strong in spite of everything.

The school we ended up in was large, sprawling like a maze of possibilities and unspoken promises. It was a building filled with youthful ambition, with wide courtyards where students mingled and old trees that stood like ancient sentinels watching over us. I felt lost in the crowd, just another face trying to carve out a place in a world that seemed too big, too fast. Yong, on the other hand, stood out like a beacon. She was radiant, her energy infectious, and her presence commanded attention without her even trying.

As we walked through the gates of Roces Science High School, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of awe. The campus was sprawling and green, with modern buildings that seemed to blend seamlessly with the surrounding trees.

“It’s so beautiful,” Yong said, her eyes wide with wonder.

We made our way to the main building, where we were greeted by a friendly staff member. She showed us around the school, pointing out the different facilities. There were state-of-the-art science laboratories, a spacious library, and a modern auditorium.

“This is the perfect place for us,” Yong said. “We can both pursue our passions here.”

I nodded in agreement. Roces Science High School was a haven for students who loved learning. The focus was on liberal arts and sciences, with a wide range of subjects to choose from, including chemistry, math, singing, acting, writing, and robotics.

As we continued our tour, we met some of our classmates. They were all friendly and welcoming, eager to make new friends. I could tell that we were going to fit in perfectly at Roces.

As we left the school, Yong turned to me and said, “I can’t wait to start classes here.”

I smiled. “Me neither.”

I knew that Roces Science High School was going to be a special place for us both. It was a place where we could learn, grow, and pursue our dreams together.

From the very first day, Yong excelled. The school choir and theater club were quick to notice her, and she was soon performing in front of crowds, her voice captivating and her poise undeniable. It was no surprise when she was chosen to give the first-year speech, standing at the podium with the grace of someone born to lead. Her words carried an air of authority and elegance, and as she spoke, I couldn’t help but think she could easily be a politician someday.

But while Yong was swept up in the whirlwind of clubs and responsibilities, my father had other ideas for me. “You need to join something manly,” he’d said, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the list of extracurriculars. “There’s no weightlifting here, but there’s arnis or fencing. You should consider those.”

“I was thinking of soccer,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, “or maybe writing.”

He frowned, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Your brother’s already a writer. You need to make your own path.”

It was another expectation added to the growing pile, but I brushed it aside. Writing was my refuge, my way of making sense of the chaos around me. Soccer could wait; words were my true companions.

As the school year unfolded, Yong and I settled into a comfortable routine. We would meet by her section after the opening ceremony, where she would wave me over with that radiant smile of hers. Mrs. Kim, Yong’s mother, often packed us kimbap for lunch. If the canteen was too crowded, we’d retreat to the quiet corner near the old building, where we could eat in peace, away from prying eyes.

Those moments were our sanctuary, the world shrinking down to just us. I’d watch her as she spoke, her laughter filling the space between us, and for those brief minutes, everything felt perfect. But beneath the surface, there were cracks that no amount of shared meals or stolen glances could fill.

Yong was making friends, forming bonds with MC and Aira, two girls who quickly became our companions. They were mischievous and carefree, always pushing the boundaries of propriety with their teasing and playful jabs. One afternoon, as we sat around the old building eating kimbap, MC raised her eyebrows suggestively. “So, Yong,” she said with a smirk, “when are you and Jess going to make it official?”

Yong’s face flushed a deep crimson, and she mumbled, “We’re already pretty close, aren’t we?”

Aira giggled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Oh, come on, Yong! You two are practically married.”

I laughed, reaching across the table to take Yong’s hand. “Maybe they’re right,” I said, squeezing her fingers gently.

MC and Aira erupted into cheers, their laughter echoing through the empty corridors. Yong rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at her lips. For a moment, it felt like nothing could break the spell that held us together.

But life at school wasn’t without its challenges. Yong had other admirers, boys who hovered on the edges of her orbit, drawn to her light like moths to a flame. Seongho, a basketball player with a confident stride and easy smile, was one of them. He was charming and outgoing, the kind of guy who never had trouble making friends. He confessed to Yong one day, his voice earnest and hopeful, but she turned him down gently. “I’ve got my eyes on someone else,” she said with a soft laugh.

When Seongho asked if it was me, Yong didn’t hesitate. “Yes,” she said, her voice unwavering, and her classmates erupted into laughter. Seongho’s face fell, his bravado crumbling under the weight of her words.

Later, I found him sitting alone, his expression a mix of sadness and resignation. “I told her how I felt,” he said when I approached. “But she turned me down. She said she’d rather be with you.”

His words hit me with an unexpected force. Yong had always been the strong one, the anchor in our relationship, and hearing her defend our bond with such certainty filled me with a pride that was almost overwhelming. I patted Seongho on the shoulder, offering what comfort I could. “I’m sorry, man,” I said. “I know it’s tough.”

He nodded, his eyes red but determined. “She’s lucky to have you,” he murmured, and for the first time, I truly understood what it meant to be someone’s choice.

Yong’s involvement in the theater club intensified, and her late practices became a new routine. She’d emerge tired but satisfied, her eyes sparkling with a quiet determination. One day, she told me about her dreams of becoming a pop idol. “I need to be the best I can be,” she said, her voice filled with a resolve that was impossible to ignore.

“I’ll be your biggest fan,” I promised, and I meant it. No matter how hard things got, I wanted to be the one cheering her on from the sidelines, my love for her unwavering.

Also we played a lot of games like tera and read lord of the rings Gama and Vince, two of my classmates, often teased me about my relationship with Yong. "You're one lucky guy, Jess," Gama would say with a wink. "Having a girlfriend like Yong is a dream come true."

"I know, right?" Vince would agree. "She's so beautiful and talented."

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I would just smile and nod, feeling a warm glow of happiness inside.

One day, Yong asked me to help her carry some things to her theater club rehearsal. I agreed, and as we walked down the hallway, Gama and Vince saw us.

"Hey, can we help you with that?" Gama offered, stepping forward.

"Sure, thanks," Yong replied.

Gama and Vince took some of Yong's bags, which were filled with costumes, props, and books. They carried them with ease, their laughter echoing through the hallway.

Yong and I thanked them, and they grinned. "No problem," Gama said. "We're happy to help."

From that day forward, Gama and Vince became fast friends with Yong. They often joined us for lunch or after-school activities. Yong especially enjoyed playing PC games with them.

I was grateful for their friendship. It was comforting to know that Yong had people she could rely on besides me.

But there were moments when the pressure seemed too much. I’d see her talking with Seongho during rehearsals, their conversations easy and fluid in a way that made my heart clench with an irrational jealousy. One afternoon, as we walked home, I blurted out my frustration. “Do you really have to spend so much time with him?”

Yong stopped, her expression softening as she reached for my hand. “Jess, you know you’re the one I want,” she said gently. “No one else matters.”

I wanted to believe her, and most of the time I did. But the whispers of doubt were always there, lurking in the background like shadows that wouldn’t quite fade.

As the months passed, the weight of expectations took its toll. Exams loomed over us like storm clouds, and the pressure to excel became a constant undercurrent. Yong’s health, which she had always tried to downplay, began to show signs of strain. She was getting bruises more frequently, her once boundless energy flagging in ways that were hard to ignore.

One evening, as we sat together in the library, I noticed her wince as she shifted in her seat. “Are you okay?” I asked, my concern cutting through the comfortable silence.

She nodded, brushing it off with a weak smile. “I’m fine,” she said. “Just a little tired.”

But I knew her better than that. The girl who had once seemed invincible was now fragile in a way that scared me. Yet she kept pushing, kept striving for a perfection that always seemed just out of reach. We spent our free time together, reading books and sharing quiet moments, but there was always an unspoken tension, a fear that we were running out of time.

Yet, the more I held on, the more I noticed the small things—the way she seemed to tire more easily, the bruises that appeared on her arms, faint but unmistakable. I wanted to believe her excuses, that she was just clumsy or that she wasn’t getting enough rest. But deep down, I knew something was wrong.

“Are you okay, Yong?” I asked one day, trying to keep my voice steady.

She gave me a half-hearted smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m fine, Jess. Just a little tired.”

Tired. That’s all she ever said. But I wasn’t convinced.

Weeks passed, and Yong’s enthusiasm seemed to wane, though she kept up appearances for everyone else. She still aced her quizzes, still made time for the theater club, still made me laugh with her silly impressions of our teachers. But there was a fragility to her now, something that I couldn’t quite place but felt deeply.

One day, I noticed Yong had bought a stack of romance novels. She was always reading them, lost in their worlds of love and passion. A few weeks later, she started writing her own romance novel on Weibo. I was impressed by her creativity and imagination.

One day, we were walking through a manga shop, and Yong stopped to browse the BL section. I felt a blush creeping up my cheeks as I watched her pick up a few books. “You really like these, huh?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

Yong nodded, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “They’re so cute!” she replied.

I couldn’t help but smile. I was happy to see her enjoying her new hobby.

Yong’s love for romance novels had replaced her previous obsession with video games. It was like a new ink had been added to her passion for telling stories. She also started getting into horror, reading spooky tales and watching scary movies.

I found her new interests fascinating. It was amazing to see how she could go from one genre to another with such ease.

One day, we were sitting together in the library, hidden in the back where no one could find us. Yong was reading “Eragon,” marveling at how it was written by someone our age. “You should write our story,” she said suddenly, her eyes bright with the idea. “Like a romance novel. You could be the next Nicholas Sparks.”

“I’m not sure I’m cut out for that,” I replied, half-joking. But the way she looked at me, with so much belief, made me wonder if maybe I could.

We talked about love stories, about Jaime from “A Walk to Remember,” the kind of love that endures despite everything. Yong always wanted to be Jaime, the strong, quiet girl who touched everyone’s lives. I told her that Jaime dies in the end, and she smacked my arm, pouting because I’d spoiled it.

“That’s not fair!” she said, but her laughter soon followed. “Okay, then, how about we get married?”

“What?” I asked, startled by the suddenness of her suggestion.

“Not for real,” she added quickly. “Just…you and me, privately. We could go to the Buddhist temple. It doesn’t have to be official.”

I didn’t know what to say. I wanted to give her everything, but this felt like stepping over a line I wasn’t sure we were ready to cross. “We’ll see,” I said, trying to keep my voice light.

But I knew, even then, that there was a weight to her words, a gravity I couldn’t ignore. As we made plans for our little secret wedding, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Yong was asking for more than just a romantic gesture. She was asking for a promise, a forever that I wasn’t sure we’d get. And as we left the library, her hand in mine, I couldn’t help but feel that time was slipping through our fingers, faster than we ever expected.

We set out for Binondo on a crisp Saturday morning, the air filled with the sounds of bustling vendors and the scent of freshly steamed buns wafting through the narrow streets. Binondo, the historic Chinatown in Manila, was a vibrant tapestry of East Asian culture, and for Yongsun, it was a gateway to a part of her heritage she had never fully explored.

Yong had always been curious about the Buddhist temple nestled in the heart of this district. Her family, devout Buddhists, spoke of it with reverence, yet Yong had never been. Today, we were treating this as our first real date, an exploration of culture, faith, and a bit of adventure. I could see the excitement in her eyes, a spark that made her look more alive than she had in weeks.

“This place is incredible,” Yong whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the crowd. Her eyes darted from one shop to another, taking in the red lanterns strung overhead, the dragon motifs that adorned the walls, and the vibrant array of fruits and incense sticks sold at every corner. “It’s like stepping into another world.”

I smiled, glad to see her so animated. “Yeah, it’s got a magic of its own.”

We made our way to the Buddhist temple, a small yet intricately designed structure with golden statues and a serene courtyard. The temple was quiet, a stark contrast to the busy streets outside. Monks in saffron robes moved about in silent meditation, their presence lending a sense of peace to the place. Yong’s face lit up with a mix of awe and respect as she took it all in.

“This is beautiful,” she said, her voice hushed as if not to disturb the sanctity of the space. “I’ve always wanted to see a temple like this.”

She knelt down, mimicking the worshippers around us, bowing slightly before one of the altars. I stood beside her, my hands clasped together, offering a silent prayer of my own. When she finished, Yong turned to me, her expression soft.

“Jess, can we… you know, do it here? Like, our own little wedding?”

My heart pounded at her words. I loved Yong more than I could ever express, but I also respected the teachings that the monks had shared with me during my occasional visits here. I had learned that marriage, especially at our age, was not taken lightly within these walls.

“Yong,” I began gently, “I’d love that more than anything, but child marriage is forbidden in Buddhism. It’s in the Five Precepts—no sexual misconduct.”

She looked at me, her expression thoughtful. “Then we won’t get married here if it would make you uncomfortable. I just… I want something special with you.”

I took her hand, squeezing it lightly. “I don’t want to be disrespectful to this place or its people. The monks here taught me a lot about kindness, about patience. This is their sacred space.”

She nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “We’ll do it someday, then. When it’s right.”

I leaned in closer, my forehead resting against hers. “Yes, someday.”

We left the temple and wandered through Binondo, soaking in the sights and sounds. Yong’s laughter was like music, echoing against the old stone buildings as we explored. We stopped at a street food stall, where she insisted on trying everything—from siomai to hopia. She beamed with each bite, savoring the rich flavors and the simple joy of being out, just the two of us.

“I love this,” she said between bites, her face glowing. “It’s like a whole new adventure.”

“You know, Binondo has a lot of stories,” I said, pointing to the old colonial buildings that stood tall among the newer shops. “Like Binondo Church—people say if you get married there, you’ll be together forever. It’s kind of a superstition.”

Her eyes lit up, and she nudged me playfully. “Is that so? Let’s go there!”

We walked to Binondo Church, its grand facade a mix of stone and brick, aged yet majestic. Inside, the atmosphere was hushed, the air heavy with the scent of candle wax and the murmurs of prayer. I guided Yong to the front, where she knelt and watched as I made the sign of the cross, a gesture she tried to mimic.

“How do you pray here?” she asked, her voice soft, almost reverent.

I smiled, taking her hands in mine. “It’s like talking to someone who’s always listening. You just say what’s in your heart.”

Yong closed her eyes, her lips moving silently. I didn’t ask what she prayed for; I didn’t need to. When she opened her eyes, they were glistening with unshed tears. She turned to me, her gaze intense.

“If gods are real,” she said quietly, “I hope they recognize my love for you, Jess. You’re my silent hero, you know that? You’ve stuck by me through everything.”

Her words hit me harder than I expected. I pulled her close, my arms wrapping around her in a protective embrace. “They will, Yong. I promise.”

She pulled out a small box from her bag—a promise ring we had bought earlier, a simple silver band with a tiny stone in the middle. She slipped it onto my finger, her hands trembling slightly.

“This is our first vow,” she said, her voice quivering with emotion. “A promise to always be there for each other.”

I nodded, feeling a lump in my throat. I placed a kiss on her forehead, lingering for a moment, letting the warmth of the gesture speak for all the words I couldn’t find. As I pulled away, I saw her lips part, her breath hitching as if she wanted to say something more.

I leaned in, ready to kiss her lips, but she gently pressed a finger to my mouth. “Some other time,” she whispered, her cheeks flushed. “I’m not ready yet.”

I nodded, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ll wait, Yong. I’ll wait as long as you need.”

She smiled, that soft, shy smile that I loved so much. “Thank you, Jess.”

We walked out of the church, hand in hand, the promise ring glinting in the sunlight. In that moment, it didn’t matter that we weren’t officially married or that we were too young for any grand commitments. We had made a vow, a simple promise to each other, and in our hearts, that was enough.

As we made our way back home, the sun dipped low in the sky, casting a warm glow over Binondo. We were quiet, content in the shared silence, each step feeling like a new beginning. I glanced over at Yong, her eyes fixed on the horizon, and I knew that whatever lay ahead, we would face it together.

“Kinda married, huh?” I teased, squeezing her hand.

She laughed, her voice light and carefree. “Sort of. And you better keep your promise, Jess.”

“I will,” I said, meaning every word. “Always.”