Told in first-person: Miguel

The salt in the air clung to my skin, mixing with the dried streaks of tears on my face. I sat on the same worn wooden bench I always ended up at when the world became too much. It was tucked along the quieter stretch of the Manila Baywalk, where the lampposts flickered like they were tired of pretending to shine and the ocean murmured secrets only the brokenhearted could understand.

It was past midnight. The city behind me buzzed faintly with life—distant car horns, far-off laughter from drunk college students, the occasional bark of a stray dog—but in front of me, there was only the black sea and a sky too cloudy to offer stars.

I hugged my knees to my chest, resting my chin against them. I hadn’t meant to cry, not again. I told myself I was done letting things hurt me like this. But even lies sound convincing in the dark.

I had no idea how long I sat there, eyes fixed on the waves. Maybe it had been minutes. Maybe hours. But eventually, I felt it—that slight shift in the air when someone’s approaching. My body stiffened.

Footsteps, steady and slow, padded over the cracked pavement behind me. I didn’t turn around.

"Is the sea calm at this time of day?"

The voice was low, warm, and unfamiliar.

I wiped my face quickly and looked up. A man stood a few steps away, tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in a black hoodie and jeans that looked almost too clean for someone walking by the bay this late. The hood was down, and his hair was damp, like he’d just come from a run—or maybe a storm.

He nodded toward the ocean. “He's quiet now. He just seemed angry earlier.”

I gave a small shrug. “Sometimes, angry. Sometimes, quiet. Just like a human being.”

He chuckled. His smile was faint but warm. “You are right about that..”

I wasn’t sure why I kept looking at him. Maybe it was the way he stayed just far enough to not invade my space. Maybe it was how he didn’t immediately ask if I was okay. He just… stood there, like the sea, calm and unbothered.

“You mind if I sit?” he asked after a moment.

I hesitated. I almost said no.

Then I said, “Sure.”

He sat at the opposite end of the bench, giving me enough space to breathe. We stared at the water in silence for a few minutes, the tension between us not awkward, but strange. New. My heartbeat slowed from its usual panic pace.

“You come here a lot?” he asked gently.

I nodded. “When I don't know where to go anymore.”

“Same.”

That surprised me. He didn’t seem like the kind who wandered alone by the bay, talking to strangers. He looked… sure of himself. Confident. Like someone who belonged anywhere he walked into.

“What brings you here?” I asked.

He thought for a moment, then gave me a crooked smile. “Just tired. At work. At life. You?”

“Same,” I said, though it wasn’t entirely true. My reasons were messier, more tangled. But I wasn’t ready to share them. Not yet.

We sat again in silence. It was strange how the presence of a stranger could be more comforting than a thousand words from someone who claimed to know you.

“I’m Adrian, by the way,” he said after a while.

“Miguel.”

He repeated it. “Miguel.” The way he said my name—slow, careful, like it meant something—made me shiver. I pretended it was from the breeze.

Adrian leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You a student?”

I nodded. “Supposed to be. But… break now.”

“What do you study?”

“Fine Arts. in UST.”

“You are an artist..”

“Trying to be,” I muttered.

He smiled again, but this time, there was something different in his eyes. Interest. Curiosity. “I’d like to see your work sometime.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough. You're honest. And you sit by the sea to feel something. That says a lot.”

I looked at him. He was watching the waves, like he hadn’t just said something that cracked open something small and vulnerable inside me.

“Do you feel something when you're here?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he replied. “Like I’m just a man. Not someone expected to be anything else.”

I tilted my head. “Expected?”

He blinked, like he’d said too much. Then he waved it off. “Nothing. Just drama..”

But I saw the flicker in his eyes. He understood pain too. Maybe different from mine—but real.

A few moments passed before Adrian stood up and stretched. He looked down at me and smiled. “Same time tomorrow?”

I stared at him. “You’re coming back?”

“If you’ll be here.”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to. The smile that tugged at his lips said he already knew.

He walked away without saying goodbye, his silhouette disappearing into the dim path lit only by the sea’s soft shimmer. I sat there long after he was gone, still staring at where he’d been, heart beating strangely in my chest.

The world still hurt. But now… I didn’t feel so alone.