The sun, still drowsy, bled a pale orange across the sky above Quezon City, casting long, sleepy shadows through Kean's bedroom window. The city hum was muted, a low, consistent drone only barely audible through the thick glass. Kean blinked the last of the night away, the familiar ache of last month's heartbreak a dull, distant throb, now often overshadowed by a newer, lighter feeling.
He reached for the battered acoustic guitar propped against his desk. It was an old companion, its polished surface worn smooth in the places his forearm always rested. He settled on the edge of his bed, the cool wood of the guitar comforting against his chest, and began to twist the tuning pegs, the strings giving off sharp, jarring metallic cries before settling into harmony.
When the instrument was ready, Kean took a slow breath and tentatively tried a melody he'd been working on—something sweet and utterly sincere.
"...you're the only one I love, the only light I see," he whispered-sang, his voice a thick, unstable rumble that cracked on the higher notes. It was too early; his vocal cords hadn't fully woken up yet. He stopped, chuckling at the awkward sound, and simply let his fingers move over the fretboard, finding the familiar, simple joy in the clean, ringing chords.
The soft chime of his phone on the nightstand broke the quiet rhythm. A rush of adrenaline—sharp and sweet—shot through him. It was the distinct notification from Lityear.
His fingers froze mid-strum. A genuine, unrestrained smile stretched across his face, a feeling of light filling the space the music had just occupied. He dropped the pick, scrambling to pick up his phone.
Kaye: Good morning, sleepyhead. Guess what I'm craving for breakfast? Taho! What are you up to?
Kean's heart gave a happy thud. She was thinking of him. He looked down at his guitar, a silent offering, then back at the chat. He quickly snapped a photo of the guitar, capturing its worn body and the sunlight glinting off the strings, and sent it with no caption. Let the picture speak.
A few seconds later, the reply came, instantaneous and warm.
Kaye: You're so cool, wish you could sing for me like that.
His chest swelled with a giddy warmth, his mind immediately drafting a response about how he'd love nothing more than to play for her, maybe even on a video call later, just for her. He hovered his thumb over the keyboard, ready to pour out the feeling.
"Kean! Are you up already? Come down here, let's eat breakfast!" The voice of his Aunt Raquela sailed up the stairs, cheerful and loud, shattering the delicate, private bubble of their interaction.
The moment was gone. Kean sighed, the smile fading slightly, though the warmth lingered. He typed a quick, truncated reply.
Kean (Lityear): Later! Aunt called. Talk to you soon, okay? <3
He put the phone down, the guitar leaning forgotten against the bed, already making his way to the door, carrying the faint, sweet echo of Kaye's words with him.
Kean slid into his seat at the small, round breakfast table, the smell of fried egg and garlic rice filling the kitchen. His Aunt Raquela was already sipping coffee, flipping through a tabloid with an air of practiced morning calm.
"Morning, Aunt," Kean said, reaching for the pitcher of water.
"Good morning, Kean. Slow starter today?" she teased, putting the paper down. "Your dad's already out. Did you get enough sleep?"
"I did. I was just, you know, practicing earlier," he replied, piling rice onto his plate. "I've actually been writing a lot of songs lately. Thinking of finally releasing them soon, maybe online."
Aunt Raquela's eyes softened, a look of genuine pride momentarily erasing her usual sternness. "Oh, that's great! You've always had the talent. But promise me you won't let it get in the way of your studies, okay? That diploma is your insurance."
"Promise, promise," Kean said, already reaching for the hot plate of eggs.
She leaned forward, her expression shifting back to playful mischief. "So, are these new songs for those girls who kept giving you false hopes? Did they finally realize what they lost?"
Kean threw his hands up in mock offense. "Aunt, I am deeply, profoundly offended.
They are, shall we say, more existential now. And my heart is far more durable."
"Oh, durable," she scoffed with a grin. "Like a sando bought from the palengke." She cut straight to the point. "So, how about Eunice? You haven't talked about her in a while."
Kean paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. "Oh, you still don't know?" he deadpanned. "That chapter closed weeks ago. I thought I made that quite clear when I stopped dramatically staring at my phone and started playing my guitar again."
Aunt Raquela sighed, picking up her coffee mug. "Look, Kean, it's just a reality check. There's no such thing as forever. Even married couples get divorced, and relationships that start online can be even more fleeting. Don't waste too much time dwelling on it."
Kean flashed her a bright, slightly sarcastic smile. "It's fine, Aunt. It's totally okay. At least I just started a new one." He shrugged, making the statement sound casual, as if he were referring to a new brand of chips.
She set her mug down with a soft clink.
"Whatever, Kean. There are more girls out there than stars in the sky. But your main goal still has to be finishing your studies. That's your universe right now, not some girl, real or virtual."
He chewed slowly, meeting her gaze with an easygoing warmth that showed he wasn't really hurt by the lecture. "Alright, alright. Message received and filed under 'Aunt Raquela's Universal Truths.' I'm full now." Kean pushed his chair back. "I'll be in the living room."
He grabbed his plate and mug, dropping them into the sink before heading out, leaving Aunt Raquela shaking her head with a mixture of exasperation and affection. The scent of breakfast lingered, but Kean was already back to thinking about the guitar on his bed and the girl who had inspired its new melodies.
Kean settled onto the faded, comfortable sofa in the living room, the memory of his aunt's lecture already fading into a dull background noise. He opened the Mezenger app, not to Kaye first in Lityear, but to his friend Kent, their chat history a chaotic mix of memes and music links.
He typed: Yo, man. Missing our jam sessions. Remember those awful noise complaints from our teachers?
The reply was immediate. Kent was clearly as idle as he was.
Kent: Tell me about it. Been trying to get the hang of those hugot songs. Why are all the good riffs sad? I even tried that new "Before You Go" one.
Kean grinned, knowing Kent was one of the most commitment-phobic people they knew, especially when it came to romance.
Kean: Makes sense. Because you're
secretly in love with those mobile arcades. You're a man of simple, plastic pleasures.
Kent: True. Less drama. Anyway, you sound productive. Still writing the soundtrack to your dramatic love life?
Kean ignored the jab. He had a better idea. He closed Kent's chat and navigated back to Kaye. Taking a deep breath, he picked up his guitar, found a simple, resonant chord progression, and pressed the voice message icon. He sang the corrected version of the line he'd mumbled earlier—clearer now, backed by the bright sound of the strings.
"...you're the only one I love, the only light I see."
The voice message was short, intimate, and raw. He held his breath for her reaction.
It came within a minute, not as a voice note, but as a rapid burst of texts and a photo. The picture showed a slim, dark-red electric guitar leaning against a wall, clearly well-loved.
Kaye: OMG. Seriously, you just played that for me?! That was beautiful, Kean. And you sound amazing.
Kaye: I have one too! (See photo)
Kaye: But I just know basics. Like, 'Twinkle Twinkle Little Star' level basics. I'm totally amazed by your skill.
Kean felt a flush of pride mixed with a sudden, easy connection. He typed quickly, eager to share this part of himself.
Kean: It's nothing, really. I started with piano lessons when I was thirteen. Very uncool, I know.
Kean: But I fell in love with guitar and taught myself. Been playing for almost four years now.
Kean: It runs in the family, I guess. My late grandfather and my uncles were all skilled guitarists. My mom and my grandma have beautiful voices, too.
The pause before her next message was short, but when it arrived, it was filled with a sense of shared, warm nostalgia.
Kaye: Wow. That's so cool. My side is like that too! My uncle, grandfather, and mom all play guitar. Our old house always had music and old music everywhere.
Kaye: I really miss those times. Sometimes I wish we could have a family jam session again.
Kean felt a genuine pang of empathy. They hadn't just found a connection in their immediate feelings; they had found a deeper, echoing history in their families.
Kean: Yeah, me too. I can only imagine. Maybe one day, we can have our own jam session—me on the acoustic, you on the electric.
Kaye: I'd love that. More than anything.
He looked up at the clock on the wall. The digital numbers glowed a stern, practical red. Reality was calling.
Kean: Okay, reality check time for me. I have online classes starting in thirty minutes and a mountain of pending activities.
Kean: Later again :>> Talk to you once I'm done being a productive student!
He put his phone down, the warm weight of their conversation settling happily in his chest. The mundane task of school suddenly seemed less like a chore and more like a bridge to the next sweet message.
The digital clock on Kean's laptop screen confirmed the end of his last online class.
He closed his textbooks, stretched his arms high above his head, and immediately reached for his phone, eager to message
Kaye.
Before he could even type a greeting, Lityear buzzed with a notification—a message from her, but not a text. It was a video attachment. Kean pressed play, his heart giving a small, expectant thump.
Kaye was sitting by a window, the light soft around her. She held a ukulele, strumming a cheerful, simple rhythm. Then, she began to sing. Her voice was bright and clear, a delicate soprano that handled the tune with surprising control. It wasn't a practiced, perfect performance, but it was honest, and completely captivating.
Kean watched the clip twice, a wide, unrestrained smile fixing itself on his face. He quickly typed back, his excitement bubbling over.
Kean: Hold up. You've been hiding the ukulele skills too? We need to do a duet, like, right now. Forget playing alone. We should cover some songs together.
Kaye: Ahh! Stop it! I'm so shy. It's just an old song I learned. I only know like three chords on the uke.
Kean: Doesn't matter. Your voice, Kaye—it's like a singing angel showed up on my phone. Seriously, I'm shocked you can play just like me. My jaw is on the floor.
Kaye sent a blushing emoji.
The little blushing emoji was perfectly sweet, and Kean could practically hear her embarrassed giggle.
Kaye: Okay, how about this? Neither of us have classes this afternoon. Let's do a video call later, just to talk properly?
Kean: Yes. Absolutely yes. You name the time.
They set a time thirty minutes later. When the call connected, Kaye's face filled his screen, her smile immediate and warm. Kean was just about to start rambling about her voice when she turned her phone to show him another surprise. A dusty, older-model keyboard sat on a small table.
"Thought I'd try something different," she said, tapping a few keys. She launched into a recognizable intro from a popular local pop song, her fingers searching for the right notes.
"No way!" Kean laughed, shaking his head.
"You are just full of surprises, aren't you? Seriously, you're the most musical person I've met. You're incredible."
Kaye waved a dismissive hand, blushing slightly. "It's just for fun! But listen, I have to pause our mini-concert." She pressed the keys one last time. "My stomach is staging a protest. I'm going downstairs for a snack."
She took her phone with her, and the camera tilted wildly as she navigated her house. The scene was suddenly interrupted
by a high-pitched sound of shock from Kaye.
"Oh. My. Goodness! A huge spider! It's right there on the wall!"
Kean burst out laughing, leaning closer to his phone. "Seriously? The fierce musician is afraid of one little spider?"
"It's not little! It's enormous! And it's staring at me!" Kaye shrieked, backing away.
Kean immediately stopped laughing, a sudden, familiar chill running down his spine. "Wait, actually, I'm with you on this one. I have an actual spider phobia. They are the worst."
Just then, the phone jostled, and Kaye's voice rose in a genuine, startled scream. "It jumped! It just JUMPED!"
Kean couldn't help himself. He roared with laughter, clutching his sides. The terror in Kaye's voice was real, but the situation, set against the backdrop of their beautiful musical moment, was hilarious. It was a shared, ridiculous moment that felt utterly and perfectly theirs.
"Okay, okay, I'm hiding now," Kaye said, her breath ragged, but a giggle escaping her.
"My Grandmother is coming in, and I can't let her see me hiding from a spider. I'm going to go hide and eat my snack."
"Talk about an adventure in Baguio," Kean teased, still chuckling.
"I know. Promise to call me again later tonight? After my grandmother goes to sleep?"
"Absolutely," Kean agreed, his voice warm.
"I'll be waiting."
He ended the call, the sound of her scared shriek and his own laughter echoing pleasantly in his ears. The connection, now tested by music, praise, and shared fear, felt stronger and more real than ever.
The sun had finally dipped below the horizon, bathing Quezon City in the quiet velvet of evening. Kean was back in his room, scrolling through his chat with Kent, the earlier laughter from the video call with Kaye still a warm residue in his chest.
Kent: Seriously though, you never told us you broke up with Eunice. You just went silent. What was that?
Kean sighed, leaning back against his headboard. He typed his reply, finally ready to admit the truth to someone outside his head.
Kean: Yeah, well, I needed to move on fast. Didn't want to dwell on the drama, so I just cut it clean. Out of sight, out of mind, right?
Kent: Liar. You were playing the saddest chords for days. But whatever, man. You're still my best friend. Miss those nights we just played until our fingers bled, just us.
Kean: Me too. Hey, I met someone new.
He hesitated, then sent it.
Kean: Her name is Kaye. She's from Baguio. We met on Lityear.
Kent: Ohhh. Careful, bro. You know how those apps are. Don't give out your full life details right away. Protect your heart, even if it is durable like a sando.
Kean smiled at the familiar, gentle warning.
He was about to reply when his phone flashed with the distinct banner of an incoming video call. It was Kaye.
He quickly accepted. Kaye's face was soft in the dim light, illuminated by her screen, and she was holding her ukulele again.
"Hey," she whispered, her voice husky. "Grandmother finally settled down. I
thought we could try that duet."
Kean's smile was immediate and genuine. He reached for his acoustic guitar, the wood feeling right and familiar in his hands. "Perfect timing. What are we playing?"
They decided on "Photograph," a simple, universally romantic song. They took turns with the verses, Kean's deeper, warmer tone contrasting beautifully with Kaye's clear, high notes. The music wasn't perfectly synchronous, but the shared effort, the way their eyes met and held over the lyrics about keeping love in a photograph, created a bubble of pure intimacy.
When the last chord faded, Kaye kept smiling, plucking idly at the ukulele strings.
"So," Kean started, trying to sound casual, but his voice was thick with feeling. "Do you… do you have a crush on someone right now?"
Kaye looked down, a blush rising up her neck. She pushed her glasses up her nose, a habit Kean had come to find endearing.
"Um. Yes. I do," she admitted softly.
Kean felt a small, triumphant flutter in his stomach, the answer he'd hoped for clicking into place. "Is he a guy from the internet who sings poorly in the morning, but is getting better at it?"
Kaye laughed, a quiet, delighted sound.
"Maybe. Does he happen to have a huge phobia of spiders?"
"He does," Kean confirmed, his heart swelling. "Funny, because I have a crush on a girl from Baguio who plays both the ukulele and the keyboard, and screams like a horror movie star when she sees a spider."
"I'm glad we're on the same page, then," Kaye whispered.
A comfortable silence stretched between them, heavier and more meaningful than any conversation. Kaye's eyelids started to droop.
"I'm a little tired, Kean," she mumbled.
"What if you sing something, and I just close my eyes and listen?"
Kean nodded, adjusting his guitar. He didn't pick a cover. He played his own melody, one of the newer, sad-but-happy ones inspired entirely by her. He let the chords ring out, soft and resonant, and sang a verse of a song called "Tonight".
"'Cause every night I miss you, I could just look up, and know the stars are holding you, holding you tonight."
He watched her face, the gentle rise and fall of her chest, as he finished the line. After a moment of absolute stillness, a soft, sleepy sound drifted across the video call: a faint, almost imperceptible snore. Kaye was asleep.
Kean didn't end the call. He just gazed at her, a profound feeling of warmth and quiet comfort washing over him. The connection wasn't just real; it was cosmic, a feeling that spanned the hundred miles between Quezon and Baguio.
He set his guitar gently down, careful not to make a sound. He didn't want to break the perfect peace of the moment. He just looked at her sleeping face, lit softly by the phone screen, and let a single, heartfelt thought bloom in the quiet space of his room.
I hope she's the one.
He settled back, resting his phone near his pillow, listening to the faint, steady sound of her breathing until his own eyelids grew heavy.