Yasiel Lyzer POV
When my class ended, I didn't wait for the bell or any announcement. I quickly packed my things like I was trying to escape something like the air had suddenly grown heavier. It was like the quiet passing of a cloud across the sky: you don't notice it at first, but you feel the shadow it leaves behind.
I said goodbye to Faeryn, my quiet classmate and friend. She didn't ask questions. Just a tap on the shoulder, a glance that said, "I'm here," and that was enough. Not everyone needs an explanation. Sometimes, just knowing someone understands you even without words is enough.
I walked out of the building, leaving behind the white fluorescent lights and the scent of photocopied paper. I headed toward the old acacia tree behind the science building where my bike was parked. It was worn-out rust crept along the edges, one pedal was cracked, and the seat was held together with duct tape. But it still held strong. Just like me. Even if battered, even if used and tired I kept going.
Sometimes, I pity this bike.
It's always there when I feel like running away. It's witnessed every aimless ride, every desperate sprint weighed down with sadness, anger, or fear. With every push of the pedal, I seemed to be saying, "Not now. I don't want to face everything just yet."
I climbed on.
And I left.
Kalayaan Avenue was quiet. A few jeeps passed by, leaving smoke and the echo of engines behind. I still passed the usual scenes: graffiti on the walls that the local office once covered but was repainted by young street artists, the corner guy always with a cigarette and a matchstick in hand, and the smell of kwek-kwek, kikiam, and reused cooking oil floating in the air.
Everything was familiar.
But something felt different today.
It was like watching a movie I'd seen a hundred times except now, there was a new scene spliced in, and I couldn't quite place it. Like someone had changed the script without telling me.
And behind it all was the weight not just of the day, but of questions.
Who is Jaz?
And why does it feel like there's something I can't remember about her?
We hadn't seen each other since that night in the library. I didn't try to find her, but she never really left my mind. With every passing second, every bell that rang, every tick of the clock, it was like she left traces.
A presence.
A shadow.
An echo.
And at the center of it all was the pounding in my chest not for someone I just met, but for a mystery deeper than a name or a face. It felt like she had become the key to a door long locked inside me.
Or maybe she was just the light that finally illuminated a corner I had been avoiding for so long.
When I arrived at our usual hangout a small spot wedged between Mang Enoy's barbershop and Aling Meding's sari-sari store the old bench was still there. Worn but sturdy. Made from patched-up hollow blocks, planks of wood, and a coat of paint that time had mostly erased. A sheet of tin roofing hung above, enough to block the rain, but not the storm of emotions I carried with me.
"Yasiel!" Jomari called out, holding a Red Horse bottle like a trophy. "You're just in time. Come sit."
I smiled a pretend one. But somehow, my chest felt lighter. I leaned my bike against the post, like I was finally putting down a burden I'd been carrying too long. Kristoff, in his oversized black shirt, grinned while lighting a cigarette. Mark was quiet, as always, but he held a glass and wore that look he always had like he knew something the rest of us didn't.
"We thought you weren't coming," Kristoff said, blowing smoke out the side of his mouth.
"Just tired," I replied, sitting on the wooden bench as the wind combed through my messy hair.
Soon, our little gathering began. Jomari popped open another bottle and filled my glass. I didn't want to take it at first.
But I took it anyway.
With every sip, I felt like I was sinking into silence again.
Or maybe I was just drowning out the noise inside.
Even just for a while.
Even just for a few minutes of forgetting.
"Yas, didn't you say you have a new professor?" Jomari asked.
I didn't answer. I just looked up at the sky thin clouds, the faint shadow of the setting sun. No certainty. No direction.
Just like me.
"That's love life right there," Kristoff chimed in, pointing at me. "That's how you get when something's bothering you. Staring into space like you're lost."
"Love life? Damn it, I don't even have one," I replied with a laugh even though deep down, I just wanted to stay quiet.
I didn't want to talk.
Not yet.
Because how do you explain a feeling you don't even understand yourself?
How do you put into words the name Jaz, her eyes, her presence that clings to you like heat that refuses to fade even after the day has ended?
I'm not ready yet.
But someday, maybe, I'll be able to tell the story of how I got lost and how in the middle of it all, there was a girl who seemed to hold the night I had been walking alone for so long.
I looked up at the sky again. Still dark. A few stars visible like fine needlepoints on the blue-black fabric of night. In a city like Makati, there are always barriers. Not just physical like streetlights, towering buildings, or smog but also the ones between hearts and silence. Noise trying desperately to drown out the cries of solitude.
But even then, you know the stars are still there. Even if you can't always see them. Even if clouds, pollution, or your own weary eyes block them out. They're there quiet, unmoving, just watching. Like answers you're not yet ready to hear. Like memories of people you once loved, or questions that don't need to be answered right away.
Maybe… maybe I'm like the sky too. Full of light, but often covered. Deep, but rarely understood. And like the stars, there are parts of me I still don't fully know.
I think… maybe answers aren't what I should be searching for. Maybe life isn't a checklist of "whys," "hows," or "what nows." Maybe the real point is accepting that some questions will remain open. And in between those questions lies the journey. The walking. The breathing.
And perhaps, this feeling of incompleteness isn't a curse. Maybe it's a reminder that we're still alive. That we still have the capacity to seek, to hurt, to love, to hope. The incompleteness is space the soul leaves open for experiences yet to come, for people yet to arrive, for answers that aren't meant for today.
I took a final sip. It burned slightly on the way down warm, familiar. It tasted like exhaustion, like night, like decisions I wasn't ready to make. I knew I had a report due tomorrow. Modules to finish. Responsibilities waiting. A world I had to face.
But tonight… just for tonight, let me breathe here. Amid simple laughter, cigarette smoke, the heat of Red Horse, and the breeze on my skin.
Let me stay broken for a while.
I stood up. My steps were a little heavy, but still steady. Not drunk. Maybe just tipsy. Or maybe just emotional. I didn't really know.
"You sure you can get home like that, Yasiel?" Kristoff asked, adjusting his bangs in the reflection of his phone screen.
I tapped my chest and gave a salute. "Still good. I got this. Come on it's me."
"Leave him be, Kris," Jomari interrupted, wiping beer from his lips. "That's Yasiel. Even drunk, he knows exactly where to go. Built-in GPS, powered by angst and existential dread."
More laughter. All nonsense. But beneath the nonsense, there was depth. I could feel they weren't judging me. They didn't need an explanation. As long as you were there, sitting on the same bench and drinking from the same glass you were family. In a world that so often fails to understand us, this kind of silence mattered the kind that wasn't forceful, that wasn't demanding, that simply… was enough.
"One more shot before you go, bro," Mark said, handing me the glass.
I took it. Looked up at the sky before I drank.
"For the questions with no answers," I whispered.
They all yelled, "There it is!"
And in their laughter, something inside me loosened. It wasn't over. I wasn't okay. But tonight, being with them was enough. Not being alone was enough.
I said my goodbyes. Stood up, slung my bag over my shoulder, reached into my pocket for the key to my bike.
"I'm good now. Got class tomorrow. Take care, guys."
"Text us when you get home, alright?" Jomari reminded me.
I raised two fingers in a salute. "Copy that."
Then I walked away.
I passed through a narrow alley, under a blinking streetlight. Beside a wall with an old poster of a candidate who lost the election. Past a canal with a smell that refused to be forgotten.
There were crickets chirping in the distance. Kids still playing even though it was late. The scent of boiled bananas wafting from a nearby kitchen.
And through it all, a quiet wrapped around me. Not because the questions were gone but because I had accepted that maybe… I didn't need the answers yet.
Not tonight.
Maybe tomorrow.
Maybe after the next drink. Or the next question. Or the next time I see Jaz again if I ever do. Or maybe, when I finally find the version of myself that's long been missing inside this body.
Under the darkened sky, beneath stars barely visible, I kept walking.
Breathing.
Existing.
And somehow… still living.
When I got home, the place was quiet the kind of quiet that made it feel like even the walls were breathing, like they were holding secrets of their own. I knocked. Once. Twice. Not loud. Just enough for the person waiting inside to hear.
On the third knock, the door opened. As expected, it was Auntie Erich who greeted me. She wore her familiar white house dress, slightly wrinkled at the hem, and a pencil was still tucked behind her ear probably something she'd forgotten to remove hours ago. Her hair was short, streaked with silver at the sides, but her posture remained upright, as if always ready to face any storm.
"Yasiel," she said, immediately catching the scent of alcohol on my breath. "You've been drinking again? Don't you have class tomorrow?"
Her voice wasn't angry. Just tired. The kind of tired that comes from worry, not irritation. I could feel the softness behind every word like an old pillow you can't bring yourself to throw away because it's where you always find peace.
"You hard-headed kid," she added, brows slightly furrowed. "I told you, if you're going to drink, don't overdo it."
"Just a little, Auntie," I replied with a wink a kind of defense, a joke to mask the weight of questions heavy on my chest.
She sighed. Long and deep. Like releasing a question she no longer had the energy to ask. "Alright, come in. Eat. Then go to bed. You've got class tomorrow."
"Yes, Auntie."
I stepped inside the house. The scent of old wood, faded curtains, and adobo that had long gone cold under a plate on the table all of it felt like music playing the tune of homecoming. No luxurious furniture. Nothing fancy. But the silence here held warmth. A kind of embrace. A memory of rainy nights where I'd hide under a worn-out blanket while Tita sat nearby, busy sewing.
I sat at the table. Lifted the plate covering the dish and found cold adobo chicken and pork, with a few bay leaves. My favorite. Even cold, I ate it all, as if every bite was a kind of acceptance that even when things aren't warm or perfect, they can still be enough. Still filling.
Afterward, I cleaned up. Rinsed the plate, added some soap, and set it aside to dry. No one had to tell me. It was already part of the rhythm of daily life a quiet kind of respect.
I walked over to Auntie. "Auntie, I'll head upstairs now."
"Alright. Don't forget to set your alarm, okay? You have class early."
I smiled. "I won't."
I entered my room and closed the door. Locked it slowly not out of fear, but because I needed a small world that was mine alone. A space where I could breathe without questions, even just for a while.
I picked up the cracked mirror on my desk. The crack on the edge was from some forgotten slip, or maybe a night filled with anger. But I hadn't replaced it. Maybe because in its brokenness, I saw my truest reflection not whole, but not shattered either.
One by one, I removed my contact lenses. With each blink, my true eyes emerged red, vivid, glowing faintly under the low light of night. Unusual. Uncommon. But mine. And despite everything, they were honest.
I looked at myself in the mirror. No mask. No costume. No pretense. Just bare truth.
I still didn't fully understand who I really was. I still couldn't fit myself neatly into a single word the world would accept male? female? neither? both? Some days I could embrace it all. But on certain nights, it felt like I didn't belong in my own skin.
But tonight, in front of the mirror cracked and quiet I was still here. I was still Yasiel. And in facing myself like this, there was peace. Not because I had all the answers, but because I had accepted that I didn't need them yet.
I lay down on the bed. Turned to my side. Looked at the ceiling. No stars. No light. Just silence. The kind of silence that sometimes screams louder than any crowd. But tonight, it was enough.
The silence was enough.
Breathing though hard, though heavy was enough.
Let Batman deal with tomorrow. Whether there's a recitation or a surprise quiz. Whether I see Jaz again, or whether she remains a shadow in the back of my mind. Whether I find answers or only more questions.
But tonight, this is what's real: I am Yasiel. I am here. I am breathing.
And even if I don't yet know exactly who I am, it's enough for now to know that I'm still alive.
My eyes slowly closed as the world outside continued to turn just as it always has. Just as it will tomorrow.
THE NEXT MORNING
I woke up to the sun's aggressive kiss a single ray breaking through the thin curtain, landing straight on my unwilling eyes. Like a spotlight on a stage, it forced me to rise even when I wasn't ready. I could still feel the weight of the night before: the salt of sweat, the stickiness of alcohol, and the heaviness of silence in my chest.
I glanced at the clock.
8:53 AM.
"Shit, I'm late!"
I practically flew off the bed. Slammed into the side table, knocking over an old picture frame, but I didn't bother to check it. Grabbed a towel, yanked my phone, and dashed out of the room like the house was on fire.
But with every step, something felt… off.
It wasn't the usual hangover dizziness. It wasn't the alcohol. It felt like the air itself was pulling me inward, like an invisible force was squeezing my brain, twisting my grip on reality.
Boom.
Suddenly, I collapsed to my knees. Pain thundered through my skull dull, heavy, relentless hammering from the inside. I shut my eyes, clutching my temples, but in the blink of an eye.
When I opened them, it wasn't my room anymore.
A forest.
What the fuck. A forest.
But not just any forest. The trees were impossibly tall, stretching far beyond anything I'd ever seen. They weren't narra, not acacia I didn't recognize a single plant. The leaves were thick and glowing faintly, as if lit from within. There was no sun, but everything was illuminated. The air was cold but not bone-chilling. Quiet, but not eerie. It felt like a dream serenely quiet, but with the undeniable sense that something was watching.
"Where… am I?" I whispered to myself, voice trembling. Beneath that whisper was fear. A strange shame. A tight, creeping panic as if I had just become a stranger in my own skin.
I tried to run, but my legs were useless, clumsy. Still, with my very first step.
Zoom.
It felt like something yanked my body forward. In an instant, I was at the other side of the woods. Dry leaves flew around me, spiraling midair but instead of falling, they stayed suspended. The world froze, mid-breath. I collapsed beside a stream whose water shimmered like a moving mirror. Crystal clear, but fluid, alive. And those leaves caught in the wind? Still hanging. Like a cinematic glitch.
"What… is this…" I muttered, barely hearing myself.
There was nothing holding me together but my own breath. I was shaking. I touched my face, pinched my arm, slapped my cheek.
Real.
All of it was real.
And then amid the confusion an idea crept into my mind. A vague memory. A pull of instinct.
"Teleport."
I closed my eyes and pictured my room: the smell of Tita Erich's soap, the cracked mirror on my desk, the curtain always slightly uneven, the old electric fan with its whiny hum like it's crying. I saw it in my mind, reached for it like pulling myself through the air.
I opened my eyes.
Boom.
I was back.
Standing in my room. Feet on the floor. Eyes staring at the worn curtain. Tears at the corners of my eyes. Sweat at the nape of my neck. Still holding the towel.
My feet were wet. Blades of grass clung to my skin.
"Holy shit..."
My hands trembled. I sank to my knees beside the bed, trying to calm my breathing. But part of me wasn't shocked. Part of me… knew. Like something inside had been waiting for this. Like a door had finally opened after years of silence. Like every cell in my body screamed:
"There it is. Finally."
But why now?
What triggered it?
Who or what unlocked this?
And what does it mean?
I looked into the mirror. My eyes still blood red. Brighter than before. But behind the color, behind the mystery, was the quiet trace of recognition. Something ancient. Familiar.
I've never been normal. That's not new. But this this isn't just about being different anymore.
Now, I know for sure.
There's a reason I'm like this.
And I have something to uncover.
I took a shower, but it was as if I didn't need to think about every movement. It felt like my body had been possessed by a program that already knew what to do soap here, shampoo there, rinse, towel off, get dressed. Only a second had passed, yet it felt like I had completed my entire morning. Automatic. Fast. Unquestioned. Like a machine that had suddenly found a new rhythm.
When I went downstairs, the house was silent. Auntie Erich was gone. Most likely already out, busy delivering orders of her kakanin a daily ritual that had become part of our lives. I shut the door behind me and locked it. Grabbed my bike an old mountain bike I had grown to love, even if its chain was rusted. But just before I could push off and pedal down the street.
Teleport.
In an instant, I was no longer in front of the house. I was already under the shade of the tree where I usually parked my bike, just beside the school. And the bike? It followed. As if my power didn't just carry my body but also the things connected to me.
I looked around. Everything was normal. Students chatting, others sipping coffee, many buried in their phones. No one noticed. No one stopped. No one looked confused.
Like nothing happened.
When I entered the classroom, I immediately looked for Yuno my classmate who was smart, cheerful, and always in the loop about everything.
"Yuno, did we have class earlier?"
"Nope. All the professors are in a meeting. You're lucky you just arrived. Were you late?"
"Yeah, woke up late," I smiled, trying to hide the unease building inside me.
"Looks like you're lucky today, Yasiel."
"Guess so." I sat on my armchair scratched on the side, nothing special, but at that moment it felt like a throne for someone who no longer knew where they belonged.
As I sat there, seconds ticking by, I couldn't stop the questions. How did that happen? Why did I end up in the forest? Why did I suddenly become fast? And how did I return? And most of all…
What am I?
My thoughts were interrupted when something surged from the back of my mind not an image, but like a memory unlocked by force. A tall man cloaked in black, his silhouette like that of an ancient king. With him were three women whose presence was impossible to ignore blood-red lips, porcelain skin, and eyes that seemed to read souls. Like fairies. Or queens. I didn't know them, but I could feel it.
I was connected. To them. To that man.
I stood up, didn't even bother to say goodbye. I walked straight to the library. "Maybe there's a clue," I whispered to myself, as if an inner voice responded to my confusion.
As I entered, I was greeted by the scent of paper, silence, and the dust dancing in the air. Many students were already there, but I didn't care. I headed straight to the History and Mythology section. With so many books, I felt like I was drowning. But one title seemed to pull my gaze:
"God-King & Her Three Wives."
A title that seemed to ring out by itself. I grabbed it and made my way to the farthest corner of the library. Sat on an old chair and opened to the first page.
"To the world's eyes, he was just a scholar. Quiet. Ordinary. Powerless and unremarkable. But on one night swallowed by fire and betrayal, a secret sewn by blood and war was awakened…"
I paused.
Quiet. Ordinary. Powerless.
Just like me. Just like my life.
But why was all this happening now?
As I continued reading, a voice seemed to whisper in my ear not loud, not clear. Like a chant in an ancient tongue. Like a prayer from a woman speaking from a place far away. Yet familiar. I didn't understand her words, but I knew her. I could feel her.
And then, a presence brushed the back of my neck. Not physical. Like a wave of cold that touched my skin, ran through my soul, and settled in my heart.
Her. Jaz.
I couldn't see her. But I knew it was her. There was a connection. A thread I couldn't see, but one that couldn't be broken. A call that wasn't spoken, but was heard by my entire being. And in the middle of it all, it was like she was trying to say something a message not yet ripe, but on the verge of bursting.
I went back to reading, but when I turned the next page, there was only one line written:
"Whoever you are now, you still don't know what you really are."
I swallowed hard. That line shattered whatever quiet defenses I had. It crushed the small image I had of myself. I shut my eyes and tried to ignore it, tried to continue reading.
But then I saw her.
Jaz.
At the other end of the library. Sitting. A book open in front of her. Calm. As if nothing was happening. While me? My nerves were betraying me, no matter how hard I tried to keep them hidden.
She wore a pristine long-sleeved white blouse not new, but spotless. Clean in a way untouched by the dirt of the world. It was tucked neatly into dark-colored lady trousers, and on her feet, closed-toe heels that made a faint but sharp sound on the floor music of discipline.
She had a signature bag on her shoulder one glance and you knew it came from a brand not easily earned. Everything about her was precise. Intentional. Full of self-assurance.
But what struck me the most wasn't what she wore. It was her.
Lyzariah Jazmine S. Leovierre.
The woman I saw last night. The woman I read about in that article. The woman who, in one moment, seemed to shift the entire axis of my world.
Atty. Lyzariah Jazmine Leovierre the youngest corporate lawyer feared across the entire industry.
And now?
She was here. In front of me. In this quiet corner of the library where secrets begin.
And I knew… I could never go back to who I was before.
Our eyes met again.
It was like time itself paused to frame that single moment. Everything else the rustling of pages, the ticking of the clock, even the faint hum of the air conditioner disappeared. Like a scene in a movie where the world freezes for two characters bound by fate.
The light around her seemed to soften on its own, but her presence remained cold. A silent, heavy chill like a room full of mirrors: it won't hurt you, but you can't get out. That's when I understood how hard it is to look at someone you can't tell if they're a ghost from the past, or a signal of something just beginning.
She wasn't like me, clearly rattled by surprise.
Not a flicker of emotion crossed her face. Instead, she gave me a sharp, unwavering gaze. One that seemed to scan who I was beneath the skin, beneath the soul, beneath the façade. Not angry, but weighty. No smile, but full of tension.
I swallowed hard. There was a knot in my throat I couldn't untangle, no matter how much courage I forced out. I wanted to look away, but something inside me something stronger told me: Don't. Look at her. Read her. And in a way I couldn't explain, I wanted to know if she saw something in me too. If she knew something I needed to find. If she was the answer to the questions I didn't even know how to ask.
And finally, she spoke.
"So, you're a student here?"
No curve to her tone. Direct. Crisp. Like I wasn't a person, but a document being handed across a courtroom just one item on her checklist, and she wanted it cleared.
No small talk. No "Hi." No "How are you?" As if we hadn't met in a night of fire and noise, when the world seemed to turn on the breath between us. As if it never happened.
I just stared at her, and for a few seconds, I couldn't find a single word to say.
I just stared at her, and for a few seconds, I couldn't find the right words.
My heart? It was pounding. Not just from nervousness, but because it was knocking on an old memory. A door I had avoided for so long. A memory I had buried beneath the noise of everyday life of class, wake-shower-go-repeat. But now she was here, and the silence between us was slowly becoming a cage.
"Yes… why do you ask, Ma'am?"
My voice was soft. Obviously defensive. Clearly unsure of where I stood.
Her lips twitched slightly. I couldn't tell if it was mockery, hesitation, or just her tongue curling behind her teeth before she asked her next question. But she didn't smile. She didn't break eye contact. And the next thing she said exploded like a bomb without warning.
"You don't remember me?"
My chest thundered.
The world stopped again. Not out of drama, but because of the sheer weight of her question. Like someone grabbed my shoulders and forced me to face my own reflection.
What did she mean?
I looked closely at her face. Tried to search for answers in the curve of her cheeks, in the flick of her lashes, in the subtle movement of her lips. Do I know her? It felt like I did. And yet I didn't.
But why couldn't I remember anything clearly?
And then… a night started to awaken a night I had locked away in the deepest corner of my memory. A night of darkness and music. A night of alcohol and bodies searching for warmth in a world that didn't care. A night I didn't want to revisit, but now it was clawing its way back.
A hotel room. A hand on skin. A kiss like fire. A body I allowed to lose itself inside mine.
"Wait…"
I whispered, my palms growing cold.
"Isn't this the woman…"
"…the one I had a one-night stand with six months ago?"
Fuck.
I swallowed hard. That night came rushing back a bar full of lights and smoke, a round of drinks that ended in an unexpected night in a stranger's condo. A woman who seemed written by a poet born in the shadows of memory. She wore a red silk dress that night tight, smooth, and as if conspiring with the night to seduce. Even with alcohol in my system, I remembered how she looked at me she wasn't the type you approached. She was the type who approached you and when she did, you didn't escape.
And now, she was here.
In front of me. In broad daylight. In the middle of a library. No longer just a haze of the night but a presence with a name, a surname, and authority.
It was her.
Was that why she came here?
Did she need something? Was there something she wanted to say?
Don't tell me…
She's pregnant?
Fuck. Please, no. But if it were true… if it really was…
I'd take responsibility.
That would be better than letting a child grow up without a father. Better than hiding while the past slowly poisons the future.
I wanted to ask. I wanted to scream, "Why are you here?" or at least, "Are you okay?" or straight-up, "Are you pregnant?"
But I didn't say a word. All I could do was look at her while she looked back. Quiet. Emotionless. Heavy. Like every second of her gaze came with an unspoken question she refused to voice aloud.
"You don't remember me now?" she repeated. Her tone lower this time. Deeper. Heavier like she was already digging out the lie buried inside my chest.
We locked eyes again. And in that moment, it felt like I was being pulled into the black of her eyes as if there was a storm building behind her irises. There was blame. There was searching. And… fear?
"Uh…" I looked away. Gripped the edge of my chair, tight. It felt like something was whispering at the back of my mind Just say it. Stop dancing around it.
"Sorry," I said softly. "I think I do… but I'm not sure where, Ma'am."
Ma'am.
That word felt like a slap to my own face. She wasn't "Ma'am" that night. That night, she was temptation, reckless impulse, the name of a decision made without a plan.
She said nothing. But in that silence was a tension as sharp as a judge before delivering a verdict. She studied me every flick of my eyes, every shift in my shoulders as if searching for the moment I'd break.
"Six months ago," she said. "There was an event in Ortigas. Rooftop bar of the Grand Astra Hotel. You were there, weren't you?"
Shit.
She knows.
She smiled. But it wasn't a smile of amusement. It was cold, thin, and felt more like a blade wrapped in silk.
"I-uh, I think I was there," I said.
"I was a bit drunk that night… I don't remember everything that happened."
A lie I could barely stomach. It was obvious in my tone. In the way I avoided her eyes. Anyone even someone who wasn't a lawyer would know.
She raised an eyebrow.
"Drunk?" He lifted one corner of his lip, as if holding back something he wasn't ready to spit out. "That's convenient."
No shouting. No drama. But every word hit me like a nail driven straight into my chest.
It was clear he wanted me to say it. He wouldn't spell it out. He wanted me to confess, like I was both the sinner and the priest in a booth built from guilt and rain.
"Enough," my mind whispered. "Just say it."
"Okay," I murmured, barely audible. "I remember... something. It was night. Raining. I was with a friend, but we got separated. Then... you."
I couldn't finish. I didn't have the strength to go further. Each word I forced out seemed to tighten my pulse, clog my throat, weigh down my chest like it wanted to forget how to breathe.
He stayed silent. But in his eyes, I saw it he knew I remembered more than just "something."
And then finally, he dropped the line that shattered the rest of my day.
"I know who you are, Yasiel Lyzer Zalvian."
It felt like being set on fire.
"Wait… how did you ?"
"It's not hard to track someone when you want answers. And believe me… I have questions."
Questions. Still, he didn't say what they were. But the fact that he knew that he was looking that I was the one he was looking for… that was enough to plunge me back into the jungle of memory and possibility.
He glanced around. Students passed by, laughing, reading, living their ordinary lives. This wasn't the right place for whatever he had in mind.
"You got ten minutes?" he asked. "LJ Café. Let's talk there."
I didn't even try to say no.
I nodded, though it felt like the world collapsed on my knees. He stood, calm and poised, elegant like he carried no weight at all. Before walking away, he looked back at me just briefly but long enough to freeze my spine.
I stayed in my seat. The paper in front of me blurred into nothing. Every letter twisted into the shape of his face. Every blank space echoed his question.
I stood slowly. No applause. No alarms. But inside, a voice screamed uncertain if it was fear or confession.
When I stepped out of the library, I saw him waiting by the roadside, phone in hand, probably texting someone. He looked up when I approached no smile, no anger. Just silence. Then he turned and walked toward LJ Café near the university.
I followed.
No words. No explanations.
But with every step I took, I felt myself getting closer—
To the truth.
Or to judgment.