The tricycle wobbled down the early morning road, engine coughing like it had seen better decades. Inside, Althea sat hunched like a fugitive, hoodie up, shades on, clutching her bag like a stolen artifact.
Her knees bounced. Her breath was shallow. Her brain? Still lagging.
"Teh, one night lang...?" she muttered to herself, still tasting mango float and regret on her tongue.
She had done many things in life—some bold, some foolish—but this? This was telenovela-worthy level of Crazy.
When she slipped into the staff dorm, the sun was just starting to rise, casting orange across the room.
"Mars!" one of her roommates gasped, still wrapped in her blanket. "Grabe ka, all-nighter?"
"Hoy, hindi ka ba kinagat ng lamok sa cousin mo?" another teased.
Althea forced a chuckle. "Oo, cousin ko... from Manila. Birthday. Karaoke. Ayun."
She dove for her suitcase and began shoving in clothes like she was in a timed shopping spree. Underwear, sinampay, some old pasalubong—lahat, go. She didn't even fold.
She checked her phone: a new message from Tito Manny.
"One-way ticket. 10 PM tonight. Bring jacket. Contact will pick you up sa exit gate. Don't look lost."
Attached was a grainy photo of a crumpled ticket and address. Legit na legit.
She stared at the screen. "Teh, kaya pa ba?"
Her phone buzzed again—this time from an unknown number.
"Hi Althea. This is Ate V from Korea. Ako yung contact mo. Confirm if arriving today. I'll wait until 11PM. Wag ka malate. Minsan lang ako sumundo."
Althea replied with a thumbs up and a shaking "yes po." Her Tagalog, Bisaya, and dignity were all in shambles.
an hour later
She stood at the La Vista Baby pier one last time, her slippers sinking into the white sand. The ocean was too blue, too bright—as if mocking her for running away from paradise.
"I'm sorry, El Nido," she whispered dramatically, like she was in a teleserye's final beach episode. "It's not you. It's me.... que K-drama OST"
She left a note in the manager's pigeonhole.
"Family emergency po. Thank you po sa lahat. God bless po. —Althea :)"
At the airport, chaos bloomed.
"Ma'am, bawal po ang ganitong dami ng tuyo at dried mangoes," said the security officer, lifting her plastic-wrapped bundle.
"Beshie, pang-negosyo ko 'yan sa Korea," she replied, almost crying.
A guard pulled out a giant tub of homemade bagoong. "Ma'am, liquid ito."
"'Di 'yan liquid! That's culture!" she yelled as they confiscated it.
She was let in with some of her baggage confiscated.
Row 36, seat B. Middle seat. She was sandwiched between a toddler who kept kicking her side and a woman who looked like she'd been to Korea ten times.
"Anak, OFW ka din?" the woman asked, leaning in with the enthusiasm of a tita at a fiesta.
"Sort of po... baguhan lang po."
"Wag kang magpapa-inlove sa Koreano, ha? Naku! Ang gwapo pero paasa. My niece, she fell in love with a barista sa Hongdae. Iniwan siya para sa isang mas magandang Foreigner!"
"Noted po..." Althea smiled awkwardly as the woman handed her a pack of Biscuits.
She gazed out the window, clouds rolling like whipped cream outside. She wondered where Jihoon was. Was he still sleeping? Did he remember her? Did he even care?
Her chest tightened.
She checked her phone again—no signal. No reception. No reality check. Only airplane mode and shame.