Present Day | Cebu
The reunion was louder than she expected.
A mix of outdated music, the clinking of cocktail glasses, and exaggerated greetings filled the hotel function room, bouncing off the whitewashed walls like ghosts of their childhood selves. Stella Vienne Tuazon stood just past the entrance, one perfectly arched brow lifting as a familiar song from their grade school days hummed through the speakers. "Beautiful Girl" — really?
Typical.
"Stellaaa!" A voice squealed from the left. "Girl, you actually came?!"
Lala turned, her signature half-smile tugging at her lips. "Yeah, surprise."
Of course she came. She just didn't expect it to feel like walking straight into a memory she wasn't ready to face.
She greeted her old classmates with polite kisses on the cheek, hands brushed, compliments exchanged. They looked at her like she was a curated Instagram post come to life — soft waves, understated makeup, a linen jumpsuit tailored to perfection. To them, she was the girl who made it big. The one who left and glowed up. The model in Paris.
Not the girl who once threw a pencil case at a teacher in sixth grade.
Not the girl who walked out of the graduation ball with mascara streaks and heartbreak in her throat.
Definitely not the girl who still dreamed of that night, the sound of a door clicking open, and the sight she wished she could unsee.
Her eyes scanned the crowd. Is he here? she wondered, half-hoping, half-dreading.
Then she saw him.
Vince.
Standing across the room, dark blue polo hugging his frame, sleeves rolled up like he always used to in college. He was talking to someone from their old barkada, a bottle of San Mig Light in one hand. His laugh reached her even over the buzz of conversations.
He hadn't changed much. Taller, maybe. Broader. Less boy, more man. But the same presence.
And then, as if he felt it too — her stare, her hesitation — he turned.
Their eyes met.
A second passed. Then another.
He didn't look surprised. Just... still. As if the sight of her wasn't a shock but something inevitable. His mouth curved into a familiar smirk — not smug, not mocking. Just him. Vince.
She felt her throat tighten.
He started walking toward her.
She wanted to move. She didn't. Her heels were rooted, the same way she used to freeze when their high school teacher called them to read aloud in class.
"Stella," he said, stopping just a few feet away. The nickname slipped from his tongue like it belonged there. Like it always had.
"Vince." She met his gaze head-on, masking the storm inside her chest. "You cut your hair."
He blinked, surprised. Then chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Five years and that's the first thing you say?"
"I could've said more," she said dryly. "But I figured I'd start with something safe."
Silence fell for a beat. Around them, people kept chatting, laughing, sipping drinks. But in that space between them—five feet, five years—there was too much.
Too much left unsaid.
"Didn't think you'd show up," he said after a while.
"I wasn't planning to." Her voice softened. "But Cebu's small. Word travels fast."
"Still modeling?" he asked.
"Still the COO?" she shot back, eyebrow raised.
He laughed again — and it annoyed her how much she missed that sound.
"Touché."
There was a pause. His eyes, darker now under the warm lights, searched her face like he was trying to memorize it all over again.
She hated that it made her chest ache.
"Can we—" he started, then stopped. "You got time to talk? After this?"
She tilted her head, feigning indifference. "What for?"
"For starters, to say sorry."
The words hit harder than she expected.
She swallowed. "For what?"
"Depends how long you're staying."
She didn't answer. Instead, she turned slightly, scanning the room again. The noise felt louder now. The lights, too bright.
"I'll think about it," she said.
Then she walked away — slow, composed, chin up — before he could say anything else.
Before her walls cracked.
Because Vince Vasquez was dangerous.
Not in the way he used to be — with teasing, and name-calling, and basketball sweat. But in the way he was now: quiet, steady, grown.
And that scared her more than anything.
Because she wasn't sure if she came back to forgive him... Or fall all over again.
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