Tristan woke up before his alarm, a natural energy buzzing in his veins. The pain was gone, replaced by a feeling of readiness. His body, which had been a constant source of frustration, now felt like a finely tuned machine, eager to be put to the test. It was Monday, and while most of his classmates would be dreading the start of a new week, Tristan felt a quiet thrill. He had a mission to complete, a team to lead, and a dream to chase.
He went to their shared bathroom, splashed cold water on his face, and then, with practiced silence, he put on his worn-out sneakers. As he tiptoed towards the front door, a voice, deep and familiar, cut through the pre-dawn quiet.
"Where are you going son?"
Tristan's heart jumped. He turned to see his father, Armando Herrera, standing in the doorway of their room. At five-foot-seven, with a bald head and a face etched with the lines of hard work, he was a tired but gentle presence. He was a tricycle driver, a man who worked tirelessly to provide for his family.
"Tatay,"( "Tatay" is Father in Filipino)Tristan said, his voice a little shaky. "I'm just... going for a run."
His father walked over to him, his eyes filled with a mixture of concern and pride. "You've been training hard, my son," he said, his voice a low rumble. He reached out and placed a hand on Tristan's shoulder, a firm, reassuring weight. "It's good to train hard. But don't forget to study. That's just as important."
Tristan felt a wave of love and gratitude wash over him. His father, a man of few words, was giving him a silent blessing. He was acknowledging his dream, his passion, and reminding him of his duty.
"Opo, Tay,"("Opo" is a respectful way to say yes in Filipino) Tristan said, a genuine smile on his face. "I won't forget. Bye, Tatay."
"Be careful," Armando said, a small smile on his face.
With his father's words a warm presence in his heart, Tristan slipped out the front door and began his run. He decided to stick to his usual route around the barangay, a familiar path that felt like a second home. The city was just waking up, the air still cool and crisp. He ran with a newfound lightness, his legs a blur of motion. His improved Stamina was a revelation. He ran farther, faster, and for longer than he ever had before. The burning in his lungs was no longer a sign of his weakness, but a testament to his strength. He was a new runner, a new player, a new Tristan.
He finished his run, his body humming with a pleasant exhaustion. He returned home, took a quick shower, and got ready for school. The smell of his mother's cooking, a comforting aroma of fried rice and hotdog, filled the air. He ate quickly, his appetite ravenous, and then, with a backpack slung over his shoulder, he headed out the door.
He saw Marco and Gab waiting for him at the corner, their usual meeting spot.
"Hoy, Tris! You look like you're on a mission," Marco said, a playful smirk on his face. "Don't tell me you ran another marathon before class."
Tristan just laughed, a sound that was full of a new confidence. "Something like that. We have a league to win, remember? We have to get ready."
"That's our point guard!" Gab said, his voice full of a friendly boast.
They walked to Dasmariñas National High School, their conversations a familiar mix of schoolwork, the basketball league, and the endless gossip that colored their teenage lives. As they walked through the school gates, they were no longer just three friends; they were three members of a new team, a unit with a shared goal.
Their first subject was Science, in the school's laboratory. Ms. Budbud, a strict but fair teacher with a no-nonsense attitude, was conducting a group chemistry experiment. She drew names from a fishbowl, a suspenseful moment that always left the students holding their breath.
"Alright, first group," Ms. Budbud said, her voice clear and precise. "Tristan Herrera, Christine Reyes, and..."
Tristan's mind stopped. His heart skipped a beat. Christine Reyes. The name alone was enough to send a jolt through him. Christine was his long-time crush, a beautiful, smart girl with long black hair and sparkling eyes. She was one of the most popular and beautiful girls in their school, and Tristan, in his mind, was just a boy with a dream.
"...and Miguel Santos," Ms. Budbud finished.
Tristan's stomach was a tangled mess of nerves. He was in a group with his crush. A mix of fear and excitement washed over him. This was a new kind of challenge, one he hadn't prepared for.
He looked over at Marco and Gab, who were in a group together. Marco saw the look on his face and, with a knowing grin, mouthed the words, "Good luck." Gab just gave him a thumbs-up, a silent, playful jab.
Tristan's face flushed with a deep, crimson blush. He walked over to the lab table where Christine was already waiting, her beautiful face a picture of serene focus.
"Hi," she said, her voice soft and melodic. "Tristan, right? You're in my group."
"Y-yeah," Tristan stammered, his mind a complete blank. "Y-yeah, I am. Tristan. H-hi."
Christine just smiled, a small, polite curve of her lips that was enough to make his heart pound against his ribs. The chemistry experiment, a simple task of mixing a few chemicals, felt like an impossible, high-stakes operation. He was a clumsy, fumbling mess, his hands shaking as he held the test tubes.
After the experiment, Marco and Gab were waiting for him by the door, their faces split in wide, teasing grins.
"Dude! You're in a group with Christine!" Gab said, his voice full of a loud, boisterous laugh. "Look at you, all red and shy. Your crush is finally noticing you!"
"Shut up, guys," Tristan mumbled, his cheeks still burning. "She's just... a person. It's just a group activity."
"A group activity with the most beautiful girl in school," Marco said, shaking his head.
"And you, the guy who can barely string a sentence together around her. This is a match made in heaven, my friend."
Tristan just sighed, a mix of annoyance and embarrassment washing over him. He knew they were just teasing, but he also knew they were right. He was a complete fool around Christine.
Their next subject was Filipino, where they studied the intricacies of the Tagalog language. Verbs, nouns, and adjectives filled the pages of their notebooks. Tristan, his mind still a whirlwind of Christine, managed to focus, the quiet, repetitive nature of the lesson a welcome distraction.
After Filipino, they had T.L.E. (Technology and Livelihood Education). Upon enrollment, the students had to choose a specialized track. Tristan, Marco, and Gab had all chosen Electronics, a subject that promised to teach them how to build and repair electrical components. Christine and her friends had chosen Cosmetology, a subject that focused on makeup and beauty.
In the electronics room, surrounded by wires, circuit boards, and the smell of soldering iron, the talk quickly turned back to Christine.
"You should've asked her for her number, Tris," Gab said, a glint in his eye. "A little study session, a little bonding. The perfect excuse."
"I can't just do that," Tristan said, his voice a low whisper. "She's... she's Christine. I'm just me."
"Tris, you're the guy who ran a thirty-kilometer marathon and then went to school," Marco said, a surprising seriousness in his voice. "You're a basketball star in the making. You can talk to a girl."
Meanwhile, across the hall, in the cosmetology room, Christine and her friends were having a similar conversation.
"So, what's up with Tristan?" her friend, Mia, asked, a curious look on her face. "He was so quiet. He was practically a statue."
Christine just shrugged, a small smile on her face. "He was in my group for the science experiment. He's... a little shy."
"A little shy? He was literally shaking," another friend, Andrea, said with a laugh. "But he's cute. In a quiet, mysterious way. And I hear he's a basketball player."
"He seems nice," Christine said, a thoughtful expression on her face. She found herself thinking about him. He was quiet, yes, but there was a fire in his eyes, a quiet intensity she found intriguing.
Their last subject for the morning was M.A.P.E.H. (Music, Arts, Physical Education and Health). Today was music, and the air was filled with the promise of melody. Mr. Abaya, their music teacher, a kind man with a love for traditional Filipino music, stood at the front of the class.
"Okay, class," Mr. Abaya said, his voice a warm baritone. "Who here is a singer? Don't be shy. The stage is yours."
Before Tristan could even think, Marco and Gab, with a mischievous glint in their eyes, pointed at him.
"Tristan, sir!" Marco yelled, a wide grin on his face. "He can sing! He's a natural!"
A wave of dread, cold and absolute, washed over Tristan. He was a basketball player, a point guard, a leader. He was not a singer.
He was a boy who stammered around his crush. He was not a performer.
"Tristan?" Mr. Abaya said, a curious look on his face. "Is this true? Don't be shy, come up here."
Tristan felt all eyes on him. He felt Christine's gaze, a quiet, expectant pressure. He had no choice. He had been thrown into the deep end, and he had to swim. He slowly, reluctantly, walked to the front of the class, his heart a frantic drumbeat in his chest.
"Just... one song, sir," he mumbled, his hands fidgeting.
"Any song you like, my boy," Mr. Abaya said with a kind smile. "Take your time."
Tristan closed his eyes, his mind a blank. He needed a song, a song that was familiar, a song that he knew by heart. A song that he had heard his mother sing a thousand times. A song that was full of a quiet, beautiful yearning.
He took a deep breath, and the words, the melody, came to him. He opened his eyes, and with a single, fleeting glance at Christine, he began to sing.
The first notes were shaky, a nervous tremor in his voice. But as the words came, as the melody took hold, his voice began to steady.
The song was 'Ikaw' by Yeng Constantino, a beautiful, poignant Tagalog song about a love that was long-awaited and true.
"Sa pagpatak ng bawat oras ay ikaw..." he sang, his voice gaining in strength and confidence with every word. The nervous, stuttering boy was gone. In his place was a young man with a clear, resonant voice, a voice that was full of a quiet, beautiful emotion.
He sang the lyrics, his eyes drifting towards Christine's. He sang of a love that was long-awaited, of a heart that was once lonely, and of a feeling that was a gift from a higher power. As he sang, his classmates, who had been ready to laugh and mock him, fell into a stunned silence. They were captivated.
Marco and Gab, their teasing grins gone, looked at their friend with a newfound awe. They knew he was a decent basketball player. They knew he was a loyal friend. But they had never known he had a voice like this. A voice that was full of a raw, beautiful emotion.
And Christine, his beautiful, smart crush, was looking at him with a look he had never seen before. Her eyes were wide with a genuine, silent amazement. The quiet, shy boy who had stammered around her just an hour ago was now a captivating singer, a new person entirely.
He finished the song, the final note hanging in the air, a beautiful, perfect silence. He stood there for a moment, his chest heaving, his heart pounding, his cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and a quiet, thrilling sense of triumph.
Mr. Abaya clapped first, a loud, resounding applause that was soon joined by the rest of the class.
"Bravo, Tristan!" Mr. Abaya said, a wide, genuine smile on his face. "That was... beautiful. You have a gift, my boy. You have a gift."
Tristan, still reeling from the unexpected moment, just nodded, a small, grateful smile on his face. He walked back to his seat, his eyes instinctively finding Christine's. She was still looking at him, a small, thoughtful smile on her face. For the first time, he felt like she was seeing him, really seeing him. Not just the quiet boy in her class, but a boy with a voice, a passion, and a secret fire in his heart.
He sat down, his heart still pounding. He was a new person. A basketball player, a singer, a leader. He was no longer just the boy on the sidelines. He was in the game, in every sense of the word.