Another day rose—gray, quiet, and tired before it even began.
The faint light from the window brushed against my face, and I opened my eyes reluctantly. It was barely five in the morning. I had three hours before work, but I couldn't afford to rush. Rushing meant forgetting things—my ID, my fare, my sanity. So, I sat for a moment on the edge of the bed, my hands pressing against my knees, breathing into the still air of the rented room. The faint hum of the electric fan was comforting, but then—just my luck—the electricity flickered, then went off completely.
"Great," I muttered under my breath. "Not even six and the world's already testing me."
I went about my routine by memory: washing my face with the cold water that made me gasp, brushing my hair in the half-dark, and preparing instant coffee on the gas stove. It hissed softly, the only sound breaking the silence. The smell filled the air—bitter, grounding. I sipped slowly, staring at the small clock near the sink. My body felt like it was moving, but my mind lagged behind.
When I stepped outside, the street was damp from last night's rain. The wind carried the scent of soil and smoke from early food stalls. I took a deep breath and began walking toward work. My shoes tapped against the cracked pavement, rhythmic and steady, almost enough to distract me from the fatigue nesting in my chest.
Halfway down the road, I saw a familiar figure ahead—a woman waving enthusiastically. "Noira!" she called, her voice bright against the sleepy morning.
"Kim?" I blinked, and when she ran up to me, I couldn't help but smile wide. "Oh my God, Kim!"
We hugged tightly, both laughing as if our exhaustion melted for a second. "It's been forever!" she exclaimed, her voice muffled against my shoulder.
"Too long," I agreed. "Different shifts make us strangers."
Kim pulled back and looked at me with playful scrutiny. "You look thinner. Are you eating or just surviving on caffeine again?"
"Both," I admitted, chuckling softly.
She laughed and shook her head. "Typical Noira. Still stubborn."
"And you," I shot back, "still loud at six in the morning."
"Loud keeps me sane," she said with a wink. "So, same team?"
I nodded. "Still with Elisa."
"Oh, your favorite TL," she teased, rolling her eyes dramatically.
"She's not that bad," I replied, smiling faintly. "Just… real."
Kim laughed. "Real scary when metrics are low?"
I grinned. "That too."
We both giggled like students sneaking jokes in class. For a fleeting moment, I forgot everything—fatigue, home, tension. It was just two friends, two survivors, clinging to laughter before another long day. But as soon as we reached the building, we parted ways. "See you later!" she said, waving before heading to her floor.
Inside, the elevator doors were closing when a voice called out, "Wait—hold the door!"
I pressed the button just in time. The person who stepped in was none other than TL Elisa herself, holding a cup of iced coffee in one hand, her ID swaying around her neck. She was half-breathless, half-smiling. "Uy, almost late!" she teased.
I laughed softly. "You too, T."
She raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me, I'm the boss. I'm allowed to be late."
"Fair enough," I replied with a grin.
The elevator hummed as we ascended. For a few seconds, we just stood there, the soft hum of the machinery filling the silence. Then she said, more quietly, "You've been quieter lately."
I blinked, caught off guard. "Just tired, I guess."
She nodded slowly, stirring her coffee. "You know, when I first started, I thought I'd get used to tired. Turns out, tired doesn't get easier—it just becomes familiar."
I smiled faintly, appreciating her honesty. "That's… very true."
She looked at me sideways. "You still living with your in-laws?"
"Yeah," I admitted. "For now."
Her expression softened. "Hmm. That kind of 'for now' usually means it's complicated."
I laughed awkwardly. "You could say that."
She smiled, not prying further. "Hang in there, Noira. You're stronger than you think. But don't forget—strength isn't just about surviving. Sometimes it's about resting without guilt."
I wanted to say something—thank you, maybe—but the elevator doors opened, and she stepped out first, waving her hand. "Come on, almost late!"
The morning dragged slowly, the way time always does when your mind is half elsewhere. The hum of the office filled the air—keyboards clacking, phones ringing, muffled conversations rising and falling like background noise in a dream. I slipped on my headset, logged in, and began the cycle.
"Good morning, this is Noira speaking. How can I help you today?"
Over and over again. Polite tones, forced smiles, empathy on demand.
By the fifth call, my voice felt tight, my patience thinner than the coffee I'd had. One client yelled about a delayed refund. Another wanted something "impossible" fixed within minutes. I handled them all with the same script, the same calm that felt more like armor than attitude.
Around mid-morning, Elisa passed by my desk, placing a small chocolate bar beside my keyboard without a word. Just a soft smile, then she walked on. It was such a tiny gesture, but it made me blink rapidly, fighting the sting behind my eyes. Kindness, when you're not expecting it, hurts in the sweetest way.
Lunchtime came like mercy. We gathered in the pantry—me, Mommy Emily, Ana, Zarah, Serenya, and Iris. The table was cluttered with food containers, coffee cups, and laughter.
Mommy Emily clucked her tongue as she looked at my plate. "Ay, Noira, you're not eating vegetables again?"
I groaned dramatically. "Mommy, please—don't start."
She reached over and dumped a spoonful of sautéed ampalaya on my plate. "Eat! You're too thin. You'll disappear one of these days."
Everyone burst into laughter. Zarah leaned over, smirking. "Ang arte mo talaga, Noira. Eat na."
I made a face that made Ana choke on her drink from laughing. "Why are you all bullying me?"
"Because we love you," Serenya said with a teasing grin. "You need some color in your cheeks, not just from stress."
I rolled my eyes but ate the bitter vegetable anyway. Everyone clapped and cheered like I'd done something heroic.
"See? You can do it!" Emily said proudly. "Next time, more."
"No!" I exclaimed, laughing helplessly.
For a moment, the room was warm with genuine joy. The sound of laughter, the clatter of utensils—it all reminded me what normalcy felt like. What belonging could feel like, even among people not bound by blood.
As the laughter settled, Elisa entered the pantry, her coffee cup half-empty. She leaned against the counter, watching us with an amused smile. "You guys sound like a family reunion."
Emily pointed at her. "You're late! Come, sit. Eat!"
Elisa shook her head, smiling. "Already had lunch. Just needed to breathe."
"Ah, work stress?" Iris asked knowingly.
"Always," Elisa replied with a small sigh. Then her eyes found mine. "You okay, Noira?"
Everyone went quiet for a second. I nodded quickly, trying to smile. "Yeah, just tired."
Elisa gave a gentle smile. "It's okay to admit when you're not. You don't always have to keep it together, you know."
The words sank in deeper than I wanted them to. I just nodded again, murmuring, "Yeah. I'll try."
"Good," she said softly, then took a sip of her coffee. "Try—but also rest."
The afternoon dragged on with the weight of repetition. Calls came and went, each one blending into the next. At some point, I realized I hadn't moved in nearly two hours except to type and speak.
When Elisa passed by again, she tapped my shoulder lightly. "Stretch, girl," she said. "You're turning into a statue."
I smiled, standing and stretching my arms. "Yes, boss."
She chuckled. "I like that tone. Keep it."
We shared a small laugh before she walked off again, leaving behind the faint scent of her perfume—a reminder that even in chaos, someone was quietly looking out for you.
By 10 PM, my headset felt glued to my head. My throat was dry. The clock hands seemed stuck. Each minute crawled until finally, at the last call, the line went dead, and I sighed in relief.
Deo from the compliance team passed by, clipboard in hand. "Overtime tomorrow—who's in?"
I hesitated, then raised my hand. "I'll do it."
Elisa gave me a small nod from across the floor. "Good girl," she mouthed, smiling faintly.
The compliment made me smile despite my exhaustion. Sometimes, one kind word was enough to carry you through another hour.
When the clock struck midnight, the office emptied in waves. I packed my things slowly, letting the noise fade around me. Elisa passed by again, placing her coffee cup in the bin. "Get home safe, okay?"
"You too, T," I said softly.
She paused, then looked at me with that gentle seriousness she often had. "You're doing fine, Noira. Don't let anyone—including yourself—say otherwise."
The lump returned to my throat. "Thank you," I whispered.
She smiled, giving my shoulder a light squeeze before walking away.
Outside, the air was cold, the streetlamps humming faintly. I stood there for a moment, staring up at the hazy sky. My breath formed small clouds, fading into the night. The world felt heavy, but her words lingered like quiet warmth in the chill: You're doing fine.
Maybe that was enough for now.
I walked toward the bus stop, my bag slung across my shoulder, each step echoing softly against the empty road. The day had drained me, but somewhere beneath the exhaustion, a small flicker of strength remained.
Tomorrow, I knew, would be the same.
But tonight, I allowed myself to breathe—to believe, even for a second, that surviving was its own kind of victory.