The First Time I Saw Him

I was fifteen when I first saw him — not in the waking world, but in a dream so vivid, it settled into my memory like it had always been there. The kind of dream you never forget, because some part of you whispers this is real. 
In the dream, I was in a place that didn’t belong to time. A meadow beneath a lavender sky, with stars flickering like they were breathing. There was a lake, still as glass, reflecting a moon that looked bigger than the sky could hold. I stood on its shore, barefoot, the hem of my gown soaked in dew. Not a modern dress — but something out of a different century. Heavy silk, soft laces. I looked like someone from a story long forgotten. 
And then — I turned. 
He was already there. 
On a horse, tall and still, watching me. 
I didn’t know his name. I had never seen his face before. 
But I knew him. Deeply. Instinctively. As though my soul had been searching for him in every crowd I’d ever walked through. 
He dismounted slowly, never taking his eyes off me. There was no fear, no doubt, only a stillness — like we had both arrived. I felt warmth rush into my chest as he stepped closer. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. 
We danced. 
No music. No words. Just the rhythm of two beings who had known each other before names, before countries, before time began counting years. I looked into his eyes, and the world disappeared. In his gaze, I found every emotion I had never felt in waking life — love, safety, devotion, and something else… a promise. 
Wait for me. 
I’ll find you again. 
When I woke up, I cried. 
Not because it was over, but because I knew it wasn’t just a dream. 
From that moment on, I waited. 
Not actively. Not dramatically. Just quietly — a secret thread running through my life, pulling me forward. I saw glimpses of him in strangers. I searched for his eyes in passing faces. Now and then, he’d return in my sleep. On a boat. In a forest. Across a battlefield. Always looked at me like he remembered too. 
I didn’t know when, or how, but I believed I would meet him again. 
In this life. In this skin. In a moment I couldn’t plan. 
And I did.

It was Ms. Vargas' idea, of all people.


"Nothing too fancy," she'd said, passing my desk like it was just another Monday. "Just dinner. Some drinks. A small welcome back to Lumina."


I smiled politely and nodded. But inside, my stomach twisted.


A small dinner meant the whole team. The old team. Which meant Elián.


Pretending to be okay in fluorescent office light was one thing — doing it in a room with beer, music, and lowered voices was another.


Still, I showed up. Because I always do.


We met at a low-lit bar just outside Quezon Avenue — the kind with faux leather booths, cheesy cocktail menus, and a karaoke machine older than my career.


The team clapped when I walked in. Someone slid a drink into my hand before I even sat down. I laughed, I smiled, I let myself blend back in.


Elián — in a navy button-down that made him look both the same and completely different. He nodded to the group, but his eyes flicked to me once, like a ripple across still water.


He sat two seats away. Close enough to hear me laugh. Far enough to pretend it didn't matter.


Hours passed in snippets. Fried chicken skin. Half-drunk cocktails. Office gossip Isla whispered between songs.


And then someone said, "Mara, your turn."


I tried to protest, but Ms. Vargas herself waved the mic at me. "One song. Come on — I remember that voice."


The first chords came before I could back out.


I didn't mean to choose it. Didn't even think about what it would do to me. Or him.


And for three minutes, the world slowed down. It was just my voice, trembling but sure, wrapping itself around every word I once lived.


I didn't dare look at him. But I felt him. I always did.


"Maybe this time… love won't hurry away"


When I got off stage, there was a beat of silence — then polite applause. Then laughter. Then noise returned like nothing had cracked.


But I stayed quiet the rest of the night.


Outside, near the waiting cars, I felt someone step beside me.


He smiled, soft and sad. "Okay. Maybe just your voice. It got… sharper."


He looked down at his keys, then up at me again. "Want a ride?"


The car was silent. Familiar. Like no time had passed and too much had.


He tapped the steering wheel once before asking, "Jace… was he your boyfriend?"


"He wanted to be," I added. "But I couldn't give him what he deserved."


"I never got the chance to forget you," I said quietly, not looking at him.


The air between us broke then — soft and sudden, like paper torn neatly in two.


And just as he was about to speak — as something in his throat shifted — the back door clicked open.


"Surprise, b*tches!" Isla said, drunk and grinning, sliding into the back seat like a twist in fate. "You thought I'd leave you two alone? As if."


And just like that — the moment passed.


Maybe this time… was just another almost


Chapter 28 - Chapter Twenty-Eight: Maybe, Just Maybe