diecisiete

Risa didn’t move.

Didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe.

Alice could see it—the moment the words sank in, the way Risa’s fingers twitched against the desk, the barely perceptible rise and fall of her chest. But she said nothing. Not yet.

Alice didn’t look away. She refused to.

The letter sat between them, old but unforgotten, the truth laid bare in fading ink. It was the ghost of a confession neither of them had ever spoken out loud.

"You left," Alice said, her voice steady, but her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "And I thought it was because I was stupid. Na mali lang ako. Na nag-iilusyon lang ako buong oras na ‘yon." Her throat tightened.

"Na wala naman talagang something sa atin."

Risa’s lips pressed together, her jaw tensing. But she still didn’t speak.

Alice exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "Pero hindi ‘di ba?" she demanded. "You felt it. You knew it. And instead of facing it, tumakbo ka."

Risa flinched. It was small, but Alice caught it.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Risa sat back in her chair. She inhaled slowly, gathering herself, like she was choosing her words carefully. But her eyes—dark, guarded, tired—never left Alice’s.

"I had to leave," she said.

Alice let out a bitter laugh. "You chose to leave."

"I was your teacher." Risa’s voice was firm, but it wasn’t as sharp as it usually was. It was controlled, like she was holding something back.

"Do you understand what that means? Do you know what would've happened if I stayed?"

Alice stepped closer. "I know what did happen because you left," she shot back.

"I spent years—years—trying to convince myself I was just some stupid kid with a crush. Na ako lang ang may nararamdaman. Na hindi mo ako gusto."

Her breath hitched, but she forced herself to keep going.

"Pero gusto mo pala ako. You wanted me, and you still left."

Risa looked away. For the first time since Alice walked into the room, she broke eye contact.

Silence stretched between them. Heavy. Suffocating.

Then, barely above a whisper—"I was afraid."

Alice’s breath caught.

Risa’s gaze flicked back to hers, and for the first time, Alice saw it—saw her.

Not the mayor, not the untouchable woman who buried herself in work and walls and impossible expectations.

Just Risa. The one who had run. The one who had wanted.

"You were my student," Risa murmured, voice almost fragile.

"I—'we'—couldn’t happen. No matter what I felt, no matter how much I—" She exhaled sharply, like she was trying to push the words back down before they could escape.

"I couldn't be that selfish."

Alice’s heartbeat pounded in her ears. "But it was real," she said, almost breathless.

"You felt it."

Risa didn’t answer immediately. But she didn’t deny it either.

Instead, she closed her eyes for a brief second, as if bracing herself. And then—

"Yes."

Alice’s chest tightened. Her fingers curled around the edge of Risa’s desk, steadying herself. She had waited for this moment.

Had imagined it in a thousand different ways, in different timelines where Risa had stayed, where Risa had chosen her.

But now that it was here, it didn’t feel victorious.

It felt like grief.

Because if Risa had wanted her all along—if she had known—then they had spent ten years apart for nothing.

Alice swallowed hard. "You didn’t have to leave."

Risa shook her head. "I did."

"No, you chose to leave." Alice’s voice cracked, but she didn’t care. "You chose to leave me behind, kahit na gusto mo rin ako."

Risa’s lips parted slightly, but no words came out.

Alice felt her hands tremble, felt her chest tighten, but she refused to stop now. "I was right in front of you, and you left. And now—" Her voice faltered.

"Now what? Do you regret it?"

Risa inhaled sharply. Her gaze flickered—hesitating, wavering—and for the first time, Alice saw the cracks in her carefully built walls.

"I don’t know."

Alice’s breath caught.

It wasn’t a no.

And that was what hurt the most.

She laughed—soft, bitter. "You still can’t admit it, can you?" she whispered. "Even after all this time."

Risa looked away again, fingers curling into her palms. "It doesn’t change anything."

Alice’s heart clenched. "It changes everything."

But Risa only shook her head. "I—'we'—can’t go back."

Alice let out a shaky breath.

She stepped back, staring at the woman in front of her—the woman who had ruined her, shaped her, haunted her.

The woman who had wanted her and still left her.

And for the first time, she realized—maybe Risa wasn’t running because she didn’t want this.

Maybe she was running because she still did.

Alice took another step back. "I deserved the truth back then," she said quietly.

"And I deserve it now."

She turned, heading for the door. But before she left, she paused—just for a moment.

Then, without looking back—

"Ten years, Risa. Think about that."

And then she was gone.

Risa let her go.

She let Alice walk out, let her words hang in the air like a blade pressed against her throat.

Ten years, Risa. Think about that.

And she did.

She thought about it as she sat there, staring at the letter on her desk.

Thought about it as she traced the faded ink with her fingertips, the words she had written so long ago coming back to haunt her.

I wouldn’t have been able to stop myself.

She had spent a decade convincing herself that leaving had been the right thing to do.

That Alice had been too young, that what she felt had been reckless, dangerous. That Alice would move on, forget, fall in love with someone else—someone safe.

But Alice hadn’t forgotten.

And neither had she.

Risa’s fingers twitched.

Before she could second-guess herself, she was already on her feet, moving toward the door.

Alice had barely made it a few steps down the hall when Risa called out, "Wait."

Alice froze.

Slowly, she turned. There was something unreadable in her expression, something guarded. Something hurt.

Risa’s throat tightened, but she forced herself to speak. "Come back inside."

Alice let out a bitter breath. "For what?"

"For the truth."

A beat.

Then, Alice exhaled, ran a hand through her hair, and stepped back into the office. She didn’t sit. Neither did Risa.

The door clicked shut behind them, and for a moment, there was only silence.

Then—

"I left because I loved you," Risa admitted, voice quiet but firm. "And I was terrified of what that meant."

Alice sucked in a sharp breath.

Risa forced herself to hold her gaze. "You weren’t just some student with a crush, Alice. You were you." Her fingers clenched.

"And I—" She exhaled, closing her eyes for a brief second. "I wanted you. More than I should have. More than I knew how to handle."

Alice’s breath was uneven. "So you ran."

Risa nodded. "I thought I was protecting you." She swallowed hard. "But I was only protecting myself."

Alice let out a shaky laugh, something wet in her eyes. "Putangina mo."

Risa huffed out something that almost sounded like a laugh. "I know."

Alice took a step closer. And then another.

"You don’t get to just say that," she whispered, her voice raw. "You don’t get to say you wanted me too and expect me to just—"

Her words faltered as Risa reached for her.

It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t hesitant.

It was inevitable.

The moment Risa’s fingers brushed Alice’s jaw, everything snapped.

Alice surged forward, and Risa met her halfway.

Their lips crashed together, desperate, messy, ten years of frustration and longing unraveling all at once.

Alice grabbed Risa’s blazer, pulling her in closer, deeper. Risa’s hands found Alice’s waist, gripping tight like she was afraid to let go.

Alice kissed her like she was proving a point, like she was taking back what should’ve been hers all along.

Risa let her, let herself sink into it, let herself forget—

Until—

A loud knock on the door.

Then—

"Omg, my innocent eyes!"

They tore apart so fast Alice nearly lost her balance. Risa turned sharply, breathless, hair slightly mussed, and found—

Loren, standing in the doorway, looking absolutely scandalized.

Alice, still catching her breath, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and muttered, "Tangina."

Risa pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Loren."

Loren dramatically shielded her eyes. "Oh my god, I just came in for a report. I was not expecting live action smut."

Alice huffed out a laugh, breath still uneven. "Do you mind?"

"Yes, actually!" Loren shot back. "Because now I need therapy." She peeked between her fingers.

"You know, I knew there was something going on, but I didn’t expect to see it. Jesus Christ."

Risa exhaled sharply, composing herself. "What do you want, Loren?"

Loren sighed. "Well, I wanted to give you a report, but clearly, somebody is busy having a decade’s worth of unresolved sexual tension play out in their office."

Alice smirked, turning to Risa. "She has a point."

Risa shot her a look before returning her attention to Loren. "Just give me the damn report and go."

Loren placed the file on Risa’s desk but didn’t leave without a parting shot.

"Don’t let me interrupt. Please, by all means—continue."

Then she strutted out, humming to herself, the door clicking shut behind her.

Alice turned back to Risa, raising a brow. "Where were we?"

Risa let out a breath, then reached for her again.

"Come here."