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Alicia Pei Guo

I almost died looking for you.

Not in the way people expect-not in some tragic, dramatic accident, not in a way that leaves blood on the pavement. No, it was quieter than that.

Slower. A kind of death that happens in pieces, so slowly that by the time you notice, you're already hollow, already missing something vital, something you can never get back.

It started in high school when you vanished without a trace. I was young, stupid, and stubborn. I thought if I just tried hard enough, if I looked long enough, I'd find you.

That I'd turn a corner one day, and you'd be there, smirking at me like none of this ever happened. Like you never left. Like you never abandoned me without a single word.

But you weren't there. And every time I realized that, a part of me disappeared too.

I spent years trying to move on, convincing myself that I didn't care anymore. That I hated you for leaving. That if I ever saw you again, I wouldn't feel anything.

That my heart wouldn't skip a beat, that my breath wouldn't catch, that my world wouldn't tilt on its axis at the mere sight of you.

Lies. All of it.

The truth was, I never stopped looking. I searched every place you might have gone.

I checked old addresses, asked people who might have known something-anything. I combed through records, old social media posts, any lead I could find.

Every night, I prayed to a God I didn't believe in, begging for a sign that you were still out there somewhere. That you were still alive. That you still existed in a world that felt emptier without you in it.

I told myself I'd be okay if I just knew you were safe. Even if I never saw you again. Even if you never came back. But I found nothing. And every time I lost hope, it felt like I was the one disappearing.

I got through high school on autopilot. Wake up. Pretend I'm okay. Go to class. Pretend I don't hear your name in my head. Go home. Pretend I don't check my phone, hoping for a message I know will never come. Repeat.

By the time I got to college, I wasn't living. I was just existing. I stopped eating properly. Stopped caring about things I used to love. Stopped feeling anything at all-except that dull, empty ache in my chest that never really went away.

Leni noticed before I did. She always noticed.

One night, she found me sitting on my bathroom floor, barely able to keep myself upright, dizzy from nothing but exhaustion and hunger.

I don't even remember how long I had been there. I just remember her face-angry, terrified, heartbroken all at once.

"Putangina, Alice," she had whispered, her voice shaking. "Ano'ng ginagawa mo sa sarili mo?"

I couldn't answer her. Because what was I supposed to say? That I was tired? That I felt like I was slowly disappearing? That I wasn't sure if I even wanted to exist in a world where you weren't in it?

I think she already knew.

She stayed with me that night. She held me like I was something fragile, something breakable. Like she was afraid I would slip through her fingers if she let go.

"Hindi kita iiwan," she promised. "Kahit anong mangyari, Alice. Hindi mo na 'ko kailangang hanapin."

And for the first time in years, I let myself cry.

Because maybe that was what I needed to hear. Maybe all this time, I wasn't just looking for you-I was looking for someone who would stay.

And Leni did. She picked me up, piece by piece, until I could stand on my own again. She dragged me to therapy. Forced me to eat. Made me laugh when I forgot how. She saved me.

And in the end, she was right.

I never found you. But somehow, I found myself.

The day I saw you on the street was the same day Leni told me to move on. To finally stop searching for someone who clearly didn't want to be found.

But guess what. You weren't gone. You were right there. And as if fate was playing one last cruel joke on me, you were my new boss.

Leni never knew. If she had, she would've dragged me out of that office the second she found out. She would've reminded me how much I suffered when you left, how hard it was to pick myself back up.

But I couldn't leave. Because you were there.

And when Loren almost caught us making out in your office? That wasn't part of my plan. I thought I could keep my distance, that I could pretend I was over you.

That I could act like you were just another part of my past.

But no.

The second you touched me, the second I felt your lips on mine again, every wall I built over the years crumbled. I gave in.

And the bet? I didn't even know about it until Sam told me. By then, it was too late. People in the office were already talking, already whispering about us. About how we must be together. About how obvious it was.

And then came the beach camping. The perfect setup. The perfect moment. The perfect time for you to tell me to stop running. To settle down.

And now, finally, after all these years, you've told me why you disappeared. Why you left without a trace. Why I had to spend years searching for a ghost.

Because your company was about to collapse. Because the life you built from nothing, the empire you single-handedly created, was slipping through your fingers.

Because you, Therese Hontiveros Navarro, the only woman who picked herself up and built something without anyone's help, had finally grown tired of the rich life.

So you left it all hanging, walked away from the power, the money, the expectations, and became a student teacher at the university where I studied.

You ran away, not from me, but from the weight of a world that never gave you a moment to breathe.