Professor Arceta

It was nearly midnight, and the familiar fluorescent glow of the 7/11 sign spilled across the empty street. Aiah Arceta sighed as she parked her car, her usual caffeine-craving tugging at her after hours of reviewing her students’ latest projects. She didn’t even notice the "No Parking" sign until she slammed the door shut.

“Great,” she muttered, her voice tinged with exhaustion. “Another ticket na naman siguro bukas.”

Inside the store, the air was cold, and the faint hum of the refrigerators mingled with the quiet buzz of the fluorescent lights. The smell of instant noodles and brewed coffee hung in the air.

Behind the counter, Colet Vergara, dressed in her oversized green-and-orange uniform, was leaning against the register, doodling on the back of a receipt. Her black hair was tied up in a messy bun, and her sharp brown eyes flickered up when the bell above the door chimed.

“Hi po, ma’am!” she greeted, a hint of sarcasm laced in her tone. She didn’t know why, but late-night customers often amused her—especially the ones who looked like they had a stick permanently stuck somewhere unpleasant. And this woman? Definitely that type.

Aiah barely glanced at her, heading straight to the coffee station at the back of the store. She didn’t need to engage. Just coffee, then back to work. That was the plan.

But fate, or maybe just bad luck, had other plans.

Colet watched as the woman poured coffee into a styrofoam cup and tried to secure the lid, but the steam must have fogged her glasses, because in one quick motion, the lid slipped, and hot coffee sloshed out. It spilled across the counter, dripping onto the floor—and onto her bag.

“Shit!” Aiah hissed, stepping back and looking down at her ruined tote.

“Oh no!” Colet rushed out from behind the counter, grabbing a stack of napkins from the display. “Ma’am, sandali lang! Ako na, ako na!”

“I can handle it,” Aiah snapped, though her irritation was more at herself than the overly enthusiastic store clerk. She yanked a few napkins from Colet’s hand, dabbing furiously at the dark brown stain spreading across the fabric.

Colet couldn’t help it—she laughed.

Aiah’s head snapped up, her glare piercing. “What’s so funny?”

Colet bit her lip, trying to suppress her grin. “Wala, ma’am. Just… ang intense niyo po maglinis. Parang end of the world na.”

Aiah straightened, her irritation mounting. “Excuse me?”

Colet raised her hands in mock surrender. “Sorry na! Biro lang. Sandali, kuha ako ng wet wipes.” She darted behind the counter and returned, handing Aiah the small packet.

“Thanks,” Aiah muttered begrudgingly, taking it without making eye contact.

Colet leaned on the counter, watching as Aiah worked on the stain with laser focus. “Alam mo, ma’am,” she said casually, “hindi ko pa kayo nakikita dito before. New kayo sa area?”

“I’m not interested in small talk,” Aiah replied curtly, her voice as cold as the air conditioning.

“Uy, grabe naman,” Colet said, chuckling. “Kala ko friendly tayo dito sa 7/11.”

Aiah glared at her again, finally looking up. “Are you always this nosy with your customers?”

“Depende,” Colet said with a smirk. “Usually ‘pag ganitong oras, mga lasing lang nakakausap ko. Nakakaaliw na hindi kayo ‘yung sumisigaw ng ‘Load!’ sa akin.”

For a moment, Aiah just stared at her, unsure whether to laugh or scold her. She settled for neither, sighing instead.

“Whatever,” she muttered, picking up her coffee cup—now half-empty—and heading for the door.

“Have a good night, ma’am!” Colet called after her, still grinning. “Kita-kits ulit!”

Aiah ignored her, though her lips twitched ever so slightly as she stepped back into the humid Manila night.

The next morning, Aiah’s mood soured further when she walked into her classroom and found Colet Vergara—same messy bun, same cheeky grin—sitting in the front row of her Advanced Painting class.

“Good morning, ma’am!” Colet said, beaming.

Aiah’s coffee-stained tote bag hung on her shoulder, and for a brief moment, she considered walking out and pretending this wasn’t happening.

“Let’s make one thing clear,” Aiah said, her voice sharp and firm as she set her things down on the desk. “In this classroom, I don’t care who you are or what you think is funny. You’re here to learn—and to take art seriously. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Colet said, a little too brightly. She leaned back in her chair, unbothered. “Art is serious. Super.”

The entire class snickered.

Aiah pinched the bridge of her nose. This was going to be a long semester.