Professor Arceta

It’s another late-night shift at 7/11. The streets are quiet, save for the occasional hum of passing tricycles. Colet stands behind the counter, fidgeting with a pack of gum as she watches the door, waiting for the familiar sight of Professor Arceta.

Colet leaned against the counter, absentmindedly tapping her fingers on the glass. The clock above the slushie machine ticked closer to midnight, and her heart started to pick up its pace. She wasn’t sure why, but these late-night visits from Aiah had become the highlight of her shift.

“Any minute now,” she muttered, glancing toward the door.

Right on cue, the bell above the door chimed, and Aiah walked in, her usual composed expression softened slightly by the glow of the fluorescent lights.

Colet’s face lit up instantly, a wide smile spreading across her face. She straightened up, brushing invisible dust off her uniform, her heart doing a little somersault.

“Ma’am,” she greeted brightly, her voice lilting with excitement.

But just as Aiah stepped further into the store, someone appeared behind her—a man Colet instantly recognized.

It was Jeremy.

Colet’s smile froze, then faltered as he walked in casually, standing close to Aiah with an ease that only deep familiarity could bring.

“Good evening,” Jeremy said cheerfully, giving Colet a polite nod.

“Hi,” Colet replied stiffly, her voice losing its usual warmth. She quickly averted her eyes, pretending to busy herself with the register.

Aiah gave her a small, awkward smile, her gaze lingering on Colet for a moment. “Good evening,” she said softly, though her tone lacked its usual confidence.

Colet didn’t reply, her heart sinking further as she watched Jeremy and Aiah move toward the coffee station. They talked quietly, their voices blending with the hum of the store’s air conditioning. Colet couldn’t bring herself to listen to their conversation, focusing instead on the rows of receipts she suddenly found incredibly interesting.

As Aiah and Jeremy made their way to the counter, Colet kept her gaze fixed downward, refusing to meet Aiah’s eyes.

“Just the coffee,” Aiah said, setting two cups on the counter.

“And this,” Jeremy added, placing a bag of chips beside the cups.

Colet’s hands moved mechanically, scanning the items without a word. She could feel Aiah’s gaze on her, but she couldn’t bring herself to look up.

“Here’s your change,” Colet said flatly, sliding the receipt and coins toward them.

“Thank you,” Jeremy said, flashing another friendly smile.

“Thanks,” Aiah murmured, her tone hesitant.

Colet nodded curtly, still not meeting Aiah’s eyes. She clenched her jaw as she watched them leave, the bell above the door chiming again as it swung shut behind them.

The store felt unbearably quiet after they were gone. Colet leaned against the counter, letting out a shaky breath. Her chest felt heavy, a strange mix of disappointment and something she couldn’t quite name twisting in her stomach.

She glanced at the untouched bag of pandesal she had set aside earlier—a little gift she had planned to give Aiah if she came alone tonight. Now, it just sat there, mocking her.

“Hay, Colet,” she muttered to herself, stuffing the bag under the counter. “Ang assuming mo naman.”

The neon lights of the store flickered above her, casting a pale glow on the empty aisles. For the first time in a long while, Colet wished her shift would end early.

The next day, in the brightly lit art studio classroom, the usual hum of chatter and laughter among students is replaced by a noticeable tension. Colet sits at the far end of the room, her gaze fixed on her sketchpad as if the charcoal lines are the most important thing in the world. Across the room, Aiah stands by her desk, her sharp eyes sweeping over the class.

Colet could feel Aiah’s gaze land on her, but she refused to look up. She kept her eyes trained on her work, her pencil moving furiously over the paper. Her chest still felt tight from the previous night, and she wasn’t about to let her professor—and whatever Jeremy was to her—see her frustration.

Aiah, however, wasn’t one to ignore an issue, especially not when it was glaringly obvious. Colet’s usual bright energy and teasing remarks were absent, replaced by a cold silence that gnawed at the edges of Aiah’s composure.

“All right, class,” Aiah said, her voice slicing through the quiet like a knife. “Let’s shift gears. We’re going to have an oral recitation.”

The class groaned collectively, and a few students exchanged nervous glances. Colet tensed in her seat, already dreading what was to come.

“Art isn’t just about creating,” Aiah continued, her tone firm. “It’s about understanding, interpreting, and defending your ideas. So, let’s see if you can think on your feet.”

She began calling on students at random, posing questions about various art theories, movements, and techniques. Some stumbled, others managed decent answers, and Aiah nodded along with measured approval or critique.

Then, her gaze settled on Colet.

“Vergara,” Aiah said sharply. “Your turn.”

Colet’s head snapped up, her eyes locking with Aiah’s for the first time that day. The class fell silent, sensing the crackling tension between them.

“Yes, ma’am?” Colet replied, her voice calm but with an edge that matched Aiah’s.

Aiah smirked slightly, leaning back against the desk. “Explain how the principles of Bauhaus design conflict with the emotional depth of Romanticism. Use examples to support your answer.”

The class collectively gasped—this wasn’t just a hard question; it was practically a thesis topic.

Colet, however, didn’t flinch. She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms casually. “Bauhaus focuses on function and simplicity, ma’am. Romanticism, on the other hand, thrives on emotion and grandeur. The conflict lies in their core goals—one strips away excess, while the other embraces it. As for examples…” She paused dramatically, her lips curling into a smirk.

“Take Delacroix’s Liberty Leading the People. It’s chaotic, layered with passion and movement. Compare that to Walter Gropius’ Bauhaus buildings—they’re clean, minimal, and completely void of emotional narrative. One celebrates humanity’s imperfections; the other tries to engineer them out.”

The room buzzed with murmurs of approval, but Colet wasn’t done. She leaned forward, her eyes glinting with challenge.

“But, ma’am,” she added, her voice sharp, “I could argue that the Bauhaus ideology doesn’t ‘conflict’ with Romanticism—it just dismisses it entirely. After all, isn’t that what happens when you design for machines instead of people?”

Aiah’s eyes narrowed, but a flicker of admiration flashed across her face. “Interesting perspective, Vergara,” she said coolly. “But you’re oversimplifying. Bauhaus doesn’t dismiss humanity—it adapts to the modern age. Your argument relies too heavily on dichotomy, which limits your analysis.”

Colet didn’t miss a beat. “Or maybe, ma’am, you’re overcomplicating Bauhaus by assigning it more emotional intent than it actually has.”

The tension in the room was palpable. Students exchanged wide-eyed looks as the debate between professor and student escalated, each refusing to back down.

Just as Aiah opened her mouth to fire back, a knock on the door interrupted the moment.

“Excuse me, Professor Arceta,” a voice called. Another professor stepped in, holding a stack of papers. “It’s my time now.”

Aiah glanced at the clock, realizing with a sigh that her class had run over. “Right,” she said curtly. She turned back to the class. “We’ll continue this discussion next time.”

Her gaze lingered on Colet for a moment longer, her expression unreadable, before she walked out of the room.

As the students gathered their things, Maloi sidled up to Colet, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

“Grabe, Colet!” she said, nudging her. “Ano ‘yun? Parang may laban kayo ni ma’am kanina ah!”

Colet forced a laugh, though her heart was still racing. “Wala ‘yun, Maloi. Just a regular discussion.”

“Regular? Eh parang magka-duel na kayo!” Maloi teased. “Kayo lang dalawa ‘yung parang hindi nagka-tensyon.”

Colet didn’t reply, her thoughts tangled in the mix of frustration, confusion, and something else she couldn’t quite name.