Professor Arceta

The Arceta household was grand but cold, a sprawling estate filled with reminders of tradition and expectation. Aiah sat stiffly in the living room, her hands folded neatly in her lap as her mother, Alma, poured tea.

The clinking of the porcelain cups was the only sound between them until Alma finally broke the silence.

“You’ve been distracted lately,” Alma said, her tone clipped yet soft enough to feign concern. “Something… or someone on your mind?”

Aiah’s grip on her hands tightened, but her expression remained neutral. “Just work, Mama. I’ve been busy preparing my students for the upcoming exhibit.”

Alma gave her a knowing look, her lips curling into a faint smile. “And Jeremy? He’s been so patient, waiting for you to give him a proper chance. You should be grateful we found someone like him—stable, successful, and most importantly, loyal to this family.”

Aiah bristled at the implied loyalty, but she forced herself to stay calm. “Jeremy and I are fine, Ma. There’s no need to worry.”

Alma’s eyes narrowed slightly, the weight of unspoken expectations pressing down on Aiah. “Good. Because I don’t want to hear about any distractions, Aiah. You have a responsibility—to this family and to the future we’ve carefully planned for you.”

Aiah nodded stiffly, though her chest felt like it was caving in.

Meanwhile, Colet sat on the floor of her cramped apartment, her sketchpad abandoned beside her. Her mind was too restless to focus, and her heart still ached from her exchange with Aiah earlier that day.

She leaned back against the couch, staring at the ceiling. The memories of her past threatened to resurface, but she shoved them down, refusing to give them power.

“Hindi ko na ‘to dapat iniisip,” she muttered to herself, running a hand through her hair. But no matter how hard she tried, her thoughts kept circling back to Aiah.

Why does it matter so much? she thought bitterly. She’s just my professor. That’s all she’s supposed to be.

But deep down, Colet knew it wasn’t that simple. Aiah wasn’t just her professor—she was the first person who made Colet feel seen in years.

That evening, Aiah found herself seated at the long dining table with her family and Jeremy. The table was laden with food, but the atmosphere was tense despite Alma’s best efforts to maintain polite conversation.

Jeremy leaned closer to Aiah, his voice low but firm. “Aiah, you’ve been distant lately. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Aiah said quickly, not looking at him.

Alma, overhearing, chimed in. “She’s just busy, Jeremy. Don’t take it personally. Aiah has always been… focused.”

Aiah bit back a retort, her appetite vanishing as the weight of the conversation pressed down on her.

“You know,” Alma continued, her tone pointed, “Jeremy is exactly the kind of man you need, Aiah. He understands our family, our values. He’s willing to do whatever it takes to support you.”

Aiah set her fork down, her patience fraying. “Mama, can we not do this right now?”

“Why not?” Alma said, her voice rising slightly. “You’re not getting any younger, Aiah. It’s time you started thinking about your future—about what’s best for this family.”

Aiah’s hands balled into fists under the table. “What’s best for this family, or what’s best for you?”

Alma’s face darkened, and Jeremy reached out to place a hand on Aiah’s arm. “Aiah, calm down,” he said softly.

She pulled her arm away, standing abruptly. “Excuse me,” she muttered, leaving the table without another word.

Across town, Colet’s phone buzzed incessantly on the table. She ignored it at first, but when the screen lit up with a name she hadn’t seen in years, her stomach dropped.

“Papa.”

Her hand shook as she picked up the phone, her voice sharp despite the tremor in her chest. “What do you want?”

“Colet,” her father’s deep, commanding voice rumbled through the receiver. “It’s time to come home.”

“No,” Colet snapped, pacing the room. “I told you, I’m done with that life. I’m not coming back.”

“You don’t have a choice,” her father said coldly. “You’re my daughter, and it’s your responsibility to carry on what I built.”

Colet’s chest tightened, memories of the life she had escaped flashing through her mind—the dark, suffocating world of deals, power plays, and violence.

“Hindi ako babalik,” she said firmly, ending the call before he could reply. She sank onto the couch, her breathing shallow.

But deep down, Colet knew her past wouldn’t let her go that easily.

The Arceta family living room was as polished and pristine as ever, but the tension that filled it was anything but serene. Aiah sat across from her mother, Alma, whose sharp eyes seemed to pierce through her. Jeremy sat beside Aiah, his usual easy smile replaced by a faint air of discomfort.

“We need to finalize the date for the dinner,” Alma said, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Jeremy’s family has been very understanding, but we can’t keep delaying. The sooner, the better.”

Aiah shifted in her seat, her hands gripping the armrests of the chair. “Ma, hindi ba puwedeng—”

“No,” Alma interjected, her voice firm. “You’ve been dragging your feet, Aiah. This arrangement is important for both our families. You need to start taking it seriously.”

Jeremy cleared his throat, sensing the rising tension. “Tita Alma, there’s no rush. I don’t want Aiah to feel pressured.”

Alma gave him a tight smile. “You’re too kind, Jeremy. But Aiah knows her responsibilities.” She turned to her daughter, her expression softening but her tone still stern. “You’ve always been the responsible one, Aiah. Don’t disappoint me now.”

Aiah clenched her jaw, her chest tightening. “Yes, Ma,” she said quietly, though every fiber of her being screamed in protest.

Colet’s apartment door rattled with a loud knock, the sound echoing through the tiny space. She froze mid-sketch, her heart racing.

“Colet!” a deep voice barked from the other side. “Open the door. Alam kong nandiyan ka.”

She stood slowly, every step toward the door feeling heavier than the last. When she finally opened it, she was met with the imposing figure of her father’s right-hand man, Tomas, his sharp eyes scanning her with disdain.

“Anong kailangan mo?” Colet snapped, crossing her arms over her chest.

Tomas smirked, unfazed by her defiance. “Your father wants you home. He’s done waiting.”

Colet’s stomach churned, but she kept her expression steely. “I told him, hindi na ako babalik. I’m done with that life.”

“You don’t have a choice,” Tomas said, stepping closer. “Your father’s getting impatient, and you know what happens when he’s impatient.”

Colet’s hands balled into fists. She hated how easily the fear crept back in, how the years of running and hiding seemed to vanish in an instant under Tomas’ cold gaze.

“Tell him I’ll come,” she said through gritted teeth. “But not because he’s forcing me. May kailangan akong ayusin.”

Tomas raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. “Good. Don’t keep him waiting.”

As Tomas left, Colet slammed the door shut, her breathing ragged. She leaned against it, her thoughts racing.

The art studio was unusually quiet as Colet worked on her latest piece, her brush strokes more aggressive than usual. The canvas before her was a chaotic blend of colors, reflecting the storm raging inside her.

Aiah walked in, her heels clicking softly against the tiled floor. She stopped a few feet behind Colet, watching her for a moment before speaking.

“Colet,” Aiah said, her voice calm but firm.

Colet stiffened, her hand pausing mid-stroke. “Yes, ma’am?” she replied without turning around.

“We need to talk,” Aiah said, stepping closer.

Colet set her brush down and turned to face her, her expression guarded. “About what?”

“You know what,” Aiah said, crossing her arms. “You’ve been distant, cold. This isn’t like you.”

Colet scoffed, leaning against the table. “Maybe this is who I really am.”

Aiah’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t do that. Don’t push me away.”

Colet laughed bitterly, shaking her head. “Push you away? Ma’am, ikaw ang lumalayo.”

“What are you talking about?” Aiah demanded, her composure cracking.

Colet met her gaze, her voice trembling with anger and hurt. “You’re choosing him. Alam ko na. I heard about the dinner. Congratulations, ma’am. Bagay nga kayo.”

Aiah’s chest tightened, guilt and frustration warring inside her. “Colet, it’s not that simple—”

“Hindi nga?” Colet snapped, stepping closer. “Simple lang naman, di ba? You’re choosing what’s safe, what’s expected. Sige, ma’am. Sundin mo sila. Pero huwag mo na akong hanapin.”

Aiah opened her mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. For a moment, they just stood there, the silence between them heavy with unspoken emotions.

Finally, Colet grabbed her bag and stormed out, leaving Aiah alone in the empty studio.

That evening, Aiah sat stiffly at the dinner table, her hand resting limply in Jeremy’s as their families chatted around them. Her mother beamed, clearly pleased with the way things were progressing.

But Aiah felt like she was suffocating. Her thoughts kept drifting back to Colet—the fire in her eyes, the pain in her voice.

“Aiah?” Jeremy’s voice pulled her back to the present. He squeezed her hand gently. “You okay?”

She forced a smile. “I’m fine,” she lied.

The Arceta dinner was a stark contrast to the chaos waiting for Colet at her family’s estate. She stood in the grand foyer, her father’s imposing figure looming before her.

“Finally,” her father said, his voice cold and commanding. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten your place.”

Colet met his gaze, her jaw set. “I’m here, but don’t think for a second na sumusunod lang ako. May sarili akong dahilan.”

Her father smirked, clearly amused by her defiance. “We’ll see about that. But for now, you’ll do as you’re told.”

As the doors to her old life closed behind her, Colet felt the weight of her decision settle heavily on her shoulders.