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“Good evening, everyone and thank you for tuning in to 100.9 Highway FM, your late-night companion for stories that touch the heart and moments that linger in this lifetime. This is DJ Kiyo. We hope that the stories we provide give you the comfort that you need.”
Sam’s condo felt quiet, filled only with the gentle hum of the stove as she prepared dinner, and the distant voice of a DJ from her favorite radio station echoing through the night. Sobrang makaluma lang eh ‘no? Radio station talaga in this day and age? Growing up under the care of her lolo, radio stations had always lulled her to sleep during her afternoon siestas, and on Sunday mornings, the speakers would burst to life with old-timey classics that seemed to fill the whole house with warmth. It had always been her favorite pastime with Lolo Amiel—and would remain so, even now.
“Kailan kaya nila mababasa yung sinubmit ko?” Sam thought to herself as she carefully plated her dinner.
“—and tonight’s story was submitted by Sam Verano, who wrote about her lolo’s greatest love.”
Sam stopped in her tracks, a little shaken by the coincidence but undeniably excited. Her lolo’s love story was something he never shied away from sharing. She had spent countless lazy afternoons asking him to tell it again and again, sitting on the rocking chair as it gently creaked, the horizon stretching endlessly before them.
“This is a story of love, loss, and memories that lasts longer than time itself.” Sam felt her heart tighten. It’s almost as if she’s listening to her lolo again, the same cadence he used when recounting his younger days.
“Her lolo, Amiel Verano, an accounting student, laser-focused on the priorities life had set for him, met someone who would change his life forever—Soren Elara.”
As the DJ’s voice continued, Sam closed her eyes, letting herself believe she was back on Lolo Amiel’s rocking chair, the afternoon sun warming her face. She could almost see him there, younger, eyes full of hope and love, as he recounted the story of his heart. The tale came alive again—not just in memory, but in the gentle hum of the stove, in the warm glow of the kitchen, and in the voice of the DJ, weaving it all back into existence.
***
The hallway was bustling, students rushing past, laughter and footsteps echoing off the old stone walls. Amiel clutched his books tightly, mind consumed with deadlines and assignments, barely noticing the chaos around him. And then–fate intervened.
He rounded a corner a little too quickly, colliding with someone. Papers slipped from his hands, tumbling to the floor like leaves caught in a sudden gust of wind.
“Ah! Pasensya na po… ‘di ko sinasadya,” Amiel managed to stutter out despite the dull ache in his chest, bending down to gather the scattered sheets.
“No harm done! ‘Di naman ganon kasakit. I’m not a stranger to moments like these,” came the soft, amused reply. Soren Elara, paint-stained fingers brushing against a stray sheet, looked up at him with a smile that seemed to linger just a moment too long.
Amiel’s hands trembled slightly as he gathered the scattered papers, trying desperately to ignore the frantic beating of his heart. When a few sheets remained in Soren’s hand, he hesitated for only a second before reaching out, gently taking them. Their fingers brushed, sending an unexpected jolt through him, and he cleared his throat, forcing a small, awkward smile.
Amiel adjusted his books nervously, still feeling the warmth from their finger brushing. “So… fine arts ba course mo?” he asked, trying to sound casual though his voice betraying him a little as he looked at the paint stained fingers .
Soren laughed softly, which in Amiel’s opinion, could be a symphony of all beauty life had to offer. The sound lingered in the air, wrapping around him like a warmth he wasn’t even aware he longed for. He found himself staring just a second too long, heart pounding, as if each note of that laugh had struck a chord so deep within him, his heart started to hum the melody of Soren’s laughter.
Amiel cleared his throat, feeling the weight of his books suddenly heavier in his arms. He stole a glance at the enigma standing in front of him—Soren—someone who somehow made the world feel simultaneously sharper and softer. Something deep inside him whispered that he needed to unravel this puzzle, to understand the warmth behind those paint-stained fingers and that effortless smile.
So despite the confusing tugs on his heartstrings, which he tried desperately to convince himself were just a desire for friendship, he spoke.
“Ah… Soren,” he began, voice hesitant, “uh… baka you’re free to ewan walk with me? You know at least until our next class?”
Soren’s eyes widened slightly, then softened into that slow, amused smile that made his heart flutter. “Hmm, I don’t see why not. Tara.”
A small, awkward grin spread across Amiel’s face. And just like that, with the simple offering of his company, the quiet tension between them began to shift–delicate, unspoken, and full of possibilities.
***
Amiel adjusted the strap of his bag, suddenly feeling aware of every step he took. The hallway seemed longer somehow, the afternoon sun stretching across the floor, some of it catching in Soren’s hair. He cleared his throat, heart hammering like it wanted to escape his chest.
Their footsteps fell into a tentative rhythm, the only sounds were the soft shuffles of their shoes against the polished floor and the faint wind rustling through the trees outside.
“Accountancy ka, diba?” Soren said after a beat, glancing sideways at him. “Kumusta naman? I heard na sobrang dami niyong ginagawa ha.”
Amiel shrugged, keeping his gaze forward. “Hmm… oo sobra pero someone has to do it.” He let out a small laugh, nervous but genuine. “Eh ikaw? Fine arts, right? How’s that going for you?”
Soren’s grin widened, brushing an invisible speck from his sleeve. “Simula pagkabata hilig ko na talaga mag drawing at magpaint. It always felt like freedom, it’s messy, fun, and a little unpredictable.”
Amiel glanced at him, a small smile tugging at his lips despite himself. “I think it suits you.”
For a moment, silence fell, like the world had contracted around them. Amiel felt a strange warmth in his chest, the kind that made him suddenly hyper-aware of Soren’s presence. The way he walked, the slight tilt of his head when he laughed, even the faint smell of paint lingering on his clothes—it all pulled at him. His whole being felt like a lump of iron, helplessly drawn to the magnet that was Soren.
“I didn’t peg you to be this quiet.” Soren teased softly, nudging Amiel’s shoulder ever so lightly with his own.
“Ha? Ah! Hindi ineenjoy ko lang yung lakad,” Amiel admitted, cheeks warming. “And… the company.”
Soren’s laugh was low and teasing yet somehow tender, once again making Amiel’s heart skip another beat. “Well, that’s good to hear. I’m enjoying it too.”
Amiel swallowed hard, realizing in the quiet sunlit corridor that something was happening. Something bigger than friendship, something that made him want to linger in these few stolen moments forever.
***
From that day forward, their paths seemed to find each other wherever they went. Over the course of two months, Amiel and Soren fell into a secret rhythm of stolen moments and quiet rituals. They walked together between classes, exchanged small notes hidden between books, shared lunches at secluded benches, and lingered in the shadows of the art building where nobody would notice.
They walked together between classes, hands brushing against each other in ways that made Amiel’s heart leap and Soren’s lips curl into a sly smile. They shared lunches at secluded benches, passing each other bites of food while giggling softly, trying to hide it from passing classmates. Amiel found himself memorizing the small details: the way Soren’s hair caught the light, the faint smudge of paint on his fingers, the way his laughter lingered in the air like a melody meant only for him.
“Late ka nanaman.” Soren whispered, as he leaned over his shoulder.
“Sorry, ang dami kasing pinasa today,” Amiel stammered, heart racing.
“Sige, sabi mo eh. Ang cute mo kiligin ‘no?” Soren replied, eyes twinkling.
It was a secret world they carved out for themselves, laughter and stolen touches in their own little bubble, smiles that lingered a moment too long. They never put a label on what it was. No declarations, just an understanding that they belonged, at least for these brief moments, to each other.
Even as the campus moved around them, whispers of judgement and curious glances occasionally breached their hidden world, but in those two months, Amiel and Soren clung to each other quietly, discovering the intensity of a love that dared not speak its name.
And for Amiel, every walk, every glance, every shared laugh was a revelation: this was something he had never felt before, and he was powerless to resist it. Not like he wanted to anyway. Something was happening and he wanted to see where it would take them.
***
The autumn sun had dipped low, painting the sky in shades of gold and crimson. Amiel and Soren walked along the familiar path, sketchbook and books tucked under their arms, sharing soft laughter like a secret only they could hear. The air smelled faintly of paint, old leaves, and the lingering warmth of the day.
“Finally! Natapos ko narin ‘to,” Soren said, holding up a drawing of Amiel staring thoughtfully at the fountain. “I hope you like it.”
Amiel’s chest tightened–not from the beauty of the sketch, though it was stunning–but from the way Soren looked at him, eyes soft and warm. “Ang ganda… You always make things look more alive,” he murmured.
They lingered in the quiet, holding the moment between them. But as they turned the corner toward the dormitory, a shadow fell over their small world: Soren’s father, tall and severe, flanked by a stern-faced landlady, blocked their path.
“Soren Elara!” the man barked, cutting through the late afternoon like a whip. “Ano ‘to?!”
Soren stiffened, and Amiel’s stomach sank. He opened his mouth but no words came out.
“Tay, w-wala po,” Soren tried, voice steady but tight. “Naglalakad lang po kami.”
“Ako pa talaga lolokohin mo?!” His father said sharply, eyes narrowing. “Kitang kita ng mga mata ko kung paano kayo–” His eyes flickered to Amiel, cold and accusing. “This is unacceptable. Ano ‘to? Bading ka? Ano nalang sasabihin ng mga tao, ha? Hinayaan ka na nga namin ng nanay mo na mag fine arts tapos bakla ka pa?”
“Puro hiya nalang talaga ang dinala mo samin, ano nalang sasabihin ng ibang tao ha Soren nag iisip ka ba?”
Amiel’s heart stammered, a mixture of fear and disbelief flooding him. “Sir, I–”
“Isa ka pa! Hindi ka ba nahihiya sa magulang mo? Dinamay mo pa ang anak ko sa katarantaduhan mo!” Soren’s father snapped, turning to his son. “Ititigil niyo kung ano man ‘tong namamagitan sainyo! Itong “relasyon” na to. It stops. Now.”
Soren’s hand twitched toward Amiel’s instinctively seeking comfort. Amiel mirrored the motion, their fingers brushing ever so slightly. Soren’s father noticing and slammed his hand down on the nearby bench.
“Sa tingin mo hahayaan kitang magdala ng kahihiyan sa pamilya natin?” He thundered. “You’re lucky na ‘di ko pa tinatawagan yung dean niyo sa kababuyan niyong dalawa.”
Soren’s eyes filled with a mixture of defiance and pain. “Pero, Tay, wala naman po kaming ginagawang masama.”
“Enough!” His father roared. “No more excuses!”
The air between them cackled with tension, a mix of fear, frustration, and heartache. Amiel felt tears prick at his eyes, a mix of helplessness and rage at the unfairness of it all. Two months of stolen afternoons, quiet laughter, and tender moments–all dismissed in the eyes of the world as a shameful secret.
Soren looked at him, eyes glistening, jaw tight. “I… I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice breaking. Everything they built the past few weeks, slowly crumbling in front of them.
“I have to… I have to obey. Hindi tayo pwede.”
“Hindi!” Amiel said before he could even stop himself. His voice trembling, raw with emotion. “Ano ganon nalang ‘yon? Hindi ko naman basta basta mabibitawan ‘to. Wala naman ho kaming ginagawang masama, Sir. Maawa po kayo.” His words spilled out in a rush, tumbling over each other, faster than his thoughts could catch.
Soren’s father’s jaw tightened. His eyes sharp and unforgiving like the reality they're living in with a hint of softness at the desperation in Amiel’s tone, but the rigidity of his posture never changed.
“Hindi mo naiintindihan ang mundong tinitirhan mo.” He said, voice low but echoed cutting through Soren’s sobs. “There are expectations and rules that you have to follow. Sa tingin mo ba mabubuhay ng pagmamahal ang anak ko? Na dahil mahal niyo ang isa’t isa ay matatabunan non ang judgement ng ibang tao?”
Amiel shook his head, chest heaving. “Hindi! Anong pake ko sa sasabihin ng ibang tao? Kay Soren lang ako may pake at sa kung anong opinyon niya tungkol sakin. Gagawan ko ho ng paraan kahit pa ho mag abroad ako para mabuhay ang pamilyang bubuin namin” His voice was hoarse from crying, each word heavy with pain, desperation etched in every pause and tremor.
Soren’s father’s eyes flashed with anger and disbelief. “Hindi mo kilala ang kinakalaban mo. Kaya kong sirain ang buhay niyong dalawa kapag hindi niyo sinunod ang gusto ko.”
Amiel took a step closer, ignoring the chill that ran down his spine at the man’s glare. “Please, hindi ko po kayang pakawalan ang anak niyo. Mahal po namin ang isa’t isa. Nagmamakaawa ho ako sainyo.” His knees buckled, and he sank to the concrete path, almost as if he were pleading before a higher power, begging for just a little more time—just a chance to hold onto what mattered most.
Soren, standing a few paces behind, swallowed hard, his jaw tight, hands trembling at his sides. He wanted to reach out, to grab Amiel, to fight with him against the walls closing in on them, but the weight of his father’s authority pinned him in place.
“Pagmamahal? Hindi kayo mapapakain niyan,” his father growled, low and dangerous. “Sa tingin niyo ba may trabahong tatanggap sainyo kapag nalaman yang kababuyan niyo? Susundin niyo ko o habang buhay niyong pagsisisihan ‘to.”
Amiel shook his head, tears streaming freely, catching on the corners of his collar. “Hindi po! Please sir ‘wag niyo po siyang kunin sakin. Gagawan ko ho ng paraan lahat. Please.”
“Amiel, tama na. Please. Hindi ko kayang suwayin ang tatay ko. Gusto ko man lumaban pero hindi ko kaya.” Soren’s painfilled voice cutting through the tension. His lips trembled as he spoke almost as if trying to convince himself.
Amiel’s chest tightened, pain slicing through him sharper than any words could describe. He reached out instinctively, just a hand hovering, brushing Soren’s sleeve ever so slightly. “Then ako nalang. Ako nalang lalaban para satin hanggang kaya mo na. Kaya ko gawin lahat para sayo wag mo lang ako iwan please.”
His whole body shifted instinctively, crawling forward on his knees, eyes locked on Soren’s. The cobblestone path scratched against his palms, the chill of the evening biting at his skin, but he barely noticed.
All that existed in that moment was Soren—his warmth, the soft curve of his jaw, the gentle gleam of his eyes.
Soren’s breath hitched, and his hands trembled at his sides. He wanted to reach for Amiel, to pull him close, to refuse the world that demanded their separation–but the weight of his father’s authority passed down like a storm. His voice, barely above a whisper, cracked as he said, “Amiel, hindi pwede. Ang layo na ng narating mo, His fingers twitched, hovering over Amiel’s trembling hands, aching to bridge the small gap between them. His eyes glimmered with unshed tears, reflecting the fading light of the day.Slowly, carefully, he guided Amiel to stand, supporting him as if afraid that letting go would shatter them both.
Gently, he cupped Amiel’s face in his hands, brushing away the tears streaking down his cheeks. His voice trembled, barely more than a whisper, but every word landed deep in Amiel’s chest. “Amiel… someday… someday we’ll be free. I promise… by then we can love freely.”
Amiel’s own tears fell unchecked, his breath hitching, heart pounding so violently he feared it might burst through his chest. He searched Soren’s face, memorizing every line, every curve, every quiver of his lips.
Soren leaned in, pressing their foreheads together, the faint warmth of his breath mingling with Amiel’s. “I’ll never forget you,” he continued, voice soft but resolute, a vow wrapped in pain and longing. “Never… no matter what everyone else says… Kahit anong manyare, mananatili ka sa puso’t isipan ko.”
“You gave me enough love to last a lifetime, Amiel.”
Soren leaned in, pressing their lips together. The kiss was soft, trembling, filled with all the words they couldn’t speak aloud—the promises, the longing, the desperate hope that somehow the world would bend for them.
Amiel laughed bitterly into the kiss, the sound muffled against Soren’s mouth, a mixture of pain and love that only two hearts in defiance could understand. Their first kiss—and it would also be their last for now—etched itself into every fiber of him, burning with the ache of impossibility.
When they pulled apart, the world seemed emptier, colder, the fading sunlight catching the tears clinging to Soren’s lashes. Amiel’s chest heaved, tears streaming freely, laughter and sobs mingling in a strange, painful symphony.
Soren cupped Amiel’s face one last time, eyes glimmering with unshed tears. “I love you.”
Amiel’s hands clutched Soren’s wrists, memorizing the feel of him, imprinting him into memory. “And I love you.” he whispered, voice cracking under the weight of a love too strong to be contained, yet too fragile to survive the world outside.
Then, with the inescapable pull of duty and expectation, Soren was gone, leaving Amiel alone on that concrete path and taking his heart with him. The wind whipped around him, carrying away the warmth of Soren’s touch, the scent of paint, the lingering echo of laughter.
Two months of stolen walks, teasing smiles, whispered promises, and tender afternoons had ended–not with anger, but with a love too pure, too defiant to ever truly fade. And as Amiel sank to his knees, the chill of the evening pressing down on him, he knew with a certainty that would never waver: some loves are eternal, even when the world refuses to allow them to exist.
He rose slowly, dragging his hands through his hair as if to physically shake off the memory but it clung. Their love was scrutinized and thrown away as if it was something so insignificant. Stolen moments, fleeting and forbidden, had left a mark deeper than the deepest trenches and more painful for time to erase.
Every corner of the campus feels haunted now. Every hallway he walked, every quiet bench he passed, every sunlit path tore at him with memories of Soren—his melodic laughter, the warmth in his hazel eyes, the way his presence had seemed to make the world right.
He felt it in his bones, a hollowness that twisted with every thought of Soren. Nights were the hardest; the empty quiet pressed against him, and every shadow seemed to whisper the things he could no longer say aloud.
He ached for the brush of Soren’s hand, for the sound of his laughter spilling into the air, for even a single stolen moment that the world had cruelly taken away. They were stitched into him so carefully, so deliberately, that forgetting felt impossible—like trying to unlearn the color of the sky or the rhythm of his own heartbeat.
***
Amiel sat alone in the quiet of his dimly lit room, the remnants of a life had tried to live spilling around him like the scattered papers from the day he and Soren first collided, memories pressed against him with unbearable weight. His hands trembled as he held the stack of letters he had written but was never brave enough to send—letters heavy with longing, trembling with confessions, afraid of the consequences life might bring to Soren. Each word was soaked with afternoons stolen from the world, whispered secrets and shy touches after that fateful encounter that had changed everything. One letter was written in the heartache of learning that Soren would transfer universities despite being in his final year; another in the dead of night, when the emptiness of his bed pressed him to his knees and he ached for a presence that would never again warm his arms.
He went down to the quiet courtyard, the moon hanging low and pale above him, casting silver light over the world as if it, too, mourned with him. The stack of letters trembled in his hands, each one a fragment of his heart, each word a whisper of what could never be. With a deep, shuddering breath, he struck a lighter and brought the flame to the first envelope.
The paper caught fire, curling and blackening almost instantly, and as the smoke rose, he felt a weight settle deeper in his chest. Another letter. And another. One by one, the words he had poured into each line, the afternoons stolen, the laughter, the lingering touches—all vanished into ash. The flames licked higher, and he watched helplessly as his confessions, his love, his life with Soren that could never be, disintegrated into smoke and wind.
Each flicker, each crackle, made his heart ache more. The letters disappeared, but the longing remained, heavier than ever, pressing down on him as though the universe itself had conspired to keep him apart from the one he loved. He sank to his knees, arms wrapped around himself, feeling the cold night seep through his clothes, but unable to feel anything colder than the emptiness left where Soren’s warmth once had been.
The fire was gone. Only smoke remained, curling upward into the night sky, carrying with it his grief, his impossible love, his lifetime of yearning that would never find peace.
***
Years passed. The campus paths where Amiel and Soren had stolen laughter and whispered confessions became nothing more than memories etched into the cobblestones, fading with time but never disappearing entirely. Amiel finished his accounting degree, became a diligent worker, married someone out of duty more than by heart, but every quiet moment reminded him of Soren.
Soren, meanwhile, returned to painting, his hands creating beauty that always carried a trace of absence, a longing he could never fully express. His family had forced him into a life of expectations and appearances, yet each brush stroke seemed to be a conversation with the boy he had loved, the one he could–would-never forget.
And through it all, neither of them moved on completely. Not really. They carried the love they had shared like a secret flame, burning quietly beneath the routines they built, waiting for the day they could reunite.
***
“And though the world did not allow them to be together,” DJ Kiyo’s voice softened, “Amiel and Soren’s love never faded. Two months of secret smiles, whispered confessions, and stolen afternoons ended not with bitterness, but with a promise.”
There was a pause, letting the words sink in, the soft crackle of the radio like the pulse of the past beating anew.
'I'll never forget you,’ Soren had whispered. And Amiel, with all the courage a young heart could muster, had promised to wait. To hold the love he will long for throughout his lifetime.”
Soft music began to play, old-timey and wistful, curling around the edges of the narrative.
“Their story was about love that tried to defy expectation, time, and even loss. Though fate led them apart, those memories they shared–the laughter, the kiss, moments on that bench behind the art building–will remain eternal. A love that was enough to last a lifetime, echoing through the years, through the generations, and now through Amiel’s granddaughter, who shared their story with all of us tonight.”
The DJ’s voice faded into the gentle strains of the music, and the story lingered in the room. Sam opened her eyes, hands still resting on the stove, and let the warmth of it all settle around her. It wasn’t just a story to her, it was his Lolo’s history. His memory. Love that survived despite the world saying it wouldn’t
And somewhere deep inside, Sam knew–the love her Lolo had given her, the love that had been stolen too soon, had finally found a way to live again through her.
***
The afterlife was nothing like the world had ever been. There were no rules, no expectations, no societal gaze far from the judgement they faced all those years ago. The air was soft, golden with sunlight that never burned, and a gentle breeze carried the faint scent of paint and old books– the smells that Amiel had always associated with his greatest love.
Soren.
And then he saw him. Standing at the edge of a path lined with wildflowers with flowers that shimmered in impossible colors, hair catching the light like it had in their youth, eyes still that familiar warm shade of hazel and alive with mischief. Time and society had no power here; the years that Earth and fate stolen from them were meaningless
“Amiel,” Soren’s voice broke the hush, warm and familiar. A smile stretched across his face that made Amiel tighten–not from longing, but with the fullness of his heart and disbelief of finally being together.
“Soren,” Amiel whispered back, barely daring to breathe, scared that this might be a dream he never wanted to wake up from, as he closed the distance between them. Every step was heavy with the years they spent away from each other, and when he finally reached him, Soren’s hands were in his, gentle, steady, real. No fear. No interference. No barriers.
Amiel’s chest ached–not from loss but with relief that the love he longed for has finally unbound from the shackles of reality. Here in this place beyond grief, they could be themselves fully, entirely, and without hesitation. They spoke, laughed, and danced under the endless sky. The weight of decades of longing finally lifting from their hearts.
For the first time in forever, Amiel let himself breathe fully, because Soren was there– and they were finally home.