Chapter Text
a house sits on a quiet street where the trees lean over the pavement like lovers whispering soft affirmations.
from the outside, it looks warm and cozy.
the kind of place people slow down to look at as they pass by.
wide windows catch the afternoon light just right, letting the golden hour slip inside and press a soft yellow kiss against the skin of anyone sitting near them.
there is a shared balcony overlooking the front lawn, the sort where someone might stand early in the morning just to watch the first rays of sunlight pierce through the fading dark.
it's the kind of house people imagine laughter living in.
love, too.
the kind of house where voices drift from the kitchen, where dinner stretches longer than it should because no one wants to leave the table.
but the truth is, it is a house that is far too large for two people who do not know each other.
inside, it is mostly quiet.
not the comfortable kind of quiet that settles between people who understand each other without speaking.
this quiet is different.
hollow and empty.
it is the kind that echoes.
amaya wakes before the sun.
her alarm never has the chance to ring.
the outside is still dark and cold. the kind that bites the skin the moment one steps out.
for a moment, she lies still, listening.
the house hums softly around her. the steady whisper of the air conditioning from the other room. the distant call of the man selling pandesal down the street. the quiet rustle of the trees shifting with the early breeze.
then nothing else.
amaya sits up, pushing the blanket aside carefully, as if trying not to disturb someone.
a habit she hasn’t quite shaken even though the person she shares the house with sleeps just beside her room, behind a door that she has never once heard it open.
her feet touch the cold floor.
the kitchen light flicks on briefly.
she pours herself a glass of water.
she moves through the house the way someone moves through a place that isn’t entirely hers yet.
quiet, deliberate, and always careful not to leave a mess behind.
the refrigerator hums softly behind her.
when she glances up, she notices a black corporate bag resting on the couch, its detachable shoulder strap hangs loosely.
kolin's.
the one that she brings everyday for work.
so, she's still asleep.
amaya ties her hair up in a quick knot, pulls on a black running shirt and shorts, and grabs the same pair of running shoes she always leaves by the door.
by the time she goes out of the house, faint gray light starts to slip through the sky but dark enough that the streetlights glow amber along the road.
the morning air is cool, carrying that faint smell of damp pavement and leaves.
she starts running.
she always start her morning with a quick run. it gives her something steady. something predictable.
the rhythm of her breathing, the soft thud of her shoes against the pavement, the slow lightening of the sky as the neighborhood wakes.
by the time she returns home an hour later, the sun has already risen.
the house greets her the same way it always does.
quiet and empty.
but it now carries that faint smell of coffee everytime she returns.
she showers, dresses for work, and moves through the kitchen again.
she opens the refrigerator and takes a quick scan.
huh.
after a pause, she takes out eggs and the leftover rice from dinner yesterday.
she moves with quiet efficiency.
soon, the smell of garlic fills the kitchen.
she glances at the time and decides she has enough time to make a small cup of coffee with lots of creamer and sugar to go.
she eats standing by the counter, scrolling through emails on her phone.
when she finishes, she washes the plate immediately, dries it carefully, and places it back in the cupboard.
quarter to nine and she leaves for work.
the front door closes with a soft click.
and once again, the house is left waiting for the people who live in it.