Work Text:
Time seemed to slow
Monday arrived almost too quickly. For the first time since Risa and the children had landed in Boston, the carefully planned itinerary sat untouched on Sherwin's dining table. Not because he had run out of places to recommend, but because real life had quietly returned.
By seven-thirty that morning, Boston was beginning to settle back into its familiar weekday rhythm. The sidewalks around Cambridge filled with students balancing coffee cups and backpacks, cyclists hurried across intersections before the lights changed, and professors disappeared into century-old buildings carrying stacks of papers under one arm.
Sherwin was one of them.
He stood in front of the coffee maker, absentmindedly buttoning the sleeves of his shirt while waiting for it to finish brewing. His messenger bag was already packed beside the door, filled with lecture notes, journal articles, and a draft of his dissertation that Professor Campbell had somehow managed to return with even more comments than the previous version.
His phone buzzed, not a call this time. A message from a group chat that the youngest had created on their second day in Boston, insisting that every proper vacation needed one.
Fam 🐿️
"May squirrel talaga?" Risa had asked the first time the notification appeared.
"Of course..." Sinta had replied with complete confidence. "Because, Boston."
It was, by all accounts, a completely unreasonable explanation. Somehow, everyone accepted it anyway.
What had begun as a practical way to keep track of everyone whenever they split up quickly evolved into something else. It became a running scrapbook of the trip—photos of pastries before anyone remembered to eat them, candid pictures nobody had agreed to pose for, museum recommendations, reminders to bring jackets, and the occasional blurry squirrel that Sinta insisted deserved its own spotlight.
Risa had smiled the first time Sherwin's name appeared beneath hers in the list of members. She hadn't questioned it. Somehow, seeing him there felt perfectly natural, as though he had always been meant to be included.
Sherwin, on the other hand, had lingered on the screen a little longer than he cared to admit. He had belonged to countless group chats over the years. For the Senate, research projects, committees, and campaigns, but this one felt different. Seeing his name inside a conversation called Fam 🐿️, nestled between Risa's and her children's, stirred something quiet inside him. It was such a small gesture, yet it felt like a place had been made for him without anyone needing to say so.
Sinta
Tito, ayaw mo na samin? 😔
Sherwin laughed. And before he could reply, another notification appeared.
Issa
May substitute po ba kami today?
Then three more.
Kiko
Requesting leave po for our guide.
Ianna
We checked your itinerary, walang nakalagay na University.
Sinta
Scam!
He shook his head, smiling to himself as he typed.
Sherwin
Sorry, some of us have lectures to attend 🤣
A photo arrived as a reply seconds later.
The four siblings were standing in the hotel elevator, all wearing expressions of exaggerated disappointment. Sherwin laughed loudly enough, not before reacting with laughing emojis. He then slipped his phone into his pocket, still smiling as he locked the apartment behind him.
Across the river, Risa's morning looked very different.
The lobby of the Harvard conference center buzzed with familiar conversations long before the opening program began. Researchers greeted colleagues they hadn't seen in years. Advocates exchanged business cards over coffee. Graduate students nervously rehearsed questions they hoped to ask during panel discussions.
The morning passed much the way conferences always did— Panel, introductions, questions from the audience. Conversations also began over coffee and somehow continued while walking between lecture halls.
She had always enjoyed spaces like these. They reminded her that public service didn't end with elected office. There were still ideas to exchange, policies to improve, communities to learn from. Yet sometime before lunch, during a brief pause between sessions, she caught herself reaching for her phone.
There were already several unread messages, the family group chat filled with chats from the kids, mostly photographs of food, places, and themselves.
Then another notification appeared. This time, it came from someone only a few buildings away.
Sherwin
How's the conference?
A smile tugged at the corners of Risa's lips almost immediately. She glanced through the tall windows overlooking Harvard Yard. Somewhere across campus, Sherwin was probably making his way to another seminar, coffee in one hand, backpack slung over one shoulder, his dissertation never too far from his thoughts. After eight months of seeing him through a screen, it still felt pleasantly surreal that they were now in the same place, separated only by a few buildings instead of thirteen time zones.
She typed back.
Risa
Interesting first panel.
The reply arrived almost as quickly.
Sherwin
Lunch?
She couldn't help but smile; of course, he would ask. Her gaze drifted toward the buffet tables that had just opened at the far end of the hall, where conference attendees were already beginning to gather.
Risa
About to.
Sherwin
Good.
That was all. No reminder to eat slowly and, surprisingly, no gentle lecture about skipping meals. Just one simple word. Yet somehow, it carried everything he meant to say.
Risa slipped her phone back into her bag, the smile still lingering on her face. Somewhere over the past eight months, asking whether she had eaten had become as natural to Sherwin as saying good morning. He no longer needed to remind her why it mattered. One word was enough.
Across the Yard, Sherwin was taking his seat inside a seminar room, his professor already arranging his notes at the front. His classmates filtered in one by one, conversations about research proposals and dissertation chapters filling the room.
Sherwin should have been rereading the article assigned for discussion. Instead, for the briefest moment, he found himself wondering whether Risa had remembered to eat before the afternoon sessions began.
When her reply came, he smiled quietly and slipped his phone back into his pocket.
Some habits, he realized, weren't really habits anymore. They were simply another way of caring for someone.
That afternoon, the conference opened its public sessions to students from across the university. The auditorium, already impressive that morning, steadily filled with undergraduates, graduate students, researchers, and faculty members eager to attend the keynote discussions.
As luck would have it, his professor dismissed their seminar earlier than expected.
"You've all earned the afternoon," he had said, closing his folder. "Go attend a panel. Preferably one you'll actually remember."
Sherwin already knew exactly where he was going.
He crossed the Yard at an unhurried pace, weaving through clusters of students carrying conference programs. The late-summer breeze stirred the banners hanging outside the auditorium, each bearing the conference logo beside Harvard's familiar crimson crest.
He slipped into the auditorium just as the doors were beginning to close, quietly taking an empty seat near the back before looking toward the stage.
There she was.
Risa stood before the audience, an index card resting lightly in her hand as she spoke with the same quiet confidence he had admired for years. She never relied on grand gestures or raised her voice to command attention. Instead, she trusted the strength of her convictions, and as always, the room listened—not out of courtesy, but because they genuinely wanted to hear what she had to say.
Sherwin smiled to himself.
Same Risa.
The years had changed many things. She was no longer standing behind a Senate podium, yet nothing had changed in the way she carried herself. The same compassion. The same conviction. The same calm certainty that had inspired people long before Boston.
Watching from the audience, Sherwin was reminded why he had admired her in the first place.
The applause lingered as she stepped away from the podium. As conversations slowly resumed, Risa's gaze wandered across the auditorium. She wasn't looking for anyone in particular—or at least, she didn't think she was. And yet, almost instinctively, her eyes found his.
Sherwin was already smiling.
The moment their gazes met, her expression softened into that familiar smile he had come to know over the past decade. After months of finding each other through glowing phone screens, it somehow felt just as natural to find one another in a room full of people. Wherever they happened to be, their eyes had quietly learned where to look.
Wednesday arrived with a different rhythm from the rest of the week.
It was Risa's final day at the conference, her schedule filled with a closing panel, a luncheon with fellow speakers, and the last round of conversations that always seemed to accompany academic gatherings.
Sherwin insisted on walking her to Harvard that morning. They left the hotel a little earlier than necessary, taking the quieter streets while the city was only beginning to wake.
Along the way, he slowed to a stop in front of a familiar little café.
Risa looked at him knowingly, a smile already forming.
"May oras pa ba tayo?" She asked, making him check his watch with exaggerated seriousness.
"For Wednesday coffee?" He smiled. "Always."
Over eight months had passed since an unexpected cup of coffee in that very café had quietly changed the course of both their lives.
She laughed softly as they slipped into the café, leaving a minute later with two cups in hand.
"You know," she said, taking another sip as they continued down the sidewalk, "this might be the shortest coffee break we've ever had."
"Still counts."
"I suppose it does." Risa said, mirroring his smile.
Somehow, it felt wrong to leave Boston without one last Wednesday coffee.
Twenty minutes later, Sherwin found himself in the hotel lobbu. He barely had time to greet everyone before Sinta marched toward him with her arms folded.
"Tito."
"Yes?"
"You owe me." Sinta said seriously, while the other kids trying hard not to laugh.
"I do?" Sherwin replied, chuckling.
"My ice cream."
He frowned thoughtfully, pretending to search his memory.
"I don't recall making such a promise."
"You did!" Sinta protested. "First FaceTime pa lang sinabi mo na."
"I remember that too" Issa chimed in.
"Kami ang witnesses” Kiko added with complete seriousness.
"Verbal contract." Ianna agreed, too.
Sherwin looked from one sibling to the next before letting out a resigned sigh.
"I see I've lost before I even had a chance to defend myself."
"You never had a chance," Kiko said, grinning.
The morning unfolded without much of a plan. They wandered through neighborhoods they hadn't had time to revisit, ducked into bookstores, lingered inside souvenir shops, and stopped every few blocks because Issa insisted the lighting was perfect for photos.
By mid-afternoon, they found themselves sitting outside a small ice cream shop overlooking the Charles River. The August sun had begun to mellow, and a gentle breeze carried the sounds of cyclists, rowers, and students scattered across the riverbank.
Sinta took one dramatic bite before pointing her spoon at Sherwin.
"Worth the wait."
The table erupted into laughter.
Time seemed to slow as they gently sat there, talking about everything and nothing. Kiko pointed out a sailboat drifting across the river. Issa was already sorting through the hundreds of photos she'd taken that week. Ianna quietly read the historical marker beside their bench aloud, only to be interrupted by Sinta insisting she'd already looked it up online.
It was Kiko who eventually broke the comfortable silence.
"Tito."
Sherwin looked up.
"Thank you."
He chuckled softly. "I think this is the fifth time you've thanked me."
"I know." Kiko smiled. "But this one's for everything."
He gestured toward the city around them.
"You didn't have to plan all this."
"I wanted to."
"We know," Issa said, leaning forward. "But more than the trip... thank you for taking care of Mama."
The table grew quieter.
Sherwin lowered his gaze.
"I don't think I did anything extraordinary."
"You didn't have to," Ianna replied gently. "We just noticed that she laughs more."
"And she actually lets someone remind her to eat," Issa added.
"Or bring a jacket," Sinta chimed in.
Sherwin smiled. "She doesn't always listen."
"No," all four siblings answered at once, making everyone laugh.
When the laughter faded, Sinta absently stirred her melting ice cream.
"You know..." she began quietly. "I don't really remember Papa."
Sherwin looked at her.
"I was basically a baby when he passed away. Everything I know about him came from stories and pictures." She smiled faintly before looking back at her cup. "So... I never really knew what it felt like to have someone fuss over me. Someone who notices if I skipped breakfast, reminds me to text when I get back, or already knows my coffee order before I say it."
She met his eyes again.
"I just wanted to thank you."
Sherwin felt his throat tighten.
"It's my pleasure," he said sincerely. "Everyone your mom loves, I love too. Besides," he added with a small smile, "hindi naman kayo mahirap mahalin."
There was a beat of silence.
Then Sinta grinned.
"Lahat ng mahal ni Mama... Eh si Mama? Mahal mo?"
Sherwin's ears turned noticeably red.
He never answered, he didn't need to. The chorus of teasing that followed drowned out whatever reply he might have managed, the conversation dissolving back into laughter as naturally as it had grown quiet.
Looking around the table, Sherwin realized he'd stopped wondering whether he belonged.
By the time the last of their ice cream had disappeared, the afternoon had begun to soften into evening.
Golden light stretched across the Charles River as cyclists and runners passed along the Esplanade. Boston moved at an easy pace, lingering in the last few weeks of summer.
The kids insisted on heading back to the hotel, finally admitting that the jet lag had caught up with them. They were even more insistent that Sherwin pick Risa up after her conference and take her to dinner.
"We'll probably just sleep" Kiko assured him.
"Or order room service" Issa added. "Don't worry about us."
"You planned this." Sherwin said, looking at the four of them suspiciously.
"No." Sinta answered far too quickly.
"We absolutely did not" Issa agreed with the same unconvincing expression.
"You did."
"Edi oo na lang po" Ianna laughed, making everyone else chuckle.
"Sige na, Tito" Kiko said with a grin. "Fetch Mama na."
Sherwin shook his head, unable to hide his smile.
"You're all terrible."
"We learned from Mama," Issa replied.
"And maybe a little from you," Sinta added with a mischievous grin.
They exchanged goodbyes before the siblings disappeared down the riverside path, still debating who had eaten the most ice cream. Sherwin watched them until they disappeared around the corner, smiling to himself before turning toward Harvard.
The conference had only just concluded when Sherwin arrived outside the auditorium.
Small groups of attendees lingered on the steps, exchanging farewells, business cards, and promises to meet again at another conference, another city, another year. The banners were already beginning to come down as volunteers folded tables and packed away name tags.
Then he saw her.
Risa stood beneath the shade of an old elm tree, thanking another speaker before they finally said their goodbyes. Almost instinctively, she glanced toward the entrance.
Their eyes met, a smile found her immediately. Not the warm, practiced smile she had worn throughout the conference; this one was quieter. The kind that had slowly become reserved for him.
Sherwin crossed the courtyard, slipping the conference tote gently from her shoulder before she could protest.
"Pagod?" he asked.
"A little."
"Hungry?"
"Parang dalawang tanong lang talaga alam mo, no?" She said, laughing while shaking her head.
"And?"
"And somehow..." she looked up at him, amused, "parehong nauuwi sa dinner."
"I'm consistent."
"You are."
They set off without discussing where to go. Boston had long stopped feeling like a place that needed an itinerary whenever they were together. The conversation found its own direction, just as it always did. Risa told him about the questions from the final panel, while Sherwin recounted Professor Campbell's latest comments on his dissertation draft, earning an affectionate laugh when he admitted he probably deserved every revision.
The streets grew quieter as they wandered toward Beacon Hill, the fading sunlight washing the red brick buildings in shades of gold. Without thinking, their hands brushed once, then again.
This time, neither of them pulled away.
Sherwin hesitated for only a heartbeat before gently turning his hand over, his fingers finding hers almost tentatively. Risa looked down for the briefest moment. Then, with the smallest smile, she intertwined her fingers with his.
It felt strangely natural. As though it wasn't the first time they had held hands, but quietly the first time they had realized they wanted to.
Neither of them mentioned it. They simply kept walking, their conversation continuing as easily as before, except now there was a quiet warmth between them that neither had been looking for, yet both seemed unwilling to let go.
For the first time since Risa had arrived in Boston, there was no itinerary to follow, no museum to reach before closing, no children racing ahead toward the next stop. Just an August evening in Boston, and two people who had somehow become each other's favorite part of it.
They eventually ducked into a small Italian restaurant tucked along one of Beacon Hill's quieter streets. It wasn't particularly fancy—just a neighborhood place with candlelit tables by the window, shelves lined with wine bottles, and the comforting smell of fresh bread drifting from the kitchen.
Sherwin had discovered it months earlier during one of his aimless walks around the neighborhood and quietly tucked it into the notebook that had become infamous among the Hontiveros-Baraquel siblings.
Risa noticed the familiar look on his face as the hostess led them to a table.
"Nasa list din ba ito?"
Sherwin looked almost offended.
"I don't have that many lists."
"You literally have a spreadsheet." She said, laughing.
"I prefer the term 'organized.'"
"So I've heard."
Dinner came slowly, neither of them in any hurry to order or finish. They shared a basket of warm bread while deciding between pasta dishes, occasionally stealing bites from each other's plates once the food arrived without so much as asking.
Halfway through dinner, Risa set her fork down, a smile already tugging at the corners of her lips.
"I forgot to tell you something."
"Hm?"
"I ran into Migz before I left for Boston."
"Oh?" Sherwin said, as he looked up with quiet amusement.
"Dumaan lang to consult something daw."
"And?"
"He didn't consult anything."
"What did he want?" He said after chuckling, already knowing where this was going.
"The first thing he said was, 'So pupunta ka na namang Boston?'" She said, shaking her head. "Then he smiled and said, 'Kamusta na si Sherwin?"
Sherwin let out a laugh, covering his face for a moment.
"And what did you tell him?"
Risa looked at him over the rim of her glass, the hint of a smile still lingering.
"I told him..." she paused just long enough to make him curious, "na wala siyang pake!"
They both laughed at her response.
He reached for his glass before adding with a quiet laugh, "I think our former colleagues figured us out before we did."
"I think they did." Risa agreed, smiling knowingly.
She remembered the knowing glances whenever Sherwin lingered a little longer outside her office after meetings, the teasing remarks she had brushed off because, at the time, they seemed harmless. Back then, they had simply been workaholic colleagues who enjoyed talking over coffee.
Looking back now, perhaps everyone else had been reading the story long before they had.
Sherwin reached across the table, his fingers finding hers once more.
"It's funny."
"What is?"
"Back then, coffee was always an excuse."
Risa let out a soft laugh, lowering her gaze for a moment before looking back at him, unable to hide her smile.
"And now?"
He smiled, gently squeezing her hand.
"I think I would've looked for any excuse just to spend time with you."