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People often asked Sherwin if five years had gone by quickly, and he never quite knew how to answer.
Some days, his dissertation had made time feel impossibly slow. Some semesters seemed to stretch forever, revisions that refused to end, winters that lingered longer than he thought they should.
And then there were the Wednesdays. Some spent over coffee in Boston, most spent through a phone screen thirteen time zones away.
Looking back, those were the ones he remembered most.
Over the next two years, Boston became more than the city where Sherwin pursued his doctorate. It became a place Risa returned to every few months—sometimes for conferences, sometimes for guest lectures, sometimes because Harvard had invited her back once again.
And sometimes, she claimed, because she simply missed Boston.
The children never believed that explanation.
Neither did Sherwin.
Not every visit looked the same. The first had been a family adventure, complete with handwritten itineraries, museum visits, far too much ice cream, and four children who had somehow decided that teasing Sherwin was now one of their favorite pastimes.
The trips that followed were quieter. Some visits belonged only to the two of them, wandering through Beacon Hill with coffee in hand before Risa disappeared into another conference hall. Other times, one or two of the children tagged along.
Sinta remained convinced that Boston was her favorite city because of the squirrels.
"I think it's because of the free ice cream," Sherwin reminded her every single trip.
"I can like two things!" she would protest, sticking out her tongue just enough to make everyone laugh.
Kiko occasionally joined them, always convinced he had found another restaurant Sherwin had to try. Issa never came home without a phone full of photographs and enough café recommendations to last until Risa's next visit, while Ianna somehow managed to uncover another museum none of them had visited before.
No matter who came along, every trip ended the same way. Far sooner than any of them wanted.
Yet the distance between visits never seemed quite as long anymore. The FaceTime calls continued. Not because they had to, but because they had become part of the quiet rhythm of their days.
Sherwin listened to stories about lectures, advocacy work, and the familiar pace of Manila, while Risa patiently endured updates about dissertation chapters that somehow always required one more revision. Some evenings, they talked until one of them noticed how late it had become. Other days, five minutes between meetings were enough.
And on the days when neither had much to say, they stayed on the line anyway, content to share the silence. Somewhere along the way, they had discovered that love did not always need conversation. Sometimes, it was simply knowing the other person was there.
One Wednesday evening, their usual FaceTime call came much later than it normally did.
Sherwin had only just returned to his apartment after meeting with his adviser, while halfway across the world, Risa was still at her office, surrounded by papers she had every intention of finishing before heading home. She was about to apologize for making him wait when the smile on his face caught her attention.
"Anong meron?" She said, narrowing her eyes playfully, as he tried to look innocent.
"Wala."
"Sherwin."
"Hm?"
"Bakit ganyan 'yung ngiti mo? May ginawa ka ba?"
"I have news." He said after a chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck.
She immediately set her pen aside.
"Good news?"
"The best kind." He answered, still smiling.
For a brief moment, he looked down at his hands, almost as though saying the words aloud would finally make them real.
"My adviser signed everything."
Risa blinked.
"Talaga?"
"I'm graduating."
The words settled quietly between them.
For a second, she simply stared at the screen before her hand instinctively flew to her mouth, her eyes shining with a happiness that caught even Sherwin by surprise.
"Sherwin... I'm so proud of you."
It came so naturally that neither of them stopped to think about it. Sherwin smiled, the kind that reached all the way to his eyes.
"Wait there" Risa said suddenly, making him frown.
Before he could ask another question, she disappeared from the screen.
A minute later, she returned carrying a bottle of red wine and two mismatched glasses, holding them up triumphantly, earning a laugh from Sherwin.
"Naka-ready na pala."
She shook her head, grinning.
"Hindi ah. Emergency stash lang."
Still smiling, Sherwin stood from his chair and disappeared into his own kitchen. When he came back, he was holding up a bottle of wine of his own.
"Ikaw din?" Risa said, before laughing even harder.
"I've been saving this."
"For graduation?"
"I was hoping I'd eventually have a reason." He said, shrugging.
Risa lifted her glaas toward the screen.
"To Dr. Gatchalian."
He smiled, raising his own.
"Not yet, but malapit na."
"Exactly" she said warmly. "Konti na lang."
Their glasses met against their respective screens with a soft tap.
It was a little silly, but neither of them cared.
For a brief moment, neither of them said anything. They simply smiled at each other through the screen, both quietly realizing that this would be one of the last celebrations they would spend an ocean apart.
Soon, there would be no more counting time zones before making a call. No more airport goodbyes every few months, no more measuring their lives in return flights and countdowns. The distance that had once shaped so much of their story had finally begun to loosen its grip.
Sherwin looked at her for a moment longer, committing the sight to memory—the familiar smile, the wine glass in her hand, the warmth in her eyes despite the thousands of miles between them. He realized then that, after all the years he had spent chasing a doctorate, the thing he was looking forward to most was wonderfully ordinary.
Coming home to her.
The evening slipped by the way it always seemed to whenever they were together. They spoke about dissertation revisions that no longer needed revising, professors who had become stories rather than sources of stress, conferences, the family trip to Boston, Wednesdays that had somehow become sacred, and the museums they still promised they would visit someday.
The wine slowly disappeared from both bottles, and the conversation softened with the night.
Outside Sherwin's window, Boston settled into silence.
Outside Risa's, Manila was only beginning to quiet down.
Neither of them noticed the time.
At one point, Risa rested her chin lightly against her hand, studying him through the screen.
"I'm really proud of you."
Sherwin held her gaze for a long moment before answering.
"I don't think I would've made it through these five years without you."
She smiled, shaking her head.
"Grabe ka naman."
"I'm serious. Thank you, Risa." He replied sincerely, making her smile softly.
The silence that followed felt familiar, the kind that had accompanied them through hundreds of late-night calls over the years. It was never empty. If anything, it had become one of the ways they knew they were home with each other.
Sherwin smiled quietly to himself.
"You know..."
"Hm?"
"I've been meaning to tell you something."
"Ano 'yun?" She asked, tilting her head, already smiling.
He let out a small breath. There were probably grander ways to say it. More poetic ones. But somehow, none of them felt as honest as the truth.
"I love you, Ris."
The words settled softly between them, as though they had been waiting for this particular Wednesday evening to finally be spoken.
For the first time that night, Risa didn't answer right away. She only looked at him through the screen.
Sherwin held her gaze, the silence stretching just long enough for his thoughts to wander. He wondered, fleetingly, whether he should have said it sooner. Months ago, perhaps. Maybe back in Boston, on that quiet evening overlooking the Charles. Maybe after their first kiss. Maybe after one of the countless nights they had stayed on FaceTime until one of them fell asleep.
For the briefest moment, he found himself smiling nervously. Not because he doubted how she felt, but only because love, once spoken aloud, always carried a quiet kind of vulnerability.
Then Risa laughed softly to herself, the corners of her lips lifting with a tenderness that made the thousands of miles between them suddenly feel much smaller.
"I was wondering.." she teased gently, "kung gano pa katagal bago mo sabihin yan."
Sherwin couldn't help but laugh in relief.
"So... you knew?" Sherwin said, quite amused. Of course, she knew.
She tilted her head, equal amusement dancing across her face.
"Sherwin..." she said gently. "You weren't exactlt subtle."
He covered his face for a second, laughing in quiet surrender.
"Ganun ba ako ka-obvious?"
"Just a little," she teased. "Siguro around... eight months obvious."
He groaned, shaking his head.
"A little warning would've been nice."
Risa laughed, the sound warm and familiar.
"Where's the fun in that?"
Their laughter lingered for a moment before the silence returned, softer than before. She looked at him through the screen with the same tenderness she had carried from that first Wednesday coffee all the way to this ordinary evening.
"Mahal din kita, Sherwin."
He closed his eyes for the briefest moment, letting the words sink in before looking back at her.
Neither of them felt the need to say anything else.
They remained where they were, two glasses of wine raised in different cities, smiling at one another through a screen that, for years, had carried birthdays, ordinary Wednesdays, tired evenings, difficult days, and every small moment in between.
For the first time since Boston had brought them back into each other's lives, the distance no longer felt endless.
It had become something they could finally count down to the end of.
A few nights after that conversation, as early autumn slowly settled over Boston, Sherwin sat alone in his apartment, reading through his dissertation one last time.
There was nothing left to revise. No more comments waiting in the margins, no unfinished chapters tucked away for another weekend, no promises to himself that he would "fix it tomorrow." Five years of research, countless revisions, and more cups of coffee than he cared to admit had finally led to this quiet evening.
He rested his hand over the trackpad for a brief moment before clicking Submit.
The screen changed almost instantly. And just like that, it was done.
He leaned back in his chair and let out a slow breath, surprised by how ordinary the moment felt. After years of working toward it, there were no fireworks, no applause, no sudden feeling that life had changed overnight.
Only a quiet sense of gratitude.
A few weeks later, his adviser met him outside the department office with a smile and an outstretched hand.
"Congratulations, Dr. Gatchalian." Sherwin smiled as he returned the handshake.
The title felt well earned. But as he stepped out into the crisp Boston afternoon, diploma still weeks away from being handed to him, another thought quietly found its way into his heart.
This time, it wasn't about what he had achieved.
It was about where he was finally going. It was time to board the last flight that mattered.
The weeks that followed were filled with small acts of leaving.
Books that had once covered every corner of his apartment disappeared into cardboard boxes. Shelves slowly emptied until the rooms echoed in a way they never had before. He returned the last of his library books, lingering for a moment longer than necessary before handing them over to the librarian who had unknowingly watched him grow from an anxious doctoral student into someone finally ready to go home.
There were farewell lunches with classmates who promised to visit Manila someday. One last meeting with his adviser. One last walk across Harvard Yard, where early autumn had begun painting the trees in shades of amber and crimson.
And, almost out of habit, one last Wednesday morning coffee. Not because he wanted to hold on to Boston, but because some traditions deserved a proper goodbye.
As he walked back through the streets that had become so familiar over the past five years, he found himself smiling.
The city had given him more than a doctorate. It had given him unexpected friendships, quiet mornings, countless lessons, and a Wednesday afternoon that had quietly changed the course of his life.
For that, he suspected, a part of him would always belong here.
But for the first time since he had arrived as a nervous graduate student years ago, he didn't feel the urge to look back.
There was nothing left unfinished.
The life he had spent five years building in Boston had gently run its course.
Another one was already waiting for him on the other side of the Pacific.