Chapter 7: Not A Project

By the time the number on my wrist changed to 23, two things were painfully clear.

One, ang bilis ng oras kapag desperado kang pabagalin siya.

And two, Caelan Vasquez was really good at acting like nothing could touch him.

For the past two days, I tried to be normal around him.

Keyword: tried.

I sat near him during lunch. I returned the blue pen kahit hindi naman niya hinihingi. I asked safe questions, like kung anong subject niya next or kung kumain na ba siya. Normal questions. Harmless questions. Questions na hindi halatang may kasamang silent panic na, Hi, I’m trying to stop your future death and I have no idea what I’m doing.

And still, parang wala akong progress.

Caelan answered when he wanted to. Ignored me when he didn’t. Looked at me like I was a problem he never agreed to deal with.

Which was fair.

I was kind of a problem.

“Hindi ka na naman sasabay sa lunch, no?”

I looked up from my locker.

Mika was beside me, arms crossed, lunch bag hanging from one wrist. Hindi siya mukhang galit. Not exactly. Pero may look siya na mas mahirap harapin kaysa galit.

The I’m trying not to be hurt, pero hurt ako look.

My stomach twisted.

“Mika…”

“Okay lang,” she said, too fast. “I mean, may bago ka na namang lunch routine, obviously.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Then ano siya?”

I shut my locker slowly, buying time kahit wala naman akong mabibiling enough. “Complicated.”

She gave a small laugh, pero walang humor. “You keep saying that.”

“I know.”

“And I keep waiting for you to actually explain.”

I looked down at the books in my arms.

Paano ko ba ie-explain?

Hey, remember Caelan, the quiet guy from class? In another timeline, he died. Then Death sent me back with a countdown burned into my wrist. Also, I think I’m starting to care about him in a way na hindi ko na rin maintindihan. Please don’t freak out.

Yeah.

Super normal best friend conversation.

“I can’t tell you everything yet,” I said quietly.

Mika stared at me. “That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“No.”

“At least honest.”

“I’m sorry.”

She leaned against the locker beside mine and sighed. “Is this about Caelan?”

Hindi ako nakasagot agad.

Her face changed.

“Lyra.”

“What?”

“Do you like him?”

My brain immediately panicked.

“No.”

Too fast.

Way too fast.

Mika raised an eyebrow. “Wow. Convincing.”

“I don’t.”

“Okay.”

“I mean, not like that.”

“Okay.”

“Stop saying okay like that.”

“I’m literally just saying okay.”

“You’re saying it with your face.”

She studied me for a second, then her expression softened. “I’m not judging you, Ly. I’m worried.”

Mas masakit iyon.

Kasi kung galit siya, mas madali. I could defend myself. I could be annoyed back. Pero concern? Concern had a way of getting under my skin.

“I know,” I said.

“Caelan doesn’t make things easy.”

I almost laughed.

Understatement of the year.

“He’s not bad,” I said.

“I didn’t say he was.”

“But you were thinking it.”

“I was thinking he looks like he bites people who get too close.”

“That’s… weirdly accurate.”

Mika gave me a look. “See?”

I hugged my books tighter. “He’s just guarded.”

“People can be guarded and still hurt you.”

The words landed quietly.

I wanted to tell her that this wasn’t about me getting hurt. Na compared sa pwedeng mangyari kay Caelan, my feelings were the least important thing in the room.

But that would be a lie too, wouldn’t it?

Because lately, my feelings were becoming loud.

Very inconvenient.

Very much a problem.

“I’ll be careful,” I said.

Mika didn’t look convinced, but she nodded. “Fine. Pero you owe me one proper lunch. No disappearing. No weird excuses. No Caelan-related emergency.”

I smiled a little. “Caelan-related emergency?”

“That’s what this looks like from the outside.”

If only she knew.

Before I could answer, someone down the hall laughed too loudly.

A group of students had gathered near the stairs, all looking at one phone.

Normally, I wouldn’t care.

Except I heard Caelan’s name.

My whole body went still.

Mika noticed. “Lyra…”

But I was already walking.

The students didn’t see me at first. They were too busy laughing under their breath, heads bent close together.

“Grabe, ang emo naman.”

“Siya ba gumawa niyan?”

“Wait, zoom mo.”

My chest tightened.

“What are you looking at?” I asked.

They turned.

Bea, one of the girls from my English class, quickly lowered her phone. “Wala.”

“Then show me.”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

I held out my hand. “Show me.”

Mika came up beside me, voice low. “Lyra, chill.”

Pero hindi ko kaya.

Not when my wrist was starting to burn.

Not when Bea looked guilty.

Not when I already knew this had something to do with him.

Bea hesitated before turning the screen toward me.

It was a post from an anonymous school account.

AURELIO FILES

The photo was blurry, taken from behind. But I still recognized the black hoodie. The sketchbook. The table near the library window.

Caelan.

Someone had taken a picture of him without him knowing.

The caption read:

When you think you’re mysterious but you’re just weird. Drop the sketchbook reveal naman diyan.

There were laughing reactions.

Too many.

My fingers went cold.

Mika whispered, “Oh no.”

I looked at Bea. “Delete it.”

“It’s not my post.”

“Then stop sharing it.”

Her face flushed. “We weren’t doing anything.”

“You were laughing.”

The hallway went quiet.

Bea looked away first.

I didn’t wait for an apology. I knew better than to expect one.

I turned and walked away, my heart pounding too hard.

I found Caelan behind the old science building.

Of course he was there.

Same cracked cement wall. Same dead garden. Same quiet corner where the school looked like it forgot to care.

He was sitting with his back against the wall, one knee raised, sketchbook closed beside him. His phone was in his hand.

So he had seen it.

Biglang nawala ang galit ko.

All that was left was this hollow feeling in my chest.

“Caelan.”

He didn’t look up. “Go away.”

I stopped a few steps from him.

“Did you see the post?”

“Obviously.”

“I’m sorry.”

That made him look at me.

His face was blank, pero hindi iyong usual blank na guarded lang. This was colder. Tighter.

“Why are you sorry?” he asked.

“Because it’s wrong.”

“You posted it?”

“No.”

“Then don’t apologize like you did.”

I swallowed. “I told them to stop sharing it.”

“Congrats.”

Flat. Empty.

I sat on the other end of the wall, leaving enough space between us.

He looked at me like even that was too close.

“I’m not here to make you talk,” I said.

“Good.”

Silence.

The wind moved through the dry plants. Somewhere nearby, may tumama na lata sa semento, rolling once before stopping.

For once, wala akong maisip sabihin.

Every possible sentence sounded wrong.

Are you okay? Obviously not.

Ignore them. Useless.

They’re just stupid. True, pero still useless.

So I stayed quiet.

After a while, Caelan said, “This is the part where most people ask what I drew.”

I looked at him.

“Are you going to?”

“No.”

His eyes flicked to mine, suspicious. “Why not?”

“Because if you wanted me to see it, you’d show me.”

He looked away.

For a second, akala ko tama ang sinabi ko.

Then he laughed once.

Short. Bitter.

“You’re getting better.”

“At what?”

“Acting like you don’t want answers.”

That hit.

I tried not to flinch.

“I do want answers,” I admitted. “Pero I’m trying not to force them out of you.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re not a project.”

He stared at me.

The words came out before I could overthink them.

For a second, the air between us changed.

Then his face hardened.

“People say things like that when they want to feel better about themselves.”

I frowned. “That’s not what I’m doing.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No.”

“You suddenly show up, ask questions, follow me around, act worried, defend me in hallways…” His voice stayed low, pero bawat word may talim. “What do you want from me, Lyra?”

My throat tightened.

You alive.

That was the answer.

The only real one.

But I couldn’t say it.

Not like that.

Not when he was already looking at me like I was hiding something sharp behind my back.

“I want to be your friend,” I said.

Caelan looked away. “That answer is getting old.”

“It’s still true.”

“Truth usually doesn’t need this much hiding.”

I froze.

His eyes dropped to my wrist.

My sleeve had slipped.

Just enough.

The pale number was visible against my skin.

23

Before I could pull away, Caelan reached for my arm.

Hindi rough.

Pero fast enough para magulat ako.

“What is that?”

I yanked my sleeve down. “Nothing.”

His jaw tightened. “Stop saying that.”

“It’s personal.”

“It’s a number on your skin.”

“It’s none of your business.”

He stood. “You don’t get to do that.”

I stood too. “Do what?”

“Push into my life, ask things I don’t want to answer, then shut down the second I ask one question.”

I opened my mouth.

Nothing came out.

Because he was right.

And I hated that he was right.

Caelan stepped back, shaking his head. “Forget it.”

“Caelan—”

“No.” His voice cracked a little. Barely. Pero narinig ko. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but I’m tired.”

That word hurt more than the anger.

Tired.

Not annoyed. Not pissed. Not bored.

Tired.

He grabbed his sketchbook and bag.

“I’m sorry,” I said, hating how small my voice sounded.

He stopped, but didn’t turn around.

“I’m trying,” I added.

“Try somewhere else.”

Then he left.

I stood there long after he disappeared around the corner.

The old garden was quiet.

Too quiet.

My wrist throbbed under my sleeve.

Twenty-three days.

And I still had no idea what I was doing.

By the time I got home, I was running on panic and bad decisions.

Mama wasn’t home yet, thank God, because I had zero energy to pretend I was normal. I went straight to my room, shut the door, dropped my bag on the floor, and pulled my sleeve up.

The number stared back.

23

I hated it.

I hated how clean it looked. How calm. Like it wasn’t counting down to the worst thing that could happen.

I pressed both hands over my face.

“Death,” I said.

Nothing.

I lowered my hands. “Okay, I know you can hear me.”

Still nothing.

“Death.”

My voice cracked.

That made me angrier.

“Please.”

The room went cold.

Not aircon cold.

Wrong cold.

The kind that made my skin prickle.

When I looked up, Death was sitting on my windowsill.

White barong. Black trousers. Bare feet resting lightly against the wall like gravity was optional. He looked way too calm for someone who had just appeared inside a teenage girl’s bedroom without permission.

“No,” I said immediately.

He raised one brow. “No?”

“You don’t get to look that relaxed.”

“I wasn’t aware there was a rule.”

“There is now.”

Death glanced around my room. “You called.”

“I panicked.”

“Most people do.”

“That’s not helpful.”

“I didn’t say it was.”

I dragged both hands through my hair and started pacing. “I messed up.”

“Yes.”

I stopped. “Wow. Thanks.”

“You wanted honesty.”

“I wanted help.”

“Those are not always the same thing.”

I pointed at him. “You are so impossible.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

“Good. Deserve.”

For a second, something like amusement passed through his face.

Then it was gone.

“What happened?” he asked.

I let out a shaky breath. “Caelan saw the number.”

Death’s gaze moved to my wrist.

“He didn’t see all of it,” I said quickly. “I covered it. But he knows something’s wrong. And he’s mad. He thinks I’m lying.”

“You are.”

“I know that.”

“Then why are you surprised he noticed?”

I closed my eyes.

Because I wanted him not to.

Because I wanted to help him without explaining the impossible.

Because I wanted him to trust me while giving him every reason not to.

“I don’t know how to do this,” I whispered.

Death didn’t answer.

When I opened my eyes, he was looking at me in that awful quiet way again. Like he could see every thought I wasn’t brave enough to say.

“He won’t let me in,” I said. “Every time I get close, he pulls away. Every time I ask something, he acts like I’m attacking him. I’m running out of time, and I don’t even know what I’m supposed to save him from.”

Death tilted his head. “You keep saying save like it means unlock.”

I frowned. “What?”

“You think if you find the right question, he will open. If you find the right wound, you can fix it. If you collect enough pain, you can solve him.”

“That’s not—”

I stopped.

Because maybe it was.

Maybe that was exactly what I had been doing.

Not because I didn’t care.

Because I did.

Too much, maybe.

But caring didn’t automatically make me right.

Death stood from the windowsill. The room felt smaller when he moved.

“Caelan is not hiding because he wants to make your life hard,” he said. “Silence protects him. Anger protects him. Distance protects him. If you keep trying to take those away before he trusts you, he will only hold tighter.”

I sat slowly on the edge of my bed.

My chest hurt.

“So what do I do?”

“Stop asking him to prove he is hurting.”

The words settled over me.

Heavy.

Quiet.

Awful.

I looked down at my wrist.

“I wasn’t trying to.”

“I know.”

“That doesn’t make it better, does it?”

“No.”

I laughed weakly. “You’re really bad at comfort.”

“I am not comfort.”

“Clearly.”

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then I asked the question that had been sitting in my chest since I checked the calendar.

“The last day,” I said. “The day the countdown ends.”

Death looked at me.

“It’s my birthday, isn’t it?”

Silence.

My stomach dropped.

I didn’t need him to answer.

But he did anyway.

“Yes.”

I felt the air leave my lungs.

Of course.

Of course the day Caelan was supposed to die would be the same day I was supposed to turn seventeen.

Because apparently the universe had a sick sense of timing.

“That’s cruel,” I whispered.

“Yes.”

I looked up sharply. “That’s all?”

“What would you prefer?”

“I don’t know. Maybe sorry?”

Death watched me. “Would it change anything?”

No.

That was the worst part.

It wouldn’t.

“Why me?” I asked, quieter this time.

“You already know part of the answer.”

“Because he reached out to me.”

Death’s expression didn’t change.

My heart kicked once.

I sat up straighter. “He did, didn’t he?”

No answer.

But with Death, silence was usually an answer wearing nicer clothes.

“What did he send me?”

“I cannot tell you.”

“Of course you can’t.”

“No.”

I stood again, frustration rising. “Then what can you tell me?”

Death’s eyes softened.

Barely.

“Look for what he protects.”

I stared at him. “That’s it?”

“That is enough.”

“No, it’s not.”

“It will have to be.”

I wanted to scream.

Instead, I breathed.

In. Out.

Like Ma’am Dela Cruz always told us during fire drills, except this felt less like a drill and more like the whole building was already burning.

Death moved toward the window.

“Wait,” I said.

He paused.

“Does he hate me?”

The question slipped out before I could stop it.

Small.

Embarrassing.

Too honest.

Death looked back.

“No.”

My throat tightened.

“But he doesn’t trust you,” he added.

Of course.

There it was.

The part that mattered more.

“How do I fix that?”

“You don’t fix trust,” Death said. “You earn it. Slowly. Usually after failing.”

“That sounds terrible.”

“It usually is.”

Then he was gone.

No smoke. No dramatic flash. Just cold air and an empty windowsill.

I stood in the middle of my room, staring at the space he left behind.

My birthday.

Twenty-three days.

Caelan’s anger.

The anonymous post.

The number on my wrist.

Everything felt too big.

Too much.

But for the first time that day, I had something close to a direction.

Look for what he protects.

I thought of Caelan snatching the folded list from my hand.

His sketchbook.

Kape Amparo.

Miro.

His mom.

His lola.

His silence.

Maybe those were all pieces of the same answer.

I sat on the floor beside my bed and pulled the blue pen from my bag.

For a long moment, I just held it.

Then I opened my notebook and wrote one sentence at the top of a blank page.

Stop treating him like a mystery.

Under that, I wrote another.

Earn trust first. Answers later.

My wrist still hurt.

My chest still felt tight.

Caelan was still angry at me.

And in twenty-three days, the world was still going to try to take him.

But tomorrow, I would stop asking for parts of him he wasn’t ready to give.

Tomorrow, I would start smaller.

Tomorrow, I would apologize properly.