Days passed quietly in the boarding house.
Sean moved like a shadow in the narrow halls never loud, never noticeable. He kept to himself, leaving only to buy food or supplies, his sharp eyes always watching.
Little by little, his appearance began to shift.
Nothing flashy—just clean clothes, a better pair of shoes, and a small sling bag to carry essentials. His face, once rough from the streets, looked calmer now, though his eyes still carried that unreadable weight.
---
One morning, while eating a simple meal of instant noodles and boiled eggs, he scrolled through Toktik again.
There she was.
Pretty.
This time, her video wasn't about her clinic shift.
She was at home, sweeping her small front yard, wearing a loose shirt and shorts, hair tied back messily.
Her caption read: "Simple life, simple joys."
Sean chuckled softly under his breath, amused by how different she looked outside her nurse uniform.
"Normal ra kaayo siya tan-awon, pero klaro nga naay kalawom ning bayhana," he muttered.
("She looks so ordinary, but there's clearly something deeper about this woman.")
---
Without overthinking it, he left another comment:
"Your view of life is beautiful. That's why your smile feels precious."
A simple truth, not flirtation.
Hours later, while walking back from a nearby convenience store, his phone vibrated.
Pretty replied: "Salamat. Wala na ko naanad'g ingon ana nga comment. Pero appreciate kaayo."
("Thank you. I'm not used to comments like that. But I really appreciate it.")
Sean smiled faintly, sliding his phone back into his pocket.
---
That night, as he sat by his window, staring at the streetlights outside, his thoughts drifted, not to Pretty—but to the faces he couldn't forget.
The thugs.
Especially the one who had looked at him with guilt and tossed him that peso coin.
"The streets are too small to forget anyone."
He had memorized their every detail their shoes, their tattoos, the way their voices scratched when they spoke.
It was only a matter of time before paths crossed again.
But tonight wasn't about revenge.
Sean opened Utube, watching a video about street fighting techniques. His eyes weren't just watching he was analyzing every move, every stance.
Slowly, his body started to catch up with what his mind already understood.
Outside his door, the landlady passed by, pausing for a moment.
"Kalma ra kaayo ning bataa, pero murag lahi ni siya," she muttered under her breath, continuing down the hall.
("This boy is too calm… but something about him feels different.")
Sean heard her, of course.
He just smiled to himself and kept watching, his fingers quietly tracing the scars still healing on his side.
Far from him, in another part of the city, a different set of eyes was watching his growing presence online.
A hidden message popped up in a dark room, somewhere unknown:
"The boy has started moving."