Chapter 28

KAY’s POV:

People think distance is measured in kilometers.

In bus rides.

In travel time.

In how long it takes to get from one place to another.

They’re wrong.

Because the farthest I’ve ever felt from Patricia Dela Cruz wasn’t when she left San Juan for Raven University.

It wasn’t during the years we only talked through phone calls.

It wasn’t when we were studying in different schools.

The farthest I’d ever felt from her…

Was now.

While living under the same roof.

—

At first, I thought I was imagining it.

Pat was busy.

I was busy.

Maybe that was all it was.

—

But then she stopped waiting for me after duty.

—

And that was when I knew something had changed.

—

Because waiting for me had become our routine.

A stupid routine.

A stubborn routine.

One I never asked for.

—

Yet every night, I would leave St. Aurelia and somehow find Pat outside.

Sometimes tired.

Sometimes sleepy.

Sometimes looking like she wanted to collapse.

But she was always there.

—

Until she wasn’t.

—

The first night I saw Mat instead, I honestly thought Pat was sick.

—

The second night, I thought maybe she was busy.

—

The third night…

I stopped making excuses.

—

Something was wrong.

—

And somehow…

She wouldn’t tell me.

—

“You’re overthinking.”

Mat said one night as we walked home.

—

Easy for him to say.

—

Because Pat still talked to him.

Still laughed at his jokes.

Still hung out after training.

—

Meanwhile, getting a proper conversation out of her lately felt impossible.

—

“I don’t think I am.”

I replied quietly.

—

Mat glanced at me.

—

“You miss her.”

—

The words caught me off guard.

—

Because they were true.

—

Painfully true.

—

I looked away.

—

“Of course I miss her.”

—

“You literally live together.”

—

Exactly.

—

And somehow that made it worse.

—

Because how could I miss someone who was only a few rooms away?

—

How could I feel lonely in a condo that wasn’t empty?

—

How could I miss someone who still made me breakfast sometimes?

Still asked if I had eaten?

Still reminded me to bring an umbrella?

—

The answer was simple.

—

Because lately…

Pat felt like she was only giving me pieces of herself.

—

Never the whole thing.

—

And I didn’t know why.

—

The walk home continued in silence.

—

Eventually Mat spoke again.

—

“You know…”

—

“Hm?”

—

“She’s probably just stressed.”

—

I wanted to believe that.

—

I really did.

—

But something inside me kept whispering otherwise.

—

Because I’ve known Patricia Dela Cruz for almost my entire life.

—

I know how she acts when she’s stressed.

When she’s tired.

When she’s angry.

When she’s sad.

—

And this wasn’t any of those things.

—

This felt intentional.

—

Like she was choosing to step away.

—

And that thought hurt more than I wanted to admit.

—

When we arrived at the condo, the lights were already off.

—

Pat was asleep.

Or pretending to be.

—

I stood outside her bedroom door for a moment.

—

Thinking.

—

Then quietly returned to my own room.

—

Because if she didn’t want to talk…

I couldn’t force her.

—

Could I?

—

The next few weeks only made things worse.

—

Pat became busier.

—

Or at least that’s what she said.

—

Training.

Classes.

Meetings.

Practice.

Assignments.

—

Always something.

—

Always an excuse.

—

Meanwhile…

Mat was everywhere.

—

Waiting after duty.

Bringing coffee.

Walking me home.

Checking if I had eaten.

Listening whenever I complained about hospital work.

—

He was kind.

—

Really kind.

—

And honestly?

I appreciated him.

—

A lot.

—

Because having someone around during difficult days was comforting.

—

Especially when the person I actually wanted wasn’t available.

—

One afternoon, while eating lunch at the hospital, one of my co-interns suddenly smiled.

—

“So…”

—

I immediately knew I wouldn’t like where this was going.

—

“So what?”

—

“You and Matthew.”

—

I nearly choked.

—

“What?”

—

The entire table laughed.

—

“Come on.”

—

“No.”

—

“He picks you up every day.”

—

“Because we’re friends.”

—

“Sure.”

—

I rolled my eyes.

—

But later that afternoon…

The comment stayed in my head.

—

Not because I liked Mat.

—

I didn’t.

—

At least not the way they were implying.

—

But because it made me realize something.

—

People kept seeing Mat.

—

Nobody noticed who I was actually looking for.

—

Nobody noticed who I searched for whenever I entered a room.

—

Nobody noticed whose messages I waited for.

—

Nobody noticed whose opinion mattered most.

—

Nobody noticed that every time my phone rang…

I secretly hoped it was Pat.

—

Even now.

—

Especially now.

—

That night, after duty, I sat alone in my room.

—

The condo was quiet.

—

Too quiet.

—

I picked up my phone.

—

Opened our chat.

—

Stared at it.

—

Then typed:

**Kat: Busy ka?**

—

The reply came ten minutes later.

—

**Pat: Medyo. Why?**

—

I stared at the screen.

—

Then suddenly didn’t know what to say.

—

Because the real answer sounded ridiculous.

—

*”I miss you.”*

—

*”Can we talk?”*

—

*”Why are you avoiding me?”*

—

*”Why does it feel like you’re leaving again?”*

—

Instead I typed:

**Kat: Wala. Goodnight.**

—

Three dots appeared.

—

Disappeared.

—

Appeared again.

—

Then finally:

**Pat: Goodnight.**

—

And somehow…

That hurt more than no reply at all.

—

Because years ago, when we lived in different cities…

We talked for hours.

—

Now we lived in the same condo.

—

And somehow only exchanged two words.

—

I placed my phone down.

—

Then pulled my knees to my chest.

—

The room suddenly felt smaller.

—

Lonelier.

—

And for the first time in a long time…

I cried.

—

Not loudly.

—

Not dramatically.

—

Just quietly.

—

Because I didn’t understand.

—

I didn’t understand what happened.

I didn’t understand what changed.

I didn’t understand why Pat was pushing me away.

—

The worst part?

—

I wasn’t even sure if she realized she was doing it.

—

Outside my room, I heard the faint sound of a door opening.

—

Then footsteps.

—

Pat’s footsteps.

—

For a brief second, I wanted to open my door.

—

Wanted to ask her to stay.

Wanted to ask if everything was okay.

Wanted to tell her I missed her.

—

But I didn’t.

—

Because something told me she’d just smile.

And tell me she was fine.

—

Just like she always did.

—

And somewhere on the other side of the hallway…

Patricia Dela Cruz sat alone with her own heartbreak.

—

While I sat in my room wondering why losing her felt scarier than losing anyone else.

—

Neither of us slept well that night.

—

And neither of us knew that the longer this continued…

The harder it would become to fix.

—

Because sometimes…

The most painful goodbyes aren’t spoken.

They’re felt.

Little by little.

Day by day.

Until one day you realize the person you love is still there…

But you can no longer reach them.

## Author’s Note

Congratulations.

Now BOTH of them are crying.

Pat: “I’m doing this for her.”

Kat: *currently crying because of it*

Mat: *accidentally becoming the emotional support character*

Reader: “I hate everyone.”

Me too.

See you in the next chapter where communication continues to be illegal.

– tatine