#pov — “breaking the player” (part 7) It’s strange — how someone can slowly become part of your day without you even noticing. One moment, Jeremiah was just there. The next, he was everywhere. And the worst part? I didn’t mind anymore. It was the week before midterms. Everyone was stressed, sleep-deprived, running on caffeine and panic. Ako? Stressed din — pero hindi lang dahil sa exams. “Hindi ko na kaya,” I groaned, closing my laptop. “I swear, kung mag-derive pa ako ng isa pang equation, magwi-withdraw na ‘ko sa course.” Jeremiah chuckled beside me, leaning back on his chair. “Gusto mo kape?” “Huwag na,” I mumbled. “Kakaapat ko pa lang.” “Isa pa,” he said, standing up before I could argue. “Ako bahala.” I sighed. “You don’t have to—” He looked back and smiled. “Gusto ko.” Ayun na naman. The line he always used.  Simple. Disarming. And every time he said it, a part of me forgot how to breathe. When he came back, he set the cup beside me and sat down quietly. “Wala ka bang exam bukas?” I asked, half-distracting myself. “Meron,” he said, eyes still on me. “Pero mas gusto kong siguraduhin na kalmado ka bago ako mag-aral.” “Hindi mo kailangang unahin ako, Jeo.” “Hindi ko kailangan,” he said softly. “Pero gusto ko.” I stared at him, and for a moment, the room — the noise, the stress, the chaos — just faded. He was looking at me again like that. The kind of look that doesn’t demand anything. The kind that just… stays. Hours passed. I was rereading notes when I felt something brush my hand. Jeremiah’s. I looked down. Our fingers were almost touching — not on purpose, but close enough that if either of us moved, it would mean something. He didn’t move. Neither did I. The tension hung there, quiet and electric. I finally whispered, “Jeo…” He hummed in response, not looking away from his book. “Hindi mo ba napapansin na…” I trailed off. “Na masyado na tayong madalas magkasama?” “Napapansin,” he said, closing his notes. “Pero ayokong baguhin.” “Bakit?” He turned to me, eyes soft but steady. “Kasi gusto ko ‘to, Sophie. Gusto kong sanayin sarili kong nandiyan ka.” “Hindi mo dapat ako sanayin.” “Bakit?” “Baka kasi wala ako bigla.” He paused — long enough for me to regret saying it. Then he smiled, small and sincere. “Hindi ko iniisip ‘yung ‘wala.’ Iniisip ko lang ‘yung habang meron.” I didn’t reply. Because how could I, when everything I built to keep him out was starting to sound pointless? After midnight, we decided to walk home together. The campus was empty. Streetlights flickered softly. The air was cool, and every few steps, his arm brushed mine. “Tahimik mo,” he said finally. “Pagod lang.” “Hindi,” he said, glancing down at me. “I know when you’re tired, and I know when you’re overthinking. Ngayon, parehong meron.” I smirked a little. “So, mind reader ka na ngayon?” He laughed softly. “Hindi. Pero pag matagal mo nang pinapansin ‘yung tao, minsan nararamdaman mo na lang.” I looked at him, really looked. The boy who used to thrive on attention now walking quietly beside me, not asking for anything except my company. And that realization — it hit hard. Because I was falling. Slowly, quietly, and against my better judgment. “Jeo,” I said, voice barely above a whisper. “Hmm?” “Anong gagawin mo kung sabihin kong hindi ako sigurado?” He looked down, curious. “Hindi sigurado saan?” “Sa… lahat ng ‘to.” He stopped walking. “Walang problema,” he said simply. “Hindi mo kailangang maging sigurado ngayon.” “Eh ikaw?” “Sigurado ako,” he said without hesitation. “Kahit hindi mo pa ako piliin.” I blinked, heart pounding so fast it almost hurt. He was so calm, so patient — like he knew something I didn’t. And maybe he did. When we reached the dorm gate, neither of us moved right away. He smiled, a little tired, a little tender. “Goodnight, Soph.” “Goodnight,” I said. But before I turned away, he added quietly— “Alam mo, hindi mo kailangan akong gustuhin agad. Ang gusto ko lang, wag mo akong itulak palayo.” — #jeoong #jeoongedits #jeremiahemmanuelong #fyp - @nbartl_m