By 2:30 a.m., my team and I have officially wrapped things up for the night and agreed to return to the university the next day (correction: in a few hours) to clean up and haul out the props, tables, and chairs from the function hall. By the time I got home, my body felt achy and sore, the muscles I didn't even know I had were screaming with pain. My eyes felt like sand and lead all the same, as a throbbing headache brewed.

The house was dark and dead silent. The wall clock hanging in the hallway tells me it's 3:05 a.m. My sister had gone home hours ago. I could see a faint light coming from under her bedroom door, but decided not to bother her. What's she still doing up at this ungodly hour, anyway?

I took a quick, warm shower and by the time I got into my bedroom, I dreamed of nothing more than to luxuriate in the crispness of clean sheets, rest my head on a soft pillow, and the chance for undisturbed sleep until the next day's sundown. No, make that two days of undisturbed sleep.

There was only a single bedside lamp that was on in my room. I was about to close the windows and draw the blinds when I noticed that the lights were still on in the room next door.

Oh. Right. Thomas is here. Thomas is home.

I let that thought sink in as I slowly approached the window. The sound of muffled music and voices broke the silence in my room. I peered out through the blinds and there he was, sitting on his windowsill, wearing a faded gray shirt and a pair of black boxers.

I shivered at the sight of his exposed legs. It's not because they're unpleasant to look at (on the contrary, I couldn't tear my eyes off that gorgeous flesh, all smooth and sinewy muscles), but because it's easily 20 degrees Celsius out there, which, in Philippine standards, is "freezing cold".

I couldn't be more thankful that my room is dark. Otherwise, Thomas would've easily spotted me ogling at him like a voyeur which, tragically, I kind of being am right now. I couldn't help myself. I hadn't seen this man in years. He's changed a lot, and judging from our earlier interaction, it's not just the physical aspect.

I could only see one side of his face, and I noticed that the adorably crooked tooth had now been straightened—another thing that's changed about him. He wasn't alone, but I couldn't see the person he was talking to, from my vantage point. And he was smiling. Actually laughing and smiling, in a carefree way that's so unlike the cold and rigid Thomas from earlier.

My eyes trailed to his hands in his lap, fiddling with something that looked like a thin piece of paper. He was rolling it with his thumb and index fingers like a—

No way... Is that weed? This bastard is rolling a joint. The damn fool!

My jaw went slack as I watched Thomas roll the paper back and forth between his thumbs and fingers. When it's fully packed—a little thing that's shaped like a cigarette now— he stared at it like he's pleased with his handiwork. He sealed the tip with one lick of his tongue, which looked honest-to-God seductive if not for the fact he's smoking cannabis in a country that could get you arrested and spending the rest of your life behind bars!

I was about to step out of the dark and call him out on his reckless behavior when suddenly, a woman with sleek bobbed hair appeared beside him, wearing nothing but a bra and panties. I slid against the wall next to the window, feeling my face grow warm.

"Nice roll," the woman said in a sultry voice.

Thomas chuckled softly and said, "Want a hit? It's premium quality. 'Got it from Bernard as a welcome home gift." The woman must've taken the offer as I heard the sharp sound of a flint being struck and, seconds later, I caught a whiff of weed floating in the air, into my room.

I didn't know how long I'd been just standing there, listening to the sound of a dazed laugh, quick short breaths from inhaling smoke, and the odd sucking sounds I've only ever heard from seasoned potheads. I remembered he'd experimented on cannabis with his friends back then, but when I told him to stop, he did so right away and we never talked about it since.

Right now, it's pretty clear he'd been doing this for some time.

I was ready to leave them to it and just call it a night when I heard obnoxiously wet kissing sounds, followed by soft moaning. I risked another look at them and, yup, they're full-on snogging like a couple of stoned porn stars.

I have no business feeling hurt. Thomas can kiss and fuck whoever he likes. Yet somehow, my treacherous heart lurched at the lurid sight before me.

I watched as Thomas placed a hand on the woman's hip, lifting her up as he cupped one of her breasts with the other. They were kissing and touching and very nearly about to screw each other in front of a secret audience when suddenly, Thomas's eyes darted in my direction. His lips curled into a smug smile and I could've sworn he knew I'd been watching.

My heart skipped a beat as I quickly stepped away from the window, hands clenched so tight I could feel the nails digging into my palms.

By now, you probably saw this coming. But I have to tell you, anyway. That guy, Thomas Padua (Correction: Monsen!)? He's my first love. Quite possibly my first maybe-boyfriend. My ex-maybe-boyfriend, given the current situation.

But this isn't the Thomas I once knew. Not the person I once adored. This man, who returned to my life after years of radio silence, is now treating me like shit on his shoe.

I could only wonder where the hostility is coming from when all along, he's the one who broke my heart when he left without a word.

Not even a goodbye.