A crisp December morning brought a lively breeze that swept through the fields, coaxing the freshly planted rice to sway like dancers moving to nature's melody. The sky stretched wide and blue, the sun casting its golden warmth—a perfect prelude to a promising day. But as the breeze carried soft laughter from across the field, Nina realized the rice wasn’t the only thing swaying—her heart was, too, skipping a beat every time she caught a glimpse of him, sleeves rolled up, sunlit, working with quiet determination.

The "him" in question was Ramon, the kind of person who could make scattering fertilizer look like an art form. Nina pretended to adjust her basket of produce, stealing yet another glance at him. He wasn’t just tossing granules—he was talking to the land. Not in a weird way, but in a way that made you think the soil might actually listen. She smirked at his exaggerated hand gestures, the way he leaned in as though sharing a secret with the earth. It was ridiculous. It was endearing. And it was entirely unfair that someone so quirky could also be so maddeningly attractive.

Ramon straightened, brushing his hands on his worn jeans, and caught Nina looking before she could turn away. He flashed a lopsided grin that made her stomach do an embarrassing flip. “You know,” he called out, his voice carrying easily over the distance, “the soil doesn’t like being stared at. Gets self-conscious.” He winked, and Nina’s face burned hotter than the morning sun. She quickly shot back, “Maybe it’s wondering why you’re telling it all your secrets.” Her tone was sharp, but her smile betrayed her amusement. Ramon chuckled, the sound warm and rich like the earth beneath their feet.

He sauntered over, the soles of his feet crunching against the dry edges of the field, leaving a trail of confidence in his wake. “Secrets?” he said, stopping just a step too close for Nina’s comfort—or maybe her discomfort was something else entirely. “I’d argue they’re more like sweet nothings. Keeps the harvest happy.” His grin widened, but his eyes softened, and for a moment, Nina wasn’t sure if he was still talking about the field. She clutched her basket a little tighter, trying to ignore how her pulse was giving her away. “Sweet nothings, huh? Maybe you should try saying them to something that’ll talk back,” she quipped, though the slight crack in her voice gave her away. Ramon tilted his head, studying her with a gaze that felt like sunlight—gentle but impossible to escape. “You volunteering?” he asked, his voice low, teasing, and maddeningly sincere all at once.

Nina almost choked. "W-what? Of course not!" she stammered, but deep inside, her heart was doing cartwheels, and butterflies were hosting a full-blown circus in her belly. It didn’t help that her cheeks were as red as the tomatoes in her basket. "You—get back to work... or the rice will get angry with you." She tried to sound stern, but the playful tremor in her voice made her wonder if he could tell how much he was making her squirm.

Ramon laughed, a deep, melodic sound that only made Nina’s face burn hotter. “Angry rice? Now that’s a first,” he teased, raising an eyebrow. “But alright, I’ll leave you to your… tomatoes.” His gaze flicked to her basket, then back to her, adding with a grin, “Though I think they might be jealous of how red you’ve gotten.” He turned and strolled back toward the field, leaving Nina standing there, clutching her basket like it was the only thing anchoring her to reality.

She let out a shaky breath, glaring after him. “Ridiculous,” she muttered, though her lips betrayed her with the faintest hint of a smile. She adjusted her grip on the basket and began walking toward the village, but her steps were slower than usual, her mind replaying his words—and that infuriating wink.

By the time she reached the edge of the fields, her resolve was firm. Ramon could charm the soil all he wanted, but she wasn’t about to let him sweep her away so easily. Or at least, that’s what she told herself.

That very evening, as Nina was brushing her hair, a soft strumming drifted through the still air, drawing her attention to the window. The tune was old—too old, like a kundiman—its tender notes carrying the wistful charm of a time long past. Each pluck of the strings tugged at her heart, stirring memories of her great-grandfather serenading her great-grandmother. Entranced, she set her brush down, her movements slow and deliberate, as if afraid to break the spell.

She walked to the window, her bare feet silent against the wooden floor, and hesitated for a moment before reaching out to push the capiz-shell panes open. But as her fingertips touched them, the strumming deepened, resonating with a strange, otherworldly hum. The shells began to shimmer, their soft glow intensifying until the entire frame seemed alive with light. Nina stepped back, her breath catching as the intricate patterns on the panes dissolved into swirling streams of molten pearl.

The window frame elongated and stretched, reshaping itself into a grand doorway. A golden glow spilled through its edges, revealing a world beyond unlike anything she’d ever seen. It wasn’t just her window anymore—it was a portal, radiant and inviting, humming with an energy that seemed to whisper her name.

Beyond the doorway, a familiar yet enchanted world unfolded. The rice fields stretched endlessly, their young, vibrant green blades swaying in perfect harmony with the melody, catching the golden glow of an unseen sun. Between the rows of rice, patches of sampaguita blossoms emerged, their star-like petals radiant, filling the air with a fragrance so sweet it felt like a song of its own.

Hibiscus bushes in fiery shades of red and orange dotted the edges of the fields, their petals seeming to ripple with the same energy that hummed through the air. Towering narra trees stood sentinel in the distance, their golden leaves catching the warm hues of a twilight sky painted in vivid strokes of amethyst and tangerine.

It was her world, yet not—an otherworldly reflection of the familiar, infused with a magic that seemed to make the land itself sing. Everything felt alive, the pulse of the guitar’s melody resonating in the breeze, the leaves, and even the earth beneath the swaying rice.

In the middle of this wonderland stood a figure, haloed by the golden light spilling through the trees. The guitar’s melody softened, its notes pulling Nina forward with a gentle insistence. She hesitated, her fingertips grazing the doorway’s surface, warm and alive beneath her touch. This wasn’t just a world—it was an invitation.

And so, she approached the figure. The closer she got, the clearer the other person became. It was Ramon.

Ramon stood there, the guitar cradled in his hands, but there was something different about him. His familiar, boyish grin was gone, replaced by a serene expression that carried a weight Nina couldn’t quite place. The golden light seemed to cling to him, accentuating every detail—the way his hair caught the breeze, the way his hands moved over the strings as if they were born to create this ethereal music.

“You came,” he said softly, his voice blending seamlessly with the melody. It wasn’t a question, nor did it carry the teasing lilt she was used to. There was a gravity in his tone, as if her arrival was not just expected but necessary.

“Ramon?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, unsure if the figure before her was truly the same man who had tossed fertilizer and teased her mercilessly that morning. “What is this? What’s happening?”

He smiled gently, his eyes meeting hers with an intensity that made her feel both grounded and untethered. “You’re here because you were meant to see,” he said cryptically, stepping closer, the music slowing to a soft, lilting hum. “There’s more to this world than you’ve let yourself believe, Nina. The fields, the earth, the sky—they’ve been waiting for you.”

“For me?” she asked, confusion and wonder wrestling in her chest.

“Yes,” he said, reaching out a hand. “Step through the doorway, Nina. There’s something you need to remember.”

Her heart pounded as she stared at his outstretched hand, the glowing world behind him calling to her like a dream she had long forgotten. Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward, her fingers brushing his as she crossed the threshold. The instant her feet touched the ground, the world erupted in light, and the melody shifted into something achingly familiar—an old kundiman her great-grandparents used to sing, woven with whispers of secrets only the land could keep.

Nina jolted awake with a gasp, her heart hammering in her chest. Her face felt damp—drool had trickled onto her cheek, cold and sticky against her skin. She swiped it away hastily, sitting up in bed as the remnants of the dream clung to her like morning mist. The faint echo of the kundiman still lingered in her mind, its melody swirling in the golden light streaming through the capiz-shell windows. It had felt so real—the fields, the flowers, Ramon standing there, the guitar pulling her forward. Now, disoriented and vaguely embarrassed, it all seemed absurd, like something plucked from a half-forgotten story.

She drifted through the day absentmindedly, her thoughts repeatedly returning to the dream. The rice fields outside her home looked the same as ever, vibrant and green beneath the December sun. But every time the breeze swept through, she found herself waiting—listening—for a melody that wasn’t there. When she caught sight of Ramon in the distance, sleeves rolled up and scattering fertilizer with his usual exaggerated flair, her chest tightened. She shook her head, annoyed at herself. It was just a dream.

“Morning, Nina!” Ramon called out, his voice bright and familiar. He waved, his grin playful. “You’re not staring at me again, are you?”

She rolled her eyes, her cheeks warming as she waved back. “Only to make sure you’re not messing up the fields.”

He laughed, and she turned away quickly, walking toward the vegetable patch. But as she bent to pull weeds, something caught her eye—a single sampaguita flower growing at the edge of the field. Her breath hitched. Sampaguitas didn’t grow there; the soil wasn’t right for them. Yet here it was, its delicate petals glowing faintly in the sunlight, just like in her dream.

Nina’s fingers trembled as she cupped the sampaguita flower in her hand, the hum lingering in the air like a secret waiting to be told. She looked up, her gaze meeting Ramon’s across the field. His expression had softened, his eyes glowing with an unspoken understanding. He took a few steps toward her, the sunlight catching his hair, making it seem as though he were walking through the very dream she had woken from.

As he approached, the air around them shimmered with a subtle magic, as if the world was holding its breath. When he reached her, he didn’t speak at first—he simply extended his hand, palm open, as if inviting her into the space between dreams and reality.

“I knew you’d feel it,” Ramon said softly, his voice warm with a tenderness she hadn’t expected. “You’re part of this, Nina. The land, the melody—it’s all been waiting for you.”

Her heart fluttered as she placed her hand in his, the connection between them immediate, electric. She could feel it then—the pull, the magic, the undeniable bond that had been there all along. The wind whispered through the rice fields, carrying the strains of the kundiman once more, now a perfect harmony between them.

Without a word, he gently guided her closer to the field, and together they stood in the golden light, the world around them humming in time with the music. The rice swayed, the flowers bloomed, and the earth itself seemed to smile, as if finally, Nina had stepped into the world she was always meant to be a part of.

And in that moment, as their fingers intertwined and the world faded away into a soft, glowing twilight, Nina knew—this wasn’t just a dream. It was their beginning.