Emilio Francine De Ramos

Spring had arrived on campus in a burst of color and warm breezes, the air scented with cherry blossoms and freshly mowed grass. Students were scattered across the quad, sprawled out on picnic blankets or clustered beneath trees, soaking up the sun. The cold tension of winter had thawed, giving way to a new energy that buzzed around me. It was the second semester, and everything felt alive again, except for the mess inside my heart.

Despite the newfound warmth in the air, things with Yuwan remained cold. We were caught somewhere between friendship and estrangement, exchanging polite smiles in passing, but never venturing deeper than a few hollow greetings. Every interaction felt like walking on cracked glass, one wrong step and everything might shatter. It hurt more than I wanted to admit, but I buried it deep, under books and assignments, hoping it would stay there.

The spring festival concert loomed large on the horizon, and the entire campus buzzed with excitement. Posters decorated the bulletin boards, promising live performances, food stalls, and fireworks to cap off the night. I had planned to attend quietly, to enjoy the evening with a few friends, but my plans crumbled when Elena, the school president of our department, cornered me outside the music building one morning, her hands clasped as if she were about to offer me up as a sacrificial lamb.

“You have to perform, Emil,” she said, bouncing on the balls of her feet, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.

I shot her a look. “Have to? What happened to free will?”

She grinned in that mischievous way of hers, ignoring my protest. “Come on, you’ve got a great voice! The sign-up sheet’s empty because everyone’s too scared to sing. Just do one song, something simple.”

“I don’t—”

“You’re doing it,” she declared, cutting me off. “I already put your name down.”

“Wait, what?”

Elena winked. “You can thank me later.”

And just like that, I found myself roped into performing at the festival. I spent the following week debating which song to sing, scrolling through endless playlists until I stumbled upon one that felt like an old wound reopened; Heather by Conan Gray.

The lyrics hit too close to home, capturing emotions I didn’t know how to voice on my own. It wasn’t just the story of unrequited love; it was our story. The tension, the longing, the ache of wanting something I could never have. Singing it in front of the whole campus felt like tearing my heart open, but a strange part of me welcomed the release. Maybe, just maybe, it was time to let go of everything I’d kept bottled inside since things went sideways with Yuwan.

The night of the concert arrived, transforming the campus into a vibrant carnival of lights and laughter. String lights draped from tree branches, and booths lined the walkways, selling everything from snacks to trinkets. A stage had been set up on the main lawn, framed by lanterns that glowed like stars against the darkening sky.

As I stood behind the curtain, gripping the microphone in both hands, my heart raced, and I peeked out at the crowd. Students gathered in clusters, chatting, laughing, and swaying to the music. Somewhere out there, among the sea of faces, was Yuwan. I knew it, and the thought made my palms slick with sweat.

The host called my name, and my stomach flipped as the crowd cheered. I stepped onto the stage, the heat of the spotlights blinding me for a moment, and took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. The microphone trembled slightly in my hand, and the soft murmur of the crowd quieted as the backing track began to play, delicate notes drifting through the cool spring air.

And then, I began to sing.

I still remember, the third of December,

The words left my lips, soft and aching, carrying with them the weight of everything I’d felt and couldn’t say. My voice wavered at first, but as the song unfolded, it steadied, each lyric pulling me deeper into memories I’d tried so hard to bury.

Yuwan, leaning close to me during late-night study sessions, his laugh low and warm in the quiet dorm room. Yuwan, brushing snow from my hair, his hands lingering just a second too long. Yuwan, who pulled away just as quickly, leaving behind a confusion that gnawed at me all winter.

You gave her your sweater, it’s just polyester,

I scanned the crowd without meaning to, my gaze flickering over unfamiliar faces until it landed on the one I was searching for. Yuwan stood near the back, arms crossed, his dark eyes locked on me. His expression was unreadable, neutral, yet heavy with something I couldn’t place. But I knew, in my heart, that he recognized the song.

He knew this was for him.

But you like her better, wish I were Heather.

The melody flowed through me like a confession. I finally let myself feel everything, every unspoken word, every stolen glance, every moment I wished had gone differently between us. The lyrics painted the truth I’d never dared say aloud, that I wanted him, that I wanted more than friendship, even when it felt impossible.

I closed my eyes as the final chords played out, letting the last note hang in the air like a breath I’d held too long. For a moment, the world seemed to stand still, and when I opened my eyes, the crowd erupted into applause. But all I could see was Yuwan, still standing at the back, his gaze locked on mine. Now, standing on the stage, I felt the echoes of that winter night resonate within me. The crowd had faded into a blur, and all that mattered was the weight of Yuwan’s gaze.

As the applause subsided, I stepped off the stage, my heart racing. The night air was crisp, filled with laughter and chatter, but all I could hear was the thumping of my pulse, echoing the memories of unspoken words. The bright string lights overhead twinkled like distant stars, illuminating the faces of students who had gathered to celebrate. I scanned the crowd, searching for him, my heart a mix of hope and dread.

Before I could spot Yuwan, Silas appeared suddenly right in front of me, the person I least expected to see now.

“You have an amazing voice. Too bad I wasn’t the one who first heard it,” he said, a teasing smile dancing on his lips, but there was a flicker of something more serious in his eyes.

“T-thanks,” I stammered, the warmth of his compliment juxtaposed with the heaviness in my chest.

“I know the song you sang was for Yuwan,” he said, his tone shifting slightly, revealing an undercurrent of vulnerability.

“And… you’re not upset about it?” I asked, bracing myself for his reaction.

“I mean, I can’t be mad at you for just letting out your true feelings,” he replied, a hint of sadness lacing his words. “Maybe a bit disappointed that I wasn’t the one on your mind, I guess.”

“I’m really sorry Silas, maybe… maybe I haven’t moved on from him,” I admitted, guilt creeping in like the chill of the evening.

“You don’t have to be sorry, Emil. I know you still love him. Now go, go to him; tell him the truth.”

“Thanks for everything, Silas, really,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper, feeling a wave of gratitude wash over me.

“Anytime. I’m always here whenever you need me,” he replied, his smile warm but his eyes clouded with unspoken emotions.

After Silas left me, I wanted to look for Yuwan. I needed to confront him, to finally admit my true feelings. I wandered around the backstage area, heart racing with anticipation, when Elena spotted me.

“Hey! You were incredible!” she exclaimed, her excitement spilling over, a bright beacon in the dimly lit backstage.

“Thank you,” I murmured, still looking for Yuwan. “Have you seen Yuwan?”

Elena’s expression shifted, her smile faltering. “He was here a minute ago, but…” she hesitated, glancing toward the exit. “I think he stepped out.”

A pang of disappointment shot through me. I wanted to talk to him, to see if he felt the weight of the song’s message, the same way I did.

“I’ll find him,” I said, brushing past her, the buzz of the festival fading into the background as I navigated through the throngs of students, each laugh and cheer feeling distant and hollow.

I pushed through the crowd, past booths glowing with fairy lights and laughing friends, until I found myself outside. The night air felt alive with anticipation, the stars shone overhead, twinkling like distant dreams. I spotted Yuwan leaning against a tree, his silhouette framed by the warm glow of string lights.

“Yuwan!” I called, my voice cutting through the laughter around us. He turned, surprise flickering in his eyes as he stepped away from the shadows, illuminated by the soft light.

“Emil,” he replied, his tone cautious yet curious, as if he were trying to gauge the weight of the moment.

“D-did you hear me?” I asked, taking a few steps closer, the distance between us still fraught with tension, thickening the air like a fog.

He nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. “Yeah. You were… amazing.”

“Thank you,” I said, my heart racing, the thrill of the performance still coursing through my veins. “I—I chose that song for a reason.”

Yuwan shifted his weight, his brow furrowing. “I figured as much. It was… personal.” He hesitated, biting his lip, and I could see the conflict warring in his eyes.

“It is,” I said softly, taking a breath to steady myself. “Because I wanted to tell you—”

The moment hung suspended in time, the weight of everything I had kept bottled up pressing against my chest. I felt like I was standing on the edge of a cliff, ready to leap but terrified of the fall. Just as I opened my mouth to speak, Yuwan’s expression shifted, a flicker of something deeper crossing his features, like a storm cloud gathering on the horizon.

“Emil, I… I need to be honest with you.” His voice was barely above a whisper, and my heart raced, the tension thickening the air between us.

“What do you mean?” I asked, desperate for clarity.

“I know that song was meant for me,” he confessed, his eyes searching mine. “I know you like me, but,”

“...But?” I asked again, my voice trembling, a mix of hope and fear twisting in my gut.

“I wish I could feel the same way, Emil, but I can’t return your feelings, not when I know I am not worthy of your love,” he said, the words falling like stones between us, heavy and unyielding.

A silence fell over us, punctuated only by the distant sounds of laughter and music from the festival. The chill of the night seeped in, a stark contrast to the warmth that had filled the air moments before. My breath hitched, a million unspoken words flooding my mind.

“N-no Yuwan, I—” I began, but the words felt trapped in my throat.

He stepped closer, his expression a mix of anguish and tenderness. “I care about you,  but I’ve seen how you look at me. It’s like you’re searching for something, and I’m afraid I’m not the one you’re searching for.” His voice cracked, revealing the vulnerability beneath his calm façade.

“No Y-Yuwan, please don’t s-say that. I really do like you,” I admitted, the honesty spilling from me like an open wound. “You mean more to me than I can explain. I-I don’t want to lose you…”

“I don’t want to lose you either,” he replied, his voice raw, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “But I can’t be the person you want me to be.”

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, but I fought them back, refusing to let them spill. “N-no Yuwan, you’re everything I want. I’ve been scared to tell you because I didn’t want to ruin what we had.”

Yuwan’s gaze turned somber, a heaviness settling in the air between us. He took a step back, the distance between us stretching like a chasm. “Emil, maybe it’s time we faced the truth,” he said, his voice steady but tinged with sorrow. “No more hiding behind what-ifs and maybes.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, confusion swirling within me as I searched his face for answers.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, a gesture I had seen countless times but now felt charged with an unspoken finality. “I think it’s time to realize that you need someone who’s better than me. Someone who can fully give themselves to you. Someone like Silas.”

The words felt like a punch to my gut. “Silas? W-why him?”

Yuwan’s expression softened, but his resolve remained firm. “As much as I don’t want to admit it but he’s the right man for you, Emil. He cares about you, and he’s not afraid to show it. You deserve that kind of love, someone who can be there for you without hesitation.”

“B-but you’re the one I w-want.” I protested, desperation creeping into my voice. 

He shook his head slowly, a sad smile on his lips. “And I want you to be happy. I can’t be the one to make you feel that way. I’m not the right choice. I know deep down you do too.”

“Please don’t say that.” I pleaded, feeling the ground beneath me shift.

He stepped back again, the weight of his words pressing heavily upon us. “I think I’m holding you back, Emil. I’ve seen the way you look at him, the way he looks at you. You deserve someone who can match your passion and your dreams. Silas can do that. I can’t.”

My heart sank as the truth of his words hit me like a wave. “B-but Y-yuwan I-”

“Emil, sometimes liking isn’t enough,” Yuwan said, his voice breaking as he fought to hold back his emotions. “You deserve a chance at real happiness, not this uncertainty we’re caught in. Let me be the one to let go.”

“Yuwan, please…” I reached out, but he took another step back, his gaze unwavering yet filled with pain.

“I want you to let me go, Emil,” he urged softly, his voice filled with a blend of anguish and determination. “You need to find what truly makes you happy. I can’t keep you from that. I’m sorry, Emil. For everything.”

At that moment, I felt the world slip away. The air was thick with unshed tears, the bright festival lights dimming as reality closed in. Yuwan turned, the weight of his decision heavy on his shoulders, and I knew he was stepping into the shadows, leaving me to confront a future I had never anticipated. With each step he took away from me, I felt a piece of my heart fracture, the unspoken dreams we once shared dissolving into the night.