The sun shimmered over the lush canopy of Los Baños, casting golden streaks on the red brick paths of the University of the Philippines campus. It was early-January now, the air tinged with both the scent of damp earth and the unmistakable pressure of the coming semester finals. For Carmela, the weeks had blurred together with a rhythm she had grown to thrive in: morning lectures, lab works, late-night projects, weekend video calls with her family, and the occasional long messages from Raziel that always arrived just when she needed them.
Her life was in full motion now, like a machine she had finally learned how to operate.
The previous month had been a whirlwind. She had officially joined the hackathon team that Aaron had invited her to. What began as a tentative interest had spiraled into late nights filled with debugging algorithms and whiteboard strategy sessions in the dormitory common room. She hadn't told her family much about it yet—she wanted to surprise them. The competition was only two weeks away, and their team was submitting a prototype for an app that tracked sustainable farming techniques for small-scale provincial farmers. The idea had been hers, inspired by her own community back home.
"You sure you're okay handling the database and backend by yourself?" Aaron asked one evening as they walked across the science complex, the campus dark except for the soft glow of lampposts.
"I've handled worse," Carmela said with a grin, brushing her bangs aside. "Try renovating a house with TikTok videos and no budget."
Aaron laughed. "Remind me to never doubt you again."
Back in her shared dorm room, Carmela powered on her laptop. Her screensaver was a photo of her family during her last visit home: Mama holding a tray of freshly baked pandesal, her two brothers laughing over something off-camera, and Carmela herself in the middle, arms looped around them. Being away from them had been an adjustment. Her first few weeks in Los Baños had felt hollow without the steady comfort of their laughter and the scent of home-cooked meals.
But in place of absence had come growth. She had built routines: weekly meal prep, early morning jogs around the campus oval, weekend library marathons. And Raziel—Raziel had been a constant.
He called on Sunday evenings, like clockwork.
"So," he said during their latest call, "have you figured out where we'll eat when I visit? I'm only trusting your recommendations."
Carmela leaned back on her pillow, earbuds in, the sound of crickets outside her window. "There's a cafe near campus with the best iced caramel macchiato. And they have WiFi so you won't complain."
"Perfect," he said. "I'll bring snacks."
There were pauses sometimes in their conversations—not awkward ones, but thoughtful silences that stretched like bridges. She still hadn't told him how much his patience meant. How in the past, Treize had been a whirlwind: all fast moves and empty promises. But Raziel had waited. Had stood by her. And now, slowly, gently, she was starting to wonder if maybe they were no longer walking side by side as just friends.
She didn't rush it. She had learned better.
The following week brought stress in waves. One of her professors announced a surprise mini-thesis draft, while her groupmates for a systems analysis project were barely responsive. Carmela found herself spending long hours in the campus computer lab, fingers dancing over keys, debugging line after stubborn line of code. Her hackathon app was taking shape. Their interface was simple, accessible in both English and Filipino, with voice commands for elderly farmers.
The more she worked on it, the more she realized this was what she wanted to do.
*This* was her future.
It wasn't just about money or job security—though IT provided plenty of that. It was about impact. She saw how technology could reach even the quietest corners of her province. How it could empower her community. Her mother. Her classmates from before who had stopped school because they had no resources. If she could bring solutions, bridge gaps, then this second life would be worth every hard-earned step.
Saturday arrived with sunshine and a clear blue sky. The hackathon was held at a conference center near campus, with rows of tables set up and tech students buzzing with energy. Carmela wore her team shirt—a deep navy blue with the name "Team BitBayan" printed across the chest.
Her heart pounded as they presented their project. As she explained the backend system she had built, she glanced at the panel of judges—a mix of professors, tech entrepreneurs, and alumni. Some nodded, others took notes.
When they were done, applause followed. Carmela exhaled, chest heaving. Win or lose, she was proud.
Later that evening, as she sat with her teammates eating celebratory shawarma on the curb outside the venue, her phone buzzed.
**Raziel:** "Saw the live feed. You were amazing. Proud of you."
She stared at the message for a moment before typing back:
**Carmela:** "Thank you. That means a lot. Really."
The next day, she visited the university's botanical garden alone. It had become her haven—a quiet place to think and breathe. She sat on a bench under a Narra tree, the same kind that grew near her childhood home. Pulling out her journal, she began to write:
*"I used to fear the future. Now, I'm building it with my own hands. Brick by brick. Code by code. Memory by memory. I am not who I was before, and I don't need to be. I'm someone new. Someone growing."*
She had always thought her rebirth meant she had to erase the past. But now, she understood: it was about honoring it. Learning from it. Using it to light the path ahead.
A rustle behind her made her look up. Raziel was there, smiling, holding two cups of milk tea.
"Surprise," he said. "I figured you'd be here."
Carmela blinked, stunned. "You came early?"
"I had to," he said, handing her the drink. "I wanted to tell you in person... I'm applying for a tech startup internship here in Laguna. If I get it, I'll be closer."
Her heart fluttered. The bench suddenly felt too small for all the feelings filling her chest.
"That's... that's amazing," she said.
They sat in silence for a while, sipping their milk tea, watching the sun dip low.
"Carmela," he said quietly, "I know you've had to heal. And I've never wanted to rush you. But... if ever you're ready, someday, maybe we could try?"
She looked at him, at the gentle hope in his eyes.
She smiled. "Someday. Maybe isn't so far anymore."
He chuckled, relief softening his shoulders. "I'll wait, no matter what."
The final days of January sped by. Their team didn't win the hackathon, but they placed third—and were offered mentorship by one of the judges, a software developer who had grown up in a rural town much like Carmela's.
Life was happening, unfolding in a rhythm she had finally caught. And she was dancing to it.
In her dorm, she stuck a new sticky note on her wall. It read:
**"From regrets to rewrites. This is the chapter I own."**
And she did.
She was 19 turning 20, living in the heart of progress, with the roots of her past anchoring her and the wings of knowledge lifting her.
But for now, she smiled and whispered to herself, "I'm exactly where I need to be."