I

What do I want?

A QUESTION THAT tickled the back of my mind for so long that it started to feel like a nightmare. What do I truly want?

Back then, I knew the answer to this million-dollar question. I wanted to be a novelist. Simple and bright. It was a dream that began with my love for fairytales, and growing up, it was all I ever wanted to be. All I ever dreamed to be.

I held on to it until reality came crashing, and the gruelling responsibilities that came with being a young adult in this family pulled me back to my senses.

I was not going to be a writer because my parents had different plans for me. A much different path where they preferred I pick up scalpel, instead of pens.

They wanted me to be a doctor, and it couldn't be farther from what I wanted. In their eyes, writing would never get me anywhere so they did everything they could to dissuade me from my dreams and destroy any love I have for my craft until I learned to hate it. They made me so guilty that even the act of remembering it made me want to hurl.

Needless to say, they succeeded from draining me of my passion. By taking that away, they took all of me with it: all my desires, my hopes, and my dreams, that now, I see a big question mark in my head every time I'd face similar existential questions like that.

"Earth to Charity, hello?" One of my classmates from med school waves a hand in the air, right across my face. "The kid asked you a question, girl."

I blink out of my stupor and turn at the little girl whose eyes are gazing back at mine, full of innocent wonder. What's your dream?

From the corner of my eye, I can see the curious glances my classmates are throwing at me as they hand out the other goods to the other children. No doubt they think I'm acting rude again, as they always do whenever I zone out or distance myself from people. But I don't care.

They're not my friends-I don't have any, by choice-so their opinions of me hardly matter.

In a rehearsed tone, with a rehearsed smile, I kneel to her size and ruffle her hair. "To be a doctor, dear. That's why I'm going to med school with the others."

Her eyes go wide. "You're studying to be a doctor?"

I nod my head stiffly.

"Is it fun? I want to be a doctor, too!"

No. I halt for one second before I answer, "Yes, it's really fun. You should go for it. I bet you'll make a good doctor someday."

And then the girl is grinning, bouncing away in happiness, seemingly satisfied with my answer.

Finally free from her attention, I sigh in relief and stand up straight. The rest of my classmates are back to whatever they are doing, preoccupied with playing with the other children. I suddenly feel hot and suffocated, so I head out to the front lawn to get some fresh air.

Walking down the long stretch of manicured grasses, I pass by a statue of a golden cherubim on my way to the entrance. Under the tubby angel is a brass plaque that says, Little Angels Orphanage.

Visiting the orphanage quarterly is a ritual now-it started a few years back when Alas, one of my classmates as well, made a donation drive in the campus to collect toys, school supplies, and basic necessities to give to the children. Being famous for his extracurricular activities, he easily amassed more than enough goods to donate in less than a month, and the class, being supportive and proud of what he's achieved, offered to help with the packing and distribution.

I thought it was a noble cause. It was generous and kind in its intent, but I wanted nothing to do with it. I hate pretentious acts of service the most because what's the point of it? We're just fleeting moments breathing on borrowed time. What's the point of helping people to live if we're all bound to die anyway? What's the point of cultivating dreams and fostering hope when we're slaves to other people's desires? More than that, I hate socializing and pretending to be nice, which I'd have to do a lot because we'd be dealing with kids. I wasn't keen on getting involved. But Alas was persistently stubborn and was constantly on my tail, following me around until I said yes.

The orphanage is conveniently accessible to us, too, just a few blocks down from the university, which makes it hard for me to rebuff him with a flat refusal.

The first few visits were tough for me-exhausting, really-and there were days when I'd think of many ways to bail or come up with excuses. Everytime, Alas would find a way to counter my excuses with his own and in the end, I've gotten so used to this tradition that I don't make a fuss anymore and just want to get it over with. Anything to keep him away. We don't talk much outside of school work and this is the only time when Alas can bother me. So anything I can do to keep him off my back, I'll gladly do.

I walk all the way to the entrance gates, lighting up a cigar. I fail to notice I have a tail until I hear the familiar timber of his voice.

"That's bad for your health, you know."

Ah, the man of the hour has come. Perfect.

Taking a long drag of my cigar, I pay him no attention and continue watching the cars that zoomed by on the road one after another.

"What are you doing out here?" I feel him close the distance as he settles in the space beside me.

I shrug. "I should be asking you that."

"I followed you out here," he say casually in that ever so affable tone.

"Classic," I respond, rolling my eyes.

He steps a little bit forward, facing me, his hands hidden in the pockets of his hoodie. "You know, I've always wondered. Why are you always so cold to me? Have I done anything to offend you?"

I look at him in incredulity. "I'm not cold to you."

"This isn't coldness?" As he says that, his brows shoot up and a small teasing grin lights up his face.

My lips pull into a frown. "This is simply who I am, period."

His eyes, brown and clear, are still intently fixed on my face, obscured lightly by the black locks sweeping across his eyes. From up this close, I can see a dimple on his left cheek as his grin melts into a feigned curious frown.

"So you're saying you're naturally cold to everyone, is that it?" The question sounds earnest, eager to know, with a tinge of teasing.

"Bingo," I respond flatly.

"But why?"

"Why not?"

"It's not good for you," he says. "You need to let people in. You'll find that everything is easier and more fun with friends surrounding you."

I snort at that. Yeah, right.

Again, what's the point? I had friends before when I was much younger. I thought they could fill the void that my parents created but I was wrong. Because with the right trigger, they were also the first to make fun of me and use my weaknesses against me.

I wasn't as smart or beautiful or sexy as the rest of them, and they made sure that I'd know. That's when I also knew.

I didn't need friends. I didn't need anyone. The world and everybody else were just cases of disappointment waiting to happen.

As if he can read my mind, he sighs. "Don't hate the world, Chari. Everyone is not the same. There are a lot of things to love in the world. Your life, for starters."

I raise my brows, mildly stunned at how he arrived to that connection. I turn to him, my eyes squinting, eager to dissect and challenge that statement. For a split second, eternity seems to have passed as our eyes connected. My heart drums in my chest and I avert my gaze.

I can't stand meeting his eyes. The fact is, Alas and I are not remotely close to each other. But looking at him makes me feel uneasy. Like I've known him from a long time ago but I can't place the memory. I'm sure as hell I've never met him before med school though, so I can't understand the feeling, and I hate not understanding.

In a sense, he's right. I'm specifically cold to him for this one specific reason.

"That's a classic Alas thing to say," I remark, noncommittal, the cigar still in between my fingers. "The posterboy for every good thing out there. I don't know why you're wasting your time on me. You know it won't work. So stop wasting your breath."

"Whether you believe it or not, you are worth it, Chari. I hope you see that. And if you must know, I wish for nothing but happiness for you. All the good and the bad, and the bittersweet moments in between. That's life, isn't it? That's how you become happy-through pain and sadness."

His sincerity renders me speechless, and for a few seconds, I'm unable to come up with a reply. How did we end up with this conversation? I've always known that Alas is a deep, sentimental kind of guy but hearing him talk like this so easily is throwing me off.

I school my expression and pretend his words didn't have any effect on me. "Don't you worry your pretty little head. I'm okay. I always am."

He doesn't look like he buys that lie, but he gives no further response.

After I throw the cigar in the bin beside me, my eyes dart back to the road where a jeepney stops, and a mother of two alights onto the road. First to come out is a little girl, probably four or five years old. The next is a boy much younger than her, followed by the mother who's carrying a toddler in her arms. The children stick to her side, safe on the other side of the road, as she reaches over from the inside to pull out her baby's stroller.

One short second is all it takes to turn everything upside down. As the wind blows, the little girl makes a loud yelp as her paper doll flies to where it shouldn't go-the middle of the road. Where cars are quickly coming in and out.

I hold my breath, rooted in place for what's to come. The little girl runs to follow her doll. I hear a shout. My own voice, screaming at her to go back. Frightened, the girl stops, exactly in the middle, to look at me with wide eyes.

Exactly in that second, a bus emerges, unforgiving and merciless, racing at an accelerated speed from the other end of the road. The reality terrifies me, and another scream forms in my throat.

Oh god. It will hit her.

Before I can complete that thought in my head, Alas is gone from my side, already running, fast as the wind. I barely understand what's going on before he reaches the girl. With a light push, he pushes her out of danger and-screeeeech!

The impact is lethal and immediate. The bus stops but it's too late. For a second, Alas is airborne until a loud thud announces his fatal descent.

I suck in a breath. The world spins and turns as screams echo from around me and more people trickle into the scene like a swarm of bees.

Suddenly, I lose the ability to think. To breathe. All I can look at is Alas and his beaten body on the road as the crimson liquid leaks out and pools under his head.

There he is, the only good man I'd known in my life, dying, and I just watch.

Through the commotion, his eyes slowly find me, his hand reaches for me, his lips forming a broken smile as he takes his final breath and goes away forever, leaving me with nothing but haunting memories of his last words.