The next morning, I woke up to the kind of quiet that could only belong to our vacation home. It took a moment to remember where I was—and why. I wasn't in Hawaii, lying on a beach or exploring with my boyfriend. No, I was here. In Arizona. With my family.

Correction: my ex boyfriend.

The faint glow of my phone screen on the nightstand caught my attention. I reached for it and saw the time: six in the morning. Early, even for summer vacation, but I didn't mind. I'd always been an early riser. There was something about the stillness of mornings that felt like mine alone. Plus, just because I'm a nerd doesn't mean I don't like staying active. Running has been my escape, my way to clear my mind—and lately, my mind has needed a lot of clearing.

I guess that's why I decided to become a doctor. Losing my grandma last winter had been a wake-up call. One day she was laughing with us over the phone, and the next, she was gone—a sudden heart attack that shook our family to its core. We flew back to the Philippines for the funeral, and though it was comforting to be with family, her loss left a hole I couldn't fill.

My ex had been there for me during that time, steady in a way I'd needed. I thought I'd always have that same certainty, but life has a funny way of pulling the rug out from under you. That loss made me focus on what I could control. I started reading about health, learning to cook better meals for my family, and doubling down on my dream of helping others. I didn't want to lose my parents the way my mom lost hers.

I stretched, pulling myself out of bed and into black yoga pants and a sports bra. Quietly, I tiptoed downstairs, careful not to wake my family. They were still recovering from the long drive, and the last thing I needed was my twin brothers complaining before the day even started.

Outside, the air was cool for now, but I knew the desert heat wouldn't stay at bay for long. I started with a light jog, the rhythm of my feet on the dirt trail behind our house grounding me. This had been my routine last summer too. Back then, I'd hoped my ex might join me, but he'd always preferred to sleep in. I didn't mind—much. I just wished he'd cared about sharing moments like this with me.

The desert stretched out before me, rugged and wild. Sunlight crept over the horizon, painting the rocks in shades of gold and orange. There was a stillness to it that felt oddly comforting, even as the dry air clung to my skin. It wasn't lush or postcard-perfect, but it was home.

I kept pace, my Apple Watch tracking my miles. Four miles—that was the goal. By the time I finished, Copper Ridge was just waking up, its streets bathed in the golden light of the rising sun. Shadows stretched long and thin across the rugged desert landscape, and the warm glow made the town feel alive, even in the stillness of the early hour.

As I slowed my jog, my feet instinctively led me to Canyon Perks Café. It wasn't just a café—it was my refuge. I could already imagine the scent of freshly brewed coffee wafting through the air and the way the familiar atmosphere would welcome me. It had always been my favorite place to study and read, a space where I felt like myself.

"Mahlia! There's my favorite customer," Mr. Parker greeted me as soon as I stepped inside.

"Hi, Mr. Parker," I said, smiling back.

Mr. Parker, with his salt-and-pepper hair tied back in a ponytail, had the kind of energy that made you feel instantly at ease. In his late fifties, he still looked youthful, his eyes crinkling with warmth. He'd known my family for years, and his friendly presence was as much a part of the café's charm as its coffee.

"Let me guess—your usual? A Desert Sunrise Latte?" he asked, already pulling a cup from the stack.

"Of course!" I replied with a grin.

"Coming right up," he said, turning toward the espresso machine with practiced ease.

The café was as serene and inviting as ever, a perfect blend of modern elegance and rustic charm. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the desert outside, letting the morning light pour in and paint golden patterns across the smooth wooden tables and bar. The earthy scent of coffee mixed with a faint citrusy aroma from the potted plants that lined the walls.

The wood-paneled ceiling stretched overhead like a natural canopy, its grains catching the sunlight in soft waves. Copper pendant lights hung above the bar, their warm glow casting a cozy ambiance over the polished countertops. Overhead, delicate vines and succulents spilled from hanging planters, their vibrant greens a fresh contrast to the muted browns and grays of the interior.

The faint hum of conversation mixed with the rhythmic hiss of the espresso machine, creating a lively yet soothing atmosphere. Outside, the desert peaks shimmered in the distance, jagged and untamed against the soft colors of the morning sky.

I sank into my favorite seat by the window, a small table nestled in the corner where I'd spent countless mornings reading, studying, or simply watching the world pass by. This café had been my sanctuary last summer, the perfect escape to think, plan, or dream.

My ex, however, had never liked it here. He said it wasn't his vibe—too quiet, too rustic, too simple. I hadn't minded at the time, but now it felt like one more way we hadn't really fit.

Mr. Parker brought over my latte, the smell of espresso and caramelized sugar making my mouth water. "Here you go, Mahlia. Just how you like it," he said with a wink.

"Thanks, Mr. Parker," I said, taking a sip. The familiar flavor was as comforting as the café itself, grounding me in a way I desperately needed.

I glanced out the window as I cradled my cup, watching the desert stretch endlessly toward the horizon. The café, with its cozy warmth and quiet charm, felt like the perfect place to start the day—even if it wasn't the summer I'd imagined.

Once I finished my coffee, I waved goodbye to Mr. Parker, who returned the gesture with a cheerful, "See you later, Mahlia!" Stepping outside, I adjusted my pace and jogged back home. The rising sun bathed the desert in hues of amber and gold, and the dry heat was already settling in, clinging to my skin as I followed the familiar trail.

When I stepped through the door, chaos greeted me like an old friend. My twin brothers were on the couch, locked in a heated round of Mario Party on the Nintendo Switch, their voices overlapping in a chorus of shouts and laughter.

"Stop cheating, Elijah!" Ethan yelled, his frustration mounting.

"I'm not cheating! You just stink at this game," Elijah retorted with a smug grin.

My dad sat at the dining table with his black coffee, his calm, quiet demeanor untouched by the storm brewing around him. Meanwhile, my mom bustled about, her tone exasperated but patient as always.

"Boys, if you don't stop this arguing, I'm taking the Nintendo Switch away!" she warned, shooting them a sharp look.

She turned to me, her face softening into a warm smile. "Hey, Mahlia. How was your morning run?"

"It was good," I replied, kicking off my sneakers and dropping onto the couch to catch my breath.

"Oh, look, Ate is here!" Elijah exclaimed, his face lighting up as he turned to me. "Ate, come play Mario Party with us!"

"I'm tired, Elijah," I said, shaking my head with a small smile.

"You used to be fun," Ethan chimed in, giving me a playful nudge.

"She's no fun anymore," Elijah added, shaking his head in mock disappointment.

As always, their teasing worked. With a sigh, I reached for a controller. "Fine. One game."

Their cheers erupted as the game restarted, and soon enough, I was Yoshi, scrambling to fend off their relentless attacks. Elijah's cackling filled the room every time he swiped my coins, while Ethan leaned back with his trademark smirk, feigning innocence as he plotted his next move.

From the kitchen, the rich, savory aroma of pancit filled the air, wrapping around us like a warm hug. My mom stood at the stove, stirring noodles in a large wok with a wooden spoon, her movements rhythmic and precise. The sizzle of vegetables and the soft clatter of the spoon against the pan blended with the chaos in the living room, creating a symphony of home.

"Mom, are you making pancit?" I called out, my focus half on the game as Elijah's character robbed me again. His laugh grated on my nerves, but I pressed my lips together and ignored it.

"Yes," she replied, her tone calm despite the uproar around her. "I ran into my best friend, Tita Jocelyn, at the store earlier."

"Tita Jocelyn?" I frowned, momentarily distracted from the screen. The name sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn't place it. "I don't think I know her. Maybe I heard you mention her, but I don't remember. And you know I don't speak Tagalog, Mom."

"Sorry, anak," she said with a small laugh. "I don't think I've talked about her much. But her family is here on vacation, along with their son, Landon."

"Landon?" I repeated, pausing the controller mid-game. The name sounded unfamiliar, like a piece of a puzzle that didn't quite fit. "I've never even heard of her, let alone her son."

"That's because you don't come with us to parties," my mom said, glancing over her shoulder with a knowing smile. "You're too shy to go, and honestly, it's mostly little kids anyway. That's why we're fine with you staying home or being with Brianna and Celeste. But you miss out on all the tsismis among the Titas. Her son is a football player."

A jock. Of course.

My stomach sank, a familiar mix of irritation and indifference settling in. Jocks and popular kids? Not my crowd. Brianna, Celeste, and I had always steered clear of them, content in our own little corner of the world. My ex had been the exception—a bookworm like me, someone who could lose himself in the same stories and characters I loved.

Too bad he couldn't stay faithful.

I shook the thought away, my fingers gripping the controller a little tighter. He wasn't worth the energy. I'd blocked his number and buried him in the past, where he belonged.

"I know you're always busy with school or out with your friends," my mom added, her tone light but teasing. "That's why you've heard of them nor have I mentioned them to you until now."

She wasn't wrong. I'd barely go to most of the Filipino gatherings my parents attended, partly because I was shy and partly because I didn't speak Tagalog. My parents always reassured me it was fine to stay home—the parties were usually full of little kids anyway. Instead, I opted for quiet nights with Brianna and Celeste or cramming for school. The food, though? That was the highlight—lumpia, lechon kawali, and adobo—leftovers my friends envied and my ex wrinkled his nose at. In hindsight, his pickiness had been a red flag I'd ignored.

"How old is Landon?" I asked, trying to sound indifferent as Elijah's character landed another blow on me.

"He's your age," my mom said thoughtfully. "Starting his senior year, just like you. Funny thing—I didn't even know they'd moved back to Washington until today. They live in Cedarhaven now. Small world, huh?"

Her voice softened, tinged with nostalgia. "Tita Jocelyn and I were so close growing up. Life got busy, but she's still my best friend. Some things never change."

I glanced at my dad, who sat quietly at the dining table with his coffee. He didn't say a word, just gave a small nod, his steady presence a silent reassurance. He was the anchor in our family, and I'd always admired how he could fill a room with quiet strength. I knew I'd inherited that from him—our shared introverted streak, our preference for observing rather than speaking.

Meanwhile, the twins erupted into another argument, their voices bouncing off the walls. Elijah waved his controller like a trophy, while Ethan launched into a dramatic complaint that made my mom roll her eyes with a fond smile.

I tried to focus back on the game, but my mom's words lingered in my mind. Landon Hayes. A football player? Typical. The name conjured up a mental image of someone cocky, obsessed with protein shakes, and endlessly talking about "the grind." Just another jock who thought the world revolved around a sport.

And yet, it didn't feel like nothing.

A strange unease stirred at the edges of my thoughts, like a shadow flickering just out of sight. Maybe it was irritation—or curiosity, though I hated to admit it. Probably nothing, I told myself, shrugging it off as Elijah claimed another victory and grinned smugly. Just a name. Just another athlete.

And yet, as I turned back to the game, a faint sense of something unresolved hovered in the back of my mind, fading slowly but never quite disappearing.

<>

A/N: Another update. I will only update this on Mondays. Yes, you might see a bit of Tagalog words, but don't worry I will define them here. Also, realistically I don't think moms would brag about their son being a football player it will be more like engineer or doctor or nurse just common careers or college. Hehe, but you know I just wanted to change that up and it's fiction.

Tita: A term of respect and endearment for an aunt or an older female family friend. It's commonly used in Filipino culture, even for women who are not directly related but hold a close, familial role.

Tsismis: Gossip or rumors.

Anak: Literally means "child" in Filipino. It's often used as a term of endearment by parents or older family members when addressing their children or younger relatives.