A/N: Please be advised that the following story contains sensitive topics such as self-harm, sexual violence, and self-destruction. These topics may be disturbing and triggering for some readers, and therefore, I recommend that if you are experiencing any emotional disturbance, you should not continue reading. Your discretion is strongly advised.****Heaven is that moment when I look into your eyes,But I never know, yours was hell.I was still in college when I met a young girl who gave me a favorable memory of my young love way back then. Now that I've become a fully grown man, I still remember her and, of course, miss her. Her life's tale was both tragic and lovely, and it remains one of my lasting regrets.I know that I am a typical boy growing up in a chaotic society, where my curiosity and desire for excitement often lead me to seek love for all the wrong reasons. Perhaps it's natural for someone my age, influenced by the adults around me and my peers. To navigate the uncertain waters of love, I often find myself drawn to young girls seeking thrills like mine. Despite this, I struggle to put a name to the complex emotions that I experience as I navigate through adolescence.During my second year of college, I had the pleasure of meeting Yulie in one of my classes. She was a simple yet cheerful girl, full of life. I will never forget how her hair flowed down her shoulders and the sweet smile that graced her face whenever someone called her name. For the first time in my life, I finally understood the overwhelming emotions that I felt towards her. It wasn't just a simple attraction, it was a deep admiration and devotion.I sometimes wonder how she manages to be both beautiful, mature, and wise all at once. It's a rare combination to find in a woman. From what I understand, even though women tend to mature faster than men, they still need to go through a phase of womanhood before they can truly embody femininity. Yulie is not just any woman; she's a queen. Every man desires a queen, not a slave.Her beauty and intelligence surpass those of any woman I know, and she is incomparable. The more I see her, the more I fall in love with her. Sometimes, I even question if she could ever be interested in someone like me, as I am notorious for my conniving tongue and deceitful expression toward romanticism.I cannot help but admire her from afar. They say that if you hide your feelings, they can grow into love. We love to nurture love from within, keeping it as if it were a treasure and holding it like a borrowed possession. We paint the picture in our minds, while the heart provides its own colors.I don't know if she ever notices the adoration in my eyes whenever I stare at her. Once, I caught her looking back at me and she reciprocated my gaze with a smile. It was then that I saw something behind her eyes, but it took me a few minutes to fully understand what it was. Behind her shining black globes were signs of sorrow, agony, and despair. It was as if she was silently asking for help.I couldn't handle it any longer, so I took the initiative. My initial curiosity had turned into a sense of duty. I felt responsible for helping someone in distress and saving them from further agony. Initially, it was confusing, but I realized that this is one of the elucidations of love: to serve, to be a devout, and to contribute to the greater good.I had the opportunity to speak with her during a free hour of my day. It was after class when our professor left earlier than usual. Our conversation was small, but it was enjoyable. She had a way of brightening up the entire room, which caused my classmates to tease us inappropriately. It felt like they had exposed the fading shade of my facade that I was trying to erase. However, to her, it was just a playful joke.I cherished every moment we spent together in the library, even though I'm not a big fan of the place. The greetings we exchanged in the corridors, the hilarious responses we shared during class, and the average conversations we had in the middle of our university's grounds were all memorable. Even the campus statue and fountain seemed to bask in the warmth of our delightful interactions, as though they were living witnesses to our contagious joy and fun, once listeners to our boisterous laughter. It was as if we had our own secret universe, full of magic and laughter, that no one else could experience but us.One night, I received a message from her asking if I was busy. I replied, "A laid-back person like me doesn't know that word." At first, I thought it was just a simple conversation, but her next message surprised me."I'm quite fond of you. I really like you."That was so strong, I thought to myself. I didn't know how to respond to the message, especially since it came from a woman who had expressed her feelings. It was sudden and felt unreal. The moment was so enchanting that I even heard her voice inside my head as if she was whispering without hesitation.Experiencing reciprocation was like being a kid again, unwrapping a present to find a remote-controlled car. The feeling was pure joy and playfulness all at once."Would you be available tonight? Shall we plan to meet up?"I know she lived near the university, and she knows I'm just here, at the campus' boarding house.I was so excited that I immediately replied that I would wait for her at the cotton tree outside of the campus, on the west wing near the quadrangle of the baseball field.I read her last message which said, "I really want to talk to you and see you. I want to say it in person about how I feel."I dressed up in one of my formal polos, which I usually only wear on dates. It was important to me to look presentable and gentlemanly, even though I never felt like I truly was. I decided to tell her how I feel too, in person, face-to-face. It was a sudden confession that even surprised me, but I wanted her to know how she awakened those little flapping wings inside of my core.I whispered, 'I love you too. I mean it,' while pacing outside the gates of my boarding house, practicing my voice so I could convey the genuine feelings I'm having right now.I felt relieved when I arrived first. I don't want her to wait. I still have some time to calm down and think of the right words to say. I looked foolish under that cotton tree while reciting a spell as if I was summoning the God of Love to aid me.Several minutes had passed, and I realized I had been waiting for almost fifteen minutes. I took out my phone to check if there were any unread messages. I noticed that there was one message that had been sent 20 minutes ago while I was walking swiftly outside my boarding house.I will be waiting for you under the tree. I am on my way.I paced back and forth under the tree we had agreed to meet at. It was late at night, and I was waiting for her. I considered getting something to eat, but decided against it and planned to ask her instead when she arrived.But another thirty minutes have passed; not a single soul has arrived. No Yulie in sight.I waited for an hour and an hour, thinking that she might have changed her mind. I realized it was too fast for her, as she is a woman who experiences constant mood swings and might feel shy about her actions. I started texting her, asking her what food she wanted so I could buy it while she's on her way, but there was no response. I then suggested going out to one of those night cafes instead of buying food, but I still received no response from her. Not a single text message was sent by her.I waited until a russet-colored sunrise ended my waiting. But she never came. I keep reading her last message, hoping for another one to arrive and end this uncertainty. However, it was just my alarm ringing, signaling that it was time to get ready for school.I simply dismissed the idea that something had happened to her. Instead, I convinced myself that she was likely feeling ashamed of her actions and that confessing to a man would be a blow to her pride.I arrived early in my class, watching the clock tick by as I waited for her to arrive. The minutes felt like hours as I kept glancing towards the door, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. But as time passed, my anticipation turned to disappointment. She never came, and all I was left with was her absence.It has been three days since I last saw her. At first, I thought that maybe she was ashamed of what happened between us, but I soon realized how foolish that was. Her life doesn't revolve around me, and I'm not important enough to have an impact on her. However, whenever I miss her, I reminisce about the brief moments we shared. I realize now that those moments were pure bliss, and I can still hear her voice in my head like a sweet lullaby that I want to sing.Until one fateful day came, someone was looking for me and said he was Yulie's brother. He is carrying something that looks like a journal in his hand. He told me that my name was often mentioned in the notebook he was holding. I was confused and surprised at the same time, and somehow I thought that he met me to put up a fight. I looked at the notebook first, then at his face. He didn't look troublesome, but what I saw in his countenance didn't prepare me for what was coming next."She took her life. She died last Sunday night" he said, his eyes glistening with unshed tears and his forehead wrinkled as if he were about to cry.Words of death will never make you comprehensible, as they say. I never understood what he said at first, and tried to convince myself that it was all in my head, that I was making excuses for her. But then he said something that confirmed my worst fears, and I felt like I was turned to stone. Every muscle in my body tensed as I struggled to process what he had just said."We found her body the next morning, hanging inside her room." his voice quavered with a mix of regret and sorrow. The contempt etched on his face was unmistakable; it was a potent blend of grief, anger, and guilt. His eyes bore into ours, silently demanding justice, yet he couldn't help but blame himself for what had happened.He lent me the notebook and said I could read it. I hesitated, but what's the point of assuming this is just a joke? No one jests about death, especially suicide."If you want, you can read it beforehand and return it when you attend her wake. I've included a note with the address of the funeral home." As we sat beneath the campus fountain, my friends looked at me with concern, while her brother left me in awe.Good thing that my board mate attended his competition and I left alone at the board house. It was only when I returned home that I felt the full weight of sorrow. The thought of being alone for the next few days overwhelmed me, and despite my efforts to hold back the tears, they just kept flowing down my cheeks. I was consumed by pure sadness and heartache, unable to make a sound. I couldn't help but wonder if this was reality or just a nightmare.In her diary's last entry, she revealed my full name. She expressed her desire to have me in her arms and wondered if I felt the same way or if a man like me could ever be interested in a woman like her. She asked questions like whether I prefer classy or cheerful women, whether I have a girlfriend, and what kind of guy I am in a relationship. Remnants of our interaction were also narrated, making me realize how she values those small interactions that I treasured here in my memories as well.Whenever I read the entries about our interaction, a tiny, blissful smile would appear on my lips. We were both hopeless romantics, I guess. But I couldn't help but feel confused. Why did she doubt herself so much, when she was so attractive and no man could ever refuse her when she declared her love? Where did her low self-esteem come from?I did not expect to read a more disturbing confession as I delved deeper into her journal. Upon reading the previous pages of her diary, my questions were finally answered. It was revealed that her stepfather started to rape her when she was 13 years old. I cannot finish the entries any longer. It was so horrendous. A soul as beautiful as hers didn't deserve that vicious experience. No one in this world was worthy of that kind of nightmare.She endured years of abuse until she turned 17. But the scars remained, etched into the pages of her journal. A recurring question, written over and over again in a desperate plea for hope: Is there any man who will still accept me wholeheartedly, even if I am already this tarnished?I was so enraged. It was as if a maddening force inside of me wanted to escape and get a gun to shoot the demon responsible for her agony. That same day, I went to her wake, holding the raging bloody madness in my heart.I intended to look for her stepfather, but it was her brother who talked to me when I arrived. They gave me more horrendous news: the day her mother found out about the journal and read it, the demon ran from his sins and escaped, leaving the authorities on a massive hunt for that culprit.My heart is longing for her. I want to hug her and say everything is all right. I want to get her inside that suffocating coffin and comfort her, tell her that I'm here to end her agony, and promise her that I will wipe away those tears of nightmares and protect her with all of my being. But all I did was cry. I cowered in my sorrow as I watched her face receive those droplets of my tears on the mirror of her casket.All I saw was a beautiful face, as if she were just sleeping. I thought dead people with untimely deaths would have this sorrowful facade, but for her, it was serene. She was peaceful. It was as if she wanted to say to everyone that, at last, she was finally free. She's finally home, and she no longer needs to bear the pain of this cruel world.It's comforting to know that she has finally found peace and is now content in the embrace of something truly divine. Where she can be on her own, there are no judgments, no daggers, and no more chains.Only if she told me what her circumstances were. I will tell her that I will be the one to take care of her, the one who will love and accept her unconditionally and accept her for who she is, without any reservations. This is how deep my love for her runs.I left the town after I graduated and found work overseas. But I still carry those beautiful memories of her with me. Whenever her birthday comes around, I cannot help but shed tears, and seeing a woman with similar features to hers fills me with overwhelming melancholy. The sound of her laughter still echoes in my dreams, as if it were haunting me.Whenever I miss her, I still look for my old phone, where her messages were sent. I still read those conversations, and I found them soothing for some reason. I wonder what she was thinking before taking her life; why wouldn't she consider me? Why hasn't she reached out to me first and told me her story? What made her decide to take her own life when there is something more to it?How does she feel while writing in her journal? Whenever I asked those questions, all I imagined were her agonizing cries while bearing the excruciating pain of trauma brought by that demon. I heard the news once that instead of her stepfather, it was her mother who became imprisoned. It was unbelievable at first, but when I called my mother about what happened in her case, she told me that Yulie's mother killed that culprit with her own hands with a butcher's knife, sending her to prison. Still, she was given a light sentence due to her forgivable reason.It is in her own right not to accept what happened to her only princess; she somewhat blames herself for what happened to her. Apparently, the new husband she got led to her daughter's unjustified demise.Recalling that one fateful night, I still wonder if she really texted me. Is that message coming from the other side of life? As I remember, her brother told me she died on Sunday night, the same night I received the text. Did she really send me that message before she committed suicide? Or is it her soul that longed to relay a message before she entirely left this world? Did she really remember me before taking her last breath and sending me her last farewell?"Even though the years have passed and I have my own family now, she remains a flickering ember in the depths of my heart. A gentle warmth that never quite fades away, reminding me of a brief and beautiful encounter gifted to us by the hands of time. I know that a piece of my very soul still longs for her, like a melody that lingers in the mind long after the song has ended. I know deep in my heart that there is something more delightful to it. She was the very first woman who made me feel like a man, a prelude to my melodious romance and the fire that burned my boyhood.I still visit her grave whenever I go home in our town. And I'm still holding on to her last message that she would wait for me under the tree, and I'm still waiting as she is on her way. That cotton tree still lies on the same campus, on the same ground. And sometimes, a cold wind blows through my cheeks, wiping away those tears. As if a comforting hand were wiping it.************From the author :Hi everyone! I'd like to express my gratitude to those who have read my short story. I originally wrote this story when I was in high school. The initial draft was from my old Wattpad account, but when I revisited it, I decided to create a new narrative as it lacked emotions when I first wrote it. I understand that some may find the content disturbing or sensitive to discuss, but I want to use my voice as a writer to let people know that THEY are not alone, especially those who are going through similar unfortunate events. I have family members who have experienced similar things, and that's why I empathize with them. If this story has touched your heart or made you realize something, please share your thoughts in the comments. I want this platform to be a safe space for people to understand those who feel misunderstood by the world. Thank you for reading my story, and I hope you will continue to support me by reading my other works.Writing Anonymously,BabaengPalaisipan