The rain came down in heavy, unrelenting sheets, each drop a reminder of the weight pressing down on me. My shoes sloshed through the water, and the chill seeped through my clothes as I walked, but the cold wasn't what had me shivering. It was the storm brewing inside me.
Franz had been rushed to the hospital, but I couldn't stay. The chaos, the endless calls, the media—everything felt suffocating. It was easier to walk away. It was easier to disappear. So I did. Out into the rain, without an umbrella, without a plan, just walking. Maybe I could walk far enough to leave everything behind.
The rain didn't care. It washed over me, drenching me as I walked through the darkened streets. I wasn't crying, but the rain served as my tears, for the weight this world had shot my way, for all the things I couldn't fix, and for the parts of me that had been lost somewhere along the way.
The weight of my father's lies. The weight of my mother's expectations. The weight of being born into something I didn't ask for.
I'd come to the Philippines when I was sixteen. It wasn't my choice. I didn't want to meet Enrique Delgado—the father I had never known. But there I was, standing in his luxurious penthouse, hidden away from the world as if I were a dirty little secret. He'd met me once, his eyes filled with cold calculation. He didn't know how to deal with the daughter he'd never acknowledged. He didn't want to deal with me at all.
His people told me to stay out of sight. Stay in the shadows, away from the press, they'd said. Stay out of the family's spotlight.
I wasn't allowed to be seen. Not in public. Not in his world. I was a liability, a product of his mistake, nothing more than a footnote in the messy history of his life. That's how I felt anyway. That's how he made me feel. I wasn't good enough to be seen, but I also wasn't allowed to return to Singapore.
My mother treated me like a burden, too—like a mistake that should have never happened. We spoke occasionally, but the silence between us was deafening. She gave me money for school, but nothing more. I was a mistake that had to be paid for, a past she wanted to forget. So, when I left Singapore to meet my father, I couldn't go back. There was no going back.
I had nowhere to go.
I was sixteen, standing in the sterile, cold lobby of a luxury hotel in Manila. My heart pounded, not from excitement but from fear. I had no idea what to expect. I was here to meet a father I'd never known, but the meeting felt more like an obligation to him than anything else.
I'd been raised by my mother, with barely a mention of Enrique. I had no idea what kind of man he was, and I wasn't sure I wanted to know. But when he called, I had to go. The letter he sent wasn't much—a few lines scribbled in his familiar, confident handwriting, inviting me to meet him in person. His words were as cold as I imagined him to be. "We need to talk about the future, Keiyi." That was it. The future.
I wasn't prepared for what came next. My father's team had arranged everything. A car was waiting for me at the airport, whisking me away to a hotel suite. I didn't even know how to process any of it.
He had me wait in the shadows. His people told me to stay hidden. "It's safer this way," they said. "It's better if no one knows you're here."
And when I finally met him, it wasn't a reunion. It wasn't a warm, fatherly greeting. It was a business transaction. His eyes scanned me with a cold, emotionless gaze, like he was trying to size up whether I was worth the trouble or not. He didn't offer me comfort. He didn't offer me a place in his life. He just nodded curtly and asked about my schooling. He barely acknowledged the fact that I had been kept in the shadows, hidden from the world because of his shame.
Was this it? I thought, a lump rising in my throat. This is what I came for?
But I couldn't return to Singapore, either. My mother had nothing left to offer me, other than a check and a reminder that I was a mistake. No comfort. No love. Just money.
What do you bargain with when you have an empty heart and an empty stomach?
I could have turned back, I could have walked away, but I didn't have anywhere else to go. So I stayed in the Philippines, in the background, kept in the shadows, waiting for my father to acknowledge me, even just a little. But he never did. And slowly, I learned to disappear.
The rain was still coming down, relentless and heavy, soaking through my clothes and skin. I felt numb. Maybe it was the cold. Maybe it was the numbness in my heart, the deep hollow where love should have been, where family should have been. I walked through it all, unable to see any way out of the labyrinth of my own life.
I was too far gone. Too lost to find my way out.
I didn't know why, but my feet carried me forward, and before I could stop myself, I found myself knocking softly on his door.
I didn't have an explanation for why I was here. I didn't have the answers to the questions that plagued me. But maybe—just maybe—Kiel was the one person who wouldn't ask for them.
As the door opened, I saw his surprised expression, his eyes still carrying that familiar edge of concern. He didn't ask me why I was there. He didn't ask me what was wrong. And for the first time, that silence, that quiet acceptance, felt like exactly what I needed.
The apartment was quiet, save for the soft sound of the rain tapping against the windows. It had been falling steadily for hours, as though the world outside was mourning with me. Inside, the silence felt heavy, a palpable presence that filled every corner of the room. Kiel didn't say anything, didn't push me to talk or explain. He just moved around quietly, tending to things with a calmness that felt almost like a balm to my raw nerves.
I had come to him in a moment of crisis, and he hadn't hesitated. There was no judgment in his eyes, no probing questions—just the quiet assurance that I wasn't alone. That I didn't have to face everything by myself. His presence was grounding, and though I couldn't explain it, it was what I needed most.
Kiel didn't ask what had happened, didn't press me to explain why I was standing in the rain, soaking wet, or what had driven me to knock on his door in the first place. Instead, he wrapped a blanket around me, a simple gesture, but one that felt like an unspoken promise that I wouldn't be left to face the world alone anymore. He was here, in this moment, and that was enough.
I didn't say anything, didn't try to explain myself. I didn't know how to put the chaos of the day into words anyway. So, I simply sat on the couch, trying to steady my breathing, watching as Kiel went to grab another blanket, then sat next to me, his eyes gentle but serious. He wasn't rushing me to talk, but I could tell he was waiting for me to find my own rhythm. For me to come to him in my own time, if I ever could.
He didn't say a word. But when he gently placed his arm around my shoulders, pulling me a little closer, I let myself lean into him. I didn't pull away. I didn't resist. I needed this, whether I could admit it or not. The warmth of his body was like a shield against the cold that had started to seep into me, the chill from the rain and the heaviness of my own thoughts.
As we sat there, wrapped in blankets, the storm outside became a distant hum. Inside, there was only the steady rise and fall of Kiel's chest as he breathed, the softest rhythm I had ever heard. I could hear the sound of my own heart beating, but his was louder, almost soothing in its regularity.
There was no pressure. No expectation. Just silence, and for once, it wasn't deafening. It was peaceful.
The rain had grown heavier, but inside, the room felt warmer, almost cocoon-like. My thoughts swirled—memories of the past, all the broken pieces of my life that I had never been able to fully piece together. The image of my father, the bitterness of being hidden away, the sense of displacement, the feeling of being unwanted no matter how much I tried to prove my worth... it all mixed together, a storm of its own. But here, with Kiel's steady presence, I didn't have to confront any of it right now.
I found myself closing my eyes, allowing the warmth of the blankets and the gentle pressure of Kiel's arm to take away the weight that had built up inside of me. I wasn't crying. I hadn't cried since the moment my mother told me to leave, since the moment I realized that I was nothing more than a mistake that couldn't be undone. The rain, soft against the window, was my tears now.
Kiel shifted beside me, his breath steady, his arm still around me. He didn't say anything, but his touch was a silent offering of comfort. There were no words needed, not yet. Maybe not ever.
The night stretched on, slow and unhurried. I could feel myself losing track of time as the warmth of his presence seeped into me, wrapping me up, piece by piece. The tension I had been carrying for so long started to dissolve. I didn't have to carry it anymore. Not now. Not here.
I could feel Kiel's hand move slightly, adjusting the blanket over both of us. He wasn't making any grand gestures, not saying anything life-altering. He just... existed with me. And that was exactly what I needed.
The storm outside was still raging, but the apartment had grown quieter, softer. My mind was still in turmoil, but my body was beginning to find some relief. It wasn't much, but it was enough. For the first time in ages, I allowed myself to exist in the moment without worrying about the next disaster or the next mistake. I could feel myself breathing easier with each passing second.
After a while, I realized I had moved closer to him without thinking. My head was resting lightly against his chest, my hand tucked under his arm as I found a small piece of comfort in the quiet of his embrace. The world outside still felt loud and chaotic, but inside, there was nothing but the stillness of shared space.
I didn't know how long we stayed there like that, curled up together under the blanket. It felt like time had stopped, like there was no rush, no urgency, no expectations. Just us. And somehow, that was all I needed.
Eventually, the rain slowed, though the night remained thick with the kind of quiet only the storm's passing could bring. And as I lay there, my head on Kiel's chest, his arm wrapped around me, I realized that for the first time in years, I didn't feel like I was constantly trying to outrun my past.
Kiel didn't speak. He didn't ask for anything. He didn't even seem to notice how close I had gotten to him, how his presence had filled up the empty parts of me I had kept hidden for so long. And for the first time in forever, I didn't feel the need to explain myself. I didn't have to be anything for him. He wasn't expecting me to be perfect. He wasn't asking me to be strong.
He was just there. And somehow, that made everything feel a little more bearable.
When I woke up, it was still dark. The rain had stopped, but I could hear the distant sound of it trickling off the roof. I shifted, realizing that I was still nestled against Kiel's side. His arm was still around me, and his breath was soft against my hair.
I didn't want to move. I didn't want to leave the warmth of his body. But I knew, at some point, I'd have to face everything waiting for me outside.
But not yet. Not tonight.
I closed my eyes again, sinking deeper into the quiet of the room. For now, I could breathe. For now, I could just be. And for once, I didn't feel like I had to hold it all together.
I woke to the soft light of dawn filtering through the blinds, the room still and heavy with silence. For a moment, I wasn't sure where I was. The weight of the blankets, the softness of the sheets—none of it felt like my own. But then I remembered. Kiel's apartment. Kiel had been there for me, no questions asked.
I moved slightly, trying to slip away, but the instant I stirred, I felt his arm tighten around me, pulling me closer. His warmth felt like a lifeline, and despite everything inside of me wanting to run away from the storm in my mind, for once, I didn't. I stayed there, still, in his embrace.
I was careful, not wanting to wake him, but the tenderness of his touch made it hard to move. His arm was draped over me like a protective barrier, and for the first time in days, I didn't feel so alone. His breathing was steady, slow, like he wasn't just sleeping but keeping watch.
I shifted just a little, my feet hitting the cold floor as I tried to pull away. It was only when I sat up that I realized how vulnerable I felt—physically, emotionally, completely exposed. The rain outside had stopped, but I felt like the storm inside me was far from over.
Before I could take another step, I felt a hand on my waist. Kiel's voice, soft and groggy with sleep, cut through the silence.
"Where are you going?" His tone was gentle, almost like he was afraid that moving would break me.
I didn't know how to respond, so I didn't. Instead, I just glanced at him, unsure whether I was ready to face the mess of my thoughts, the chaos of my life.
Kiel sat up slightly, his eyes still heavy with sleep, but the concern in them was unmistakable. His hand reached out, cupping my cheek with an unhurried gentleness that sent a shiver down my spine.
"Come here," he whispered, as though he knew I needed to be close to him more than I realized.
I didn't resist as he pulled me closer, his arms wrapping around me with a tenderness that was almost too much to bear. He settled me into his lap, as if I was the most fragile thing in the world. I could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath me, his warmth enveloping me like a shield.
For a moment, I just sat there, unmoving, trying to process the softness of the moment. Kiel's fingers gently ran through my hair, the touch so soothing it almost felt like a lullaby. The kind of touch that made me forget everything else, made me feel like I could fall asleep without fear of the world crashing down around me.
I closed my eyes, leaning into him, my head resting against his chest. His scent—clean, comforting—wrapped around me like a blanket. His fingers were still in my hair, soft and slow, as if he had all the time in the world to make sure I felt safe.
"I've got you," he murmured, the words barely above a whisper, but they felt like the most important thing in the world.
I let myself believe him. I let myself sink deeper into his warmth, into the way his touch made everything feel like it was okay, even for just a moment. The weight of the world didn't feel so heavy when I was here with him, in the quiet of the room, the gentle rhythm of his breathing lulling me into a strange kind of peace.
"Keiyi," he said softly, breaking the silence that had settled around us. His voice was laced with a tenderness I hadn't realized I needed. "You know, it's okay to be vulnerable. You don't have to keep it all in."
I felt a tightness in my chest as the words slowly sank in. It felt like something inside me had been wound too tight for too long, but Kiel's presence, his calm words, seemed to unravel that tension bit by bit.
"It's okay to cry," he added quietly, his fingers gently stroking the back of my head. "It's okay to feel what you're feeling. You don't always have to be strong. You can let go, Keiyi."
The warmth in his words made the wall I had carefully built around myself start to crumble. I couldn't remember the last time someone had given me permission to be anything other than what everyone expected me to be—perfect, composed, strong. But in this moment, with Kiel holding me, I felt like I didn't have to carry it all. I didn't have to be anything but human.
I let out a shaky breath, my body relaxing in his arms. The weight of everything I'd been holding in started to seep out, and for once, it didn't feel like I was drowning. It felt like I was being caught.
"I don't know what to do anymore," I whispered, barely able to hear my own voice.
"You don't have to do anything right now," Kiel replied gently, pressing his lips to the top of my head. "Just breathe. Let me take care of you for a while."
I rested there, in the quiet of his arms, the gentle rhythm of his breathing steadying me. His presence felt like everything I had been searching for—comfort, compassion, safety. With him, I didn't have to worry about being the strong one. I could just exist, just feel, and it was enough.
"You don't have to carry this alone," he murmured again, and I realized that for the first time in my life, someone had truly seen me—not just the person I presented to the world, but the fragile, vulnerable part of me that I usually hid away. "I'm here for you, no matter what."
I leaned into him even more, feeling the truth of his words settle deep into my bones. It was scary, allowing myself to be this vulnerable, but it was also... liberating. For the first time in a long time, I wasn't fighting to keep it all together. I wasn't pretending. I was just... being. And with Kiel's warmth around me, I felt like maybe, just maybe, I could be enough, just as I was.
The quiet continued between us, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It wasn't a silence that needed to be filled. It was a peaceful, gentle kind of silence, one that wrapped around us like the softest of blankets.
Kiel's hand continued to stroke my hair, his presence steady and unwavering. I closed my eyes and allowed myself to fall deeper into the comfort of the moment, trusting him, trusting myself, and finally—finally—letting go of the burden I had carried for so long.
And in that moment, I realized something—maybe it was okay to let someone else in. Maybe it was okay to need someone. Maybe it was okay to be held, to be cared for, to feel vulnerable.