Nigel rode through the familiar, yet distant streets of his childhood, his sleek motorcycle gliding smoothly along the uneven pavement. The sun has just risen in the sky, casting a golden hue over the old house that stood at the end of the lane. The contrast between his expensive ride and the modest surroundings emphasized how far removed he had become from this semi-urban setting. It was a world he had outgrown, yet as he parked the bike and removed his helmet, a wave of nostalgia washed over him.
He stood tall, his well-toned body a testament to years spent honing his physicality, yet the sight of the dilapidated houses brought memories flooding back such as the memories of carefree days spent laughing with friends, of neighborhood escapades that seemed so far away now. As he stepped off the bike, he took a moment to absorb the atmosphere, the scents of fried street food mingling with the earthy smell of the approaching noon.
As he walked towards the old house, he greeted a few familiar faces like his old neighbors and childhood acquaintances. "Magandang araw po!" he called out, his voice warm and inviting. Some smiled back, their faces a mix of recognition and confusion, while others merely nodded, unsure of who he was. He noticed the changes in the neighborhood, how it had aged along with him, yet he still felt a connection to this place, an unbreakable bond to the past.
But Nigel's intentions went beyond mere nostalgia. He was here for a reason and it is not just to visit the old haunts of his youth, but to look for someone. His heart raced at the thought, but he kept his motives close to his chest, revealing nothing to the curious glances from those around him. The past beckoned him, and he knew he needed to face it, to seek out the person who lingered in his mind like a half-remembered song, something he had to uncover before he could move forward.
He took a deep breath and headed towards the old house, each step resonating with a mix of anticipation and trepidation.
As Nigel's boots crunched against the gravel driveway, the strumming of an acoustic guitar reached his ears. The sound drifted softly, as if carried by a whisper of the past, pulling him in with an irresistible force. He paused, his gaze lifting toward the house. And there, just by the porch, he saw them, two boys in their teenage years, both clad in their school uniforms.
One of the boys sat cross-legged on the steps, leaning back on his hands, his expression relaxed and content, eyes closed as he soaked in the music. The other boy held the guitar, fingers moving deftly over the strings, coaxing out a tune that spoke of innocence and unspoken dreams. His face was alight with a deep, soulful focus, as though each strum was a word in a language only he understood. The notes hung in the air, warm and familiar, wrapping around Nigel like a blanket of nostalgia.
Nigel blinked, hardly daring to breathe. The scene felt so vivid, so real that the way the sunlight caught the edges of their faces, the way the boy on the steps tapped his foot in time with the music, even the faint laughter that seemed to linger, just at the edge of hearing. He recognized them both. The quiet listener was himself, younger, still carrying the weightlessness of youth, and beside him, strumming the guitar with that familiar intensity, was Lance.
For a moment, it felt like he could reach out, step forward, and join them. He could sit beside them and let the music wash over him, just like old times. The bittersweet melody tugged at something deep inside him, stirring memories he had long tucked away.
But then, as quickly as the vision had appeared, it dissolved. The figures faded like mist under the morning sun, leaving him standing alone on the gravel, facing the old house in silence. The strumming vanished, replaced by the hum of the present, a distant dog barking, a breeze rustling through nearby trees. He was back in reality, the warmth of memory replaced by the cool edge of nostalgia.
A bittersweet smile curved on his lips, lingering for just a moment as he let the memory settle. It was just a memory. A ghost of what once was. He released a quiet sigh, letting the past drift away as he stepped forward, crossing onto the property.
"Ate Ella!" he called out, his voice carrying through the open yard, breaking the silence. His older cousin had been living in this house for years now, raising her own family within the same walls that had once held his own childhood.
As he walked up the path, he noticed a black cat lounging in the shade of the steps, watching him with curious green eyes. "Hello, Jinjin," he murmured, crouching down to give the cat a gentle scratch behind the ears. Jinjin's eyes narrowed in pleasure as he leaned into Nigel's hand, purring softly.
"Jinjin!" a familiar voice called from inside, and a moment later, Ella appeared in the doorway, her face lighting up as she saw him. "Nigel! Napaka-gwapo naman nitong pinsan ko. Oh, napadalaw ka?"
He straightened, giving her a warm smile. "Syempre naman, Ate Ella. Hindi naman ako mag-aaksaya ng panahon para makabalik. Kumusta na kayo rito sa bahay?," he replied, brushing off the lingering fragments of his earlier reverie.
For a brief second, he glanced back over his shoulder, half-expecting to see two boys still sitting there, strumming a guitar on the steps. But there was only the empty porch, silent and still, bearing witness to the lives that had once passed through. He turned back to Ella, anchoring himself in the present as he stepped forward, ready to face the memories and the people that this place still held.
Inside the house, Nigel settled into a seat across from his cousin, Ate Ella. The warm, familiar surroundings brought him a sense of comfort, the faint scent of aged wood and a trace of home-cooked meals lingering in the air. Jin, the black cat, wove around his legs before curling up nearby, eyes half-closed.
Ella offered him a cup of coffee, her face softened by a smile. They exchanged small talk, reminiscing about the old days, the faces they remembered, the places they used to go. For a moment, it felt as if nothing had changed, like time had paused just for this conversation.
Then, she brought up the topic he had half-expected to hear.
"So, may balita na ba?" Ella asked, her voice low, tinged with concern. "Yung kaibigan mo, si Lance. Nahanap mo na ba siya o may lead ka na?"
Nigel let out a quiet sigh, looking down at the coffee cup in his hands. "Wala pa rin, Ate," he replied, shaking his head slightly. "Dalawang taon ko na siyang hinahanap. Pabalik-balik ako dito, umaasang may makikita o may makakausap na makakapagbigay ng impormasyon tungkol sa kanya."
Ella's expression turned sympathetic, her brows knitting together. "Matagal na panahon na rin 'yon, Nigel. Bakit kaya bigla siyang nawala ng ganon?"
He shrugged, a hint of frustration and resignation crossing his face. "Hindi ko rin alam. Parang naglaho lang siya. Sinubukan kong hanapin yung mga taong malapit sa kanya noon, pero parang wala na rin sila dito."
Ella reached across the table, placing a comforting hand over his. "Baka naman may dahilan siya, kung bakit hindi siya nagpapakita. Pero sana, kung nasaan man siya, ligtas siya."
Nigel nodded, feeling the weight of those words. "Yun din ang iniisip ko, Ate. Sana nga."
They sat in silence for a moment, the quiet of the old house settling around them. In the background, he could almost hear the faint echoes of laughter from years ago, memories of him and Lance. Those memories felt fragile, like they could slip away at any moment, yet he clung to them, hoping that someday, his search would lead him to his lost friend.
Nigel took a sip of his coffee, looking down into the cup as if it held the answers he was searching for. He let out a quiet chuckle, though there was a trace of sadness in his eyes. "Alam mo, Ate," he started, speaking softly, "si Lance, kaibigan ko na 'yon simula pagkabata, 'di ba? Nakilala ko lang siya noon dito, parang palaging nandiyan lang siya sa paligid, tahimik, hindi masyadong nakikisalamuha."
Ella listened, her head slightly tilted, encouraging him to continue. Nigel's voice grew more nostalgic, as if he were talking about someone who'd left an indelible mark on him. "Nakakatawa nga, eh. Ang tagal na naming naging magkaibigan pero halos wala akong alam sa tungkol sa kaniya. Kahit apelyido niya, wala akong ideya. Tahimik kasi siya, misteryoso pa. Parang may sariling mundo. Pero kahit ganun, nagkasundo pa rin kami. Naging natural lang 'yong samahan namin."
"Hindi niyo man lang pinag-usapan?" Ella asked, curious.
"Hindi. Parang walang kailangan sabihin. Lagi na lang siyang nandiyan, lalo na sa bahay. Kumbaga, siya pa ang laging pumupunta sa amin, kahit hindi naman siya formally invited," he added with a faint laugh. "Eh kasi, kahit magkaibang eskwelahan kami, hindi naman siya masyadong nagpapakita doon. Lagi siyang nagka-cutting. Hindi niya talaga trip sa school. 'It's a slaughterhouse of creativity and freedom,' as he said."
Ella laughed a little at that, shaking her head. "Ang kulit din pala ng batang 'yon."
"Medyo nga," Nigel replied, nodding, his expression turning softer. "Pero pag nasa bahay kami, nag-iiba siya. Palagi kaming may hawak na gitara. Madalas akong tumutugtog habang siya nagsusulat ng kanta. He loves writing a lot and most of his pieces tell about escape. He really was a poet. Kasi iba 'yong mga salita niya, Ate. Parang tumatagos sa kaluluwa, parang lagi siyang may pinaghuhugutan. Minsan ang bigat, minsan hindi mo rin maintindihan, pero ramdam mo na may lalim."
Ella sighed, her gaze distant. "Kakaiba nga 'yong ganung tao, Nigel. Hindi madali makahanap ng kaibigan na ganyan."
"Hindi talaga," he admitted, looking out the window for a moment as if he could see the ghost of Lance from all those years ago, strumming his guitar on the front steps. "He was truly a mysterious person, and I just learned to accept it. Hindi ko na tinanong, hindi na ako nang-usisa. Parang sapat na na nandiyan siya at kasunduan na naming walang tanungan."
He paused, the faintest hint of regret flickering in his expression. "Pero ngayon, Ate... habang hinahanap ko siya, naiisip ko tuloy. Paano kung tinanong ko man lang? Sana pala, kahit konti, may nalaman ako tungkol sa kanya. Ngayon na kailangan ko ng kahit konting impormasyon, wala akong mahawakan. Parang napakabigat ng bagahe na iniwan niya sa akin."
Ella reached out, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, understanding the weight of his words. "May mga bagay talaga na hindi natin napapansin noong panahon na iyon, Nigel. Pero hindi mo kasalanan 'yon."
Nigel nodded slowly, though the regret lingered. "Sana nga, Ate. Pero hindi ko pa rin kayang iwan siya. Alam ko na kahit ganun siya, kahit puno siya ng misteryo... kaibigan ko pa rin siya. Kaya tuloy ang paghahanap. Sana, balang araw, may makuha akong sagot."
He fell silent, the old house around him seeming to absorb his words, as if it, too, held remnants of the memories he shared with Lance.
They ended their conversation quietly, a lingering heaviness settling between them. Ate Ella stood up, brushing off her apron as she prepared to leave. She had errands to run at the town's market and needed to pick up a few things for dinner.
"Paki-bantayan mo muna si Jerry ha," she asked Nigel, referring to her young son.
Nigel nodded. "Walang problema, Ate."
With a grateful smile, Ate Ella gathered her things and left, the creak of the door echoing through the quiet house. Nigel glanced around, feeling a strange sense of solitude. The house felt emptier than he remembered, filled with memories that seemed just out of reach, like shadows in the corners.
He wandered through the rooms, reacquainting himself with the space. Everything was familiar but slightly different, like looking at a photograph faded by time. He roamed, letting nostalgia guide him, until he found himself leaning back on an old sofa, closing his eyes to rest for a moment.
But just as he began to drift off, he heard a voice calling out from somewhere nearby. It wasn't Ella, and it certainly wasn't Jerry. The voice was soft, uncertain, but it held a note of curiosity that piqued Nigel's interest. He opened his eyes, frowning slightly, and listened as the voice called again, a bit closer this time.
Nigel sat up, moving toward the doorway, and finally, he saw him.
Standing there, framed by the afternoon light spilling in from the window, was a young man around his age. Nigel was struck, almost startled, by the sight. The boy before him wore a denim jacket lined with fur, casual yet effortlessly stylish, and eyeglasses that partly obscured his sharp, foxy eyes. His skin was soft and white as cotton, a stark contrast to the rugged simplicity of the town. Every detail seemed carefully etched, as if this boy didn't quite belong to this world but had chosen to step into it for a while.
Nigel maintained his cool composure, though he couldn't deny he was a bit taken aback by the boy's appearance. The energy around him was magnetic, drawing Nigel in with a quiet intensity that he found both surprising and oddly familiar.
He cleared his throat, gathering his thoughts, and finally spoke, his first words towards the stranger who would later change so much in his life.
"What are you doing here?"