Chapter 41
It’s Tuesday. Cynthia’s birthday.
I have class today, but I already know I’m not going.
I’ve decided to skip it—completely out of character for me, I know, but this is different.
It’s her birthday.
And even though there's a strong chance she’ll be celebrating with Theo and his family, I still want to do something. Something big. Something unforgettable.
The idea came out of nowhere, but it stuck. I want to surprise her… on a yacht.
Now, before you ask—do I even have a yacht?
No.
Absolutely not.
But the way my brain is working right now, that’s a minor inconvenience.
I’ll buy one.
It’s not as expensive as people think, and besides, I can afford it.
Once I get the yacht, I’ll hire someone to design and decorate it beautifully, maybe fill it with flowers, fairy lights, and everything she loves.
I’ll make it romantic, cinematic, just like the way she deserves to be loved.
I even thought of staging a fake emergency—something like texting her that I need help, sending my location, making it sound urgent.
"Cynthia, please. I need you." Very dramatic, as if I'm dying or something. But when she gets there, surprise! There I am, alive and waiting, with cake and candles and all of my feelings laid bare like a fool in love.
I don’t usually plan things like this. I’m impulsive, sure, but rarely this coordinated.
But here's the real problem: how do I skip class without raising suspicion?
Everyone knows I always go to class. Even when I’m sick, I still show up. It’s my thing. So suddenly not attending? Mahahalata ni Ate 'yon.
So I decided: I’ll just tell Ate that I’m not feeling well. Headache. Classic excuse. It’s already 7 a.m., and I haven’t gone downstairs yet. My class starts at 8:30. I know for sure she’s waiting for me to show up in the kitchen. Siguro nagtataka na siya bakit hindi pa 'ko bumababa.
She still hasn’t come into my room, so I grab my phone and open Call of Duty: Mobile. Just one round. Something to calm the nerves. I play, and by some miracle, we win. Himala ata hindi bobo kakampi ko ngayon.
I’m about to queue another game when I hear the creak of my bedroom door. Instinct takes over—I drop my phone onto the bed and turn over, pretending to be asleep.
I hear her footsteps.
“Via? Are you still asleep? You have class, remember?” Her voice is soft, cautious.
I let out a sleepy murmur, “Mhm…”
"Are you not feeling well?" she asks, stepping closer. I feel the warmth of her hand on my forehead. "You’re not hot."
I turn a little, burying my face into my pillow, trying to sell the act. “Can I skip class today? My head hurts… I don’t feel so good,” I whisper, voice muffled and weak.
A pause. Then, “Alright. I’ll excuse you in your class," she says gently. “I’ll also ask Manang to prepare your food and medicine, just in case it gets worse.”
I nod faintly, still pretending to be half-asleep. She leans in and kisses my forehead.
“I’ll get going now. Just rest,” she whispers before leaving the room and quietly shutting the door behind her.
The house was quiet—too quiet, actually. I stayed frozen in bed for a few more seconds, just to be sure. Then I slowly pulled the covers off me and tiptoed toward the window.
Peeking through the curtains, I scanned the driveway.
Wala na si Ate.
Her car was gone.
That's it. She's out.
I grinned to myself and whispered, “Mission success.” Pwede na pala ako maging actress.
With a sudden burst of energy, I rushed to the bathroom and locked the door. I stared at myself in the mirror for a second, still processing how I got here. I don’t usually do stuff like this. I don’t go this far for people. But with Cynthia… iba ang kaya kong gawin, basta siya.
I turned the shower on and stepped under the cold stream of water. It jolted me awake. Masakit pa nga 'yung sugat ko dahil kahapon, pero hindi naman ganoon kalaki kaya kaya ko naman. I closed my eyes and let it wash over me as I mentally reviewed my plan.
Step one: Buy a yacht.
Step two: Hire someone to make it look like a scene from a romantic movie.
Step three: Craft the perfect “I’m dying” emergency message and send her the location.
Step four: Surprise her. Boom. Happy Birthday, Cynthia.
Simple? No.
Crazy? A bit.
But worth it? Definitely.
After my shower, I changed into something lowkey—black hoodie, and jeans. I grabbed my phone, opened Google, and typed:
“Most expensive luxury yachts for sale near me"
No need to filter by price. I wasn't here to save money—I was here to make a statement.
I scrolled through the top results and landed on one listing that immediately caught my eye. It had everything.
This is it. This is the one.
I didn’t even bother looking at the others. I called the listed number right away and said, “I want the MCY 105. I’m sending a down payment now. I need it prepared today for a private event.”
The sales rep on the other end stuttered, probably thinking it was a prank.
“This is Sylvia Quincy Diaz Gomez ,” I added with a flat tone. “Google me if you need confirmation.”
His voice changed immediately. “Yes, ma’am! Of course, ma’am! We’ll have everything ready within the day.”
I smirked and ended the call.
Then I opened another tab:
“Top yacht interior designers Philippines – rush service.”
I messaged the most premium-looking one.
?After locking in the yacht and confirming with the design team, I leaned back on my chair.
Everything felt surreal.
I couldn’t believe I was really doing this—for her.
?
?Cynthia.
?
?Her name alone made my chest feel warm.
I’ve always been the type to keep things simple, controlled, predictable.
But for her, all that structure falls apart like paper in the rain.
?
?My phone buzzed.
?
?> “Hi Ma’am Sylvia, we’re prepping the yacht now. Would you like to share the theme or inspiration?”
?
?I bit my lip and smiled softly.
?
?This wasn’t going to be just some flashy celebration.
I didn’t want loud music or fireworks.
I wanted her to feel held.
I wanted the night to feel like a quiet love letter—written in lights, in scent, in stillness.
?
?I opened my Pinterest board and sent it to them: “Soft romance by the sea.”
?Lots of warm neutrals.
Ivory and blush tones.
Candles, not spotlights.
Flowing fabric.
Soft jazz.
Gentle waves.
?
?And then I typed:
?
?> “Keep everything calm, light, and romantic. Use soft textures. White roses and pastel petals. Warm lights."
?
?Then I added,
?> “I don’t want anything grand. I want it to feel personal. Safe.”
?
?That’s all I wanted her to feel—safe. Even if she didn’t feel the same. Even if all of this was just my silent way of saying what I couldn’t put into words.
?
> "Okay, Ma'am. We'll get prepared."
After that, I started thinking about what to wear. For a moment, I considered dressing up—maybe something a bit more special—but in the end, I decided to just go with my usual polo and pants. Simple, comfortable, and still presentable enough.
Then a thought hit me—I wanted to give her flowers.
But not just any flowers.
I know she’s probably received so many before—beautiful, expensive bouquets, the kind that come with ribbons and fancy wrapping.
I mean, she deserves nothing less.
But instead of buying something pre-made, I wondered.
.
.
would she appreciate something handmade instead?
Something imperfect, maybe, but made with care.
Would a DIY flower mean more?
I think it would. Maybe it won’t be the prettiest flower she’s ever received, but it might be the one she remembers.
So I decided to make one. A paper flower. Even if I don’t really know how.
Cue me opening YouTube and searching, “how to make paper flowers step by step,” like I’m about to build an origami empire.
Luckily, I already had a lot of colored paper lying around—so I figured, this shouldn’t be too hard.
Spoiler alert: it was harder than I thought.
Colored papers were scattered everywhere—crumpled pinks, torn whites, half-cut greens. May glue stick sa sahig, may gunting sa kama, at may tape sa noo ko for some reason. I had no idea what I was doing.
“Bakit ba ang hirap gawin nito?” I groaned, staring at the pathetic excuse of a paper rose in front of me.
I followed the YouTube tutorial step by step. I even slowed it down to 0.5x speed para masundan ko. Pero bakit ‘yung nasa video mukhang eleganteng bouquet, samantalang ‘yung akin parang tissue na pinilas ng batang may galit sa mundo?
I took a deep breath, held up the flower again, and tried to fluff the petals like the girl in the video.
Snap.
“Ay—” I whispered, watching the glued part rip off in one swift motion. “Okay. Calm. We can fix this.”
Pero kahit anong ayos ko, hindi siya mukhang bulaklak. It looked more like a... squid?
I stared at it for a while, half-amused, half-annoyed. “Well, maybe Cynthia likes seafood.”
But I wasn't giving up.
I grabbed another sheet—this time a soft lavender one. I started folding again, this time mas maingat. Fold here, cut this part, curl the edges using a pencil. The process felt meditative for a few minutes. Until... the glue bottle exploded.
“Shit!” I yelped, watching the glue ooze all over my desk. I tried wiping it with tissue, pero mas lalo lang siyang kumalat. Idagdag mo pa na dumikit na ‘yung tissue sa kamay ko.
This is for Cynthia. This is for Cynthia. This is for Cynthia.
Paulit-ulit kong mantra habang nagbabalik-loob sa gunting at papel. By the time I looked at the clock, it was already 9:40 AM.
I haven’t eaten. I haven’t changed. My hands were sticky, may papel sa buhok ko, at amoy glue na ‘yung buong kwarto. Pero I had one goal today: make something no one else could give her.
I took a deep breath, put my hair in a messy ponytail, and refocused.
Another attempt. Pink this time.
Scissors. Curl. Fold. Glue. Wait. Hold.
This one didn’t look like a squid. It actually looked… kind of decent?
“Oh my god, am I Picasso?” I whispered dramatically, raising the paper flower in the air like it was Simba from The Lion King.
I placed it carefully on the corner of my desk like it was a sacred relic and got started on the next one.
Then another.
And another.
By the time I made my fourth flower, I was already talking to them like they were my children.
“You, my little pink one, you’re the eldest. Be a good example.”
“Don’t fight with the lavender one, she’s sensitive.”
I was losing my mind and I didn’t even care.
After the sixth flower, I slumped back on my chair, breathing hard like I ran a marathon.
Glue on my hands. Paper scraps on my lap. Scissors dangerously close to stabbing my thigh.
I looked like a DIY war veteran.
And then my phone rang.
I flinched. Reached for it. It was from the yacht design team.
> “Hi Ma’am Sylvia, the setup is progressing well. Would you like to check photos?”
I opened the attachment and saw the deck transformed.
Soft white drapes hung like waves frozen mid-sway. The chairs were wrapped in ivory covers. A small round table was set up in the middle with candles and blush-toned petals scattered across it. The sky-blue carpet was rolled out leading to a white arch adorned with baby’s breath and roses.
It was… soft.
Exactly what I envisioned.
Then I typed back:
> “It’s perfect. Thank you. Just add a soft pink ribbon to the arch.
I still haven’t finished making the bouquet I planned for Cynthia.
Yes—bouquet.
As in, a full arrangement of handmade flowers, not just a single one.
I’ve only managed to finish seven so far.
Seven.
And I’ve already been holed up in my room for nearly three hours.
At this point, Manang probably thinks I’ve been asleep all morning because I haven’t come out, and she knows I haven’t been feeling well lately.
If only she knew the real reason why I’ve locked myself in here.
I didn’t let my mind wander too much.
I didn’t want to get distracted.
I just focused on crafting each flower—cutting, folding, shaping, trying to make sure every piece came out perfect.
Because this will be worth it.
She is worth it.
Cynthia deserves something beautiful and meaningful, something I made with my own hands.
No shortcuts, no rushed efforts—just patience and care, the way I feel for her.
Honestly, it’s probably been close to six hours since I started.
I didn’t even realize how much time had passed until my stomach started growling.
I haven’t eaten anything since I woke up.
It's almost 2 p.m. now, and I had originally planned to surprise her at 5:30, right in time for the sunset. The yacht’s already been prepared and anchored near a beach I picked out—one of those quiet, almost hidden spots where the view is unobstructed and the sky practically melts into the ocean.
The trip to get there takes about an hour and a half, give or take.
Which means I’ll need to leave the house by 4 p.
m.
at the latest.
Maybe even earlier, just to be safe.
I should probably message Cynthia soon, but I still want the surprise to be perfect.
Maybe I’ll say I want to meet her somewhere and not give too many details.
I stood up, stretched, and stared at the mini mess I created.
Then I whispered, “Now, time to clean this battlefield.”
I started picking up the scissors, the tape, the scattered scraps. Put away the glue, wiped the table, even vacuumed the little bits na dumikit sa rug. It took me thirty minutes, but eventually, my room looked like a room again.
Honestly, I'm satisfied with what I made right now. I didn't expect this will be good. It mix with rose and tulips.
My stomach is growling now. Wala akong sakit, but I think I'll truly have it now if I don't eat. Lumabas na ako sa kwarto to eat. Naabutan ko nga si manang na naglilinis sa sala.
“Nak, buti at nagising ka na. Gusto mo ba kumain?” Manang asked gently, I nodded softly in response, still feeling a little out of it.
She’s been with us for as long as I can remember—practically a second mother to me.
She’s been here since I was a child, always there when I needed someone, especially during those times when my parents were too busy or away on business trips.
When Ate wasn’t around, it was always Manang who took care of me, comforted me when I was sick, and made sure I was fed and warm.
“Hindi pa rin ba talaga maganda pakiramdam mo, ‘nak? Gusto mo bang uminom ng gamot?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder with concern.
“Okay lang po ako, kulang lang po sa pahinga,” I lied with a faint smile. I didn’t like lying to her, but I wasn’t ready to explain what was really going on.
A few minutes later, she placed a plate of warm food in front of me.
As always, Manang’s cooking never disappointed.
The taste, the comfort—it all made me feel like a kid again, even if just for a moment.
I ate slowly, chewing each bite with intention, trying not to rush despite the ticking clock in my head.
After I finished eating, I quietly thanked her, and I headed straight to the bathroom and took another quick shower.
I needed to feel fresh, composed.
This was going to be a big evening.
When I checked the time, it was already 3:30 p.
m.
By 4, I needed to be on the road if I wanted to get to the beach on time.
The thought sent a surge of urgency through me.
I moved quickly—drying off, fixing my hair, double-checking the bouquet.
Then I got dressed.
I chose a simple but sharp outfit: black slacks, my crisp white polo shirt.
I left the top three buttons undone since it was still hot outside, and the breeze from the ocean would be better felt that way anyway.
I looked at myself in the mirror for a moment—nervous, but hopeful.
There was no turning back now.
I paused mid-step as I heard Manang’s voice behind me.
“Nak, saan ka pupunta?” she called, sounding both curious and a bit concerned.
I froze in place, my hand halfway to the door handle. She was standing in the hallway, her eyes on me, still wearing her usual gentle but knowing gaze.
I turned slowly, my mind scrambling to come up with a believable excuse. The last thing I wanted was for her to worry about me leaving when I had just told her I was feeling unwell.
“Wala po,” I began, trying to act natural. “Gusto ko lang po magpahangin sa labas, maglakad-lakad."
Her gaze lingered on me for a moment, as if she were trying to read the sincerity behind my words.
“Okay, kung ganon. Mag-ingat ka na lang, ha?"
“Opo, don’t worry. I’ll be back soon,” I said quickly, already stepping toward the door.
As I walked toward the car, I couldn’t help but smirk. I had managed to get out of the house without raising too many questions. Now, the only thing left was to make sure everything went perfectly with Cynthia. The sun was already starting to dip low in the sky—soon, it would be time.
And then I remembered, hindi pa pala ako nakakapagsend ng message sakanya. How should I make this message?
I opened the messaging app, but my fingers hovered over the screen for a moment.
How could I word this?
It needed to feel real—urgent.
I didn’t want to sound too casual, but I also didn’t want to scare her too much.
It had to be just the right amount of dramatic.
My thoughts scrambled as I tried to focus, breathing in deeply to calm myself.
The keys felt foreign beneath my fingertips as I began typing:
> Cynthia... I need your help. Something’s wrong. I’m at the location I’m sending, but I’m not feeling well. Please come quickly. I don’t know how long I can last.
This is the message I planned on sending, but I’ll wait until I arrive at the location since I’m still quite far. I want everything to be ready before I send it.
It’s almost 5:25 p.m. when I finally arrive, and the moment I see the yacht, my breath catches. It’s beautiful—exactly how I imagined it.
I took a moment to admire the view, the soft rustle of the waves crashing against the dock, the quiet hum of the yacht waiting for its purpose.
I was ready.
Everything was in place.
The yacht was perfect.
It looked even better than I had imagined—just the right touch of romance, elegance, and softness that I knew Cynthia would love.
A voice from behind startled me, and I turned to see the designer standing near the entrance, her hands clasped in front of her. She smiled, a hint of nervousness in her eyes.
"Ma'am Sylvia, nandito na po pala kayo. We hope that you'll like what we prepared," she said, her voice almost shy as she gestured to the deck behind her.
It was everything I had envisioned. The yacht, the setup, everything—it was for her.
I turned back to the designer, feeling a surge of gratitude. "It's beautiful," I said simply, my voice carrying the weight of my emotions. "You’ve done an incredible job."
She blushed slightly, bowing her head in acknowledgment. "Thank you, Ma'am. We’re so glad you like it."
"Of course, I love it. It’s perfect." I smiled softly, my mind already shifting to the next step. "I’ll take care of the payment now."
I reached into my bag and pulled out my phone, quickly transferring a hefty sum—far more than I ever thought I’d spend on something like this, but for Cynthia, it was worth it. The yacht, the flowers, the designers, everything—it all added up to a lavish total.
With one final tap, I sent the payment through. A moment later, I received the confirmation.
The designer’s eyes widened as she glanced at the phone in my hand. "Ma’am, this... this is more than we expected."
I nodded, keeping my composure. "I want everything to be perfect for her. No compromises."
She bowed again, her gratitude evident. "Thank you so much, Ma’am Sylvia. It’s an honor to be part of something so special."
I gave her a smile before I turned toward the yacht again, the excitement of what was to come filling me once more. Everything was in motion now.
I glanced at the time. It was almost 5:30 PM.
Everything had to go perfectly. I couldn’t afford a single mistake.
I sent the message now.
Cynthia... I need your help. Something’s wrong. I’m at the location I’m sending, but I’m not feeling well. Please come quickly. I don’t know how long I can last.
I just sent the message—and barely a minute passed when I saw the notification: Seen. My heart stopped for a moment. I wasn’t expecting her to read it so quickly, let alone reply.
"I'm on my way. Please, hang in there, Sylvia. Please."
That was her message. Short, urgent, raw.
I stared at the screen, unsure of how to feel. Guilty ba dapat? Masaya? Relieved? I didn’t know anymore. My emotions were all over the place. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, tempted to type something back—but in the end, I didn’t reply. I just closed my phone and held it tightly in my hands.
I sat on the edge of the yacht, quietly watching the waves.
The breeze was soft, and the sunset was starting to paint the sky in shades of gold and lavender.
Ang ganda.
It was exactly how I envisioned this moment to be—but even then, I felt this heaviness inside me.
Cynthia said she was on her way, pero malayo pa ang biyahe niya.
It would take time.
So I waited.
Ten minutes passed, maybe more.
I was just sitting there, trying to stay calm, when I suddenly heard something in the distance.
It was loud—like a deep, rhythmic thumping sound cutting through the quiet.
At first, hindi ko pinansin.
Akala ko kung anong ingay lang mula sa malayo.
But the sound grew louder, closer.
Then I saw it.
A helicopter.
It was flying low, heading straight toward the beach where the yacht was docked. My heart started racing. Hindi pa rin nagsi-sink in agad, but when it began to descend and land near the clearing by the shore, I stood up, my legs moving on their own.
The moment the doors opened and the wind settled, I saw her—Cynthia.
She didn’t even look like she was trying to stay calm. The moment she touched the ground, she immediately sprinted toward me.
"Where is she? Where is Sylvia?!" she asked the staff, her voice frantic, trembling with panic.
I just stood there, frozen in place.
I didn’t know what to feel.
I thought this was going to be a dramatic moment where I could finally reveal the surprise, but instead, there she was—full of fear and worry, running towards me.
And then, her eyes met mine. The fear in them hit me harder than I expected. For a second, I saw her as vulnerable, as human, as someone who wasn’t in control for once.
When she saw me, she stopped dead in her tracks, and her expression shifted instantly—from frantic to... terrified. Without saying a word, she bolted toward me, her arms outstretched. And before I could even process what was happening, she was already pulling me into a tight embrace.
"Hey, I’m sorry—"
But she cut me off.
"I h-hate you! W-why would y-you do something like this?" she stammered, her voice breaking with emotion. She clung to me desperately, her body shaking with sobs. I stood there, completely stunned, unable to speak. Her words were like a punch to my chest.
I didn’t know how to react. My heart was racing in my chest, and I felt this mix of guilt and confusion wash over me. I never imagined she’d react like this. In my mind, I was expecting the dramatic reveal—her smiling, maybe a laugh—but this? This was completely different.
She pulled away slightly to look at me, and there were tears in her eyes—tears I hadn’t seen before. "You’re always making me worried. I-I hate you," she said again, her voice barely a whisper, but I could hear every ounce of pain in it.
I stood there, my arms still around her, not knowing what to say. How could I explain that all of this was for her? How could I explain that everything I did, I did because I wanted her to feel special? That I wanted her to know that she mattered to me?
But all I could do was hold her back, wishing that I could take away the pain I caused. She pulled back slightly, her face still wet with tears, her eyes searching mine as if asking for an answer. But all I could do was stand there, my heart pounding, lost for words.
I reached up slowly and wiped a tear from her cheek, my voice barely above a whisper, "I’m sorry, Cynthia. I didn’t mean to make you feel this way. It’s just... I wanted to do something special for you. Something you’d never forget."
But she shook her head, still looking at me with that mixture of anger and hurt.
"I don’t care about your stupid surprises, Sylvia!" she snapped, her voice cracking.
"I care about you. And I don’t want to lose you because you think I’m going to be okay with you hurting yourself just to make me happy!"
Her words hit me like a storm, and I felt the weight of everything I had done come crashing down.
"What? You care... about me?" I asked, still trying to process what was happening.
Her gaze remained intense, her anger mixed with something else—something that made me feel like I was drowning in the weight of her emotions.
I couldn’t figure out what to say, my mind racing with the thousand thoughts I didn’t know how to express.
For a moment, there was silence. The world around us seemed to blur, and I felt like I was stuck in the middle of a storm, completely helpless. The sunset seemed so far away now, its beauty drowned out by the heavy emotions that were suffocating the air.
Then, without warning, Cynthia’s breath began to quicken. I noticed her chest rising and falling too fast, and before I could react, she lifted a shaking hand to her throat, as if she couldn’t get enough air.
"I... I can’t... I can’t breathe..." she whispered, her voice shaking, barely audible above the rush of blood in my ears.
My heart skipped a beat. I reached out instinctively, but her hands shot up to block me. "Don’t touch me," she gasped, her face pale, her body already trembling.
I froze, unsure of what was happening. What is this? I had no idea what was wrong with her. I thought we were just having a tense moment, but now this... I watched as she struggled for air, her chest heaving with every breath, and I could see her panic spreading through her like wildfire.
Her breathing became even more erratic, faster and shallower, and her eyes darted around wildly. "Cynthia... please..." I whispered, reaching out, but she couldn’t seem to focus.
She collapsed to her knees, her hands clutching at her chest as if it were the only thing keeping her grounded. Her panic was visible, her body shaking uncontrollably. I watched her fall, unable to help. I didn’t know what to do. She looked like she was suffocating, and I felt utterly powerless.
"I can’t... I can’t handle this... please..." she muttered, her voice breaking, but her eyes were wide with terror. "I’m sorry... it’s my fault. Please... don’t leave me... don’t leave me again..."
My throat tightened. Her words cut deep, and I couldn’t understand them fully. I wanted to help her, but she was pulling away from me, trembling in fear.
"Please, just breathe, Cynthia," I said, kneeling in front of her, but I didn’t know how to help. "You’re safe. I’m here, okay? Just breathe. In, and then out. Focus on me."
Her body trembled harder, and her hands shot up to her face, as though trying to push away the panic that was choking her.
"No... no, I can’t... I can’t breathe... it’s too much. I can’t... handle this. Please, don’t leave me..." Her voice cracked on the last words, and I saw the vulnerability in her eyes—something I hadn’t seen before.
Her chest rose and fell in quick bursts, and her voice grew more desperate. "I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I didn’t mean to... Please, don’t leave me. Don’t leave me again. I... I can’t do this... not again..."
What does she mean? My mind raced, but I couldn’t process it. What could have happened to make her so afraid? I had no clue what she was going through, but seeing her like this... it made me feel like I was losing her.
I reached out slowly, but she pulled away, gasping for air. "Please... please don’t leave me," she begged, her eyes wide with terror. "I can’t handle this, please..."
My heart broke as I saw the raw emotion in her face. The panic in her voice was unbearable. "I’m not going anywhere," I said softly, but I wasn’t sure if she could even hear me through her panic. "I’m right here. Just breathe with me, okay? Please, just breathe."
Her breathing started to stabilize just a little, but I could see the fear still in her eyes. Slowly, I reached out, placing a hand on her shoulder. She didn’t pull away this time. Her body was still shaking, but she let me comfort her, even if she didn’t know how to accept it.
"You’re not alone," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "I’m not going anywhere. I promise."
Cynthia’s eyes flickered toward me, and she let out a small sob. "Please, don’t leave me. I can’t... I can’t lose you," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I just... I don’t want to be alone... not again."
I didn’t understand fully, but I knew that whatever was happening, it wasn’t something I could fix with just a few words. Still, I couldn’t leave her alone. I had to stay by her side, even if I didn’t know how to help.
I just held her, quietly, letting her breathe and slowly calm down. And even though I was still lost, still unsure of everything, I knew that in that moment, all I could do was be there—for her, no matter what.
As Cynthia’s breathing started to stabilize, her body still trembling in my arms, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of helplessness.
I didn’t fully understand what was happening, but I could see the aftermath of it in her eyes—the pain, the fear, the desperation.
It was like I was holding someone who had been through hell, and now, I was just trying to keep her from falling apart completely.
?
?She took a deep, shaky breath and finally pulled away from me, wiping her tear-streaked face with the back of her hand.
Her hands were still trembling, but she was trying to regain control, even though it was clear that her emotions were still all over the place.
?
?“I… I need to leave,” she whispered, her voice hoarse.
“Take me to the helicopter. Please.”
?
?I stared at her, confused.
“What? Why? You’re still not okay, Cynthia. We should—”
?
?“No,” she cut me off, her tone more firm this time, though I could still hear the fear in her voice.
“Please. Take me to the helicopter. I need to go home.”
?
?Her eyes locked onto mine, pleading.
There was a deep desperation in them, one that I hadn’t seen before.
It wasn’t just the panic from earlier—it was something else, something that made my chest tighten.
?
?“Cynthia… what’s going on? Why are you—” I started, but she shook her head, her lips trembling as she struggled to speak.
?
?“I can’t… stay here. Not anymore. Please, just… take me home.”
?
?“Okay,” I said softly, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside me.
“I’ll take you. Let’s go.”
?
?Cynthia nodded, her eyes still filled with fear and something else—something deeper, darker.
She stood up, a little wobbly, but I supported her, wrapping an arm around her waist as we slowly walked toward the helicopter.
?
?The staff was still standing there, watching us.
They didn’t ask questions, just silently stepped aside as we approached the helicopter.
The pilot, too, didn’t seem surprised to see Cynthia.
He gave us a brief nod, and then I helped her climb inside, making sure she was settled before I climbed in next to her.
?
?As we took off, the familiar noise of the helicopter blades cutting through the air filled the space.
But inside, it was eerily quiet—just the sound of our breathing, the rush of the wind outside, and the weight of the unspoken words between us.