10/05/2026
๐๐๐ง๐๐ฅ๐๐ฅ๐ฌ | ๐๐ก๐๐ง ๐๐จ๐ซ๐ง๐ข๐ง๐ ๐ฌ ๐๐๐ซ๐ ๐๐จ ๐๐จ๐ง๐ ๐๐ซ ๐๐ซ๐๐ข๐ง๐๐ซ๐ฒ โ
โค
Before class, while the campus hallways slowly came alive with the echoes of endless laughter, hurried footsteps, and rustling notebooks, I always knew that someone would be patiently waiting for me near the back corner of the classroom.
The electric fans spun lazily above us, pushing warm air around the room. The summer breeze creeps through the dusty windows, landing softly on old wooden chairs carved with years of student initials and hidden confessions.
And there he was.
Iโd always see this scene every morningโhim casually sitting on top of his desk with a comb in one hand and colorful hair ties on his wrist like tiny bracelets on the other. He held a small mirror close to his face, carefully fixing his dark, slicked-back locks the way he always did while being unbothered by the noisy classroom around him.
He looked peaceful amidst the chaos surrounding him. Golden rays of sunlight would often hit his face just right as he moved with quiet grace and precision.
I tried to quickly slip away from his line of sight because I'd already know that he's gonna have to do his annoying routine on me, but I was a second too late. The moment he saw me walk in, he sighed dramatically.
โCome here,โ he called out. โWhy do you always look like you survived a storm before class?โ
I rolled my eyes every single time, but I still walked toward him anyway. Because somehow, that little routine became the softest part of my mornings. I'd never admit to it, but deep down I've grown fond of what we have as I started to notice the little details that awakens the inner kid in me.
It's in the way he always made sure my hair was neat, the way he would concentrate on every twist like it actually mattered, or the way heโd pause for a while just to check if the braid is not to tight that it actually hurts me. And even when I always pretended to be annoyed, I never really stopped going to him.
He wasnโt my mother. He was my classmateโsomeone who carried both strength and gentleness in a way that some people didnโt always understand.
Everyone in school knew him. His presence filled every room before he even spoke. He was definitely a jack of all trades type of student. With confidence and grit, he excels in everything he does in any field. Despite the stares and judgement, carried himself with a softness the world often tried to punish for no reason at all.
Some admired him for being fearless. Others whispered cruel things when he passed by.
But no matter how harsh people became, he never allowed the world to harden him.
Back in second grade, my mother had to leave me with my grandparents and to work far away so she could provide for us. Since then, my mornings felt emptier. I learned how to wake myself up to silent rooms, prepare my uniform clumsily, and leave home without hearing anyone telling me to take care.
There was no one fixing my hair anymore. No one reminding me to slow down. No one making sure I looked presentable before walking out the door, or asking if I had eaten breakfast before I leave for school.
Until I met him. He filled the void that had been gnawing at me for years. The loneliness I've learned to live by because life simply didn't give me any other choice. Somehow, through his consistent acts of care, I felt seen again.
I remembered it as clear as day. The first time he came into my life. It was at the beginning of our first year in college. I entered the room with my head hung low, clutching my bag tightly against my chest, not bothering to look around because I did not know anybody in our class. It was already full with unfamiliar faces, loud laughter, and small groups of students who somehow seemed to know exactly where they belonged.
Meanwhile, I stood there like I was a lost kid who is out of place. Then, I noticed him. For a moment, I caught myself staring.
โHow can a boy be as delicate and effortless as him?โ I found myself wondering. There was something about him that blurred the line between pretty and handsome.
Then suddenly, he looked up and met my eyes. I quickly looked away, embarrassed at being caught.
But instead of smiling at me, he frowned and said, "Goodness gracious, what happened to you?! Are you hurt?" He wore a worried look on his face as if he'd seen a ghost.
I was taken aback at first, since it was our first time meeting with each other. I was about to say something but then he cut me off and dragged me to take a seat beside his desk. Without another word, he began to inspect my face closely before letting out a relieved sigh.
โOhโฆ I thought you were injured,โ he said softly. โYou just look a littleโฆ unkempt.โ
Embarrassment immediately rushed to my cheeks almost burning it red. I had overslept that morning and barely managed to make it to class on time, leaving my hair messy and my uniform wrinkled beyond saving.
Yet despite the awkwardness of our first meeting, there was no mockery in his voice. Only concern. And somehow, that made his presence in my life to be warm and easy. As if he had already decided there was space for me beside him.
I thought it was only a one time thing. But the next morning, he did it again. Then the next.
And the next.
Until one day, without either of us saying it aloud, it simply became ours. Every morning before the first bell rang, I would sit quietly in front of him while he braided my hair.
There were also moments when his care go beyond than our usual one. When I skip eating breakfast, he would split his food in half without mentioning it.
When I failed our exam and sat silently at my desk trying my best to hold back my tears from falling, he just fixed my hair gentler than usual and whispered, โOne score doesnโt define your future.โ
When rumors spread about me, he stood up for me without hesitation. He reminds me that other people's opinion should be the least of my worries.
When I felt invisible, he made sure someone noticed me. There were times when I arrived at school carrying problems too heavy for someone who doesn't have anyone to talk toโthe quiet ache of growing up without having a shoulder to lean on.
Yet every time I feel his hands carefully part the sections of my hair, everything inside me seemed to settle. The world slowed down. I instantly forget everything that clouds my mind.
As years passed quietly like that, his braids changed over time. The messy ones during rushed mornings. Neater ones during school programs. Careful braids before performances and competitions. Lucky braids before major exams.
Before taking our graduation photos, he spent nearly a whole hour fixing every loose strand while scolding me for moving too much. He said that I need to look perfect as this is a once in a lifetime picture.
โDo you want to look like you've just lost in a catfight forever in your yearbook?โ he complained dramatically. I laughed so hard I nearly ruined the braid again.
And even during our final year, he still made time for those small moments. No matter how busy life became, he never forgot me in the mornings.
Then graduation day arrived. The campus overflowed with flowers wrapped pastels, cameras flashing in various directions beneath the heat of the afternoon sun. Parents adjusted togas with proud smiles plastered on their faces.
In the middle of it all, I suddenly felt familiar fingers gently fixing the loose strands of my hair one last time. They were careful, patient, and all too familiar. I turned around slowly. Of course I knew it was him. It has always been him.
His features became more sharp now. More tired around the eyes. But still having time to dust some blush that made his cheeks rosy, sweep enough glitter that makes his eyelids shimmer whenever the light his his face, and applying enough gloss to make his lips perfectly plump.
โThere,โ he whispered softly after finishing my hair. His smile trembled a little. He couldn't help but shed tears. It was an uncontrollable for him.
"Look at me crying like I'm your own mother," he said while looking at me like I was something that he nurtured, protected, and believed in all along. He was never wrong about it.
"Yes, you are. In more ways than one," I said as I embraced him tightly like it was going to be the last time. He felt like homeโa feeling that I've longed been searching for.
Everything makes sense now. A mother is not always the one who first held you in her arms.
Sometimes, it's the person who notices your broken edges and quiet storms, and but chooses to stay.
The ones who guide you on every important milestone in your life. The ones who stay with you in a world that constantly asks them not to be. The ones who make you feel loved on ordinary mornings until those mornings become memories you cannot live without.
And sometimesโthey are simply a someone in a noisy classroom, holding a comb in one hand and hair ties around his wrist, taking care of you softly in all the ways the world forgot to do so.
Words by Merniel Aguilar
Illustration by Radj Tejada
๐ฆ
