Chapter 1
Elaine's POV
The past five years hadn't just passed, they had frozen. 
Five years since the torrential downpour near the port. Five years since that heartbreaking, final smile. Five years since I traded the warmth of my heart for a perfectly constructed barrier of ice.
I stood in the faculty lounge of St. Jude's University, the scent of burnt coffee and old paper doing little to mask the sterile, impersonal atmosphere. It was a stark contrast to the lively chaos of my life before, but it suited the person I had become: efficient, professional, and utterly detached.
My title? Professor Elaine Reyes, M.A. My subject? History and Literature. My reputation? The coldest, most terrifying professor in the Humanities department.
"Good morning, Professor Reyes. Ang aga niyo po," said Ms. Diaz, a bubbly, perpetually overwhelmed junior professor, as she rushed past, spilling a little coffee on her notes.
"Good morning, Ms. Diaz," I replied, my tone flat, devoid of inflection. I didn't return her smile. I never did. A simple nod of acknowledgment was the most I allowed myself. Anything more—a laugh, a genuine smile, a casual conversation—felt like a door opening, and I had sealed all my doors shut. Hindi na ako magpapapasok.
My gaze drifted to the sprawling campus grounds visible through the panoramic window. The sun was shining, a cruel mockery of the perpetual winter inside me. Below, hundreds of students milled about, chattering excitedly, laughing, and holding hands. I used to be one of them. Happy. Carefree. In love.
Now, I was the one who enforced silence. The one who graded harshly. The one whose mere presence could make a noisy hallway fall instantly quiet.
The Hallway and the Warning
It was 9:00 AM, time for my first class: Asian Civilizations (HIS 201). I walked through the main hallway, and the effect was immediate. Students who had been leaning against lockers suddenly straightened up. Their boisterous conversations dropped to urgent whispers, then silence. It was like watching a wave recede.
I carried my books tight against my chest, my tailored black suit jacket pristine, every strand of my hair tucked neatly into a low, severe bun. I perfected this image—the Iron Lady—because it was the best defense. They fear you, they won't try to know you.
Two freshmen, a boy and a girl, were giggling nervously near my classroom door, clearly late. They froze when they saw me approach.
"Pro-Professor Reyes," the boy stammered, his eyes wide with panic.
I stopped right in front of them, my expression unreadable. I didn't raise my voice; I didn't need to. My quiet intensity was far more effective.
"Class starts at nine sharp, Mr. Santos," I stated, glancing down at my expensive wristwatch. "Punctuality is a sign of respect, both for the subject and for your time. Five years ago, I might have given you a pass. Today, you will report to the Dean's office and bring me an excuse slip if you wish to enter my class."
The girl next to him looked like she was about to cry. "But Ma'am, traffic po kasi—"
"I am not interested in excuses, Ms. Reyes (no relation, thankfully)," I cut her off, my voice steady and cold. "I am interested in results and accountability. Now, go. And do not waste any more of my time."
I watched them scramble away, their youthful energy crushed by my formality. A pang, brief and sharp, pierced my composure, but I ruthlessly suppressed it. This is necessary.
The Elaine who was forgiving, the Elaine who smiled warmly, died on that rainy night.
Inside the Lecture Hall
The lecture hall, usually buzzing with pre-class chatter, was eerily silent. Twenty-five pairs of eyes looked straight ahead. The atmosphere was so tense, you could practically see the anxiety hovering above their heads.
I placed my books precisely on the center of the podium and faced them. "Before we begin our discussion on the Han Dynasty's civil service exams," I announced, sweeping my gaze across the room, "I want to reiterate the syllabus policies."
I picked up the syllabus, tapping the thick paper lightly with a manicured nail. "This is not a casual reading club. This is a rigorous academic course. If you miss a deadline, you receive a zero. No appeals, no second chances. If your essay uses informal language, points will be deducted. If you approach me with excuses instead of solutions, I will dismiss you."
I paused, letting the silence hang heavy. "My expectation is simple: Excellence. Nothing less. I do not care about your personal issues. I do not care about your social life. I only care about the quality of your work. Walang lamigan dito. Kung gusto niyo ng 'chill class,' mag-enrol kayo sa ibang professor. This classroom is for serious scholars."
A boy in the back row accidentally dropped his pen. The sound echoed like a gunshot. Everyone flinced. He quickly bent down, his face flushed with embarrassment.
I looked directly at him. "Mr. Cruz, are you prepared to contribute to the discussion, or are you preparing to distract the class?"
"S-sorry po, Ma'am," he whispered.
"Good," I said, finally opening my lecture notes. "Now, let us discuss the Mandate of Heaven. The belief that the ruler's power is granted by the divine—but can be revoked if they fail to uphold their duties."
As I began the lecture, my mind drifted, just for a millisecond, back to the port. Back to Saintly. Back to the failure to uphold our promise.
The Mandate of Heaven. I had failed in my duties as a lover, or perhaps Saintly had failed in his as a partner. Either way, the power—the happiness—was revoked. And what was left was this perfectly constructed shell, a woman who only knew how to analyze the past, because her future felt terrifyingly blank.
I was cold because the alternative was unbearable warmth that could shatter me all over again.
I am Professor Elaine Reyes. I am in control. I am safe.
But as I looked at the sea of young, bright faces—faces I was intentionally keeping at arm's length—I felt a profound, chilling loneliness.