Chapter 5: 
The tension in the faculty office had remained a low, dangerous hum all morning, palpable even with the presence of other professors who arrived later. Saintly—or rather, Professor Dela Cruz—maintained his professional distance, buried in his work, but every slight movement he made, every clearing of his throat, felt like a deliberate intrusion into my peace.
I focused intensely on my grading, willing the clock to hit noon so I could escape the suffocating proximity.
Precisely at 12:00 PM, a cheerful voice broke the silence.
"Professor Reyes, are you still planning on surviving purely on lukewarm coffee and sheer willpower today?"
I looked up. Standing beside my desk was Professor Kent Santiago, the charming, perpetually optimistic professor from the Political Science department. Kent was one of the few colleagues I allowed a minimal level of interaction with—mostly because his boundless energy was too disarming to entirely deflect.
"Professor Santiago," I replied, managing a slight, weary curve of my lips that passed for a smile in my new repertoire. "My willpower is perfectly sufficient."
Kent chuckled, leaning slightly on the partition of my cubicle, his casual manner a stark contrast to my rigidity.
"Wala namang ganyanan, Ma'am. Lunch break na! Come on, sabay na tayo sa cafeteria. Sabi ko na sa iyo, you need to eat something hot. I heard they have the special kare-kare today."
Kent had been subtly trying to bridge the gap between my isolation and the rest of the faculty for months, always inviting me to group dinners or quick lunches. I usually declined with a stiff excuse, but today, an insidious thought took root.
Saintly is right across the aisle.
I wanted him to see me. I wanted him to see me accepting attention, engaging in conversation, and moving on with my life—a life that was utterly complete without him. I wanted to use Kent as a professional shield and a personal weapon.
"Kare-kare, you say?" I said, gathering my pen and pushing my chair back with a deliberate scrape. "Fine, Professor Santiago. But no talking about political theories. I need a break from abstract concepts."
Kent's face lit up. "Deal! Abstract concepts are shelved for kare-kare and professional chitchat only. Tara na, Professor Reyes."
The Calculated Exit
I stood up, adjusting my skirt suit. As Kent waited politely by the aisle, I deliberately paused, meeting the reflection in my screen once more. Saintly was still sitting, seemingly immersed in his laptop. As Kent and I started walking down the aisle, I felt Saintly's eyes bore into my back. I felt the heat of his gaze like a physical burn.
"So, Professor Reyes," Kent began cheerfully as we exited the faculty office, walking side-by-side. "Speaking of abstract concepts, I heard the new transfer professor, Professor Dela Cruz, is handling 'The Poetics of Diaspora.' That sounds fascinating, if a bit... heady."
My jaw tightened. "I wouldn't know, Professor Santiago. I haven't had a chance to fully familiarize myself with his course load."
We reached the busy campus cafeteria, a large, noisy hall filled with students and faculty. Kent found an empty table near the window. We lined up to get our food trays. As we waited, Kent turned to me, his expression softening.
"You know, Elaine, you should really try to relax a bit. You’re always so stressed. It's good that you agreed to lunch. Dapat may kaibigan ka din dito."
I am perfectly content with my current level of social engagement, Kent," I replied, but my tone was less harsh than usual. I knew he was genuinely kind, and for a fleeting moment, I almost felt guilty using him.
The Cafeteria Scene
We settled at our table with our trays: two steaming bowls of rice, the rich, savory peanut aroma of the kare-kare, and a side of crispy bagnet. We were halfway through our meal, discussing the upcoming history department lecture series, when the atmosphere around our table suddenly changed. It was an almost imperceptible shift—a cooling of the air, a drop in the ambient noise.
I didn't need to look up. I knew exactly who it was.
Kent, who was mid-sentence about the Ottoman Empire, suddenly trailed off, his eyes widening slightly as they focused on something behind me.
I took a slow, deliberate bite of my kare-kare, savoring the flavor while my pulse hammered against my ribs.
"Kent," I asked calmly, "What is it?"
"Wala, Ma'am. Uh, mukhang nag-iisa si Professor Dela Cruz. He's looking for a seat, I think," Kent muttered, sounding awkward.
It seems Professor Dela Cruz is alone.
I slowly put down my fork and picked up my water glass. I glanced over Kent’s shoulder. Saintly was standing at the entrance of the cafeteria, holding a tray that contained only a salad and a bottle of water—a minimalist choice that somehow screamed New York health nut. He wasn't moving. He wasn't talking. He was just standing there, his eyes fixed with laser precision on our table.
More specifically, on Kent.
The look on his face was startling. The professional veneer was gone, shattered completely by an expression that was raw, possessive, and dangerously cold. It was the same look he used to give male admirers who dared linger a little too long when we were dating. It was a look of pure, unadulterated jealousy.
Bakas na bakas sa mukha niya ang selos.
The sight of it gave me a perverse, painful surge of triumph. So, you still feel something, Saintly.
"Why is he just standing there?" Kent whispered nervously.
I took a slow sip of water, holding Saintly's gaze across the crowded room. I saw his hand—the one holding the tray—clench into a tight fist, making his knuckles stand out sharply.
"He's probably calculating the optimal nutritional value of his lunch, Kent," I lied smoothly, letting a small, cruel smile touch my lips. "He's very meticulous."
I turned back to Kent, giving him a genuinely warm look, the kind of smile I hadn't given any man since Saintly left.
"Anyway, Kent, tell me more about this Ottoman lecture series. I might actually be free that Friday. It sounds fascinating," I said, leaning in slightly, consciously breaking the professional distance I usually maintained.
I heard Saintly exhale sharply from across the room. I could practically feel his tension radiating across the space. He finally, violently, broke eye contact, turned stiffly, and walked towards a solitary table in the far corner, his movements rigid and angry.
"Ah, you're coming? That's great, Elaine!" Kent beamed, oblivious to the emotional warfare he had just been enlisted in. "It’s on the dissolution of empires. Very fitting, actually—"
I nodded, pretending to listen to Kent's excited chatter, but my internal victory was tainted by a bitter aftertaste. I had gotten the reaction I wanted: the searing, visible proof that I still affected him. But seeing that naked jealousy, seeing a glimpse of the man I loved, only served to reopen the wounds that I worked so hard to keep closed.
He’s jealous. Pero hindi na siya ang boyfriend ko. Hindi na siya ang may karapatang magselos.
I had won the battle in the cafeteria, but I knew, with sickening certainty, that this small, toxic victory would cost me dearly later.