Chapter 2
The start of the second semester brought with it a wave of administrative headaches: advising new students, updating syllabi, and, worst of all, mandatory department meetings. If only the Dean understood that my time is better spent marking papers than listening to Dr. Lopez drone on about budgetary constraints.
I was walking towards the Dean's office, clutching a stack of confidential student records. My heels clicked on the polished marble floor of the Arts & Sciences building—a sound as sharp and unforgiving as my own demeanor. I preferred the silence of the library archives, the comfort of knowing that the past, however painful, was at least static. It was precisely the future, the unexpected, the sudden changes, that I could no longer tolerate.
A New Face in the Roster
I reached the Dean's secretary, Mrs. Garcia, a sweet, grandmotherly woman who still insisted on using 'po' and 'opo' even when talking about my incredibly strict grading scale.
"Ma'am Elaine, good afternoon po," she chirped, her eyes twinkling. "May pinapabigay po si Dean."
The Dean sent something for you.
She handed me a thin manila folder labeled "TRANSFER FACULTY: S. DELA CRUZ" and a brightly colored welcome memo.
I frowned, annoyed. New faculty transfers usually meant more cross-departmental tasks.
"Sino po ito, Mrs. Garcia? Is this for the Literature elective slot?" I asked, my voice flat.
"Opo, Ma'am! Galing siyang America, sa New York pa! He's an accomplished artist and musician daw po, but he finished his Ph.D. in Cultural Studies abroad. Ang sabi ni Dean, he'll be handling the Music and Arts Appreciation subject, pati na rin ang bagong elective natin, 'The Poetics of Diaspora.'"
I simply nodded, already turning to leave. Artist. Musician. Ph.D. Abroad. The keywords registered in my analytical mind, but the information held no emotional weight. All people from abroad were just names on a document now.
I opened the file as I walked away, dismissing the information as quickly as I read it.
Name: Dela Cruz, Saint S.
Academic Rank: Assistant Professor
Previous Affiliation: Private research institution, New York, USA.
My eyes scanned the personal details section, a purely reflexive action, until I reached the date of birth. It matched the one stored deep in the vault of my memory. Then, I saw the picture.
The Mandate Revoked
The small, slightly blurry ID photo was taken professionally. He was five years older, the boyish softness replaced by the chiseled angularity of a man who had fought battles and won. His hair was shorter, his jaw firmer, and there were faint lines around his intense emerald eyes. His expression was serious, focused. He was wearing a smart, dark suit, a far cry from the faded T-shirts and worn jeans I remembered.
But those eyes—I would know them anywhere. The green that used to look at me with playful challenge and desperate, raw love.
Saintly.
My breath hitched. My perfectly cultivated control—the icy façade I had spent five years constructing—cracked right down the middle, like fragile glass. The blood rushed from my head, making the hallway spin for a dizzying moment. I stopped dead in my tracks, the manila folder shaking violently in my hands. The confidential papers tumbled out, scattering across the floor.
The scattered fragments of my past.
"Sh*t," I muttered under my breath—the first genuinely unguarded word I'd uttered in weeks.
"Miss! Ma'am! Tulungan ko na po kayo!" A cheerful, melodious voice, resonant with a clear American accent but perfectly clipped Tagalog, reached my ears. The sound was as familiar as the rhythm of my own heart, yet alien and terrifying.
My head snapped up. Standing less than five feet away, bending down to gather the papers, was the man from the photograph.
Saintly Dela Cruz.
He was even taller and broader than I remembered. He was wearing a light gray blazer and a confident, easy smile—the kind of smile that had charmed audiences and, once upon a time, melted me completely.
The smile of a successful man who was no longer drowning.
He picked up my files, his long fingers brushing the edges of the papers. He hadn't looked up at my face yet.
"Pasensiya na po, Ma'am. I didn't see you right away. Ang dami niyo pong dala," he said, handing the papers back to me. His voice was deeper now, smoother, carrying the subtle inflection of having lived in a different hemisphere.
He sounded like a stranger.
I gripped the files tightly, my knuckles turning white again. I could not speak. The name, the memories, the sharp, raw pain, all surged back, threatening to break through the armor.
Don't show weakness, Elaine. Be the Professor.
He finally looked up. His emerald eyes locked onto mine. The easy, confident smile he wore for the world instantly faltered, died, and was replaced by an expression of pure, unadulterated shock. His face drained of color, and his mouth parted slightly, the polished veneer cracking just as mine had.
"E... Elaine?" His voice was barely a whisper, a disbelieving ghost of the name he used to call out in the dark.
It was the Saintly I knew.
I felt the familiar burning behind my eyes, but I pushed it down, deep, deep down into the frozen core. I blinked, my expression transforming back into the neutral, professional mask.
"It is Professor Reyes to you, Mr. Dela Cruz," I stated, my voice coming out cold, steady, and utterly impersonal. I didn't acknowledge the past. I didn't acknowledge him.
I tilted my chin up, deliberately establishing the rigid hierarchy.
"Welcome to St. Jude's University. I see you've found your transfer documents. Just hand them over to Mrs. Garcia for processing. And please, avoid scattering confidential files in the hallway. It reflects poorly on our professional standards."
I did not wait for his reply. I pivoted sharply on my heel and walked away, my every movement screaming: You are irrelevant to me now.
But as I walked, the folder in my hand felt like a burning weight. The control I exerted was immense, exhausting. I knew, with a certainty that chilled me to the bone, that the storm was not just coming back—it had arrived.
Saintly was back.
The rainmaker had returned to the dry, frozen landscape of my life.