Author: writer

Early one morning, Lani and I were texting again.

“Hi, Lani! Belated Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas, Mike.”

“How was your holiday? Did you have to work?”

“The spa was closed,” she replied. “I spent the day at home, taking care of my father.”

“I’d still love to treat you to that meal,” I suggested, my heart racing a bit. “Can we meet today?”

We agreed to meet at a gas station near her workplace at 10:00 AM so she could be back in time to help her mother with chores. I arrived ten minutes early, sitting in my car, a mixture of excitement and nervous energy pulsing through me.

Nearly an hour passed before I saw her. Even from a distance, she was captivating. With her long hair catching the light as she walked gracefully toward the car, I couldn’t help but think how striking she was.

“Hi, Lani! Get in,” I said as she approached. “You look beautiful today.”

“Hahaha! Have you been waiting long?” she asked, looking a bit flustered. “I’m so sorry. My mom had a last-minute errand for me. I wanted to text you, but I was rushing—and honestly, I’m a bit paranoid. I actually had my previous phone snatched while I was on a jeepney recently.”

“That’s awful,” I said, concerned. “You have to be so careful this time of year. There are people looking for any opportunity.”

“I know,” she sighed. “Anyway, where are we going to eat, Mike?”

I felt a pang of nerves as I pulled out of the station. “Let’s just grab something from a drive-thru,” I said.

“Are we eating in the car?” she asked with a playful, knowing look. “Is it because you’re worried someone might see you? Worried your wife will find out?”

I forced a laugh. “You caught me. It’s better to keep things low-key.”

After we picked up our food, I began driving toward a quieter part of town. When she noticed the road leading toward a well-known local inn, her expression changed instantly. Her voice took on a sharp tone of concern.

“Mike! Where are we going?”

“Lani, listen,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm and gentle. “It’s hard to eat and really talk in the car. I thought if we got a private room, we could actually sit down and have a good conversation without worrying about who is looking through the windows.”

“You’re something else, Mike,” she said, her disappointment evident. “I thought we were just going to eat. I agreed to come with you because you seemed like a kind person. I don’t want to betray my boyfriend. Even if things are rocky with him, it doesn’t mean I should just go anywhere with any guy.”

A wave of guilt hit me. Seeing her stand up for her principles made me realize how much I was risking her trust.

“Lani, I promise, we are just going to eat,” I said softly, trying to reassure her. “I give you my word. I just want some quiet time to get to know you.”

She fell silent, staring out the window. She didn’t ask me to turn around, but the look of disappointment on her face spoke louder than any words could.

It was Christmas Eve, and all I could think about was Lani. Even as I sat with my three children, her memory felt like a silhouette standing between us. When my wife spoke to me, I found myself staring blankly at the wall, my mind miles away.

Our home was a whirlwind of activity. Relatives were coming for lunch, gifts were being wrapped, and the kitchen was a hive of preparation for Nochebuena.

I sat outside, lost in a daydream. I wondered what Lani was doing at that exact moment. Was she still at the spa, working the final hours of the holiday shift? Was she at home, helping her mother care for her father? Or was she out with her boyfriend, enjoying the holiday in a way I wished she was with me?

My wife’s voice suddenly cut through my thoughts, sharp and upset. “Hey! What are you doing out here? You haven’t helped with anything all morning!”

I blinked, trying to snap back to reality. “Sorry, hon,” I said reflexively.

“Sorry? What is wrong with you?” she countered. “You’ve been in a trance all week. Are you daydreaming about the past? Where is your head?”

The guilt of my secret thoughts turned into a sudden, defensive anger. “Lower your voice,” I snapped, standing up. “It’s Christmas. Why are you yelling?”

“Because you’re physically here, but you’re not present!” she cried out.

The pressure of the last few days—the obsession with Lani, the secrecy, the exhaustion at work—all came to a boiling point. I grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the house, my voice low and shaking with frustration. “I said lower your voice! Can’t I have a moment of peace? Work has been a pressure cooker, and I come home to more nagging!”

“Stop it! You’re being too rough!” she resisted, her eyes wide with shock.

Our children started to cry, their voices rising in a panicked wail. “Dad! Mom! What’s happening?”

“Go to your room! Now!” I commanded, my adrenaline red-lining. They scrambled away, terrified by the rare sight of my temper.

I led my wife upstairs to our room, the air thick with years of unspoken tension and my own internal conflict. We were both breathing hard, the argument reaching a fever pitch. In the heat of that chaotic, angry moment, the friction between us turned into a desperate, volatile kind of energy.

It wasn’t a moment of tenderness; it was a collision of frustration and suppressed emotion. I pulled her close, the anger and the longing for someone else blurring together into a rushed, intense encounter. In the dark of our room, I closed my eyes tight. As the world outside continued with the sounds of Christmas carols and family laughter, I lost myself in a frantic, silent fantasy, using the intensity of the moment to escape the reality of my own guilt.

When it was over, I was drenched in sweat, the silence of the room feeling heavier than the shouting had been. It was a wild, unexpected release—a dangerously exciting surge of adrenaline that left me feeling more confused than ever.

Several days passed without a word from her. I had sent a few texts just asking how she was doing and if she might be free to grab a meal on her day off, but the silence was discouraging. Then, late one night, my phone finally buzzed.

“Hi, sir! Sorry for the late reply. I just managed to get some load for my phone.”

I felt a rush of relief. I immediately typed back, “No worries! I’m just glad you replied. How are you, Lani?”

“I’m okay, sir. And you?”

“I’m good. By the way, you can just call me Mike, okay?”

“Okay, Mike.”

We texted back and forth for a bit. I found out her day off was coming up this Tuesday. I asked if she could meet me around 10 PM, and she told me she’d have to see. Eager to hear her voice, I asked if I could call her. She agreed.

When she picked up on the first ring, her voice was just as soft and sweet as I remembered. We laughed a little about her accidentally calling me “sir” again, but then the conversation turned a bit more serious.

“Lani, can I ask you something personal?” I hesitated. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Yes, I do,” she admitted.

“Is he working tonight?”

“Yes, he works at a fast-food restaurant. But honestly, Mike, things are difficult. I have a feeling he’s seeing someone else. He’s always claiming he has to work overtime.”

“Maybe it’s just the holiday rush?” I offered, trying to be fair. “Christmas is coming, after all.”

“Maybe,” she sighed. “But even when we are together, his attention is always elsewhere. He looks at every other girl that passes by. When I call him out on it, he just says it’s ‘normal’ for men to appreciate beauty. It’s frustrating.”

She went on to tell me how they met—he was a dancer in a group that performed at their local fiesta. She admitted she was initially won over by his charm and good looks, but the reality of the relationship had become a burden.

“What’s the use of being handsome if he can’t be trusted?” she asked, her voice sounding tired. “I’ve caught him cheating several times. He always asks for forgiveness, and I feel sorry for him, but I don’t know how much more I can tolerate.”

“That’s a lot to carry, Lani,” I said softly. “I’d really like to treat you to a meal on Tuesday. If you need someone to just listen, I’m here.”

“Text me Tuesday morning, Mike. I usually spend my mornings taking care of my father, so I’ll know my schedule better then.”

“I will. And thank you for talking to me.”

“It’s okay. I have to go now; a customer just requested me,” she said, her voice trailing off. “I just hope it’s a respectful one. It’s so draining having to constantly fend off people who don’t respect boundaries.”

“Take care of yourself, Lani. I’ll text you soon.”