Author: writer

Without further delay, I drove into the motel. The attendant signaled me toward a vacant garage. I didn’t look at Lani, wondering if she would protest or refuse to get out, but she just sat there in a heavy, stony silence.

I got out first, and after a long moment, she followed. “It’s going to be alright, Lani,” I told her, trying to bridge the gap.

She shot me a sharp, skeptical look. “Yeah, right.”

We walked up to the room. The atmosphere was cold, so I tried to lighten the mood by turning on the TV. A Tagalog comedy show was on, and I noticed a faint smile touch her lips as she watched. I set out the food. “Let’s eat,” I said.

She didn’t reply at first, focused on the screen, but then her phone rang. I listened closely as she answered. It was her boyfriend. After a brief, tense conversation, she hung up and looked at me with urgency.

“Mike, I need to go. My boyfriend is looking for me; he wants to head to the mall. I’m really sorry. Maybe another time.”

I felt a surge of disappointment. My plans for a long, quiet afternoon had evaporated in an instant. I stayed quiet, finishing my meal while my mind raced. I told myself to be patient—that building real trust takes time, and today just wasn’t the day.

“Eat something first, Lani,” I said, dialing room service to settle the bill.

As she hurried through her meal, I tried to keep the conversation going. “Lani, I’m sorry if I complicated your day.”

“It’s okay, Mike,” she replied, her guard finally dropping a little.

“Can I ask you something? You’ve been with him for two years… I assume you two are very close? That you’ve shared… everything?”

She let out a sudden, sweet laugh. The tension that had filled the room since we arrived finally seemed to vanish. I had managed to make her feel at ease again, even in this awkward setting.

“What do you mean by that?” she asked, still giggling.

“You know… if you’ve truly made love.”

She looked down, shyly sliding her hand through her hair. “Yes,” she whispered.

We locked eyes for a moment. The air in the room felt thick and warm. I reached out and gently touched her hand, feeling the heat in her skin. But before the moment could go any further, a knock at the door interrupted us. The bill had arrived.

I drove her to her destination, my mind still reeling from the “what-ifs.” As I watched her walk away—striking in her black shorts and fitted top—I knew I couldn’t just go back to the office with this much restless energy. I needed to clear my head.

I found myself driving down A.S. Fortuna street until I saw another spa. I went inside, paid for a standard massage, and was led to a quiet, dimly lit room on the second floor.

The therapist who arrived was professional but had a different energy than Lani. As the session progressed, the atmosphere became more relaxed and conversational. I found myself opening up about the stress of my day. By the end of the hour, I felt a sense of relief—a physical and mental decompression that I desperately needed after the emotional rollercoaster with Lani.

I left the spa feeling a bit embarrassed by how much I had let my impulses drive my day, but I was finally calm. I knew the journey with Lani was going to be a long one, and I had to learn to balance my desires with the reality of the complicated life she lived.

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.