Tanz returned the next morning, and the morning after that. Each time, he hoped to see the plates empty, a sign that she was at least taking care of herself.
But when he let himself in, his heart sank. The food he had carefully prepared the day before sat exactly where he had left it—untouched, cold, and beginning to wither.
He stared at the stagnant plates, a lump forming in his throat. He had spent hours trying to make her the usual, the meals that used to make her smile, but the kitchen felt like a tomb.
He cleaned the house again in a desperate, frantic silence, then replaced the old food with a fresh hot meal, the steam rising like a prayer.
He stood by her bedroom door one last time, his hand trembling as he reached for the wood.
"Lia... please," he whispered, his voice cracking.
"I left some Sinigang for you. Just a few bites. Please don't do this to yourself."
Inside, Spinelia heard the muffled vibration of his voice, but it felt like it was coming from another planet.
She didn't move. She didn't want the food; she wanted the noise in her head to stop. She didn't know he was cleaning, and she didn't care about the meals.
To her, the world was already over.
Tanz finally left, his turquoise eyes dull with a fear he couldn't name. He felt like he was trying to feed a ghost.
As Tanz pulled the door to Spinelia's apartment shut, the heavy thud of the wood felt like a finality.
He stood in the dim hallway for a moment, his keys clutched so tightly they bit into his palm. The smell of the food he'd just cooked lingered in the air, but the fact that the previous day's meal was still sitting there, cold and untouched, made him feel sick.
He began to walk toward the stairs, his turquoise eyes fixed on the floor.
"Why isn't she eating? he wondered. Is it just the grief, or is it me?" His mind started to drift back to their childhood, back to when they were six years old.
He remembered how Spinelia and Malina were inseparable, always together like two sides of a coin.
But the memories were shifting now, tinted by a new, ugly light. He recalled seeing other kids snatch Spinelia's snacks or purposefully grind her crayons into the dirt. Spinelia never fought back; she just looked confused, shrugging it off as if it didn't matter.
He reached his car and sat in the driver's seat, but didn't start the engine. He stared at his phone. Malina's name was right there in his recent calls. He thought about her shaky, scared voice on the phone.
Tanz gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white.
As he pulled away from the apartment, he hit a red light and stared blankly at the glowing crimson bulb. His mind was a mess of memories.
He remembered them at six years old—Spinelia getting her snacks stolen and her colors ruined by other kids.
Back then, Malina was the one who always stepped in. Malina was pretty, smart, and untouchable; no one dared bully her. She was Spinelia's shield, and because of that, everyone idolized Malina as the "perfect" friend.
He remembered how his own bond with Spinelia changed in middle school when they finally became classmates.
They had been neighbors and schoolmates since they were eight—the same year Safi moved in and joined their circle—but middle school was different. He watched as the other students treated Spinelia like a stepping stone to get to Malina.
They would ignore her or use her, and while Spinelia tried to shrug it off, Tanz was the one who saw her cry when she felt left out. He was the one who had to help her navigate that suffocating feeling that everyone hated her.
The light turned green, but Tanz felt paralyzed. He had always seen Malina as the protector, the blossom-breath girl who took care of the weak.
But now, seeing Spinelia rotting in her room while Malina's shaky voice filled his ears, he wondered if Malina's protection was actually what kept Spinelia feeling so small all these years.