Lia, with her oversized glasses and a pastel-colored cardigan, had a braid falling among her loose, straight hair. She seemed slightly awkward yet genuine—a sweet and “adorkable” presence.

“Not weird at all,” James replied. “I’m James.”

“This shop was covered up with Manila paper for a while,” James commented. “I got curious and decided to check it out.”

“Yeah,” Lia said, “we just opened today. You’re our first customer.”

“Oh, really? I feel honored,” James responded with a grin.

Lia laughed lightly. “Roses have different meanings depending on their colors. Pink says, ‘Please believe me,’ red means ‘I love you,’ dark crimson is for mourning, yellow is trying to show care, white is innocence and purity. There’s also tea roses, which mean ‘I’ll remember always,’ and damask roses, the Persian ambassador of love…”

“Wow,” James said, impressed. “You really know your roses.”

Lia giggled. “Sorry, I hope I didn’t come across as a know-it-all.”

“Not at all. It’s amazing you know all that,” James assured her.

“Really?” Lia blinked, surprised.

“Yes! I think I just found my ‘Love Guru’ to help me figure out what flowers to give to girls. I’m going to have a supermodel girlfriend someday.”

Lia smiled brightly. “Then I’m on board! I’ll help you win her over.”

They both laughed together, sharing a light moment amid the flowers.

In the biology lab, the ninth-grade students sat at their tables, waiting as the teacher, Mrs. Marquez, sorted out handouts for the upcoming experiment. Meanwhile, Michael’s two lackeys passed a phone between them, sneaking it until it landed in Michael’s hands. He glanced around cautiously, ensuring no one was watching too closely. His classmates were absorbed in their own conversations, clustered in groups at their tables.

As a pretty girl walked by, Michael, in a moment of impulsiveness, tossed the phone on the floor.

“Panty shot!” one minion whispered to the other.

“Ninja moves,” the other snickered.

Unfortunately for them, Mrs. Marquez had sharp ears. She quickly scanned the room and spotted Michael bending down behind a table, about to retrieve the phone. Her eyes narrowed as she marched over.

“Aha! Mr. Pangilinan, stop right there,” Mrs. Marquez ordered, her voice cutting through the noise. She moved swiftly to intercept him before he could pick up the phone.

“What is the meaning of this?” she demanded, glaring at him. “You know bringing phones is prohibited.”

Mrs. Marquez snatched the phone before Michael could respond. Her face hardened with anger as she saw what was on the screen.

“You recorded a female classmate’s undergarments,” she said, her tone filled with disgust. “This is unacceptable behavior. That is no way to treat girls.”

She shook her head, clearly frustrated. “I’m only subbing, and yet I encounter this kind of behavior. When your older brother Benjamin was in my class, he was the only one who could list the first ten elements of the periodic table—not like this.”

She pointed to the door, her expression firm. “Mr. Michael Pangilinan, you’re coming with me to the APSA’s office right now.”

With no other option, Michael followed Mrs. Marquez as she led him out of the room, leaving his friends silent and wide-eyed behind him.

The classroom was empty, save for two people. The Assistant Principal for Student Affairs, Mr. Corpus, stood with his back leaned against the teacher’s desk, watching over Michael. Michael sat at a desk in the front row, writing on a yellow sheet of paper resting on a stack of ten more sheets.

“I won’t ever disrespect girls again,” Michael wrote. It was his tenth line, and he was growing increasingly exasperated.

Mr. Corpus sighed, his eyes fixed on Michael. “You’re flunking your lessons. Barely scraping by with remedial classes and special projects. And now this—detention. Sure, you’re a star player. Your coach always vouches for you. But basketball isn’t just about skill, Michael. You need to at least pass your subjects and maintain decent behavior.”

Michael clenched his teeth, frustration rising as Mr. Corpus’s lecture dragged on.

In the art room, seven-year-old Sophie sat nervously, fidgeting with her clasped hands. Another girl soon approached and sat beside her.

“You’re new here?” the girl asked.

“Yes, and it’s a bit scary, but I love art, so I’ll try,” Sophie replied.

“I’m Mae, and you are?”

“Sophie.”

Mae smiled. “It’s my second year in the Art Club. Those guys may seem intimidating, but they’re really nice. Once you start working with them, you’ll see.”

Ms. Lozano, the young teacher, entered the room, and the club members stood to greet her in unison, “Pax et Bonum, Ms. Lozano!” A tradition unique to Lourdes School.

“Peace and all good to you, artists in the making,” Ms. Lozano warmly replied. She turned to Sophie. “Would you introduce yourself? Sophie’s joining us late this term, but I’m glad to welcome her now.”

Sophie hesitated, but Mae whispered, “You got this. I’m cheering for you.”

Gathering her courage, Sophie stepped forward. “Hi, everyone. I’m Sophia Pangilinan, but you can call me Sophie. I’ve loved art since I was four. I used to trace honeybees with black crayon and color them yellow. Most of my drawings are inspired by cartoons I watch. Art used to be just a hobby, but now I’m excited to be part of the Art Club.”

“Thank you, Sophie,” Ms. Lozano said warmly. “I’m sure we’ll see some honeybees on our bulletin board soon!”

The room filled with applause. Mae beamed at Sophie, her newfound friend. Sophie smiled, her eyes glistening with tears, overwhelmed by the feeling of acceptance and belonging.

At the Pangilinan residence, Martha stood in the living room, gazing at a large framed cross-stitch she and her daughter Mary had completed years ago. The artwork depicted their family: Martha, her husband Greg, their sons James, Benjamin, and Michael, their daughter Mary, and Sophie. As Martha admired the piece, her thoughts drifted back to three years ago, when she and Mary had started the project at the guesthouse in Laiya, San Juan, Batangas.

“Nanay, what are you doing?” Mary asked as she ran to her mother and hugged her tightly.

Martha and Mary were still dressed in their teacher and student uniforms, having just returned home.

“I’m just looking at the cross-stitch we made together, Anak,” Martha replied softly.

Martha sighed, her voice nostalgic. “Time flies so fast, Anak. Kuya James is already in senior high, Kuya Benjamin is now the student council president, and Sophie finally joined the Art Club—pursuing her dream. Three years, and so much has changed.”

Mary gazed lovingly at her mother’s face as they stood together, wrapped in a quiet embrace, cherishing the moment of connection in their living room.

In the home office, Eric sat at his desk, focused on his computer and a pile of documents. Thalia was seated across from him, waiting for the right moment to speak. Finally, she broke the silence.

“I strongly believe, Enrico, that now is the perfect time for Allison to start her career as a child actress. We need to strike while the iron is hot,” Thalia said, her voice filled with conviction.

“No,” Eric replied firmly. “Allison needs to focus on her studies. She has to finish high school and go to college. I’ve already compromised by allowing her to do those commercials on the side.”

“Enrico,” Thalia countered, “Allison can manage both. She can study and act, and I’ll make sure her time is balanced.”

“No,” Eric repeated, his tone sharp. “Acting will only distract her from her education. There’s no guarantee she’ll make it in show business. And if she fails, what will happen to her future?”

“You don’t understand,” Thalia pushed. “Allison is missing out on big opportunities. We’re wasting valuable time.”

“You’re the one wasting Allison’s time,” Eric shot back. “Education is a sure path—show business isn’t. We’re living comfortably because I finished college. I earned my MA in Economics, which is why I became a professional hedge fund manager. That’s why we can afford this lifestyle. Do you think a middle-class banker could have given you all these luxuries? The clothes, the jewelry, the trips? Would you still see yourself as a socialite if you had married a lowly teller?”

Eric took a deep breath before delivering his final point. “Allison takes after me. She needs to be able to stand on her own. When she marries, she should be proud of her education and her accomplishments. She deserves to be part of a well-to-do family because she’s earned her place—just like the Sevillas.”

Thalia had no words left. She could only sit back, sulking. The argument was over, and the home office fell into an uneasy silence.

In the servant’s quarters, Morissette sat at her black laptop, her fingers rapidly typing. On the screen was Facebook Messenger, and she was eagerly chatting with Carlisle.

Morissette:

How are you? My day is the same as usual—cooking, cleaning, and doing laundry because it’s Wednesday.

Carlisle was typing a reply, and Morissette’s heart raced.

I can’t wait to hear from him, she thought.

Carlisle:

Nothing special today. I drove Topher to school, managed the household—supervising the three maids, the gardener, the groundsman, and the two guards.

Morissette:

I think your job is incredible! Managing so many staff members is why I admire you so much.

A knock sounded at the door, breaking her focus.

“Come in, Madam!” Morissette called out, allowing Thalia to enter.

Thalia strode in with excitement, sitting on the edge of the bed. “So, what’s the latest? Are you chatting with Carlisle?” she asked eagerly.

“Of course, Madam,” Morissette answered, before glancing back at her screen. “Oh no, he just went offline—his break must be over.”

“That’s too bad,” Thalia said, thinking for a moment. “But you can always check his timeline to stay updated.”

“You’re right, Madam. I’m going to do just that!” Morissette began scrolling through Carlisle’s Facebook posts, her enthusiasm quickly fading as she came across something unexpected. Her face twisted with shock.

“What is it? Spill it,” Thalia demanded, sensing something was wrong.

Carlisle’s latest status update read: From single to in a relationship.

His post followed:

Hello everyone, I wanted to share the great news—I’ve finally found the girl of my dreams, Rebecca. She’s kind, sweet, and loving. After dating for six months, we’ve made it official. I’m her boyfriend, and she’s my girlfriend. I’m hopeful our love will last, and I’m looking forward to building a future together—maybe even starting a family someday.

“Aaaahhh!!!” Morissette screamed. “Madam! Carlisle has a girlfriend—and she’s whiter than snow!”

“She’s white?” Thalia responded with concern, sharing in Morissette’s dismay.

Quickly, Thalia reached into her oversized shoulder bag and pulled out a bar of whitening soap. “Here,” she said, handing it to Morissette. “This is glutathione soap. There’s still time—after all, they’re not married yet.”

Morissette, her dark eyeshadow now smudged with tears, looked at Thalia skeptically. “Is this really as effective as you say, Madam?”

“Of course!” Thalia said with a confident smile. “Look at me—I was already light-skinned, but with this, I’m even whiter.”

Thalia flashed her pale skin in a display of the product’s supposed efficacy, while Morissette stared at her, still in disbelief.

Allison was lounging on the couch, her feet comfortably propped up on the soft cushion. Her eyes were glued to her phone, as usual, as she mindlessly swiped through TikTok shorts. Dance videos, trending hashtags, inspirational content, product launches, recipe demos, art challenges—they all flashed across the screen in rapid succession.

Morissette entered the living room, carrying a basket of freshly washed and dried clothes. Noticing Allison’s intense focus on her phone, she sat down beside her on the couch, setting the basket in front of her. As she began folding the Sevilla family’s clothes, she glanced over at the girl and struck up a conversation.

“Is that TikTok you’re watching? I remember when it used to be called Musical.ly,” Morissette commented, curiosity piqued.

“TikTok is what’s in now. Musical.ly is long gone—like three years ago,” Allison replied without looking up, her tone a little dismissive.

“You’re keeping yourself entertained with shorts, huh?” Morissette continued with the small talk, trying to engage her.

“No, Morissette. Social media isn’t just for fun—it’s a battlefield. And love is a battlefield too, but let’s stick to social media,” Allison said, her voice sharp and sassy. “I’m studying the competition. Like they say, ‘keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.’” She glanced at Morissette and smirked.

“That’s the spirit, girl! Fight and don’t back down!” Morissette added, fueling Allison’s determination with a proud smile.