SHE said she had a date that night, so I didn't ask her again.
I went back to my table in the other room and dived into the mountain of manuscripts I had been proofreading since morning, letting her slip from my mind. It was February 14, but what the heck. I had just received my payslip. I figured I could just stay in my rented space in Roxas District to read another Leon Uris or John Grisham book, or treat myself to a simmering bowl of bulalo at a sidewalk eatery along Aurora Boulevard in Cubao.
By past 5:00 PM, most employees had already left. Through the glass wall separating the editorial office from the circulation department where she worked, I could see her still completely absorbed in paperwork. She didn’t look like someone raring for a date, but I resolved not to ask her again. I was the only one left in my department; unlike my officemates, my official shift ended at 6:00 PM because the company allowed me to extend my hours from Monday to Friday so I could keep my Saturdays free for post-graduate studies.
When the clock struck 6:00, I found myself asking her again anyway. She admitted she wasn’t sure about her date and needed another hour to finish up.
Returning to my desk, I closed my manuscript and checked the wall clock repeatedly. I lost myself in thought watching a column of tiny red ants marching toward the flower vase atop my cubicle, gathering crumbs left over from my 3:00 PM crackers. Eventually, I left the room, locked the glass door, and walked over to the circulation department. I told her that if she was indeed going on a date, I could keep her company in the meantime so we could leave the office together and part ways at the street corner. She agreed.
As we talked, I casually skimmed through back issues of the company’s showbiz, sports, and music magazines. She had only been introduced to me six months earlier, back in August, by her college best friend who had convinced her to join the company. She was shy, slim, just a little over five feet tall, with an attractive face, observant eyes, and long, flowing tresses.
I had gotten to know her more closely one Sunday afternoon a few days after our initial meeting. She was alone in the office because her best friend couldn't make it that day. Meanwhile, the magazine editor who had called me in for press work changed his mind and canceled at the last minute. I went straight to her office, said hello, and stayed for the next two hours just talking. That was when I discovered we had graduated from college in the same year, that her family was Ilocano, and that her late father, brother, and sister all shared the same birthday—September 21, which also happened to be my birthday!
That same night, I invited her to dinner at a sizzling joint and bakeshop near the office, just across from Sto. Domingo Church. Over our meal, we talked about our college days, our wacky officemates, Eraserheads songs, and her goals in life. More dinners followed. Once, at a fast-food restaurant near Welcome Rotunda, I handed her three 100-peso bills to repay a loan from her petty cash. On those bills, I had written the three words I desperately wanted to say to her. She counted the money, looked at me in utter disbelief, and quietly slipped the bills into her purse.
"I'm in a relationship," she had said then. That must be her date tonight, I thought to myself.
We finally left the office at 7:00 PM. "So, you don't have a date after all?" I asked.
She nodded. I offered to take her home, which had become our routine whenever we left the office at the same time.
We hurried out to the street corner along Quezon Avenue and flagged down the first Malate-bound jeepney we saw. The entire city seemed swept up in a romantic mood. Inside the jeepney, two or three young couples were making goo-goo eyes at each other. On the sidewalks, couples openly displayed affection, holding hands as they walked, some girls clutching single flowers. Even through the glass walls of fast-food chains, lovebirds were visible everywhere. No doubt there were even more packed into cinemas, motels, and the shadowy corners of public parks. We just smiled at our observations, choosing to talk about absolutely anything except romance.
We alighted in front of Malate Church and walked toward Remedios Street. The night was clear and starry, and the cool breeze blowing in from Manila Bay felt like a sweet caress. I suggested dinner, and when she agreed, I brought her to a burger stand near her place.
I was secretly overjoyed by the unexpected turn of events—spending Valentine's Day with her, even if it was unplanned and unprompted.
"I finally got a date with you today," I teased.
She laughed but said nothing to confirm it. We simply enjoyed each other's presence. She knew the real me. I didn’t need to play the part of the perfect guy; I just allowed myself to be a genuine friend, and in turn, I came to know her deeply. I grew so comfortable with our setup that I stopped overthinking my feelings and just embraced being with her.
Before she knew it, a deep, resilient friendship had formed between us. Eventually, she found herself stepping into the very love territory I had quietly marked out for her.
That evening was our very first date—a friendly Valentine's Day outing. Yet, it remains our best date ever. It also proved to be our last "casual" date, because in December of that very same year, I married her.
