JHARIED'S POV
Leaving Filia's father's house, I didn't wait for a further sign. I walked quickly towards the car, breathing heavily, my chest heavy and filled with an inexpressible anger. This wasn't that sort of anger that explodes—but one which was silent, cold, and absolute.
I knew he was lying.
I knew he was trying to clean up his image.
I knew he was concealing something about what transpired last night.
And I couldn't stand the thought of Filia being painted as a spoiled brat, a drama queen, immature, or overreacting. I've seen enough of her to know-she is not like that. Yes, she has attitude. Yes, she has pride. Yes, she's grumpy. But she doesn't seek attention. She doesn't look for drama. She doesn't throw tantrums just to be noticed.
If she cries, there's a reason.
If she's silent, that's a heavy burden.
If she's afraid, then that means it's serious.
And I couldn't forget her face last night.
The exhaustion.
The pain.
The apprehension.
Not even the best actress could conceal that.
She was being manipulated by her father; I knew it, damn it.
---
I didn't head directly inside when I got home. I just stood there for a few seconds in front of the door, trying to catch my breath and calm myself down. I didn't want to walk in angry. I didn't want to scare Filia more. I didn't want her involved with the resentment I felt toward her father.
I took a deep breath before opening the door.
Silence.
Too much silence.
"Filia?" I called out.
Nobody responded.
I left my bag on the couch and headed towards the hallway. I instantly noticed the light spilling from beneath her door. Her lampshade was on inside.
I knocked, gently. "Filia… are you in there?"
Still silent.
I worried, but I didn't make a sudden move. "I'm comi—"
But before I could finish, I heard a faint sound.
A sob.
Small.
Quick.
As if hidden on purpose.
And my world stopped.
"Filia?" Softer, more careful. "Hey… it's me."
Still no response.
But I heard it. I wasn't mistaken. There were tears. There was held-back breathing. There was a wall desperately trying not to crumble.
I could feel the weight behind the door.
Gently, I tried to open it. Locked.
Of course.
"Filia." I whispered, almost like a prayer. "Please. Let me in."
Silence again.
But the sobs didn't go away.
I leaned against the door. Not aggressively. Not demanding. Merely as if I were taking on her burden, even though we were on opposite sides of the wood.
"You don't have to talk," I whispered. "You don't have to explain. You don't even need to look at me. Just… open the door. Let me be here."
A few seconds passed.
Ten.
Twenty
I thought she wouldn't open it—
*Click.*
The door slowly opened.
And that's when I saw her.
Heartfilia.
Not the brave Filia who always kept her chin up and ignored the world.
Not the feisty woman who never gave up.
Not the one who always had a comeback, confidence, or a wall built up.
But the Filia that no one should ever see like that.
Her hair was covering her face, mussed, as if it had been touched many times by trembling hands. Her eyes were swollen, her nose red, her cheeks had streaks of tears which were still wet.
But the most painful thing?
The way she looked at me.
She looked scared that I would see her in her most broken state.
As if she were ashamed.
As if she didn't know if it was okay to cry in front of me.
I stepped in slowly.
I didn't touch her right away. I didn't want to scare her. I didn't want her thinking I was forcing the issue. So I stood just a foot away and whispered—
"Filia…"
That's when she finally moved.
Slowly. Wordlessly. Without asking.
She came closer.
And she buried her face in my chest.
Not in any melodramatic manner. Not a sudden hug.
It was a very slight movement, as if she was checking whether she had permission.
It was not until her head reached my chest that she seemed to take a deep breath.
And that's when she completely broke down.
She cried.
Not loudly. Not hysterically.
It was the kind of cry she'd been holding all day.
The one she had desperately kept locked inside.
The one she was enduring alone, because nobody else would hold it.
I placed my hands on her back, gently.
I didn't move her.
I didn't force her to talk.
Just steady warmth.
Just presence.
"Why…" she whispered, hoarsely. "Why is everything so hard?"
She looked up at me, teary-eyed, searching for an answer from me that I was not sure I could give.
I didn't know what she and her father argued about.
I didn't know what he said.
I didn't know what kind of threat or pain she had gotten.
But even if I didn't know the details…
I knew she wasn't a spoiled brat.
I knew she wasn't being dramatic.
I knew she wasn't crying over a simple 'I just want this.'
The weight of her crying was a weight that no teenager should have to carry.
So, the only thing I answered was the truth.
"Because you're carrying it alone," I whispered, stroking her back softly. "And you shouldn't have to."
She flinched, as if my words struck a nerve.
"No one is helping you," I added, slowly. "All the burden, all the pain… it's all on you, alone."
She took a deep breath and her fingers tightened around my shirt.
"Jharied…" Her voice broke. "I cannot tell you."
"I know," I said softly. "So don't. I won't force you."
She was surprised by that. She thought I would oblige her, pull out the truth she refused to reveal. She thought she needed to explain herself just to be deserving of love or understanding.
But no.
"You don't owe me anything, Filia," I said. "Not explanations. Not reasons. Not secrets."
She clutched my shirt tightly.
"And you don't have to look strong with me."
That's when she cried again.
Louder now!
Deeper.
More painful.
The cry of a person who is used to holding everything in.
Used to enduring.
Used to carrying.
Used to pretending she feels nothing, so as not to be a problem to others.
I let her cry.
I held her until her knees weakened.
I guided her to sit on the edge of the bed.
I wiped away her tears using my sleeve, not my hands; I did not want her to think that I viewed her as weak.
And when her sobs finally subsided, she would not let go of me.
"Jharied…" she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Why are you doing this?"
The kind of question asked by someone who has never been taken care of. I cupped the side of her head gently.
"I'm here," I said.
"Because you're not alone anymore." I didn't say the rest. I didn't say I would talk with her father again. I didn't say I didn't believe she was a spoiled brat. I didn't say that I saw the lies in her father.
I never said that no one else would be allowed to hurt her-verbally, emotionally, or in any way. I didn't say that I would do everything to find the truth. But it was in my tone. It was in my arms. It was in the beating of my heart that she could hear now.
Filia said nothing. Instead, she laid her head against my chest again… exhausted, drained, fragile…
And for the first time ever— she allowed herself to be held.