Fury (Nov 1)
The palace doors closed, muffling the whispers of the hall. Sheryl barely made it three steps down the corridor before she spun on him.
"Janitor ka daw?" Her voice cracked, half fury, half heartbreak. "All this time—you let me believe you were scraping by on that scooter, when you're—" she flung her arm back toward the hall "—this? A prince?"
Rafi didn't flinch. "I never wanted to lie, Sheryl. I just wanted to be seen as me, not a crown."
"That's not an excuse!" Her hands shook. "Do you know how humiliating this feels? I've been walking beside you like a fool while people bowed behind my back!"
His jaw tightened. "I wanted one part of my life to be real. Manila was my escape. From duty. From eyes that never leave me. With you, I could breathe."
Sheryl's breath hitched. "So what am I, then? Your… vacation?"
"No." His voice softened. "You are the reason I can return. The reason I can face this again."
Her lips trembled. She turned away. "I can't—Rafi, I can't look at you right now."
He lowered his head. "Then rest. You'll be given the guest room tonight."
That night she cried alone beneath silken sheets, the palace pressing down like a prison.
All Souls' Day (Nov 2)
Dawn crept into the guest room. Sheryl knelt at the low table, a candle flickering in a saucer, rosary threaded through her fingers.
"Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord…" she whispered, her father's face vivid in memory.
The door creaked. Soraya peeked in, her eyes wide. Leila lingered behind, curious but cautious.
"What are you doing?" Soraya whispered.
Sheryl smiled faintly. "Praying. Today is All Souls' Day in the Philippines. We light candles for our dead."
"For your father?"
"Yes." She touched the beads gently. "He's gone. But this is how I carry him with me."
Leila frowned, skeptical. "But… we pray differently here."
"I know," Sheryl said softly. "This is my way."
Soraya crept closer, her eyes bright with wonder. "It's beautiful. Strange… but beautiful."
They slipped out, whispering, while Sheryl pressed the rosary to her lips, whispering: Papa, guide me.
Breakfast (Nov 3)
The next morning, Sheryl entered the dining hall, nerves twisting in her stomach. The queen sat poised at the head, Rafi beside her, the sisters in their places.
When Sheryl bowed, the queen's sharp eyes softened — just barely.
"Rafiq," she said, her voice even, "be a good host. Show her our city. Let her see Jakarta, not just these walls."
The sisters brightened immediately. "May we come too, Mama?" Soraya piped up, her eyes gleaming.
The queen considered, then nodded. "Yes. Let them accompany you."
Sheryl blinked, caught between shock and relief. It sounded almost… normal. Like permission for a school trip.
Rafi glanced at her, the corner of his mouth twitching. "As you wish, Mama."
A Tourist in Jakarta
By noon, the city unfolded before her. For once, the motorcade was smaller, less suffocating. Sheryl rode in the backseat with Soraya and Leila while Amina sat beside Rafi, pointing out landmarks.
They walked through the bustling square at Monas, the National Monument. Sheryl clutched her sling bag, overwhelmed by the scale of it all — street food carts steaming, families laughing, schoolchildren chasing pigeons.
Soraya tugged her sleeve. "Try this!" She held out satay, the smoky skewers dripping sauce. Sheryl hesitated, then laughed and bit in.
"Masarap!" she exclaimed instinctively, forgetting herself. The sisters giggled.
Later, Rafi took them to Istiqlal Mosque. He showed her the vast prayer hall, its ceiling domed like the sky. Sheryl stood barefoot on the cool marble, awed. The sisters whispered quietly, explaining ablutions and prayers. She listened, absorbing, though her rosary felt heavy in her pocket.
At sunset, they wandered through a night market, the sisters bartering for scarves and trinkets. Rafi bought Sheryl a small carved crescent moon pendant, slipping it into her hand.
"For you," he murmured.
Her throat tightened. She wanted to stay angry, but the warmth in his eyes unraveled her.
By the time they returned to the palace, the tension between them had softened, laughter echoing between them again.
The Ring (That Evening)
While Sheryl rested, Rafi slipped away. In a quiet corner of the city, he entered a jeweler's shop. Under the glow of glass cases, he studied rings until his hand closed over one — a diamond, simple yet luminous, set in a band of gold.
"This one," he said firmly.
The jeweler bowed. "For the prince's bride?"
Rafi smiled faintly. "For the only woman I will ever ask."
He left with the small velvet box hidden in his jacket.
The Return (Nov 4)
Morning light slanted through the palace as Sheryl packed her bag. Her heart ached at leaving — but also leapt with relief. Parañaque, her classroom, her mother's tiny sala — she longed for the familiar.
At the airport, she turned to him. "You'll stay?"
"No." He placed his passport on the counter. "I'm coming with you."
Her eyes widened. "Rafi—"
"I told you," he said, steady as ever. "Wherever you are, I will follow."
Her breath caught. For the first time since they'd arrived, she let herself smile fully.
Home (Nov 5)
That evening in Sto. Niño, the street buzzed with tricycles and children playing tumbang preso. Inside, her mother served sinigang at the worn table. Rafi sat with the family, eating with quiet grace, listening more than he spoke.
After dinner, he asked softly, "Tita, may we talk?"
Sheryl's mother glanced at her daughter, then nodded. In the small sala, beneath the crucifix on the wall, Rafi bowed his head.
"I owe you the truth," he began. "My name is Rafiq ibn Salman Al-Malik. I am the heir to my father's throne. But more than that, I am a man who loves your daughter. I want to marry her, with your blessing."
Her mother's hand trembled against her lap. She looked at Sheryl, then back at him.
"You are a prince," she whispered. "And she… she is just my daughter. Are you certain?"
Rafi met her gaze. "I am certain. She is my equal. My partner. My life."
The room fell into silence. At last, Sheryl's mother sighed, rosary beads sliding through her fingers. "It is Sheryl's choice. If she says yes, I will not stand in her way.
Home (Nov 5 Evening)
The tricycles rattled past the gate and the smell of sinigang clung to the air.
Inside, the family gathered around the scarred dining table. Rafi ate with quiet grace, spoon and fork in hand, bowing his head before each bite. Sheryl's mother watched him carefully — not with suspicion, but with the sharp eyes of a nurse who had seen too much to be easily impressed.
After dinner, Mama settled into the worn sofa, the television flickering with the latest K-drama. She had just popped a piece of dried pusit into her mouth when Rafi asked gently, "Tita, may I speak with you?"
She muted the volume, brows raised. "About what, hijo?"
Sheryl shifted nervously, her stomach tightening. Rafi bowed his head, his voice steady.
"I owe you the truth. My name is Rafiq ibn Salman Al-Malik. I am not only a man from the mosque in Manila — I am the heir to my father's throne in Jakarta. But more than that, I am a man who loves your daughter. I want to marry her, with your blessing."
Mama's hand froze midway to the pusit packet. Her eyes blinked rapidly at him, then at Sheryl, then back at him.
Before she could even form words, Sharon's door creaked open. Her face poked out, curious at first — then her jaw dropped.
"Ate…" she squealed, voice climbing higher and higher. "Ate! A PRINCE?!"
She barreled into the sala, waving her arms. "Jackpot ka! Janitor pala daw, PRINCE pala! Ate, you're going to be a PRINCESS! Mama, did you hear that?!"
"Sharon, shut up!" Sheryl snapped, cheeks burning.
But Sharon only twirled, giggling. "Ate, wag ka magalit — sobra lang akong happy! Hindi mo na kailangang magtipid sa Lucky Me, hindi na sardinas ulam mo. Ate, magha-honeymoon kayo sa castle!"
"Sharon!" Sheryl pressed her hands to her temples, the headache sharp and hot. "Please — enough!"
She stood abruptly, muttering, "I can't do this right now," before disappearing into her room and shutting the door.
The TV continued to glow silently. Mama leaned back, still chewing the dried pusit, her eyes never leaving Rafi.
"Well," she said finally, clicking her tongue, "you've given me more plot twists than the drama I was watching. Are you serious about my daughter?"
"Yes, Tita," Rafi replied, steady. "I intend to marry her. If she will have me."
Mama studied him for a long moment, then sighed, reaching for the remote. "Then let's see if your story ends better than theirs." She unmuted the TV, leaving him to sit under Sharon's squeals and the weight of Sheryl's absence.