In every barangay, there exists a second classroom.
No walls.
No teachers.
Just people.
And they are always "grading" someone.
—
Cielo learned this early.
Not from books.
Not from doctors.
But from whispers.
—
It started one afternoon when she was walking slowly under the shade, cap pulled low, Jessa beside her like a loyal bodyguard who took friendship very seriously.
They weren't even doing anything dramatic.
Just existing.
Unfortunately, that was already enough.
—
"Is that her?" one woman whispered near the sari-sari store.
"Yeah, the one who faints from sunlight."
"Arte lang na," another voice added immediately.
Cielo stopped walking.
Jessa also stopped.
But in that very specific "I heard that but I will pretend I didn't hear it unless you want chaos" kind of pause.
—
Jessa leaned in. "Did you hear that?"
Cielo nodded. "Unfortunately, my ears are functioning."
"Do we fight them?"
Cielo thought for a moment.
Then shook her head. "No. I'm too weak for cardio and emotional damage today."
—
They kept walking.
But Cielo's voice turned quieter.
"I wonder what version of me they think they're seeing."
Jessa frowned. "What do you mean?"
Cielo shrugged. "Maybe they think I wake up every day and say, 'Hmm… how can I inconvenience the sun today?'"
Jessa laughed. "Honestly, that sounds like you."
"Thank you."
"That was not a compliment."
"I took it as one."
—
But later that same day, it got worse.
Because people don't just talk once.
They recycle opinions.
—
At the sari-sari store, two men were drinking soda.
One of them pointed slightly.
"That girl again. Always under shade."
"Maybe she's just weak," the other said.
"Or attention-seeking."
Cielo heard it this time.
Clearly.
Like the world had turned the volume up on cruelty.
Jessa stepped forward immediately. "Hey—"
Cielo gently pulled her back.
"Don't," she said softly.
Jessa blinked. "Why not?"
Cielo smiled faintly. "Because I don't think they're ready for your main character energy."
—
They walked away.
But Jessa was visibly annoyed.
"That's so unfair," she said. "They don't even know your condition."
Cielo gave a small shrug. "People don't need facts. They prefer entertainment."
Jessa frowned. "You're not entertainment."
Cielo paused.
Then smiled.
"Tell that to my immune system. It's been performing daily."
—
That night at home, Aling Rosa noticed immediately.
Cielo was quieter than usual.
And for Cielo, that already meant something was wrong.
—
Rosa placed a plate of food in front of her.
"Eat."
Cielo poked the rice. "I am eating emotionally."
Rosa narrowed her eyes. "That is not nutrition."
"I disagree."
"Cielo."
"Okay fine."
—
A pause.
Then Rosa sat across from her.
"You heard people talking again," she said—not a question.
Cielo didn't deny it.
"…Yeah."
Rosa exhaled sharply. "These people have too much free time."
Cielo nodded. "And very strong opinions about my sunlight relationship status."
—
Rosa shook her head.
"I don't understand them," she muttered. "You're literally sick and they still have something to say."
Cielo looked at her mother.
Softly:
"Ma… people will always talk."
Rosa looked frustrated. "Then let them try living your life for one day."
Cielo tilted her head.
"That would end badly," she said. "I faint before lunch."
—
Rosa almost smiled, but it didn't fully form.
Instead, she reached across the table and held Cielo's hand.
"Do you want me to talk to them?" she asked.
Cielo immediately shook her head.
"No."
"Why?"
Cielo thought for a moment.
Then shrugged.
"Because they don't know what they're talking about anyway."
A pause.
Then, lighter:
"And I don't want you getting into a verbal cage fight with half the barangay."
—
Rosa huffed. "I would win."
"I know," Cielo said. "That's the problem."
—
Silence settled again.
Not heavy this time.
Just… tired.
—
Later, Cielo was outside—under safe shade, of course—writing in her notebook when Jessa arrived, still visibly angry.
"I still can't believe them," Jessa said.
Cielo didn't look up. "You're late. The gossip season already aired."
Jessa sat beside her. "How are you so calm?"
Cielo tapped her pen.
"I'm not calm," she said. "I'm just… accustomed."
—
Jessa leaned closer. "Does it hurt?"
Cielo paused.
Then answered honestly.
"Yes."
A beat.
Then she added, softer:
"But not as much as the sun."
—
Jessa went quiet after that.
—
Cielo finally looked up at her.
Then smiled a little.
"But hey," she said, "if people are going to talk anyway, I hope they at least make me sound interesting."
Jessa frowned. "That's your takeaway?"
"Yes."
"Cielo…"
"What?"
"You are unbelievable."
Cielo nodded. "Thank you. I try."
—
And under the trees again—where shade felt like protection and gossip felt like weather—
Cielo learned something simple, painful, and quietly strong:
People will always talk.
But not all voices deserve to enter your story.
Some are just background noise…
in a life still being written.