Harana

As I was exiting the classroom, I heard the soft chords of a guitar playing.

The university's weeklong anniversary celebration was nearing its end, with all remaining activities being held in the gymnasium, where most students were now. The thought of going there in this weather made me feel hot all over, and I instinctively redo my ponytail. Busy deciding what flavor of ice cream I should get before going home, I did not notice the person at the end of the hall until I heard the guitar notes.

I know her, Mary Anne Bautista, a student in the Business Management department who's a year older. Very pretty, and a head taller than me, she would often be the first one I noticed whenever we had classes right next to each other. Being a Student Assistant, I would often see her stop by the library, these days more than ever, as I heard they would be starting their thesis next year.

Any time I would catch her eyes, I found myself ducking, nervous and embarrassed as my stomach did some Olympic-worthy somersaults. Still, I could never help but follow her sight as she turned towards a corner, her laughs always the loudest sound I could hear in a crowded hall.

I'm never brave enough to call a simple hello to her. Seeing her as she walked with her friends and having the split-second of our eyes meeting is enough.

Seeing her looking directly at me is such a new thing that for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

She started singing, and her voice cracked slightly. Someone snickered, and she directed an irritated look at one of the closed classrooms to her left before clearing her throat and continuing to sing.

The song is a long-time favorite of mine, from Parokya ni Edgar. And something in me skipped a beat.

Uso pa ba ang Harana? Marahil ikaw ay nagtataka...

She started moving forward; I never even noticed that I stopped walking. With her getting closer, I could see how red her face was, even with the orange glow of the sunset. She messed up a few of the chords and sang a few words wrong, and each time, her face would twitch in an awkward smile.

I have never seen such a look on her before: nervous, scared, and so soft.

"Hey."

Her voice was softer than usual, but it was enough to fill an empty hallway.

"Hi," I replied in a cracked voice.

The air started to feel awkward as we stood there in silence, the only sound I could hear was something (or someone?) being slapped. My face grew hotter at that, and the redness on her cheeks deepened.

I pushed the knot on my throat down. What should I do? What should I say? What if I say something bad? What if it's too lame? Can I even do words at this point?!

Oh no. Oh no. Please, Me, stop freezing and don't fail me now!

"Attention." We both jumped. "Attention to all students. Tonight's program will start in about two hours, which will then be followed by the dance. Students who are attending tonight's events are advised to go to the gymnasium. Again, Tonight's program will start in about two hours. Please stay guided." Then a click.

We both looked at each other and started laughing at the same time.

"Well, that's one way to break the ice," she said while chuckling.

"You're going to the event?" I asked her. "The school dance was the hot topic of the student body for weeks now."

"Too many people," she replied with a shrug. "You?"

"I'm also not a fan of crowds." I could still feel how hot my face was, but I can breathe easier now. "Hey. That was beautiful. Thank you, Mary Anne."

She looked down in embarrassment. "I think I mixed some wrong lines there, though."

I shook my head. "I like it."

She narrowed her eyes at me, so I gave her a beaming smile. She straightened and smiled in return, the kind of smile that showed her teeth and brightened her face.

Oh.

"Are you going straight home now?" Her eyes widened as she quickly added, "I mean! Uh, there's this place that I often visit after school. They have amazing ice cream there, and—Ah, I'm wondering... if you'd like to accompany them?"

I stood there for a second and laughed. "Yes. Ice cream sounds amazing."

There might have been a muffled 'Yes!', but I never really paid it to mind.

"Great," she sighed, her shoulders loosening. "Oh, and you can call me Mai. That's what my close friends call me."

"Well, that's a cute nickname." We walked side by side as we turned to the direction of the gates, Mary Anne--Mai's guitar slung over her shoulders. "And you can call me Ella."