Author's POV
The next day, Gia did not spend long thinking.
When something struck her mind several times and refused to let her rest, she was not the kind of woman who sat around brooding until the heat of the decision faded. She was not used to good intentions that stayed trapped inside a notebook either. In the world she had grown up in, a plan without action after it was nothing more than decoration for people too afraid to spend, too afraid to stain their name, or too afraid to lose control.
Gia was none of the three.
She left the house early after making sure Nena and Lando had already taken their medicine and that a proper breakfast was on the table. She did not tell them her full plan. Not because she did not trust the two of them, but because she did not want to say something out loud before it had fully taken shape. She preferred to hold it in her own hands first before showing it to anyone else.
"Did you already pay the water bill yesterday?" Nena asked while arranging cups on the table.
"It's already taken care of," Gia answered while closing her bag.
"And the fish you were supposed to buy later?"
"I'll buy it when I get back."
"Are you sure?"
That was when Gia looked at her. "Nay."
Nena laughed softly. "All right, then."
Across from them, Lando quietly drank his coffee. But when Gia stood up, he immediately looked at her too. "Do not tire yourself out too much, Apo."
It was a simple line.
But like always, it carried a strange weight in her chest. Not painful. Not light. Just the kind of feeling she still did not know how to receive properly.
"I do not get tired easily," she said.
"There you go again," Nena murmured.
Gia did not answer. She simply took her umbrella and stepped out of the house.
At the barangay hall, she had not expected the morning to be noisy.
There were mothers carrying children, men holding papers, two old people arguing about assistance, and a young man lingering at the side who clearly had business there too but did not want to be first in line. The air was already hot even though the sun had not fully reached its peak. Inside the small office, two electric fans turned as if they were already exhausted from the number of people wanting something done.
The moment Gia entered, several heads turned.
That was nothing new.
No matter how simply she dressed, there was always something about her that did not belong to ordinary people. It was in the way she moved. In the way she carried herself. In her quiet face that was too refined for the chaos of a barangay office.
She ignored the stares.
She went straight to the secretary's desk and said calmly, "May I speak to the barangay captain?"
The woman looked her over from head to toe, not rudely, but clearly measuring what business a young woman who looked like an outsider could possibly have. "Do you have an appointment?"
"No."
"What is it about?"
"School."
The secretary paused. "School?"
"I just have something to ask."
After waiting several minutes, she was finally allowed into the captain's small office.
It was quieter inside than outside, but not better kept. There was a metal filing cabinet in one corner, an old desk covered with folders and receipts, and a wall filled with photographs of projects and events that clearly had only been funded when someone needed votes. Behind the desk sat the captain, a man likely in his late fifties, dark from the sun, heavy voiced, with the face of someone long used to listening to other people's problems even though he himself rarely had enough funds to solve them.
"Good morning," he greeted.
"Good morning," Gia replied as she sat in the chair he pointed to.
"I heard you had a question about the school."
She did not waste time with circles. That was never her habit.
"If I want to build a school," she said, "what would be needed?"
The captain stopped cold.
Gia had barely even settled into her seat, and that was already the question she dropped into the room.
"Build a school?" the captain repeated, as though he needed to hear the words again to make sure he had not misunderstood.
"Yes."
"Here in the barangay?"
"Yes."
"And free?"
"Yes."
Silence.
A long silence.
Outside, the faint sounds of the office continued. A child crying. Slippers slapping against cement. Someone calling the name of the next person in line. But inside that room, everything seemed to recede for a few seconds.
The captain carefully set down the pen in his hand.
"My girl," he said at last, "are you serious?"
"Do I look like I'm joking?"
Gia did not say it rudely. Only quietly. Directly. But it was still enough to make the captain swallow before letting out a brief laugh.
"No," he admitted. "No, you do not look like you're joking."
He leaned back a little in his chair. "The truth is, if you want to build a new one, that would take a long time. Papers, land, permits, coordination, budget breakdowns, endorsements. There is a lot that needs to be processed."
Gia's face did not move. "I can handle that."
"There is just one thing," the captain added. "If you are willing, there may be a better way to use your help."
That was when she became genuinely interested.
"What is that?"
The captain sighed and stood up to pull an old folder from the filing cabinet. When he opened it, there were several photographs inside. He placed them on the desk in front of Gia.
A building.
Long. Concrete. Clearly meant to be a school. But at first glance, Gia already knew something was wrong.
Part of the roof was missing.
Some classrooms did not even have complete walls.
There were crooked windows.
Broken chairs with missing backs.
A door leaning uselessly against the side as if anyone meant to repair the place had long since abandoned hope.
"So one was already built," Gia said, studying the photos.
"Not completely," the captain answered. "It was supposed to be a project. A big project for education, they said. Ten classrooms were planned. Only four are usable now. The rest are damaged or were never even finished."
Gia slowly laid one of the photographs back on the desk. "Whose project was this?"
Something like caution crossed the captain's face then, the kind that usually only surfaced when politics entered the conversation.
"It was the governor's project."
Gia stayed quiet.
She waited for the rest.
"It was built during campaign season. A lot of promises. A lot of picture taking. A lot of speeches." He shook his head. "Once he won, it was forgotten little by little."
Gia did not answer right away. She looked at the next photograph.
The damage was clearer there. In one room, the floor had sunk in one corner. In another, desks had broken legs. In another, children were crowded together in the only four decent chairs left while others brought their own stools or stood at the side.
"Why are only four being used?" she asked.
"Because only those four still have safe roofs and walls," the captain replied. "The other six have missing ceilings, jammed windows, leaks, or were never completed. Even if the teachers wanted to use them, they cannot."
"Teachers," Gia repeated. "How many?"
"Only a few now. Some left. Some were never replaced. One even walks all the way from the next barangay just to teach."
The captain lowered his eyes to the photographs. "Even the children do not attend regularly anymore."
"Why?"
"Hunger." There was no decoration in his answer. "And work. Some would rather go with their parents to the fields, fish, watch over stores, or haul goods at the market. And even when they do come, they come hungry. It is already hard to study on an empty stomach, then they see the school itself falling apart."
Gia's jaw tightened slightly.
She was not emotional in the way that made people cry in front of others. She was not fond of grand reactions either. But there were times when her silence was more dangerous than any outburst.
This was one of those moments.
"How many children here should be in school but do not attend regularly?" she asked.
The captain looked at her, seeming surprised by how quickly her mind shifted from the idea of a new school to the more practical question. "Quite a lot. I do not know the exact number by heart, but we have a list."
"Get it."
The captain stood immediately.
When he came back, there was now a thicker folder on the desk. Enrollment records, attendance, teachers' notes, reports about feeding concerns, repair requests, and letters that had been sent but never answered.
Gia looked through them one by one.
She was not reading every line slowly, but she grasped the contents quickly. Number of classrooms. Number of teachers. Number of enrollees. Number of those who actually attended. The same lines repeated again and again.
No budget.
Pending.
For review.
No available allocation.
She was halfway through turning the pages when the captain spoke again.
"If you ask me, my girl, it would help more to bring that one back to life than to start over with a new one."
Gia did not answer right away.
She lowered one paper first before finally looking up.
"If I continue this," she said, "I will be carrying what is lacking."
The captain almost seemed afraid to breathe while waiting for the rest.
"The six classrooms will be completed," she said plainly. "The damage in the four existing ones will be repaired. Broken chairs, desks, windows, doors, and lights will all be replaced. If there are not enough books, I will handle the books. If there are not enough teachers, I will hire new ones before the next school year begins."
The captain could only stare at her.
She was not done.
"And I want a feeding program."
"Feeding?" he repeated almost under his breath.
"Yes." Her voice carried the kind of certainty that no longer asked whether something was possible. "There will be food in the morning when they arrive. Food at recess. Food at lunch. Food again in the afternoon. And they will bring something home too. If you want children to come to school, they cannot be hungry."
The captain went silent.
This was always what happened when Gia's mind became clear on a decision. Her movements, questions, and plans began to pour out one after another as if they had been waiting inside her all along for the right moment to emerge.
"I also want a complete list of the children," she continued. "Who attends. Who stopped. Who cannot afford to continue. Who is working instead of studying. I also want a list of the current teachers and what they lack."
"Ma'am," the captain said, not even realizing the way he was addressing her had already changed, "if you can do all that, that would already be something enormous."
"That is not everything."
The captain's brow nearly rose.
Gia slowly opened the notebook she had brought. "I also have a plan for free medicine. I will build a free clinic if possible. If not immediately, I will start with regular checkups and medicine first. I also want a food allowance for the elderly, especially those with maintenance medicine and difficulty moving."
The captain's face was almost impossible to read now, a mixture of shock and delight. "Even the seniors?"
"Yes."
"All of them?"
"All who can be covered. The most in need will be prioritized."
"Clinic, school, feeding program, books, teachers, medicine, allowance." He shook his head as if he still could not believe that a young woman had walked into his office and was saying those words as though they were no more serious than a grocery list. "My girl, what you are talking about is enormous."
"I know."
"Why would you do that?"
That was when she paused.
Not because of the question itself.
But because of the way he asked it.
Not nosy. Not suspicious. More like a man trying to understand why someone who could obviously live somewhere easier would willingly choose the mess in front of them.
Gia looked out the window for a moment before turning back to him.
"I am only a representative," she said, "of a religious group abroad. They have already helped other places with situations similar to yours."
She did not blink when she said it.
She did not smile.
She did not add unnecessary details.
When Gia needed to lie, her simplicity was more dangerous than other people's elaborate stories.
The captain swallowed before nodding slowly. "Then please tell your group this would mean an enormous amount if it truly happens."
"It will happen."
That was always her favorite kind of answer. Not a loud promise. Not a future tense stuffed with hope but empty of substance. Just plain certainty.
It will happen.
For nearly another hour, their discussion went on. They went through possible land under the project. Who held the keys to the old building. Who could be spoken to for repair permits. Which teachers could still be relied on. Which suppliers in town would not cheat on construction materials. How many students might return if food was provided every day. How many elderly residents were on maintenance medicine. How many households the health center failed to reach.
By the end of that conversation, the captain could no longer hide his joy.
He kept nodding as he wrote down names and contacts on a sheet of paper. "I truly thought no one would ever look at this place properly again," he said. "That school has nearly been forgotten because for so long it was nothing but an old promise."
"Do not celebrate too much yet," Gia said as she closed her notebook. "There is still work."
"I would rather there be work than have nothing happen again."
This time, the corner of Gia's mouth moved slightly. Not quite a real smile, but enough for the captain to notice.
She stood to leave.
"I will come back," she said. "I need to arrange the list and the budget first."
"Of course, hija." The captain stood too. "Thank you so much. Truly."
"Prepare the documents I will need as well."
"Yes. Yes. I will take care of that."
Gia had barely reached the door when it suddenly opened from the outside.
And that was when the man stepped in, and at first glance alone, Gia already knew she would not like him.
Tall.
Clean posture.
Wearing a sleeveless shirt, but the fabric was obviously expensive. His hair was neat, not excessive, but the kind that did not seem to need effort to look presentable. Handsome, yes. The kind of handsome people with time on their hands would easily talk about. But to Gia, a handsome face had never been anything new. In the world she came from, she had seen many men better dressed and carrying far more dangerous auras than his.
She was no longer the type to be intimidated by looks like that.
What came to her mind first was something else.
Polished.
Comfortable.
Too comfortable.
The man looked at her too as he entered.
Only for a second.
But it was enough for her to feel that he was not used to seeing a woman who was not immediately affected by his presence.
"Ah," the captain said suddenly, clearly pleased by the timing of their arrival. "Perfect. Miss Gia Santos, this is Sebastian Montenegro."
Gia's expression did not move.
No lifted brow. No shy softness. Not even the smallest sign of interest.
"Sebastian," the captain added, "the governor's son."
That was when Gia finally gave the faintest curve of her mouth.
Small.
Cold.
So brief it was barely a smile.
Of course.
The governor's son.
The same governor whose forgotten project she had just agreed to save.
She liked him even less.
No one spoke.
Both of them waited.
Both of them looked at each other.
Measured. Assessing.
Gia did not stop to understand why there was a strange weight in the man's gaze or what exactly he was doing at the barangay hall. That was not her problem. And at that moment, his surname was clearer to her than his face.
Montenegro.
Governor.
Enough.
"Captain," she said without taking her eyes off the man, "I will be leaving now."
"Ah, yes, yes." The captain clearly had wanted to extend the introduction, but Gia's lack of interest was too obvious to push against. "Thank you again, hija. Thank you so much."
He could not hide the delight in his voice.
Sebastian glanced briefly at the captain, as if puzzled by the warmth of his gratitude, but Gia paid it no mind.
She walked out of the office.
Behind her, she heard the captain call after her once more.
"Miss Gia, thank you very much."
She did not turn back.
She only lowered her umbrella as she stepped out of the barangay hall, straight into the blazing sun and the hot cement gleaming in the light.
As she walked down the steps, only one thing was clear in her mind.
She was going to do it.
And now that she knew the neglected school had been the governor's project, she wanted it even more.
Then Gia suddenly remembered the way the man had looked at her. She could not stop herself from glancing back at the barangay hall, which was not yet that far from where she stood.
She did not expect to see him there, standing outside the barangay hall, looking back at her too.