Author's POV
The man did not leave Gia's mind right away.
As she walked down the steps of the barangay hall, she could still feel Sebastian Montenegro's heavy, quiet gaze on her back, as if what he had given her was not just a simple glance. It was not the practiced kind of look, nor the familiar sort of attention she was used to refusing from men who stopped first at her face before they ever got to know her character.
It was more assessing.
And because Gia was just as observant, she did not forget it so easily.
She had only taken a few steps when she remembered it again and could not stop herself from glancing back at the barangay hall.
She was not that far yet.
And that was when she saw him already standing outside.
Sebastian.
He stood quietly in the shade of the doorway, one hand in his pocket, his posture looking relaxed at first glance, but there was something about that calmness she did not like. Even from that distance, it was clear he was still looking at her.
She did not look away.
Neither did she look visibly surprised.
For a brief moment, they held each other's gaze again beneath the heat of noon, two people with no intention of being the first to assign meaning to the other.
Then Gia turned away first.
Not because she had to.
Because she chose to.
When she reached the van, she did not speak right away. She only closed the door, placed her bag beside her, and looked outside as the vehicle moved away from the barangay hall.
Handsome.
Yes.
Clean aura.
Good posture.
And clearly the kind of man people around him were used to listening to, or at least making room for.
But none of those things stirred anything inside Gia.
One detail was far clearer in her mind than the man's face.
The governor's son.
The son of the man whose school project had been left to gather dust after winning.
The son of the family that could build walls for photographs but could not finish classrooms for the children who were supposed to study there.
That was enough.
She did not need to make any effort not to be interested.
It came naturally.
When she got home, she found Lando in the shade of the yard, sweeping dry leaves with a stick broom. From the kitchen, the window was open and the smell of sautéed garlic and onions drifted out, which most likely meant Nena was cooking.
Gia stopped at the gate.
"Tay," she called.
The old man turned at once. "Apo, you're back."
"Were you not told to rest?"
"This is light work."
She walked straight to him and took the broom from his hand without a word. "When I say do not do anything heavy yet, that includes things that only look light."
Lando sighed. "I really cannot win against you."
"You really cannot."
That was the last thing she said before leaving the broom to one side and helping him inside.
Inside the house, she found Nena in the kitchen, sweat on her forehead, wearing the old dress they had bought the week before. She looked better in it now. Not because the fabric was expensive, but because the old exhaustion that had once seemed to count in years was no longer on her body.
"So you made it back," the old woman said. "I thought you would be out until much later with all your errands."
"I just came across something on the way."
Nena looked at her for a few seconds, that familiar look Gia already knew was reading her face even without asking directly.
"Hm," was all she said. "Wash your hands. We are about to eat."
She did not push Gia to say more.
And perhaps that was one of the things Gia liked most about the two old people. They knew how to wait for what would come out on its own instead of forcing answers out of someone who did not want to give them yet.
As they ate lunch, there was very little conversation.
At one point, Lando asked if there had been many people at the barangay hall. Gia answered yes. Nena asked whether she had bought fish like she had been told. Gia answered that she had forgotten and would get some tomorrow instead. Nena laughed and said she thought their granddaughter never forgot anything. Gia did not bother responding to that.
But when they were almost done eating, Gia suddenly spoke without looking at either of them.
"There is a school here that was never finished."
Nena's hand stopped in the middle of arranging a plate. "The one near the far end?"
"You know about it?"
"Almost everyone here knows about that," Lando answered. "Back then, people thought it was going to be a big help. But it was never properly completed."
"Only four classrooms are usable," Nena added. "The others are unfinished or already damaged."
Gia quietly ate the last of her rice before speaking again.
"I'm going to fix it."
The couple looked at each other.
What was on their faces was not shock.
It was closer to understanding that this must be the next thing she had poured her mind into, and once Gia poured her mind into something, she was very hard to stop.
"Was that why you went to the barangay?" Nena asked softly.
"Yes."
"And what else?"
That was when Gia looked at them.
She did not know why it was easier for her to say these things to two old people who were not her blood than it had ever been for many who had truly been part of her old life. Perhaps because they demanded no performance from her. There was no role they wanted her to wear. They did not need proof that she deserved to be heard.
"I want to fix the school," she said. "All ten classrooms. New supplies. New teachers if they are lacking. Books. Then a feeding program."
The couple fell silent.
"Feeding?" Lando repeated.
"Yes. In the morning, at recess, at lunch, in the afternoon, and something to take home too if possible."
Nena let out a slow, deep breath. "Anak, that is something enormous."
"I know."
"Are you not afraid of running out?"
At that, the corner of Gia's mouth lifted slightly. "Nay, I do not run out easily."
The old woman did not press the point further. Instead, she simply nodded and said softly, "If that is what you believe is right, then do it."
No sermon.
No warning.
No attempt to stop her.
Just trust.
And somehow, that landed heavier than caution ever could.
That night, Gia did not sleep right away.
She was at the table in the living room with her notebook open, several papers scattered around, and the quiet hum of the electric fan in the corner. Outside the window, the barangay was silent. Only now and then did a motorcycle pass or a dog bark in the distance.
In front of her were lists.
Repair costs.
Temporary classroom setup.
Desks.
Books.
Kitchen equipment for the feeding program.
Possible salaries for teachers.
Medicine allocation.
Elderly support.
She did not put the entire budget on paper in a way that anyone could easily read. She was too used to being careful even with simple writing. But there was enough written down for her to know where to begin and what had to come first.
First the school.
Then the food.
Then the clinic.
Then medicine support and elderly allowance.
It could not all happen at once if she wanted it done properly, but those things could connect if the first foundation was correct.
It was nearly midnight when she finally closed her notebook. When she looked toward the kitchen doorway, Nena was standing there in silence, holding a glass of water.
"Go to sleep," the old woman said.
"I was about to tell you the same thing."
Nena walked over and placed the water on the table. "You still do not know how to listen."
"Neither do you."
The older woman smiled a little. "You take after me."
Gia did not answer that. She just took the glass and drank.
The next day, she returned to the barangay hall.
She arrived earlier this time, and now there were people already waiting for her. The captain, a teacher named Ma'am Perla who had been teaching in the barangay for over ten years, and a thin foreman who looked like he knew how to assess walls and roofs without too much drama.
The four of them went straight to the old school.
Even from the road, it already looked sad.
Not just because it was damaged.
But because the entire structure clearly showed that it had once been promised a good beginning and then abandoned halfway through. The front had faded paint that did not even match in some sections. Four rooms still looked usable at first glance, but behind them stood the other six like a dream that had been cut apart in the middle.
Two had incomplete ceilings.
One had walls that had not even been fully plastered.
Two more had damaged roofs, and another had a broken window that someone had tried to cover with sheet metal and cardboard.
In front of the building, several children were sitting on the cement waiting for class. Some of them were barefoot. One was carrying an old notebook with no cover anymore. Another sat staring into nothing, as though it was still too early for his mind to enter school.
Gia's grip on her bag tightened slightly.
"For now, we only use four rooms," Ma'am Perla said as she opened the first one. "We make the grade levels fit however we can. Sometimes two classes share one room when teachers are lacking."
When they stepped inside, it hit Gia even harder.
Hot.
Cramped.
Many of the chairs had wobbling legs. Some had splintering wood. There were two benches at the back that had obviously just been turned over to make them usable. The blackboard was so faded the chalk barely held to it. Children sat crowded against one another, and though they were quiet at first, Gia could immediately feel the hunger in some of them by the way they looked at the bread roll in one child's lunch.
"They still come to school like this?" Gia asked.
"Some do," the teacher answered. "Some disappear from attendance. Especially during harvest season, when there is work at the market, or when there is no food at home."
They moved to another room that was slightly better, though still not enough. In the third, water dripped into one corner whenever it rained, according to Ma'am Perla. In the fourth, there was a fan, but the oscillation was broken and it sounded like each turn might be its last.
After that, the foreman brought them to the six unused classrooms.
Gia no longer needed long explanations. She could already see what was lacking. She could already see which parts needed to be torn out and which could still be saved by repairs. Which ones could be fixed in a week. Which would need new materials. Which could be made usable at once while the others were still being worked on.
From behind one classroom, she heard the faint recitation of the alphabet from another room.
A.
B.
C.
She stopped quietly for a moment.
Even in that condition, they still came.
Hungry.
Hot.
With broken chairs.
That was the part she would not forget.
When she turned back to the captain, there was no hesitation left on her face.
"We begin with the roof and structural repairs on the six," she said. "At the same time, get estimates for desks, chairs, bookshelves, lights, and blackboards for all ten rooms. I also want a kitchen area. There cannot be a feeding program if the cooking is done just anywhere."
The captain wrote at once.
"Ma'am Perla," Gia continued, "how many teachers are you short if all the rooms are opened?"
"At minimum, six more," the teacher answered, still looking like she could not believe she was being asked that seriously.
"Find them. If there are qualified people in neighboring barangays, get me a list."
"And the books?"
"I will handle the books."
The teacher could only stare at her.
Behind them, several children peeked out from the doorway, quietly wondering why a beautiful young woman was walking around their broken school as if she intended to change everything.
And that was exactly what Gia intended to do.
When they stepped out of the last room, the fierce sun hit the schoolyard. Under the shade of a tree at the far end of the lot, two mothers were waiting for their children. One woman held a baby while the other carried a small container of rice that clearly would still need to be divided between two or three people.
Gia's eyes met theirs for a brief second.
The woman said nothing.
But her eyes alone were enough to remind Gia why she was there.
"Kap," she said as they walked away from the front of the building, "I want the complete list of students before the week ends. Include the families with special needs."
"Yes."
"And I want a meeting with the parents once there is an initial plan."
"Yes."
"And the records of the senior citizens and their maintenance needs, follow that next."
The captain's joy was already too big for his face. "Yes. Yes. I will take care of that."
They were already near the gate when a vehicle stopped by the road.
Gia did not pay attention to it at first.
Not until she heard a door quietly open.
When she looked over, she saw the man she did not want to see sooner than necessary.
Sebastian Montenegro.
He stood beside a clean vehicle, simple but expensive looking, wearing a thin long sleeved shirt rolled up to his elbows. He was carrying brown paper bags that at first glance looked like food or supplies. Around him, two children immediately approached him without fear, as if they were already familiar with him.
Of course.
Bringing help.
Seen by people.
And with the natural shift of Gia's brow, only one thought came first to mind.
For show.
She did not approach.
Neither did she bother staring for long.
But before she could fully turn away, their eyes met again.
The same weight.
The same careful measuring.
And in that moment, Gia's first impression only became firmer in her mind.
Yes, he was handsome.
But he was still the governor's son.
And until she saw real substance beneath whatever goodness he showed on the surface, she had no intention of giving it any other meaning.
"Captain," she said, taking her eyes off the man, "the papers. Within this week. And the thing I asked for."
The captain immediately looked at her. From Gia's tone alone, he already knew there was more to that sentence than what other ears should hear.
"Ah," he said quickly, then glanced first at Sebastian, who was still standing at the gate with the two children. "All right, hija."
Gia did not look back at the governor's son. She did not think about whether he had noticed that she had very deliberately refused to show any interest in his presence. It had no value to her anymore. The list of things that needed to come first weighed more than any face, no matter how polished the man carrying it might be.