The skyline of Makati glistened under the morning sun, an ocean of concrete and glass stretching toward the heavens. To the thousands who walked its bustling streets every day, it was just another Wednesday. But for Ma. Rowena "Wendy" Naredo, it was the first day of her new life.
Wendy adjusted her worn blazer—a hand-me-down from a cousin who made it in Dubai—and clutched her envelope of neatly printed credentials close to her chest. Her dark brown eyes, curious and slightly anxious, scanned the towering buildings like a child staring at a foreign land. The city buzzed with noise—horns honking, the screech of jeepneys, people brushing past each other in a rush to nowhere.
"Antique is nothing like this," she whispered to herself, taking a deep breath.
Raised in the quiet barangay of Maybato, San Jose de Buenavista, Wendy had only ever dreamed of this moment. The day she would step into the real world, far from the rice fields and the scent of freshly baked pan de sal from their family bakery. A graduate of Business Administration, Wendy graduated magna cum laude with a resume padded with volunteer experiences, student leadership and academic recognitions. But none of those achievements shielded her now from the intimidating vibe of the corporate jungle.
And yet, she had no choice. With three younger siblings in college and a sick mother back home, Wendy was the breadwinner, the family warrior. Her Papa had passed away when she was sixteen, leaving behind a legacy of kindness and a farm full of unpaid debts. That morning, Wendy had one goal: to get hired.
She stood in front of the Rivera Clothing Corporation building—a sleek, silver-lined structure that seemed to scream exclusivity. Known for dressing A-list celebrities and owning the top spots in fashion shows, Rivera Clothing was a household name. For seventeen years, it held its spot as one of the most formidable fashion brands in the country. And today, Wendy was about to enter its doors.
But first, she fumbled.
As she approached the glass entrance, she missed the revolving door's rhythm and nearly stumbled inside, earning a chuckle from a nearby security guard. She laughed it off awkwardly, brushing her skirt.
"Good morning, Ma'am. Appointment?" the receptionist asked, peering over cat-eye glasses.
"Yes po. I'm here for an interview. Project assistant position," Wendy replied, her Kinaray-a accent peeking through.
"Name?"
"Ma. Rowena Naredo. Wendy na lang po."
She was directed to the 15th floor. Heart pounding, she rode the elevator with fashion-forward employees whose designer handbags and slick suits made her thrift-store blouse feel like a potato sack.
The interview was brutal.
The panel, composed of two HR officers and one marketing manager, scanned her credentials with raised brows. Despite being polite, Wendy felt like her answers weren't hitting the mark. The questions came in quick succession, faster than she could gather her thoughts.
"You don't have city work experience?"
"No po, but I led several community-based projects in Antique."
"Any brand exposure?"
"None yet, but I've studied your campaigns. I even created a proposal for your recent partnership with—"
They cut her off.
After forty-five minutes, they smiled politely and said, "We'll get back to you."
As Wendy stepped outside the building, she held her tears until the wind hit her face. She was exhausted. Her heels were killing her. And to make things worse, she realized she had missed lunch.
Still, she forced a smile. "First day in the city. I survived."
Except she hadn't. Not entirely.
As she walked down a crowded sidewalk, a man brushed past her—too quickly. Her instinct kicked in a second too late.
Her sling bag was gone.
"Hoy! Magnanakaw!" she screamed, running a few steps before losing him in the sea of pedestrians.
Gone. Her wallet, documents, and even the money for her dorm rent.
Her knees trembled. She looked around, dizzy with panic.
Her phone—thankfully tucked into her blazer pocket—vibrated. With shaky hands, she dialed the one number she knew by heart.
"Hello?"
"Jace..."
"Wendy? Hey! What's wrong?"
Her voice cracked. "Nanakawan ako. Hindi ko na alam kung anong gagawin ko."
Jace Raymund Reyes arrived thirty minutes later on a motorbike, helmet in hand, smile disarming. Moreno, lean, with a boyish charm that hadn't changed since college. His white polo was rolled at the sleeves, a camera slung on his shoulder.
"You always find trouble on your first day," he teased, offering her bottled water.
"Wag mo na akong asarin," she said, trying to laugh but failing.
He took her bagless state seriously, guiding her to his café just five blocks away. Warm lights, cozy wood interiors, and the smell of brewed coffee enveloped her like a hug. It was called Timplado, a name Jace said was inspired by life—a little bitter, a little sweet, always full of flavor.
Wendy sat down, finally breathing.
"Thanks for saving me."
"You saved me first, remember?" he said, sitting across her. "College years. Thesis partner. Stress eating buddy. And you didn't let me quit even when I failed my midterms."
Wendy chuckled. "You still owe me for those midnight pancit canton deliveries."
There it was again—the easy rhythm, the familiar spark. Their bond felt timeless.
Years ago in Antique, they were inseparable. Children of neighboring farms, they baked pan de sal at dawn, swam in the river at noon, and dreamed under stars at night. College brought them closer, and for a while, they thought they could be something more. But dreams got in the way. Wendy had to move to the city. Jace stayed behind to run their farm after his father passed. Eventually, he left too, chasing photography and his mother's dream of opening cafés in Manila.
"You think we made the right choices?" Wendy asked, swirling her coffee.
"We followed the path meant for us. But maybe... maybe those paths were always meant to cross again," Jace said, his eyes lingering.
Her heart did a soft little flip.
He stood and grabbed her hand gently. "Let's get your things back tomorrow. Today, you rest. The city can wait."
As she followed him up the stairs to the café's private loft where she could stay for the night, Wendy looked out the window. The city skyline no longer looked so intimidating. Not when Jace was beside her.
For now, she didn't have the job. She didn't have the bag. But she had hope.
And hope, like any good thread, could hold things together until the pattern made sense.