Love A Latte ( Coffee Series #1 )

☕ Wakas

📓 Lawrence's Journal – Entry #1
Date: June 09, 2025 | Time: 10:27 PM

I'm not the kind of guy who keeps journals. That's always been more of Keia's thing.

But tonight—this last night of the semester, with everything ending and everything beginning again—I figured maybe it's time I tried.

So here it is. One last entry. From me.

And maybe... my first real one.

I still remember the first time I saw her.

I was in the CET hallway, coming back from the food court with two packs of adobo and a bottle of water stuffed into my bag. I had an 11:30 to 1:30 class coming up, and being a first-year nursing student meant I had no free time to breathe, let alone eat lunch.

I remember sighing, adjusting the strap of my bag, already dreading the four-hour lab the next day.

Then I saw her.

She came running—literally running—from the CASS building, arms full of paperwork, like something straight out of a coming-of-age film. She was panting, stressed, probably late. Papers were slipping from her arms and her ID was flapping in the wind. But even in that chaos, there was something about her.

Maybe it was the way she was holding it all together.
Maybe it was the way her ponytail bounced behind her.
Maybe it was just her.

I stopped walking just to watch her run across the hall.

She turned the corner and disappeared into the CASS EC quarters.

"So she's an officer?" I muttered under my breath.

"Sino?"

I turned to see Hades beside me, half a hotdog hanging from his mouth, looking at the same direction.

"That's Keia," he said, like it was obvious. "First year rep for BS Psych."

Then he gave me that smug smile of his. "Type mo?"

I just shrugged and kept walking.

But of course, he wouldn't stop.

"Type mo nga bro?" he teased again as we made our way to my classroom. I didn't answer. Not because I wasn't interested.

But because I didn't know how to say, Yes, actually. There's something about her I haven't seen in anyone else before.

I thought that was it. A small, forgettable moment in the rush of college life.

But I was wrong.

I saw her again. And again. And again.

She was everywhere—organizing CASS events, leading the chants during Palakasan, writing something furiously in her journal during assemblies. I remember thinking, How can someone so busy still look that composed?

One time, she even asked me for a pen during an attendance check. Hers stopped working. I handed her mine without saying anything. She smiled at me.

And I didn't say a word back.
I just nodded like a coward and looked away.

Time passed. One year, then two. We moved up. Got busier. Became better at pretending we weren't tired.

Then came Bittersweet Café.

Winter, her friend, opened it near campus, and it didn't take long for people to start showing up. I dropped by once to try the coffee. Then again. And again.

Not for the coffee.

But because I noticed something: Keia had a pattern.

She visited the café every Tuesday, same time, same seat by the window.
And when she was there, she looked peaceful.

Highlighters scattered on the table, her planner open, latte in hand. Always a latte. She'd sip while scrolling through her laptop, flipping through her notes. Preparing, always preparing.

I remember telling myself, I'll talk to her next week.

Next week turned into two. Then three.

Until one day, fate—along with Hades and Adrian's dumb dares—gave me the push I didn't know I needed.

And the rest... happened in sips. In group chats. In soft laughter. In stolen time between clearances and classes and graveyard shifts. In rainy days at the Esplanade. In every moment I didn't expect—but wouldn't trade for anything.

Keia once told me that love didn't arrive loudly.

That it came quietly, gently, slowly.

She was right.

I didn't fall in love with her the day I saw her running with all those papers.
I didn't fall in love with her when she borrowed my pen.

I fell in love with her gradually.
With every little thing she did.
With the way she always tried, always gave, always cared.

I fell in love with her when she sat across from me in Bittersweet and asked, "How was duty today?"
Like my exhaustion mattered.

I fell in love with her when I realized she never needed grand gestures. Just presence. Just consistency.

Just a warm drink on a bad day and someone to walk her back to the dorm.

This is the end of the semester.

And maybe the end of this chapter.

But not the end of us.

She's still across from me right now—head resting on her arm, eyes half-closed from the caffeine crash, humming to whatever song is playing on the speakers.

She doesn't know I'm writing this.

But I want her to read it one day.

So she'll know I saw her, from the start.
And I see her now.

Clearly. Gently. Fully.

And I love her.

Bittersweetly. Quietly.

A latte.

— L.M. ☕