What Was

The first time I saw the building again; it almost tricked me into thinking nothing had changed.

The glass gleamed, the walls wore fresh paint, and the new signage shouted a different name. But I knew better. Underneath all that shine was the same place where I met Ashi—Adrienne Ashley Villanueva—my best friend for years, before I ruined it.

I stood across the street, clutching a cup of hot chocolate I’d grabbed from a nearby kiosk. The steam curled in the late-morning air, sharp and clean. I never liked coffee—neither did Ashi. That was one of the first small things we discovered we had in common, a detail so simple it felt like fate back then.

Now, the sight of this building pulled me back so hard, I could almost hear the echo of our laughter bouncing off its walls.

Fifteen years earlier.

The elevator doors slid open, and the smell hit me first—paper, toner, and that faint tang of new carpet.

I was twenty-two, adventurous and optimistic to my core: confident on the outside, a storm of nerves inside. My blouse was crisp, my shoes a little too shiny. I’d been hired as a Reliever Personnel under HR, meant to hop between branches when people went on leave.

A woman was already inside the elevator, tucking a pen into the spiral binding of a small notebook. She looked up and smiled politely—calm, collected, the kind of smile that didn’t rush.

“New?” she asked. Her voice was soft but precise, like she’d chosen each word before speaking.

I grinned. “Yeah. That obvious?”

“Only because your ID still has that fresh-ink vibe.” She pointed at my badge, and I laughed, switching it over.

“Raymi,” I said, sticking out my hand without hesitation.

“Ashi. Accounting—well, technically New System Support helping in Operations.” She shook my hand with a firm but gentle grip—typical Virgo, I’d later think. Observant, steady, a little cautious.

The elevator dinged. As we stepped out, she glanced at me sideways. “You’ll get used to the smell of toner.”

I smirked. “Doubt it. I’ll probably start a petition.”

Her lips twitched in amusement. “Good luck with that.”

By the end of that first week, we were already sharing lunch breaks. The first time, I’d spotted her in the pantry making a chocolate drink instead of coffee.

“You don’t drink coffee either?” I asked, genuinely surprised.

She shook her head. “Never liked it.”

“Same. Guess I don’t have to hide my tea bags anymore,” I joked, pulling out my own mug.

It was such a small thing, but it cracked something open between us. After that, the conversations flowed more easily—from work gossip to childhood stories, to half-serious plans about traveling the world.

We started finding excuses to hang out outside of work. The first time was purely accidental—she’d mentioned craving street food, and I’d declared that I knew the best isaw stall in the city.

We ended up sitting on low stools in the drizzle, paper plates in hand, trading stories about school, family, and the little frustrations of being new hires.

A few months into my contract, we were already travel buddies, eating buddies, shopping buddies—everything but housemates.

We’d explore random towns on weekends, take pictures of terrible hotel breakfasts, and text each other during meetings just to share memes about our bosses. There were no big declarations of “best friend” back then; it just… became true.

The comfort between us grew naturally. I was the one who’d drag her out of her neatly stacked paperwork to grab something from the food court. She was the one who’d notice I was about to miss a form signature and slide it across the table to me without a word.

“You ever notice how everyone here just… lives for the end of the day?” I asked once, twirling my fork in a sad little pasta salad.

She arched a brow. “And you don’t?”

“I live for something exciting to happen,” I said. “Preferably before I die of boredom.”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “Desiree Marie Guevarra, you’re going to get in trouble one day with that kind of energy.”

One rainy Thursday, the power flickered in the branch, forcing everyone into an unplanned break. Ashi pulled out her phone, scrolling to pass the time. I, on the other hand, was checking my notebook.

“What’s that?” she leaned over, unapologetically nosy.

“My list,” I said, without looking up.

“List of what?”

“Things I want to do before I turn thirty.”

She smiled. “Let me guess: learn Italian, buy a car, become CEO?”

“Travel more. Start a new hobby,” I said simply.

“That’s so… you. I was expecting something like ‘ride a motorcycle through a thunderstorm.’”

I grinned. “It’s in the subtext, right next to ‘do something wild.’”

She looked at me thoughtfully, then said, “Maybe for me, I’ll put ‘meet people worth keeping.’”

I nudged her shoulder. “Well, congratulations. You can cross that one off.”

Her laughter was soft but genuine, and I remember thinking—this was the start of something that would last.

Present day.

A bus whooshed past, jolting me back to the street. I stared at the building for a moment longer, sipping the last of my now-lukewarm chocolate drink.

We’d started here, in this tower of glass and paper. We’d built a friendship so solid I thought nothing could touch it.

I was wrong.

And now, all I could do was stand here on the sidewalk, wishing I could walk inside and find us again—the us that didn’t know what was coming.