Chapter 1
The First Anniversary
The evening traffic along EDSA crawled as though the city itself had decided to take its time. From the fourteenth floor of a glass office tower in Makati, Miguel Santos, twenty-eight, shut down his computer and leaned back in his chair. An industrial engineer by degree, he had long traded factory floors for project reports, meetings, and endless spreadsheets inside an air-conditioned corporate office.
His phone vibrated.
Leah Villanueva-Santos.
A smile appeared almost automatically.
Leaving now. Heavy traffic. Love you.
Miguel replied before slipping the phone into his pocket.
I’ll meet you downstairs at the MRT. We’ll go home together.
Leah, twenty-six, worked several blocks away as a finance analyst for one of the country’s largest consumer goods companies. A business administration graduate, she had earned a reputation among her colleagues for her diligence, quiet confidence, and remarkable composure under pressure.
People noticed her wherever she went.
Her Chinese-Filipino features, porcelain complexion, and graceful height often drew admiring glances, though she seemed blissfully unaware of them. She dressed modestly, spoke politely, and carried herself with a reserve that reflected the values she had grown up with in her close-knit Catholic family.
What impressed Miguel most, however, was never her beauty.
It was her kindness.
They had met three years earlier during a birthday dinner organized by mutual friends. Neither had expected anything beyond an enjoyable evening, but conversation came naturally. Coffee dates followed. Then Sunday Mass together. Long walks through UP Diliman. Shared dreams.
Neither had rushed the relationship.
They were both old-fashioned enough to believe that love grew stronger when it was patient.
A year later, Miguel proposed.
Another year after that, they exchanged vows before family and friends in a small church in Quezon City.
Neither had entered the marriage with previous sexual experience. Their first night together had been filled more with laughter, nervousness, and tenderness than cinematic passion, and that memory had become one of Leah’s favorites.
Now, almost twelve months later, they still lived in the modest one-bedroom apartment they rented in Quezon City, commuting each weekday to their respective offices in Makati.
Life wasn’t extravagant.
But it was happy.
Leah unlocked the apartment door first.
The aroma of garlic fried rice greeted Miguel before he even stepped inside.
“You cooked?” he asked, setting down his laptop bag.
She looked over her shoulder and smiled.
“Just something simple.”
“You’ve been saying ‘simple’ ever since we got married.”
“And you’ve been eating everything I cook.”
“I married well.”
She laughed, shaking her head.
“You married hungry.”
Dinner was comfortable, as it usually was. They spoke about office politics, a delayed project, an overenthusiastic HR seminar, and whether they should finally replace the apartment’s aging electric fan.
It was only after the dishes had been washed that Miguel glanced at the calendar hanging beside the refrigerator.
One date had been circled in red.
Next Saturday.
“Our anniversary,” he said quietly.
Leah walked over and rested her head lightly against his shoulder.
“Our first.”
“I’ve been thinking about it.”
“So have I.”
She looked up.
“I thought maybe we could spend the weekend somewhere. Tagaytay, perhaps. Or Baguio if we leave early.”
Miguel smiled.
“I had... another idea.”
“Oh?”
“I wanted our first anniversary to be something unforgettable.”
She chuckled.
“As long as it doesn’t involve mountain climbing.”
“No.”
He hesitated.
“It isn’t that.”
Leah immediately noticed the pause.
She had learned, over the past year, that Miguel only hesitated when something weighed heavily on his mind.
“What is it?” she asked gently.
Miguel looked at her for several moments before answering.
“I’ve been thinking about suggesting something unusual.”
She searched his face, curious rather than alarmed.
“Unusual how?”
He drew a slow breath.
“I don’t want to surprise you with it. I’d rather we talk about it honestly... and only if you’re comfortable.”
Leah reached for his hand.
“You know you can tell me anything.”
Miguel nodded.
“I know.”
Outside, the sounds of Quezon City drifted through the apartment window—passing jeepneys, distant laughter, the bark of a neighborhood dog.
Inside, neither of them yet realized that the conversation they were about to begin would challenge their assumptions about trust, intimacy, and the boundaries of their young marriage.
