Uncle Nolan

HAZEL

It is a sunny Wednesday afternoon, and the bright sun blows mildly among the branches of the towering trees on the school's campus.

Excelencia University is a high-ranking tertiary institution I attend, and presently, I am just returning from the library, a place I choose to study a few times weekly.

In my left hand is a takeaway bag containing Caleb's favorite lunch: Southwestern Chicken Salad, which consists of grilled chicken, mixed greens, black beans, diced tomatoes, corn and jalapeños.

This has always been his favorite and I can already picture his face lighting up at the sight of everything, that enticing smile of his.

But as soon as I reach the first block of the old theater, something else catches my attention that makes me pause.

There is a crowd of students gathered just by the corner of the building, giggling and muttering inaudible words among themselves. Looking above them, I notice that they have their phones raised high, busy with recording every single event before them.

And that action, whatever it is, seems to be quite intriguing. In the midst of these, I increase in pace, reaching up to where they stand, and eagerly trying to behold also the happening.

First, it is the sight of a shameless couple who are involve in their intimate moment, entangled in intimacy. Sure enough, the sight is irritating, prompting me to turn aside quickly until a familiar color of hair rings in my memory.

With no further delay, I look intently at the couple, first at the young lady who cannot get her hands off the partner's head, and lastly, the young man himself.

The world feels like it is spinning in slow motion. My vision blurs as I process everything happening right before me.

I watch how my boyfriend of three years, Caleb Hudson's lips, sweep over hers, in a soft and slow manner, as if they had done it a long time. Her hands are tangled in his hair as she presses into him with so much confidence.

For a moment, I want to remain unseen, so I take a step backward, then another. My heartbeat racing in my chest, and my throat feeling tight that I have no strength to scream nor breathe.

And just when I think the world cannot get any louder than imagined, a voice breaks through the crowd.

"Hazel?"

I don't know if I am still in the midst of the small crowd, but somehow I hear my name being called repeatedly. I can sense many pitiful looks from afar watching me as I run out of the theater block.

Far away from the public shame, the camera flashes, the whispers. This is my life.

I don't stop until I am inside my car, breathing heavily, as my hands grip the headrest so tightly that my knuckles turn white.

"Please drive the car." I beg the driver, Frank, with the last strength I have.

Swiftly he obeys as he speeds towards home, and as the city street blurs around me, I ignore the sound of my breath that keeps echoing in the midst of the silence.

Frank reaches home sooner than other times as a result of the level of speed he puts. He parks the black car in the garage as I alight, heading straight for the huge entryway.

The urge to disappear into my room and weep my eyes out without interacting with anyone, envelops me, but that is far from reality because the moment my feet hit the living room, I sight my parents already seated in the living room.

Though the soft hum of the TV filled the whole space when I first enter and , I cannot deny the tension between them that makes it feel like I am walking into a storm.

I send brief, yet respectful greetings to them while strategically hiding my red-puffed eyes in order not to cause worry on their sides.

However, at that minute, my mother, whose back faces me, voices a statement that sounds casual but at the same time intense.

"Hazel, we need to discuss. Kindly turn aside." She speaks gently, turning aside from her knitting. She stares intensely into my face, barely noticing how swollen my eyes are and also the storm brewing in my chest.

I obey by stepping even closer, patiently waiting for her to break the news or whatever it is. But instead of her speaking, it is Dad who takes the lead.

There seems to be an exchange of a long look between them before Dad finally sighs and drops the news. "Nolan's coming to stay with us."

I blink, confused for a moment. "Nolan? Who is Nolan?"

That name sounds familiar for some reason, but I need to ask for clarity.

"Your father's best friend." Mother says, "He's back from overseas. He's taking over the construction project for the new building expansion at the company. We offered him one of the rooms. He'll be staying for a few months or so."

I feel something cold and unexplainable in my chest in his name. He is my father's old friend. The man I last saw in my early teenage years.

At a certain time, he also becomes my best friend due to his generosity and kindness. He soon gets distant from me or, so I think, more or less like running from something beyond him.

"When will he arrive?" I whisper, having no idea why I ask.

"Tomorrow." Dad responds sharply, his face fully concentrated on a certain popular TV show that is on display. "He'll be here in the morning."

I nod slowly, trying to process everything at once. Nolan's sudden arrival and why my parents don't see anything wrong with that.

My eyes drift to my phone which buzzes in my schoolbag along the stairs. Glancing at the previewed message and its sender, I almost let out an annoyed hiss.

The message is brief as it reads: "I know I really messed up, Hazel. I betrayed you and made caricature of our relationship in public. Please, just listen to me. I need you to reply to this message. I love you."

But my fingers just hover over the screen, suppressing the urge to violently smash the phone on the floor.

I am wronged, betrayed, disgraced publicly, and he has the audacity to message me barely an hour after satisfying himself? He's got to be kidding me!