The day I was discharged from Makati Med after the successful Radiowave Shock Therapy, it felt like I was being reborn.
No more catheters. No more sterile ceilings. No more machines humming beside me like vultures waiting for failure.
I still needed the stem cell therapy, of course—and my father had already arranged for it to be done abroad. Singapore first, then possibly Canada, depending on how I responded.
And beside me, with a duffle bag slung over one shoulder and a clipboard tucked under his arm, was Emerick Tedd Armada.
My private nurse.
Hired by my father. Paid handsomely. Dressed plainly.
But nothing about what we were becoming... felt clinical anymore.
Beyond the Hospital
Singapore was clean. Orderly. Everything ran on time.
I stayed in a high-rise convalescent suite with a view of the skyline. Tedd stayed in the room adjacent, always one knock away, always alert.
But in the quiet hours, when the tests were done and the infusions were dripping in rhythm, we started to talk.
Not just about vitals and medications.15Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjL59mjxmJf
About childhood. Music. Life. Loneliness.
He found out I loved playing instruments.
"Which ones?" he asked one night while checking my blood pressure.
"Piano. Violin."
"Seriously?"
I nodded, pulling a blanket tighter around my shoulders. "Learned both before I turned fifteen. Lolo taught me. Before my mom decided grades were all I was good for."
He didn't speak for a moment. Then:15Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmsLAxsiCTn
"Do you still play?"
I smiled. "Only when no one's listening."
There was a small lounge in the recovery center. They had a baby grand piano in the corner, more for ambiance than anything.
One rainy Tuesday afternoon, when the therapy left my body sore but not exhausted, I walked there barefoot, wrapped in a cardigan.
Tedd followed quietly, watching from the doorway.
And I sat down and played.
"Moon River."
Slow. Dreamy. Broken in the middle because I forgot a few notes.15Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5VNI1gbtG0
But soft.
And then, for no real reason, I started to sing.
Moon river, wider than a mile...15Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6gRd8AoJN2
I'm crossing you in style, someday...
My voice wasn't as strong as it used to be.15Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPYCom1UaD3
But it was steady enough to feel like a return to something real.
When I finished, I looked over my shoulder and saw him there.
Tedd.15Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDHqBUpAzz6
Not with his nurse face. Not with his clipboard.15Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡiWIqf6wcRN
Just... a man with tears quietly brimming at the edges of his eyes.
The Unspoken Feeling
After that, we had tea together in the lounge every evening.
He'd bring fruit, or soup, or whatever my body could tolerate. And he started asking things like, "What's your favorite movie?" or "What's the first country you want to visit if you're well again?"
One night, I caught him staring while I was brushing my hair.
I raised an eyebrow. "What?"
He shook his head, flustered. "Nothing. Just... you look more alive these days."
I smiled. "Because of you, maybe."
And he turned red. Actually red. Ears and all.
Tedd didn't say it.
Not then.
But I could see it—in the way he handed me water before I asked. In the way he flinched every time a nurse from the local staff mishandled my IV. In the way he watched me sleep sometimes, worried I might disappear.
He had feelings.
But he wasn't sure if they were allowed to exist.
Because he was paid to be here.15Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSmObzHVhix
Because I was still healing.15Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡy5LpLrKPnn
Because maybe he thought I deserved someone who wasn't covered in hospital scrubs and buried in restraint.
But if he only knew—
I wasn't hard to love either.
Just... hard to trust.
15Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtNmN26qTx0
