Dear Jhi,

I wasn’t expecting my phone to ring that afternoon. Not anymore.

Somewhere along the way, I had gotten used to the silence. I had even put my phone on silent because no one really called me anymore.

So when you tried calling, I didn’t hear it.

Not the first time. Not the second. Not even the third. You called my mobile phone four times. You sent me a text.

And when I still didn’t answer, you called me on Discord. That was the call that reached me.

I was talking to my nephew when Discord suddenly started ringing. I looked at the screen, froze for a second, and quietly said, “Someone’s calling me.” Then I ended our conversation.

It was you.

After all those days of wondering if I would ever hear from you again, it was your name on my screen.

I don’t think you know how long I stared before answering.

Part of me was happy. Part of me was nervous. Part of me couldn’t believe you were really calling.

When I finally heard your voice, it felt strangely familiar, as if the silence between us had never happened.

You asked why I wasn’t answering.

I laughed and told you my phone had been on silent because nobody called me anymore.

Then you said, “Nagtatampo ka.” I only answered with a quiet, “Mmm.” I didn’t have to explain.

You already knew. You apologized.

You told me you missed talking to me. I smiled and admitted, “Same.”

We talked in little pieces. Every eleven minutes, the call would suddenly end.

Maybe it was the network. Maybe it was your phone. But every time it disconnected, you called again.

And somehow, I think that’s what I’ll remember most. Not that the calls kept getting cut. But that you kept calling back.

We talked about Mindanao, where you’d been.

We talked about the game I had stopped playing because, honestly, it just wasn’t as fun anymore.

You teased me. I teased you back.

For a little while, everything felt easy again.

When we finally said goodbye because you had to go to work, I realized something.

I hadn’t been waiting for a perfect explanation. I had only been waiting to hear your voice.

And that afternoon, after so many unanswered questions, I finally did.

Until the next call, Nikka

Dear Jhi,

Grief is a strange thing.

It doesn’t come with instructions. It doesn’t tell you how long it will stay or how heavy it will feel. Some days it lets you breathe. Other days it takes everything you have just to get through the day.

I don’t know exactly what you’re carrying right now.

I don’t know what your days have been like or how quiet your nights have become. I don’t know if you’ve been crying, trying to stay strong for everyone else, or pretending you’re okay when you’re really not.

But I want you to know that I’ve been trying to understand.

I’ve never been angry at you for hurting. I’ve only been hurt by not knowing where I stand.

I keep reminding myself that maybe you’re going through something bigger than I can see. Maybe that’s why you’ve become so quiet. Maybe you’re trying to survive one day at a time.

If that’s true, I hope you don’t carry it all by yourself.

You don’t have to be strong every single day. You don’t have to keep everything inside.

If you ever need someone to listen without judging, someone who doesn’t expect you to have all the right words, I’ll be here.

Not because I have all the answers. But because I care about you. More than you probably realize.

I wish I could take away even a little bit of the weight you’re carrying. I wish I could remind you that it’s okay to grieve, it’s okay to cry, and it’s okay to admit that life feels unfair sometimes.

I don’t expect you to be okay overnight. I just hope you’re allowing yourself to feel everything instead of carrying it alone.

At the same time, I hope you’ll understand something too. Your silence has been difficult for me.

Not because I expect constant conversations or endless attention, but because I don’t know where I belong in your life anymore.

I don’t know if you need space. I don’t know if you’re waiting for the right time. I don’t know if you’re slowly letting me go. And not knowing has been one of the hardest parts.

Still… I’ve chosen to believe that the person I came to know is still there somewhere beneath all the pain.

That’s why I haven’t stopped hoping that one day, when your heart feels a little lighter, you’ll find your way back—not because you owe me an explanation, but because I’d like to know how you’ve been.

No matter what happens, I hope you remember this:

You never had to pretend to be okay with me. You never had to carry your grief alone. And if there ever comes a day when you feel ready to talk, whether it’s about your pain, your fears, or simply how your day went, I’ll listen.

Until then, I’ll keep praying that healing finds you, little by little.

Take care, Jhi.

Someone out here is quietly hoping that yours becomes lighter.

Always, Nikka

Dear Jhi,

There’s a quiet battle happening inside my heart these days.

One part of me still wants to send you a simple “Good morning.”

I want you to know that someone out there is thinking of you and hoping today is a little kinder than yesterday.

Then, before the day ends, that same part of me wants to say, “Good night.”

Just to remind you to get some rest. Just to remind you that someone still cares.

But there’s another part of me. The quieter, gentler part.

The part that keeps telling me that maybe what you need right now isn’t another message.

Maybe what you need is space. Space to grieve. Space to heal. Space to find your way through everything you’re carrying.

So every morning, I stop myself from typing. And every night, I stop myself from pressing “Send.”

Not because I don’t care anymore. But because I care enough to respect the silence you’ve chosen.

I hope you never mistake my silence for indifference.

If anything, it’s one of the hardest things I’ve had to do.

Because loving someone sometimes means wanting to hold on… while choosing not to hold too tightly.

I don’t know if giving you space is the right thing. I don’t know if sending you a message would’ve made any difference.

All I know is that every day, I choose between reaching out and stepping back. And every day, I hope I’m making the kinder choice.

If you ever wonder whether I stopped caring… I didn’t.

I just wanted to love you in a way that gave you room to breathe.

Take all the time you need, Jhi.

I’ll be here, quietly hoping that your heart finds peace.

Love, Nikka

Dear Jhi,

I sent you a simple message today.

“Take care always. I hope you find the strength to get through whatever you are facing.”

“If ever you need someone to talk to, I am here. I am always willing to listen. You don’t have to go through everything alone.”

I just wanted you to know that even from a distance, there is someone who still cares and hopes that you are okay.

And then you liked it.

That was all.

Such a small thing, but somehow it left me with so many thoughts.

It’s not that I didn’t appreciate your reaction. Maybe that was your way of telling me that you saw my message, that you read my words, and that you appreciated the care behind them. But if I’m being honest, a part of me was still hoping there would be more.

Maybe a little sign that you still wanted to talk.

The hardest part is that I’m not angry. I just miss you. I miss our conversations. I miss the little things we used to share. I miss the feeling of having someone to talk to at the end of the day — someone I looked forward to hearing from.

Now, it feels like there is so much distance between us.

I still remember when you said you would make it up to me. Maybe that is why a part of me is still waiting. Still hoping that you will come back, explain what happened, and bring back the person who used to make time for me.

Maybe you are going through something you cannot talk about yet. Maybe you are carrying things that I don’t know about. Maybe you just need time.

So for now, this is all I can do — remind you that someone still cares.

But I hope you also understand that silence has a weight of its own. Not hearing from you hurts. Waiting without knowing where I stand hurts.

I don’t know when we will have a proper conversation again. I don’t know if things will go back to the way they were. But I want you to know that before I became tired, I chose to understand you first.

Take care always, Jhi. 

I hope you find the strength you need for everything you are facing. I hope that even on the days when life feels heavy, you remember that there is someone out here quietly wishing for your happiness and hoping that you are okay.

And I hope that someday, when you are ready, you will let me in again and tell me what has been happening.

Always, Nikka

Dear Jhi,

It’s almost the end of Monday.

I’ve been looking at the clock all day, wondering if this would be the day you’d keep your promise.

You said, “Babawi ako sa’yo by Monday.”

I didn’t expect anything grand. I wasn’t waiting for a long phone call. I was simply hoping for a message. Maybe a “Good morning.” Maybe a “I’m okay.” Maybe even a quick “I am back home.”

Anything that would let me know you still remembered me.

But Monday is almost over, and my phone has stayed silent.

I keep wondering where you are. Did you make it back to Manila safely? Are you still traveling? Have you been able to sleep? I honestly don’t know anymore because I no longer know what’s happening in your life.

I know you’re grieving. I know you’re going through something heavy, and I’ve been trying my best to understand. If I were in your shoes, especially if it involved someone I loved, I’d probably be lost too.

That’s why I’ve waited because I believed your words.

I won’t pretend this doesn’t hurt. It does. It really does.

Because silence leaves too much room for questions. Questions that only you can answer.

I want you to know that if you ever need someone to listen, I am here. Still here.

And if one day you finally keep your promise, I will listen. But until then, I’ll stop counting the hours.

Take care of yourself, Jhi.

— Nikka

Dear Jhi,

Uyyy, online.

Those were the first words that came to my mind when I saw your name appear. After days of wondering, waiting, and asking myself what happened, there you were.

I don’t know why my heart reacted that way. A simple online status suddenly felt like a sign that maybe I would finally hear from you.

I sent you a message in the game, not knowing what to expect.

And then you replied.

“sorry po.. alam kong galit ka sa akin hindi ako nagparamdam.. sorry im broken kasi my tita has passed away po.”

For a moment, I didn’t know what to feel.

I wasn’t angry, Jhi. I was hurt. I was worried.

I was wondering if you were okay, if something happened, and if I had done something wrong. I didn’t want to be mad at you because deep inside, I knew there might be something you were going through.

Then you told me. You said you were broken because your tita passed away.

And suddenly, the things I was feeling became smaller because I realized you were carrying something heavy too.

I told you I wasn’t angry. Nagtatampo lang ako. I told you I was sad about what happened to your tita and that I was sending my condolences to you and your family.

Because that was the truth. I missed you. I was hurt by the silence. But more than anything, I wanted to know that you were okay.

Then you told me you were in Mindanao and that by Monday, you would be back in Manila.

You said you didn’t know what to say, but you would make it up to me by Monday.

“but babawi ako sayo by monday po.”

I don’t think you realized how much those words meant to me.

After days of silence, those words gave me something I had been missing—a little bit of hope.

I didn’t need a perfect explanation. I just needed to know you were still there.

I replied, “Okay po. Take care.”

Maybe I had so many more things I wanted to say. Maybe there were so many questions in my mind. But at that moment, I just wanted you to be okay.

And even in the middle of my own sadness, I wanted to understand what you were going through.

I hope your heart finds peace, Jhi.

I hope you know that someone was quietly hoping you were okay.

— Nikka