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

Dear Jhi,

I didn’t know this day would feel different. It started like any other. You sent me a message. We talked during lunch like we always did. I remember our call getting cut because you ran out of load. Before I could even wonder what happened, you sent me a text telling me exactly that.

“Wala na akong load.”

It didn’t seem unusual. I smiled and thought we’d just continue talking later, like we always did. That’s what we always did. There was never a reason to worry. As the afternoon went by, I found myself opening Discord every now and then, expecting to see your name.

Nothing.

“It’s okay,” I told myself.

“He’s probably busy.”

Evening came. Still nothing. I looked at my phone more times than I’d like to admit. Every notification made me hope it was you. Every time it wasn’t, I’d lock my phone and tell myself not to overthink it.

You’d message eventually. You always did. Before going to bed, I sent you a simple message.

Good night. Sleep well.

I wasn’t asking for a long conversation. I wasn’t asking you to stay up with me. I just wanted you to know I was thinking of you. I put my phone beside my pillow, half expecting it to light up before I fell asleep.

It didn’t.

The next morning, I woke up and reached for my phone almost immediately.

No messages. I sent you another one.

Good morning. I hope you have a good day.

Again, I wasn’t asking for much. Just a tiny sign that you were okay. The day moved forward without you in it.

Lunch came. No call. The afternoon passed. No Discord notification. Night arrived. Still nothing.

It’s strange how quiet a day can become when you’ve gotten used to hearing someone’s voice.

Just a few days ago, we’d find any excuse to talk. Now, I found myself waiting for a single message. I kept telling myself not to assume the worst.

Maybe you were busy. Maybe your internet was acting up again. Maybe something unexpected had come up.

There were so many maybes. Enough to keep hope alive. Enough to stop me from believing that silence could mean something more.

So I waited.

Because that’s what you do when someone has become part of your everyday life.

You wait. You trust. You believe they’ll come back. And tonight, that’s exactly what I’m choosing to do.

I’ll wait for your message tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow will sound like us again.

Always, Nikka

Dear Jhi,

I’ve been smiling ever since our conversation last night. Who would’ve thought we’d end up talking about three little words?

“I love you.”

You kept asking me to say it, and I kept teasing you.

I told you, “Darating din tayo d’yan. Huwag excited.” And I meant it.

Not because I didn’t want to say it. But because that’s just how I am.

I’m slow. I don’t fall for someone overnight.

I take my time. I like getting to know a person. I let my heart catch up before my words do. I never wanted “I love you” to become something I said just because someone wanted to hear it.

I wanted to mean it. That’s why I smiled when you kept insisting.

You were so eager, and I was trying my best not to rush something that I wanted to be real.

But in the end… I said it.

Not because you convinced me. Not because I felt pressured.

I said it because somewhere between our conversations, your good mornings, your good nights, the laughter, the teasing, and the little moments we shared…

I realized I wanted you to know. I love you.

Maybe it wasn’t the kind of love that had fully bloomed yet. Maybe it was still quietly growing. But it was real.

I was slowly falling for you.

And if you know me, you know how much that means. Because I don’t open my heart easily.

When I do, it’s never rushed. It’s intentional.

Last night, I wasn’t just giving you the words you wanted to hear.

I was giving you a piece of my heart. I hope you know that.

Love, Nikka

Dear Jhi,

It’s funny how I know so much about you, yet I still don’t really know what you look like.

I’ve heard your voice. I’ve listened to your stories. I’ve laughed with you, teased you, and spent hours talking to you on the phone.

But your face? That’s still a mystery.

I remember asking you to send me a picture. You did… Or at least, you said you did.

I looked at it for a while, then asked if it was really you.

You insisted it was. I didn’t believe you. You just laughed and said, “Walang labis, walang kulang.”

I still wasn’t convinced. Eventually, you sent me another one. This time, you were wearing a mask.

It was enough to prove that there was a person on the other side of all those calls, but not enough for me to finally know your face.

Some people would probably find that strange. Talking to someone every day without even knowing what they really look like. But somehow, it never bothered me as much as I thought it would.

Maybe because every time I got curious, you’d describe yourself instead.

You told me your hair was long. Not just long… Waist-length long. I tried to picture it. You said you had tattoos. You smoked.

You casually mentioned things about yourself as if they weren’t unusual at all, while I quietly tried to put the pieces together in my head. Every new detail became another brushstroke on a face I had never actually seen.

Sometimes I’d catch myself wondering if my imagination was anywhere close to reality.

Did your smile sound the way I imagined it? Did your eyes look kind? Did your laugh reach your eyes? Would I recognize you if you suddenly walked past me?

You once told me you’d rather meet me first than send me a proper picture. I never really understood why.

Maybe you wanted our first real impression of each other to happen face to face instead of through a screen. Maybe you were shy. Or maybe you simply liked keeping a little mystery.

Whatever the reason, I stopped asking after a while. Not because I wasn’t curious anymore.

I still was. Very much.

But somewhere between our lunch calls, our late-night conversations, and all the little stories you shared with me, I realized I had started knowing you in ways a photograph could never show.

I knew the sound of your voice when you were excited. I knew the pauses you made when you were thinking. I knew the way you laughed at your own jokes. I knew the gentleness in your voice whenever our conversations became serious.

Maybe that’s why I found myself smiling whenever my phone rang. Not because I finally knew what you looked like. But because I already knew the person behind the voice.

Still… I can’t help but wonder.

When we finally meet, will the face I’ve imagined all this time look anything like the real you? Or will I have to start getting to know you all over again?

Always, Nikka

Dear Jhi,

Can I tell you something a little silly?

I don’t think you realize what happens to me every time you call me “Baby Niks.”

There’s this feeling I can’t quite explain. It’s warm. Comforting.

The kind of feeling that quietly makes me smile without even trying.

Then you added one more word.

“Ko.”

“Baby Niks ko.”

I don’t know why, but that one little word made my heart pause for a second.

It sounded so natural when you said it, as if you’d been calling me that for a long time.

Of course, I had to tease you.

“Baby Niks mo? Sa’yo?”

I was pretending to question it, but the truth is… I found it cute. Really cute. I even smiled while reading it.

Maybe that’s why I teased you instead of admitting how much I liked hearing it.

You probably thought it was just a nickname. Maybe it was.

But to me, it was one of those little moments that quietly stayed.

I don’t know what we are yet. We’re still getting to know each other.

I’m still taking my time, slowly learning who you are, slowly letting my heart trust what it feels.

But hearing you call me “Baby Niks ko” made me wonder what it would feel like if one day, those words really belonged to us.

Maybe I’m overthinking a simple nickname. Or maybe that’s just who I am.

I tend to treasure the little things. The words people forget they said. The moments they probably don’t even remember.

I guess that’s why I’m writing this.

Because one day, you might forget you ever called me that. But I don’t think I will.

Always, Nikka