ocho

"Not Ours, But Still Mine"

Ms. Hontiveros’ POV

But I can’t.

I tell myself this needs to stop. That I need to set boundaries. That whatever Alice feels—whatever I might feel—is irrelevant.

I remind myself that I am her teacher. That this is not appropriate. That she is young, still figuring out who she is, still navigating a world that has already been unkind to her. I tell myself all of this, over and over, like a mantra. Like a lifeline.

And yet, every time I see her with Migs—every time I see the way Alice relaxes in her presence, the way her smile comes easier, the way she lets her guard down—something inside me tightens.

It isn’t right.

It isn’t rational.

And yet, it is there.

A sharp sting in my chest, like an ache that refuses to fade. A feeling I don’t want to name, but one that lingers even when I turn away.

Who is that girl again? Migs? Migs Nograles? Ah, that girl who said she was Alice’s past crush.

Oh no.

I heard it from Cassy in the bathroom, an offhand comment whispered between giggles, the kind of gossip that spreads easily in school hallways.

And suddenly, I hate her.

I hate the way her name rolls off Alice’s tongue so easily, so familiarly. I hate the way Alice’s eyes light up when she sees her, the way she doesn’t hesitate to let Migs pull her close, to whisper things in her ear that make her laugh.

I hate the way Migs looks at Alice.

Like she knows her. Like she understands her.

Like she has a right to.

Fuck that girl.

Oh god. Why am I acting like this over Alice?

It makes no sense. It’s ridiculous. I’m not some jealous teenager. I know better than this. And yet, the feeling claws at me, bitter and ugly, settling deep in my stomach like a sickness I can’t shake off.

Mixed signals—I already know how this works. I was in high school once, too. I’ve seen this game played before. The teasing, the lingering glances, the careful push and pull of emotions.

But something about this feels different.

Alice is my student. Migs is just a friend from her past. None of this should matter to me.

And yet, I catch myself watching.

Observing.

Noticing every little thing—how Migs leans in too close, how Alice doesn’t pull away, how easily they slip into conversation, as if no time has passed at all.

I watch the way Migs touches her—lightly, casually, like she has every right to. A hand on her arm, fingers brushing against hers, a closeness that feels too easy, too familiar.

And Alice lets her.

Of course she does.

It shouldn’t matter.

But it does.

And I hate myself for it.

For feeling this way. For allowing something so stupid to get under my skin. For the way my heart twists every time I see Alice smile at someone else, as if it’s wrong, as if she’s supposed to—

No.

I shake the thought away before it fully forms, before I can give it a name.

For the rest of the day, I try to push it out of my mind. I bury myself in work, in lectures, in conversations that should distract me. But every quiet moment, every pause, my thoughts circle back to her.

To Alice.

And that’s the real problem.

Because no matter how hard I try—

I can’t stop.

———

After school, Migs and I ended up at a small café near campus. It wasn’t planned—Cassy and Wes had last-minute club meetings, and Migs, being the persistent little shit she was, decided we needed to “catch up.”

I barely had time to argue before she dragged me inside, ordered two drinks, and planted herself across from me with that all-too-familiar grin.

“So,” she said, stirring her iced coffee. “How’s life?”

I scoffed, leaning back in my seat. “Seriously? That’s what you called me out for?”

Migs shrugged. “I haven’t seen you in years, Al. I gotta check in.”

I rolled my eyes but didn’t argue. It was weird, sitting here with Migs after all this time. We used to be inseparable—always together, always in sync. But things changed. I changed.

“Life’s… fine,” I finally said, taking a sip of my drink. “Same old, same old.”

Migs raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Really? Because from what I’ve seen, you’re different.”

I tensed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She leaned back, crossing her arms, that knowing look never leaving her face. “You used to be so sure of yourself. Now, you hesitate.”

I frowned. “That’s not true.”

“It is true.” She tilted her head slightly. “Especially when it comes to—”

“Don’t.”

Migs smirked. “See? You can’t even hear her name without getting defensive.”

I groaned, pressing a hand to my face. “Why are we even talking about this?”

“Because I care about you,” she said, her voice softer this time. “And because I want to know what’s going on in that head of yours.”

I exhaled sharply, tapping my fingers against my cup. “I don’t know, okay? I just… I don’t know.”

Migs studied me for a moment, then smiled—annoyingly smug. “You do know. You just don’t wanna admit it.”

I glared at her. “I forgot how annoying you are.”

She laughed. “And I forgot how much I missed this.”

For a second, I let myself relax. Let myself enjoy the easy banter, the familiarity. With Migs, things were simple. No complications.

And then—

The café door chimed.

And my stomach dropped.

Because standing there, looking just as surprised as I felt, was Ms. Hontiveros.

I swore under my breath.

Migs followed my gaze, then smirked. “Well, well. Speak of the devil.”

I stiffened. “Shut up.”

But it was too late.

She had already seen me.

And just like that, the air in the room shifted.

Ms. Hontiveros wasn’t rushing, wasn’t making a scene, but there was something in the way she moved—determined, unwavering—that sent every alarm in my brain blaring.

Migs, the absolute menace, just leaned back in her chair, watching with a knowing smirk. She probably thought this was hilarious.

I, on the other hand, wanted the ground to swallow me whole.

“Ms. Guo.”

Her voice was steady, controlled, but there was a tightness in her expression. A tension I couldn’t place.

I swallowed. “Ma’am?”

She didn’t answer.

She just grabbed my wrist. Firm. Unyielding.

And then—

She pulled me up from my seat.

Hinila niya ako.

“I can’t take this anymore,” she muttered under her breath, her grip not loosening.

Her eyes burned into mine.

“Ms. Guo.”