The Sunday sun rose over Dasmariñas, filtering through Tristan Herrera's window not with a harsh glare, but with a soft, forgiving light. He stretched, a symphony of pops and groans emanating from muscles still singing the song of yesterday's brutal game. Outside, the usual weekday rush of tricycles and jeepneys was replaced by the distant crow of a rooster and the cheerful chatter of neighbors. It was a day for breathing, a day for healing.

The victory over Calamba West was a fresh, bright memory, but today, the court felt a world away. He was just Tristan, a young man with sore shoulders and a quiet Sunday stretching before him.

Just as he was contemplating the profound choice between doing laundry or watching TV, his phone buzzed. The screen lit up with a name that made him smile.

Claire: SOS! Drowning in Sunday boredom. My only hope is a certain basketball star and a cone of ube ice cream. You in?

Tristan's usual intensity melted away. He felt a lightness he hadn't realized he was missing.

Tristan: Ube ice cream sounds like a solid game plan. I can be at the park entrance in 30. And you can drop the 'star' part.

Claire: Never! See you soon, superstar.

Twenty-five minutes later, he saw her waiting near the sprawling acacia trees at the entrance to the city park. The sunlight caught in her hair, and her smile was as warm and bright as the afternoon itself.

"Hey!" she said, her eyes sparkling with a playful energy that was infectious. "Ready for a critically important mission to find the best sorbetes(sorbetes is a beloved, traditional ice cream made with local ingredients like coconut milk and carabao (water buffalo) milk, unlike typical ice cream made from cow's milk. Sold from colorful pushcarts by vendors called "sorbeteros," it comes in various bright flavors such as mango, ube (purple yam), and cheese, often served in wafer cones or a bread bun.) in town?"

"More than ready," Tristan laughed, the sound easy and unburdened. "Lead the way."

They walked in a comfortable silence for a moment, the distant ding-ding-ding of a sorbetero's bell growing closer. They found the brightly painted cart and the old man, who greeted them with a wrinkled, grandfatherly smile. Tristan, ever the strategist, found himself genuinely struggling with the flavor options.

Claire giggled, nudging him gently. "Don't overthink it, Captain. It's just ice cream. Pick what your heart wants."

He finally settled on a scoop of mango and a scoop of cheese, a classic combination. Claire proudly held up her cone of vibrant purple ube. They found an empty bench under the shade of a narra tree, the world around them a pleasant blur of families picnicking and kids chasing pigeons.

"This is… nice," Tristan said after a moment, the sweet and salty taste of his ice cream a simple, perfect pleasure. "It's so different from the noise and the pressure of the gym."

"I like this version of you," Claire said softly, watching him. "The one who isn't carrying the weight of the whole team on his shoulders. You actually look… relaxed."

"You have that effect on people," he admitted, feeling a comfortable warmth spread through his chest that had nothing to do with the sun.

As they walked, their conversation meandered from silly arguments about ice cream flavors to stories about their families. With a natural ease, Tristan found his hand brushing against hers, and without a second thought, he laced his fingers through hers. Her hand was warm and soft in his, a grounding presence.

They rounded a bend near the lily pond, the path curving gently. The sound of familiar laughter drifted towards them. Tristan's steps faltered. Ahead, on a checkered blanket spread on the grass, sat Aiden Robinson. And across from him, her face lit up with a smile, was Christine.

The lazy Sunday atmosphere shattered for Tristan. It was like a sudden, jarring chord change in a peaceful melody. An awkward, cold mix of nostalgic ache and the harsh reality of the present washed over him. He felt Claire's hand tighten around his, a silent question.

"Who is that?" she asked, her voice low, sensing the immediate shift in him.

Tristan's throat felt tight. "My teammate, Aiden," he managed to say. "And… Christine. She's someone I used to… care about. A lot."

It was too late to turn back. Aiden's head snapped up, and his face broke into a wide, slightly goofy grin. "Hey, Tristan! What are the odds? Didn't expect to see you here!" he called out, waving.

Christine's smile faltered for a fraction of a second as she saw who was with Tristan. She recovered quickly, but the hesitation was there. "Hey, Tristan."

He gave them a tight-lipped nod, his posture suddenly guarded. "Aiden. Christine."

Claire, ever graceful, stepped forward slightly, her smile patient and warm, even as she felt the tension radiating from Tristan. "It's so nice to meet you both. I'm Claire."

A stilted, awkward conversation unfolded. They talked about the weather, the game, anything to fill the space between the unspoken words. Christine wouldn't quite meet Tristan's gaze, her eyes darting between him and Claire.

Finally, in a lull, she spoke directly to him, her voice barely above a whisper. "Tristan, I hope… I hope things are okay. Between us."

His gaze softened, the defensiveness replaced by a raw honesty. "People change, Christine. Feelings do, too. I just want you to be happy."

"We're just… figuring things out," Aiden added, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly feeling the awkwardness. "It's all pretty new."

After a few more excruciatingly polite exchanges, Claire gave Tristan's hand a gentle squeeze. "We should probably get going. It was lovely meeting you."

They walked away, their footsteps quickening as they put distance between them and the picnic blanket. For a full minute, neither of them spoke. Tristan's knuckles were white where he gripped her hand.

"That," he said finally, his voice strained, "was harder than I thought it would be."

"Old stories don't always have neat endings," Claire said softly. "Sometimes they just become part of a new one. But you're not alone in this chapter, Tristan."

They found a quiet, secluded bench far from the pond. Tristan let out a breath he felt like he'd been holding for months.

"I never imagined what seeing them together would actually feel like," he confessed, staring at their intertwined hands. "It's this weird mix of being genuinely happy for Aiden, and… something else. This ache. It's stupid, right? I told myself I was over it."

"It's not stupid," Claire said, turning to face him. "It's history. You can't just flip a switch and erase it. It's okay if it stings a little. Or a lot." She waited, letting him feel it, not trying to fix it. "But that chapter is closed now. The one you're writing… what do you want from it?"

He looked at her, really looked at her—at her kind eyes, her patient smile, the way she held his hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world. The ache in his chest began to subside, replaced by a feeling of profound gratitude.

"To keep growing," he said, his voice finding its strength again. "To be better, on and off the court." He paused, his gaze unwavering. "And… to explore this. With you."

A beautiful, hopeful smile bloomed on Claire's face. As the sun began its slow descent, painting the sky in hues of orange and gold, Tristan leaned in. He kissed her, not with a fiery passion, but with a gentle certainty. It was a kiss of gratitude, of new beginnings, of a page being turned.

When they finally parted, the last of the awkwardness had vanished, replaced by a warm and shimmering possibility.

"Same time next Sunday?" Claire whispered.

"Definitely," Tristan replied without a moment's hesitation.

He walked home under a sky full of emerging stars, the memory of Christine and Aiden no longer a sting, but a settled piece of his past. His heart was steady, full, and focused not on what was lost, but on the wonderful, unexpected story that was just beginning.

Next chapter will be updated first on this website. Come back and continue reading tomorrow, everyone!

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.