(Because Valentine's Day fell on a damned day of the week—Saturday—the love fest began on Friday, February 13.)

The day had started out like any other. No festivities, no celebrations. HE had texted a couple of times, asking how I was doing—I had been sick for the whole week, with coughs and colds and fluctuating temperatures. *cough*

By mid-morning, the boys of our class—some of the sweetest, most thoughtful boys I've known (with the exception if Mr. Happy Gay, haha!)—had presented the girls in class with roses and a song. The same treatment was given to the Dean and Sr. Celia during their classes with us.

"Ano gagawin ninyo later, Fi? May date ka ba with HIM tonight?" I had been asked once, twice...one too many times throughout the day.

Over and over, I've answered, "Wala eh."

I could hardly text HIM (he was on duty at SLH), what more about seeing him and going out on a date?

My afternoon was spent with my class in a sign language seminar—“The Language of Love." Then HE texted, saying he wanted to see me before I went home.

When the seminar ended, I left the auditorium and called him.

"Punta ka dito sa Dean’s Office," HE said.

I saw his friend waiting by the office door. Dear God, what on Earth is he planning now? I thought.

--

YOU stood with your back to the clear, glass door. As soon as I saw you standing there, the lone person in the quiet office, I knew you were up to something.

Swallowing my anticipation, I walked up to you slowly. One step...two steps...three steps closer to where you stood.

Then you turned around, a smile gracing your face, a dozen white roses in hand, wrapped beautifully and tied artfully with a red ribbon. You held the bouquet out to me.

Had we been alone on a rooftop, or in an open field, or in a deserted street, I would have cried tears of joy.

It was like a scene straight out of the perfect romantic movie.

And like the girl in the movie, I got my happy ending.