The world has halted its spin. In the three months of working there, Thalia locks gazes with Miguel for the very first time.

"P-Pardon?" she stammers, panic accumulating in her chest. A terrible headache, mixed with the uncertainty of her work status, causes tears to well up in her eyes immediately.

It's all too much. She cannot afford to lose this job, especially after the abrupt closure of the coffee shop where she used to work.

Not again. Please...

Miguel, flustered by Thalia's reaction, realizes his words could have been clearer. "No, I mean, you can take the day off," he mutters, awkwardly pretending to check the schedule on his phone. "Baljit is on vacation leave until Friday. Work on Friday instead. My Dad is coming today."

Thalia's lashes flutter, prompting a single tear to trail down her cheek before she catches it with her sleeve. Keeping her gaze fixed on the boss' son, she murmurs, "What... Why?"

"Just go do it, girl," Linda hollers from one of the aisles.

"Yeah, it's not supposed to be busy with the snow being this bad," Joshua chimes in.

Inserting his hands into his cashmere coat's pockets, Miguel concedes to the staring game and turns around. "We'll be overstaffed if you stay. And we need someone on Friday."

Something is going on inside Thalia's brain–an explosion of both stress and physical manifestation of overindulgence. Simultaneously, a wave of disdain towards the man standing before her begins to subside.

Meanwhile, in the absence of Thalia's response, Miguel instinctively half-turns once more, stealing a fleeting glimpse in her direction.

Miguel despises clichés, especially those of romantic nature, a point that has been emphasized. Yet, he finds himself unable to avert his gaze from Thalia as a faint smile touches her lips. "Thank you."

Two simple words, but Miguel senses the gravity of her burden within them. It's as if she has longed for a reprieve, and somehow, he's become the one to offer her that relief.

But he didn't even do that much. What kind of world is she living in?

Miguel looks out the window and adopts a mellow tone, "I'm on my way out. I can drop you off."

The smile on Thalia's face vanishes instantly, replaced by the usual stoic expression and a low-toned, "I'm good. Enjoy the rest of your day."

"Are you sure? I don't mind–"

"It's just a few stops away from the bus stop," Thalia interrupts, bows her head, and exits the store. As she leaves, four shoppers walk in, while Miguel's gaze is fixed on the girl who has brushed him off–and never apologized for puking on him.

When her silhouette fades, Miguel scoffs, amused by the strange turn of events.  This time yesterday, he didn't even want to buy the staff a meal. And now, he even offered Thalia a ride, and she said 'no'?

"She was probably just shy," Joshua interjects, cutting Miguel's train of thought. "Since you gave her the day off already."

"It works out for the store."

"You're still our employer. If you offer a ride to me, I won't refuse, though."

Miguel ignores Joshua with another wave of a hand. "I'm off. I'll see you guys later."

******

Thalia is really unaware of how much she's been craving a break that won't dent her bank account until she collapses into her single-sized bed.

The break eludes her, however, because after last night's blackout, a whirlwind of unanswered questions now unfurls before her. What happened after 10 PM? The last memory she can recall is her conversation with Linda about her sister, Aly, and the perpetual clashes between Aly and their mother. And then both will tattle on each other, leaving Thalia caught in the middle. How can she ever fix a relationship from afar? Why does she have to?

Why is she always giving away a part of herself?

A year ago, Thalia landed in Edmonton, employed by a coffee shop. When it burned down, she was jobless for two months before landing a position at Bayanihan Grocer.

The lack of income depleted most of her savings as her sister's tuition fee was also due.

Is this really how her life's going to be? She was class valedictorian. She graduated with honors from the most prestigious university of the country.

If the Thalia of age 12 could see the Thalia of age 25, she would be so disillusioned.

Because she was going to be someone great. Was so sure of it. But that's just now a pipe dream since all she can think about is survival.

Thalia flips herself and takes in the ceiling, recognizing the spot that occasionally leaks when it rains. Her one-bedroom apartment, the cheapest she can afford, embodies the adage "you get what you pay for" — old, with a hallway that reeks of weed and clothes that haven't seen a washer in weeks.

"I'm so tired..."

She fumbles through her jeans' back pocket, the light of her phone turning on, and as it glows, it reveals her lock screen, a cherished photo. Four people are in it—her late father, mother, Thalia, and Aly.

And in her moment of weakness, it provides everything she needs.

"Okay, Thalia. You're doing well..." she whispers to herself, tenderly breathing encouragement to life, "You can do this."

******

The whole morning to the afternoon, Miguel records his gameplay of a popular video game and edits it for his youtube channel, which boasts around 500K subscribers.

Immersed in his virtual world, he's oblivious to the passing hours until his mother, Sheila, taps his shoulder, signaling dinner time. Miguel removes his headphones and descends the stairs.

"Your Dad is still at the store. He said we can go ahead."

"Okay," Miguel replies, taking his seat behind the glass window, revealing a snow-filled yard.

"How was the dinner last night?"

The first thing that comes to mind is Thalia's episode, including the unexpected puking, but he restrains himself and responds, "It was alright. I think they had a good time."

"That's great. We'll give them some Christmas bonus with this next paycheck."

Miguel nods appreciatively as he pours soup into his bowl. "Awesome. I was just gonna ask."

His mother raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "You were?"

"Ah, I mean, they work hard. They deserve it."

The back door opens, revealing a gentleman in his 60s, his cheeks red from the cold.

"Oh, I thought you're coming in late," Sheila says, quickly gathering cutlery for his husband, Rey.

"We finished closing early," he replies, yanking his boots off and his hat. He washes his hands and sits beside his wife, then addresses his son, "Linda told me you sent Thalia home."

"Ah, yes," Miguel replies. "Baljit's off on Friday, and you're not available. I thought it'd be better if she goes to cover for her... And I can go, too."

His parents look at each other.

"What?"

"Nothing. It's nice to see. And good thinking," Rey answers happily. Their son, who has previously expressed disinterest in inheriting their small grocery store despite holding a Master's in Business Administration, seems to be showing a shift in perspective.

"Is the online thing going well?" Sheila inquires..

"Yes, it is going well," Miguel answers. "So I'm still not interested. Don't get the wrong idea."

Rey's shoulders slump–it is indeed too early for him to hope that the business he started from scratch will continue to live on under his only son.

"Okay. Well... How about a girlfriend? Are you seeing anyone new?" she probes, then takes a mouthful of rice as if the question is as casual as discussing the day's weather.

"I will move out soon," Miguel states in a low grunt, deflecting the query. "I've stayed this long because you didn't want me to leave until I finished school. But I'm leaving."

"We're not asking because we want you to move out. You know you don't have to," Rey clarifies, slightly defensive. "But who's going to look after you if you're going to live alone? And when are we getting grandkids if you don't even have a girlfriend?"

"I can look after myself."

"You can't cook. And you don't clean."

"I'll learn."

"Miguel—"

"You should have considered having another kid after me," Miguel remarks, shaking his head. Since turning 27 last month, his parents have been unrelenting in their questions about his future. What used to be an occasional topic, perhaps twice a year, has become too frequent for his liking. "Your odds of getting grandchildren would have been higher."

"Miguel..." Sheila mutters in a tone that's all too familiar to him, the same one she used when he was a kid about to receive a scolding.

"All I'm saying is, I'm living my life as I see fit. I earn my own money and will still help out at the store when I can. Don't I at least deserve to get some slack when it comes to that part of my life?"

Rey and Sheila sigh simultaneously. Miguel shrugs, content that he's won this round but fully aware that the topic won't be dropped.

******

With no recollection of the recent team-building event, Thalia resumes her work routine. Fifteen minutes before her shift, she arrives punctually, stowing her bag in the locker and donning the familiar apron adorned with the store's logo—a nipa hut with the name proudly displayed: Bayanihan Grocer.

(Trans: Bayanihan - a term that can be interpreted as 'communal sense of unity')

Down in the South side of the city, Bayanihan Grocer is a cozy little spot, small but vibrant. Six aisles are stocked with Filipino products, such as sauces and condiments typically unavailable at larger brand-name stores. Beyond the diverse selection of produce, the store also caters to the local appetite by offering street foods, enticing customers to enjoy snacks by the entrance where stools are conveniently placed. In a sense, it is a grocery store that doubles as a convenience store.

Thalia diligently sweeps the floor in preparation for mopping. Footmarks and mud are everywhere, proof of the sudden rise in temperature from -15 to -2. Ah, what a gift to Edmontonians.

The door swings open, and Thalia halts upon seeing Miguel come in. He stomps his boots on the carpet, untangling a Merino wool gray scarf from around his neck.

He's usually not at the store on Fridays.

"Yo," he greets. "You still have ten minutes to spare. No need to work before your actual schedule."

Head lowered, she says meekly, "It's okay. I was bored." Thalia finishes sweeping by the front door and hurries to the far right aisle, seeking refuge from Miguel's unexpected arrival.

Just as he anticipated—Thalia is running away from him on purpose. Whether she's fully aware of what transpired or not, she's been steering clear. But why? Why, in her inebriated state, did she call him a 'jackass'?

Is it because he's not as affable? That's hardly news. Miguel is more of an introvert, finding the outdoors and large crowds a tad overwhelming. Whatever the reason, he figures he can tweak her perception of him. No big deal.

Undeterred, Miguel makes a conscious effort to engage Thalia in casual conversation, even when she's deep in discussion with Linda and Joshua. He throws in comments here and there, attempting to break the ice. Yet, every time he does, Thalia withdraws, finding an excuse to keep herself busy. Sure, she's on the clock, but the evident repulsion is irking him.

"Let me help you," Miguel offers when he spots Thalia struggling with a case of beer in the inventory room.

"I can do it."

"It's fine."

"Okay, then," Thalia says, leaving the case on the floor.

"So, how are—"

And just like that, she walks away.

Miguel can't resist clicking his tongue in frustration.

"What the fuck did I even do?" he curses under his breath as he proceeds to haul the case out to the floor.

It's almost the end of the day—Linda and Joshua are chatting while replenishing the shelves, but Thalia is nowhere to be seen. Miguel suspects she must be hiding somewhere, and the thought makes him snort.

"Oh, my kids are a lot. They fight all the time," Linda shares. "But once I stare them down, they know they have to stop. Time to behave. Mommy means business."

"Three kids, huh," Joshua says. "I think it's going to be just two for me. One boy and one girl. To replace me and the wife."

"You have a girl?"

Joshua playfully flips his imaginary long hair. "'Course I do! She's from my university club."

"Oh? You fooled someone?"

"Linda!" he shrieks, laughing, then turns to Miguel. "How about you, Sir?"

"Don't call me Sir," Miguel responds, handing him the case. "And what about me?"

"Do you like kids?"

"I don't hate them, if that counts."

"So you're considering it?"

Miguel recalls the dinner and scoffs, "I was just having this conversation with my parents last night. And I'm over it."

"Really? What did they say?"

"They're pressuring me for grandkids and urging me to get a girlfriend. It's like they're passing on some cultural beliefs about close family ties that I don't quite understand. They've always been like that."

Joshua folds his arms thoughtfully and nods. "Have you ever been to the Philippines? Have you met your cousins? Tita? Tito?"

Miguel half-shrugs, unsure where Joshua is going with the discussion. "No, I haven't. My parents go, but it's not my thing. I don't see the point. As for relatives... It's all through FaceTime. My parents make me talk to them. It's awkward."

"And you don't have other family members here?"

"Nope."

"That explains it." The response comes from Thalia, who is apparently eavesdropping from the pasta and canned fruits aisle. She stares blankly at Miguel and utters, "You don't get it because you've never bothered trying to understand."

******

A/N: Fair enough, Miguel. Discussing kids in this economy is indeed exasperating. Lol. But there is really something about the past generation that makes them concerned about maintaining the bloodline.

Or is it just  my culture/the people around me? Hehe.

Hope you're still enjoying!