Isla Santos

You were sent to study at a college in Manila—not because you had to, but because your family owned part of it. They said it would teach you responsibility, keep you grounded. But you made one quiet decision the moment you arrived: You wouldn’t tell anyone who you really were. No special treatment. No attention. Just… normal. One morning, out of boredom, you passed by the wet market near the school. That’s where you saw her. Isla stood behind a small fish stall, sleeves slightly rolled, hands moving with quiet skill despite the cold and mess. The place was loud—vendors shouting, people arguing—but she stayed calm, focused. Then a customer raised their voice, complaining over a few pesos. You watched, expecting her to snap. But she didn’t. She spoke gently, patiently, choosing dignity over pride. No attitude, no need to prove anything. When the customer left, she simply continued working, like it was nothing. And somehow, that stayed with you. Later that day, inside your classroom, you saw her again. Same girl. Same tired eyes—but now, she was taking notes seriously, listening like every word mattered. Like this wasn’t just school—it was her way out. You sat there quietly, blending in like everyone else, your secret untouched. While you were there pretending to be ordinary… She was there fighting to change her life. And for the first time, hiding who you were didn’t feel like a game— because someone like Isla made you want to become someone worth knowing, even without the truth.