Sean left the motel just before noon, carrying his small bag and the phone tucked safely in his pocket.
The streets were hot, but he walked with steady steps, his sharp eyes scanning everything around him—faces, signboards, alleyways.
It wasn't panic.
It was instinct.
He'd heard whispers near the food stalls earlier about cheap boarding houses nearby.
It didn't take long before he spotted one. The paint was fading, and the wooden gate looked worn, but the price posted outside caught his attention.
₱2,500 per month. Utilities included.
"Mas barato ra. Sakto ra gyud ni sa akong budget karon," he thought, nodding slightly.
("This is cheaper. Just right for my budget right now.")
He approached the gate and pressed the rusty doorbell.
A woman, maybe in her late 50s, opened the door halfway. Her hair was tied back, face stern but not unfriendly.
"Boarding house ni, Ate?" Sean asked plainly.
("Is this a boarding house, ma'am?")
She glanced at him—his thin frame, quiet voice, bruised face—but Sean already knew how she was judging him. He could read it in her slight frown and the way her eyes darted to his bag.
"Pila pa'y kwarto ninyong available?"
("How many rooms do you still have?")
"Usa na lang. Ikaduha nga andana, pero gamay ra. Ug kinahanglan limpyo ka ha, kay wa ko'y gusto nga samok diri," she said firmly.
("Only one left. It's upstairs, but it's small. And you better be clean. I don't want any trouble here.")
Sean nodded, handing over the payment upfront without a word.
The woman's eyes slightly softened at that.
"Hala, siga man ka'g mata noh," she muttered under her breath, staring at him curiously.
("You've got sharp eyes, huh.")
Sean just gave a faint smile, acting like he didn't hear it though of course, he heard every word, every breath.
The room was as small as she said—just enough for a bed, a small desk, and a window overlooking the street.
But it was quiet.
Safe.
He memorized every detail in the first five seconds, the cracks on the ceiling, the loose floorboards near the corner, even the exact creak of the doorknob.
"Pwede ra gyud ni," he muttered softly.
("This'll do.")
Later that evening, after buying simple supplies a plain shirt, a new pair of pants, soap, and some canned goods, Sean finally sat down by the window, phone in hand.
He wasn't dressed like a beggar anymore.
Still simple, still quiet but cleaner. Presentable.
He opened Toktik again, scrolling idly through random videos until that familiar face appeared once more.
Pretty.
Still in her nurse like uniform, she was tidying up a medicine shelf in her clinic, humming softly in the background.
"Para sa mga pasyente gihapon," her caption said.
("Still for the patients.")
Her voice was gentle, her movements slow and calm.
For some reason, Sean couldn't scroll past.
He watched the clip twice.
And for the first time… he left a comment.
Simple. Direct.
"Ayaw palabi'g kabuotan, pretty. Hinay-hinay lang."
("Don't overwork yourself, pretty. Take it easy.")
He didn't expect a reply.
But a few minutes later, his phone pinged.
Pretty replied casually:
"Salamat. Wala'y choice, kay walay lain mutabang diri. Pero kaya ra."
("Thank you. No choice, though. No one else will help here. But I can manage.")
Sean's eyes lingered on the screen, a small, faint smirk forming.
He didn't reply again, but he saved her video quietly.
Outside, the street was busy with passing motorcycles and vendors yelling their prices, but inside his tiny room, Sean sat in silence, staring at her video.
Not obsessed.
Not in love.
Just… watching.
In the background, his phone glowed softly on the desk.
The Survive browser remained untouched for now but Sean's mind wasn't finished with it yet.
Somewhere inside him, the hunger to understand more was growing.