March 2021 arrived with a hint of warmth in the air. The days were lengthening, the skies brighter. In Carmela's quiet town, the rhythm of provincial life carried on with gentle predictability, a stark contrast to the turbulence that continued to shake the rest of the world. While the cities remained on edge, battling COVID-19 surges and struggling with slow vaccine rollouts, the countryside held on to a more cautious pace—limited face-to-face interaction, mandatory masks at the market, and community bonds that had grown stronger over months of shared worry.
For Carmela, March wasn't just the beginning of another month; it was a season of gentle blooming. Her life, once defined by the chaos of her past and the regrets of her previous lifetime, had slowly settled into a pattern that was finally, finally hers.
She woke up early, as always, to the sound of roosters crowing. The fields beyond their house shimmered with early morning dew, the rice stalks swaying lightly with the breeze. From her bedroom window, Carmela looked out at the view that had been both a cage and a sanctuary. This place was her anchor. And now, it was also her launching point.
She brewed coffee quietly in the kitchen, careful not to wake her parents. Kuya Alex had already left for school—limited in-person classes for senior high had resumed under strict health protocols—while Kuya Vin was preparing inventory lists for the store. The pandemic had taught them to adapt. Deliveries were now a staple. Online orders and GCash payments had become the norm, and Carmela often helped Vin optimize their social media presence and e-commerce strategies.
"Morning, Carm," he said, shuffling into the kitchen in his worn slippers.
"Good morning, Kuya. I left the updated product photos in the shared drive."
"You really make this easier, you know that? If you weren't so focused on school, I'd hire you full-time."
She laughed. "Tempting, but I'm saving my energy for something bigger."
He gave her a thumbs-up and went back to the store. Carmela sipped her coffee, her mind already turning over her next steps. Her schedule at UP Los Baños was still fully online, but that didn't mean she wasn't busy. In fact, her days were packed: asynchronous lectures, coding projects, online tech webinars, freelancing gigs, and of course, careful monitoring of her investments.
Despite the quiet front she maintained with her family, her world was far from ordinary. She had taken steps to diversify her holdings—from crypto to blue-chip stocks, from ETF portfolios to small startup ventures. Her knowledge of how the market would behave in the next few years gave her the advantage, but she never abused it. She studied trends carefully, double-checked forecasts, and always made room for uncertainty. Even knowing what she knew, she had learned to respect risk.
Later that afternoon, Carmela received a message from Raziel.
**Raziel:** "Thought you might want to see this."
Attached was an article about the rise of remote tech careers post-pandemic. Companies around the world were shifting to hybrid setups, some ditching traditional offices altogether.
**Carmela:** "Looks like I made the right decision with IT."
**Raziel:** "You definitely did. I remember you telling me back in 2018 that the tech world was only going to grow. Now look."
**Carmela:** "It's surreal, no? Like the world is catching up to where I always knew it would go."
**Raziel:** "And you're ahead of the curve. You always were."
Carmela paused, her fingers resting on the keyboard. Raziel had always seen her clearly. Through the years, he had been a quiet presence, never intrusive, never demanding. Just there. Supportive. Steady. She had once thought she didn't deserve a love like that—not after everything she failed at in her past life. But now, things felt different. She had grown. She had learned. And she was starting to believe that maybe... she could let herself love again.
**Carmela:** "Let's do that coffee date soon. No more delays."
**Raziel:** "Name the day and I'm there."
She smiled to herself. It was a small thing, but it felt like a milestone.
---
March also brought new academic opportunities. Carmela had been accepted into a competitive summer internship with a Manila-based tech company that had gone remote. It was a chance to work on real-world software development projects, contribute to research, and collaborate with professionals who were building the tools the pandemic had made essential.
She didn't tell her family the details. To them, it was just another online school activity. But in truth, this was her stepping stone. Her chance to make a mark beyond the spreadsheets, beyond the stock market.
She poured herself into her application tasks, developing code for a logistics management tool, attending virtual meetings, and absorbing everything like a sponge. She took notes, asked questions, and began preparing for certification exams she knew would matter in the near future.
Still, she made time for herself. For writing. For sketching out future plans for the kubo she wanted to turn into a learning space. For long walks around the paddies. For helping Mama in the garden and chatting with her childhood friends online.
She even wrote a blog entry one night titled *The Silence Between Achievements*, reflecting on how not every victory is loud. Sometimes, the biggest leaps happen in quiet rooms, between heartbeats, unnoticed by the world.
The post resonated more than she expected. Readers messaged her. Former classmates, even strangers from forums she frequented. One message stood out:
**"Reading your post gave me peace. Like I don't have to rush to be great. Thank you."**
Carmela blinked at the screen. She never expected her words to ripple that way. It reminded her of something she had forgotten: the power of authenticity.
---
Toward the end of the month, Raziel finally visited. It was a Saturday, and after a negative antigen test and a few calls to assure her mother, Carmela welcomed him into their garden.
They sat beneath the mango tree, spaced apart but relaxed. The breeze carried the scent of hibiscus and warm soil. Birds chirped in the distance, and somewhere a neighbor's radio played an old love song.
"It's been years, but this place hasn't changed much," Raziel said.
Carmela nodded. "Sometimes I think the town is caught in a time bubble."
"But you're not. You've changed."
She looked at him, soft smile forming. "For the better, I hope."
"For the stronger."
They spoke for hours. About school, tech trends, strange crypto news, family stories, even their childhood memories. It felt easy. Natural. Like a thread that had never broken.
Before he left, Raziel handed her a small gift bag.
"Open it after I'm gone," he said.
She waited until dusk, then untied the ribbon. Inside was a small digital frame with a USB stick.
On the screen: a slideshow of their photos through the years, some she didn't even remember being taken. Screenshots of their old chats, images of her blog entries, snippets of quotes she'd shared.
A line glowed at the bottom: "Every moment mattered. Because you mattered."
Carmela stared, heart full. She didn't cry, but the ache in her chest was sweet.
---
March closed with Carmela watching the sun rise on her 21st year of life. The world was still healing. Her country was still struggling. But she had learned to build in the quiet. To plan beneath the noise.
She wasn't just living again. She was blooming.
And though the road ahead remained uncertain, she now walked it with purpose—and maybe, just maybe, a partner by her side who saw her not as someone rebuilding a life, but as someone who had already built something beautiful.
With the sound of morning birds, Carmela whispered to herself, "It's going to be a good year."