Ikong And Orang

It was the first day of kindergarten.

There was a boy who had a bowl cut and huge ears. And a girl with short hair and a chipped tooth.

They laughed at each other’s names. "Ikong" sounded like an old man. "Orang" sounded like an ape.

They made fun of each other. Until, somehow, that turned into a blooming friendship.

In elementary school, Orang became “the witch girl” from a family of mangkukulam, whose notoriety was known in the entire community. The girl, who had nothing to do with the family’s bad reputation, became the most avoided person in class. To scare bullies, she embraced the clan’s namesake with superficial pride. At least, people feared her. That’s better than getting jeered for no reason at all.

Meanwhile, Ikong, from a clan of albularyos, was a happy-go-lucky boy who never took an interest in the family’s legacy. He lived like any normal kid, playing basketball, climbing trees, bathing in the river with friends, and playing video games.

But with Orang, he’s fiercely protective. He even got his share of fist fights and suspensions with her bullies, but whatever the case, he stuck by her like he always did.

By high school, the lore had faded into the background. Old traditions aren’t religiously practiced anymore. The centuries-old grudge between the mangkukulam and the albularyo had become viral fiction than a legend. Something to joke about, not taken seriously.

Still, Orang stayed “the weird girl.”

And Ikong never changed.

He waved at her with a grin like they were still five. Smiled at her, no matter how she tried to push him away.

For him, she was always dear Orang.

— • —

Those memories flashed before Aurora’s eyes as Victor walked past her in the hallway.

No teasing. No "Good morning!" with that stupid smile of his. Just a silent stride straight to the classroom.

Aurora stopped in her tracks. “Wait… did he just—?”

Her fingers curled around the strap of her bag. Was he sick? Or…

Maybe the curse finally worked.

There was a flicker of satisfaction in her chest, but behind that flicker came something tighter—like a string pulling at her ribs.

In class, she watched him from the corner of her eye as she half-heartedly took notes. It was a bit weird, without the usual pokes and jokes.

He just sat there, eyes forward, as if they were total strangers.

She pursed her lips and looked back at her paper. It wasn’t supposed to feel this... dull.

— • —

The next day was the same.

Victor brushed past her again in the hall. Unbothered. Aurora tried clearing her throat once, then tried giving him a sarcastic wave—nothing. Her classmates caught on quickly.

“Look at Orang go,” one of them giggled.

“Did she reject him?” another snickered.

Aurora growled under her breath and snapped a pencil in half. “Keep talking and I’ll curse your next ten quizzes.”

They backed off—half-laughing, half-wary. But even they agreed: Victor was off.

Later that night, she lay on her bed, eyes distant.

“So it’s real. The curse worked. He’s staying away.”

And yet, it didn’t feel like a win.

— • —

The third day followed suit.

At lunch, Aurora sat alone, picking at her food. It was quieter without him asking for a bite. Without him stealing her fork. Without him making dumb remarks about how she always loved eating spaghetti with rice.

Eventually, curiosity gnawed at her. She stood up and looked around the garden beside the canteen.

And there he was.

Sitting alone on one of the old concrete tables under the acacia tree. He looked peaceful, but indifferent.

Two girls passed by and paused near him. Aurora could hear one of them giggle.

“Can we sit here?”

“Sure,” he replied, voice casual. “There’s space.”

They sat. One tried to ask him something. He nodded, gave a short answer, then stared off at the trees.

She stood at a distance, half-hidden behind a nearby vending machine. Her chest squeezed a little, but she told herself it was fine.

“This is good,”

“He’s got more time to meet people. To do his own thing.”

“I’ve got my space. This was always the goal, right?”

She turned around, fists slightly clenched at her sides.

Then she walked off—quick steps, head down—pretending that her vision wasn’t blurring a little on the edges.

— • —

A few more days passed, and Aurora found herself checking the clock more often. She wasn’t sure when it started—maybe around the third day. Maybe earlier.

One morning, as she stood in the hallway pretending to browse her phone, she caught sight of him again.

Victor walked past her, same as always.

But this time, he was carrying something.

She tilted her head slightly.

“Wait… is that a guitar?”

The black case slung over his shoulder wasn’t his usual bag, and she’d never seen him bring anything like that to school before.

Aurora stared after him, lips parted, heart tugging with something uncertain.

Then, she decided to tail him.

Just for today.

— • —

At lunch, Aurora trailed him. Her back pressed against doorways, her eyes darting from behind windows and wall corners like a spy in a school uniform.

Victor went to his usual lunch spot. The same two girls from days ago were already seated there, and Victor joined them with a casual grin.

Aurora stood behind the same vending machine.

She watched as Victor opened his lunch. One of the girls nudged him playfully, and he laughed.

Aurora blinked.

“He laughed…?”

That tiny ache in her chest suddenly throbbed.

Her hand curled into her uniform’s hem. She didn’t want to admit it. But it stung.

Then Victor reached down, unzipped the guitar case, and pulled it out.

Aurora’s breath hitched.

He held the guitar gently, like it was something precious. His fingers settled into position, and then…

He played.

Soft, smooth notes drifted through the courtyard like warm sunshine. No lyrics—just melody.

Aurora’s eyes widened. The sound was warm. Carefree. The notes curled into her chest, gripping her heart like a vise.

And he smiled while he played. The kind she hadn’t seen before—bright, real, shining.

And she realized…

He didn’t need her to shine.

He was fine. He was better. He was…

Happy.

A bitter thought crawled into her mind: “Maybe I was holding him back.”

She looked at the two girls sitting beside him, listening closely, almost swooning.

A part of her wanted to leave everything to fate.

But a bigger part said, “I wish I were sitting there, watching him closely.”

She bit her lip and stood still.

Defeated.

— • —

Day after day, Aurora watched from a distance.

And Victor kept blooming.

One morning, he was sketching caricatures, surrounded by laughing classmates. The next, he was handing out handmade keychains shaped like suns and leaves. Another day, he passed around wrapped sweets—yema, pastillas de leche.

He was thriving. Dazzling.

And she wasn’t part of it.

Aurora stood by herself in the hallway corner, watching him through half-lowered lashes, arms wrapped around her books.

The ache never left. It just grew heavier.

And the worst part?

She wanted to be the one laughing at his doodles. She wanted to be the one to hold the first charm he ever made. She wanted to be the one who tasted his sweets first. Not other girls.

That afternoon, class let out early. Aurora walked home, passing by a popular, picturesque view deck overlooking the ocean. The sky was pale gold, and the breeze smelled faintly of salt.

She stopped.

Leaning her elbows on the railing, she gazed out at the shimmering horizon. The sea reflected the sky like a mirror—bright, boundless, unreachable.

Then—

“Hey.”

Aurora froze. She turned slowly.

Victor stood a few steps behind her, hands in his pockets. The breeze tousled his hair gently.

Their eyes met. The silence stretched.

“…Hi,” she answered, barely a whisper.

For a second, neither of them moved as the wind rustled between them, carrying weights waiting to be shed.

— • —

Author’s notes

Yema – a native delicacy made from sugar, milk, and egg yolks, a kind of custard candy.

Pastillas de leche – a local milk candy made from carabao’s milk and sugar. Soft, sweet, and creamy.