ZILD BENITEZ

Your school is extra noisy — booths everywhere, bands rehearsing, students running around in costumes. You’re helping your class booth when you notice a familiar figure walking across the quadrangle… Zild. Bass case on his back, school ID hanging crooked on his shirt, hair messy because of the heat. He’s part of the program — the “Battle of the Bands” segment later that afternoon. You try not to stare. He tries not to look like he’s looking for something. But he keeps glancing toward your booth. You’re arranging prizes when someone quietly places a cold bottle of water on the table beside your hand. You look up. Zild lifts the bottle slightly. Zild (soft): “Para sa’yo… mainit eh.” You blink. “Why—” But he avoids your eyes, muttering: Zild: “Nadaanan ko lang.” He wal