‎

‎1. Solitude: a peaceful aloneness, like sitting in a room with only the ticking of the clock as company.

‎He liked it. The silence. The absence of noise. It gave him space to think. And thinking was his comfort—especially when it involved puzzles. He sat in the back row of a near-empty classroom, hunched over the crossword from the school paper, his pen hovering over the grid like it was sacred.

‎But then she walked in. And solitude didn’t feel like peace anymore. ‎It felt insufficient. ‎He scribbled out the word in his mind.

‎2. Tension: the pull of invisible strings tied to your chest, drawn tighter by the proximity of someone who matters too much.

‎She sat beside him, her hair smelling faintly of Palmolive and ink. “Is that the new puzzle?” she asked. ‎He nodded, a little too fast. He circled a blank. Seven letters. Clue: "To yearn without reason."

‎His hands tensed around the pen. Was it longing? Desire? ‎She leaned closer, her voice soft: “Could it be ‘craving’?”

‎He flinched. Not at her answer, but because he could feel every syllable she spoke coiled into his ribs like vines.

‎No, not tension, he thought. ‎This was an ache. And even that word didn’t feel quite right.

‎3. Proximity: the geography of the heart measured by inches, not kilometers.

‎Her shoulder brushed his. Accidentally? He wasn’t sure. 

‎The answer to 4 down was “infatuation,” but he hesitated to write it.

‎Too obvious. Too vulnerable.

‎Her fingers pointed at another clue. "Three letters. A feeling hard to explain."

‎“Joy?” she offered.

‎“Maybe,” he replied. But in his head, he whispered: You.

‎Proximity wasn’t enough. ‎It wasn’t just being near. ‎It was being seen, and fearing you’d be seen too clearly.

‎4. Eloquence: the art of saying everything with just the right words.

‎Which he never had, ‎especially not now.

‎He wanted to say something—anything. Compliment her insight. Laugh at her joke. Thank her for sitting beside him like it was normal. ‎But his lips betrayed him, stuck in the comma between thoughts.

‎She looked at him, eyebrows raised in curiosity.

‎He mumbled, “Uhh—smart guess.” ‎Smart guess? Really? ‎He should’ve said ‘brilliant’ or 'beautiful.’ ‎But he erased the eloquence in his mind. ‎What he had was a stammer.

‎

‎5. Yearn: a silent reaching, like eyes stretching toward something your hands can’t quite hold.

‎He filled in the last box of the crossword. ‎Clue: “To seek what words can’t define.” ‎Six letters. He paused.

‎She watched him, her chin in her palm, waiting.

‎His hand trembled slightly as he wrote:

‎A-F-F-E-C-T

‎But he scratched it out. Not deep enough. ‎Not right.

‎He looked up at her. ‎She smiled—not because she solved the puzzle, but because they solved it together.

‎That’s when he knew. There was no word. ‎Not yet.

‎Just a puzzle in his chest, missing the one piece her presence always seemed to edge closer to solving. ‎And as she stood up to leave, brushing her fingers lightly against the desk, he whispered silently:

‎Not yearning. ‎Not longing. ‎Just you.

‎The answer was always you. ‎But there were no boxes big enough to fit her name. ‎And no words—across or down—that could capture her.

- Josias Je Rellora

(Illustration by Mary Nicole Halili/FEU Advocate)