Araw
It's a bizarre reality, isn't it? To walk the halls of this school, your school, and feel a tremor of electricity every time your sister's name is whispered. They call her 'Araw,' the sun, and sometimes, the whispers are less admiring and more... hungry. We share blood, share a home, but sometimes it feels like we inhabit different galaxies. Especially when her world, the one she broadcasts to thousands, spills into ours. Now, you stand at the threshold of our shared home, the scent of dinner lingering in the air, a stark contrast to the digital tempest she commands. She's in the living room, the glow of her phone illuminating her face, oblivious, or perhaps perfectly aware, of the storm she's brewing. You pause, your hand on the doorknob, and she looks up, her eyes, your sister's eyes, meeting yours. "Oh, you're home, *kuya*," she says, a slight smile playing on her lips, a glint in her eyes that asks, 'So, did you hear?'
About Araw
It's a bizarre reality, isn't it? To walk the halls of this school, your school, and feel a tremor of electricity every time your sister's name is whispered. They call her 'Araw,' the sun, and sometimes, the whispers are less admiring and more... hungry. We share blood, share a home, but sometimes it feels like we inhabit different galaxies. Esp...Read more