The Human Alarm Clock: Guarding Her Doorstep Just to Greet a Day She Spends With Him

My name is Rico. I work as a night-shift security consultant for a tech firm in Taguig. My life is lived in the shadows, watching monitors and patrolling perimeters. I’m trained to be observant, to notice the smallest details, and to stay vigilant while the rest of the world sleeps. But my most important "assignment" isn't one I’m paid for. It’s the thirty minutes I spend every morning outside an apartment complex in Makati, waiting for Maya.

Maya is a graphic designer who lives on the fourth floor. We "dated" for two months three years ago, or at least that’s what I call the three times we went to the movies before she told me she "wasn't ready for anything serious." Since then, I’ve settled into a routine that most people would call obsessive, but I call "devotion."

Every morning, after my shift ends at 6:00 AM, I don't go home to sleep. I drive straight to her street. I park my car a few houses down—not too close to be obvious, but close enough to see the main entrance. I wait. I sit there with a lukewarm coffee, watching the joggers and the stray cats, until 7:45 AM strikes. That’s when she walks out.

I tell myself I’m doing this to "ensure her safety." I tell myself that in a city this big, a girl like Maya needs a guardian she doesn't even know she has. But the truth is, I’m just hungry for the five seconds she spends looking at me.

"Oh, Rico! What a coincidence!" she says every single time, her voice light and cheerful. She thinks it’s a fluke. She thinks I just happen to be "in the neighborhood" for a breakfast meeting or a bank errand four times a week.

"Hey, Maya! Just finishing up some work nearby," I’ll say, leaning against my car, trying to look casual despite the dark circles under my eyes. "You look great today. Big presentation?"

"Always!" she’ll laugh, checking her watch. "Anyway, I’ve got to run. Leo is picking me up at the corner. We’re carpooling now!"

Leo is the senior architect at her firm. He drives a European car that doesn't rattle like mine. I watch her walk to the corner, her ponytail swinging, and get into his car. I watch him lean over to open the door for her, and I watch them drive away into the morning traffic.

I’ve spent thousands on gas and hundreds of hours of sleep just for those five seconds of "coincidence." I’ve missed my own sister’s breakfast send-off for her flight and skipped doctor’s appointments just to make sure I’m there at 7:45 AM. I’m convinced that if I’m the first face she sees every day, I’ll be the one she thinks of when things with Leo inevitably go south.

Last Tuesday, it was pouring rain. The kind of rain that floods the gutters in minutes. I didn't care. I stood outside my car with a large golf umbrella, waiting. When she stepped out of the lobby, she looked stressed, clutching her laptop bag to her chest.

"Rico! You’re still here in this weather?" she asked, huddled under the small awning.

"I had a feeling you’d need this," I said, stepping forward and holding the umbrella over her. I walked her all the way to the corner, getting my own left shoulder completely soaked so not a single drop would touch her sleeve.

We stood at the corner for ten minutes because Leo was late. I held that umbrella steady, my arm cramping, while she complained about how Leo "always forgets his umbrella" and how "cute" it is that he’s so disorganized. I listened to her defend the man who was making her wait in a storm, while I was the one keeping her dry.

When Leo finally pulled up, he didn't even say thanks. He just honked.

"Thanks, Rico! You're such a sweetheart. Seriously, you're like my lucky charm!" she said, ducking into his car.

She left her coffee cup on the curb. I picked it up and threw it away. I drove home in my wet clothes, shivering as the AC in my car blasted cold air. I developed a fever that kept me in bed for two days. I missed two shifts at work, which meant a deduction from my paycheck—money I was saving to buy a better car so I wouldn't feel so embarrassed when I park near hers.

I’m back at the corner this morning. My throat is still sore and my head is pounding, but it’s 7:43 AM. I’m smoothing down my shirt and checking my reflection in the window. I see her coming out. She’s wearing the scarf I "found" and gave to her last month.

"Rico! Small world!" she chirps.

"Yeah, just grabbing some pan de sal nearby," I lie, my voice raspy.

"You don't look so good, Rico. You should really take better care of yourself," she says, already looking past me for Leo’s car. "Oh, there he is! See ya!"

I watch the red taillights disappear into the smog. I’m a security expert, but I’ve left my own heart completely unguarded. I’m the man who stands in the rain so she can stay dry for another man. I’m her "lucky charm," the one she uses to ward off the bad weather of life, only to tuck me back into my box the moment the sun—or Leo—comes out.