When The Poor Girl Suddenly Became Rich

In every class, there's always that girl.

The one who never tries too hard. The one who doesn't sit in front, but somehow, you always know she's there.

For their Engineering block, that girl was Andrea Navarro.

Quiet in the corner. Not overly sociable, but always present. She wasn't the competitive type either—but when she spoke, sometimes you'd think, "Damn, that was clever."

She was a dalagang Pilipina with a touch of sarcasm. Always had a fan. All kinds. Sometimes embroidered, sometimes woven from rattan, sometimes printed with flowers.

And the way she used it? Elegant. Dramatic. Like something out of a history book.

"Hah! Who you? Maria Clara with the spirit of Gabriela Silang!"

She'd flip her hair. "I know right?" Then everyone would giggle.

Andi would sit by the window, fan in hand, gently waving it—even if the AC was blasting. Not because she was hot. It was purely for aesthetic. Aura is life.

She wasn't the smartest. Honestly kind of bad at Math, as she'd admit herself—with a tired laugh and a big bite of pandesal pulled from her tote.

"Guys, what's the derivative of cosine again?"

Calculus was her personal demon. But despite the struggle, she never missed a class. Sleep-deprived, hungry, late—she still showed up. Messy bun, light makeup, and fan in tow.

What made her stand out wasn't just her style or her vintage energy—it was how comfortable she was in her own skin.

She wore long skirts and tucked-in blouses. Loose cardigans. Closed shoes. Sometimes a pearl hair clip. Like she had just walked out of a Noli Me Tangere cosplay.

But even dressed like that, she wasn't intimidating. In fact, she was warm.

Especially during break time.

"You want some?" She'd say, offering her packed snack wrapped in wax paper. Sometimes it was a pastry. Sometimes leftovers. Sometimes Jollibee when she was too tired to cook. She always had extra. She always helped with homework—even when she was just as confused.

But even with that calm, simple aura, everyone knew—Andi wasn't ordinary.

She didn't show off. But when it came to money—you just knew she didn't stress about it.

When there was a group contribution? She was the first to pay. Some days, she'd randomly have a new phone case, or a fresh set of pens, or a minimalist shoulder bag that gave off Rich Auntie from Intramuros vibes. Not branded. Not flashy. But clearly chosen with a sharp eye for style.

One time, she brought a wooden laptop stand to the library—the aesthetic kind. Everyone in the block swarmed her.

"Where'd you buy it?"

"Shopee. But I checked all the seller reviews to make sure the wood was legit."

"Girl, you're next level."

But the most whispered-about topic in their group chat?

Her crush.

A tall, tan-skinned guy from Business Administration. They always lined up at the campus store at the same time.

No one knew him personally, but somehow, Andi always ended up on the same floor as him on Fridays.

"Ate's wearing peach lipstick again. Her crush is nearby."

"Even her fan is held higher when that guy walks by."

Andi would deny it, of course.

"Excuse me? This is for motivation purposes only."

But her friends knew. They always knew. Especially the time that Business Ad guy passed by while she was eating ensaymada—and she literally choked.

"That's what you get for trying to act cute!" Jem yelled. She got smacked in return.

Andrea Navarro wasn't the type to steal the spotlight. But she was the type people remembered. Because even in her quiet ways, her long skirts, her fan twirls, and her deadpan one-liners about Math trauma—she was uniquely, confidently, her.

A girl with a storm inside. A fan in her hand. A plan in her heart. And maybe, just maybe… a little crush she was still trying to calculate.

Even if she was flunking Calculus.

---

It was a humid Thursday, and Engineering Week was in full swing.

Booths, games, org tables down the hallway—and a talent show they were forced to attend because "it's graded participation," said their chill-but-evil-at-finals professor.

Andi Navarro was seated at the edge of the hallway. Fan in one hand, clipboard in the other. Wearing her favorite dusty blue long skirt, a cream blouse with lace cuffs, and black Mary Janes.

Classic. Graceful. A little extra. Char.

But inside? She was panicking. Shaking. Dignity slipping.

Because ten steps away from her stood him. Tall. Tan. Gamer glasses. Business Ad major. Looked like he had a Steam library full of strategy games.

"But what if I'm not interesting?" Andi whispered, her fan trembling in her hand.

"Girl, you have no choice," Jem whispered. "You look too good today. All that's missing is a tiara."

She wore a brown button-down tucked into a pleated beige skirt. Classic Filipina with a girl-next-door twist. Sling bag. Minimal gold hoops. And of course—abaniko. Which was now nearly bent out of shape from how hard she was gripping it.

"Girl, this is it," Jem whispered behind her. "If you don't talk to him, we will. We'll tell him you get a UTI every time he's near."

Andi gave her a horrified look. "DON'T. I have a reputation."

"Exactly," said Lara, giving her a little push. "Go preserve it—walk up to him like there's background music."

She took a deep breath. Steady. Calculated.

One slow wave of the fan. Then she stood.

She walked slowly to the Business Ad booth, where the guy—Alonzo Javier, according to her friends' Instagram sleuthing—was behind a laptop, stapler in hand, monitoring their org scores.

Andi took a deep breath.

Then said the most awkward line known to man: "Hi… um, are you the one in charge of this org booth?"

Alonzo blinked and paused his stapling. "Ah, yeah… do you need forms?"

Kind of a deep voice. Kind of shy. Lord, if he smiles, just take me now.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Classic dalagang Filipina move.

"Actually… I was just curious about the event. I was hoping to observe… if that's okay?"

Alonzo smiled—softly. Not smug. Not forced. Just… soft.

"Sure. We've got chairs. You can sit here if you want?"

And she did.

Without thinking. Without grace. Almost tripping on her skirt but recovering like a champ.

Nice save. 10/10.

One hour later, Andi was sitting beside Alonzo, sipping milk tea, chatting like they'd known each other for years.

He wasn't intimidating at all.

He was soft-spoken. Funny. Kind of a nerd. He talked about loving old anime, strategy games, and his soft spot for cats.

In return, Andi shared how she was an Engineering student with a Math allergy, a weakness for cheese bread, and an unapologetic love for Philippine history and Cordilleran culture.

He laughed. Full-on. And her brain just shut down.

"Your fan's so cool—like something from a period drama," he said, eyeing it.

So why did she follow up with: "Who was the last girl you had a crush on?"

Girl, what what—?

But he just smiled. "Honestly? I haven't had time for that kind of thing."

LORD, THIS IS IT. PLEASE, GIVE HIM TO ME.

When they said goodbye, Andi's soul had already walked the aisle. As she turned and waved, she literally dropped her fan.

As in—full fumble. Butterfingers.

She quickly picked it up, smiled like it didn't happen, and walked off—shaking.

When she got back to her friends, she looked like a ghost.

"Girl. What happened. Why do you look like uncooked rice?"

"OMG you dropped your fan?!"

"Did you guys kiss??"

Andi blinked. "He smells so good, Jem. I want to kneel and say 'I do.'"

"The fuck, Andi!" Her whole friend group squeals.

They pulled her onto the bench, fanning her with her own abaniko.

"Girl, calm down. He hasn't even started courting you yet."

"But… he feels like the one," Andi whispered, dazed.

That night, Andi opened her phone and saw it.

A DM.

Alonzo Javier:

Thanks for talking earlier. You're really easy to talk to. :)

She stared. Paused. Looked up at the ceiling.

And whispered, so quietly: "Lord… is this it?"