18/08/2026
Chapter 2: The Hallway Where We Brewed Differently
Written by Aynsberg Paez Sahagon
Illustration by Lauren Daria
Remember when the little coffee shop first opened near our university?
The other day, I found myself walking the same route again. Surprisingly, almost nothing had changed.
The familiar sidewalks.
The morning rush.
Students hurrying to class with backpacks hanging on one shoulder, half-awake yet somehow already worrying about deadlines that had not even arrived.
Then, just before reaching the campus gates—
There it was.
Still Brewing.
Its warm lights continued to welcome sleepy students, just as they always had. The familiar aroma of freshly brewed coffee drifted into the hallway, inviting anyone who needed a quiet moment before another day began.
The place had not changed.
But I had.
Back in my first year, I wrote about this little coffee shop because I thought it was simply a place that served coffee. I remember buying the buy-one-take-one promo—one cup for myself and another for someone I hoped would eventually walk beside me.
Looking back, maybe I was not really searching for company.
Maybe I was searching for a place where I could finally belong.
And somehow, I found it—not only inside that coffee shop, but in the hallway where its familiar aroma met countless stories waiting to unfold.
The coffee was only where the story began.
The hallway was where it continued.
Those corridors became more than passageways between classrooms. They quietly became places where strangers learned each other's names, where awkward introductions turned into genuine friendships, and where every shared cup of coffee somehow made conversations last a little longer.
Where blockmates became constants.
Where orgmates became people who celebrated victories with you, stood beside you through disappointments, and reminded you that every community grows through both shared triumphs and difficult seasons.
Where "See you tomorrow," became part of our routine.
Where someone always asked, "May reviewer ka ba?"
Where laughter echoed louder than the Nationalian Hymn playing from the speakers.
And somewhere nearby, there was almost always a cup from Still Brewing resting on a table, a windowsill, or in someone's hand—as though every memory we created came with its own warmth.
The hallway witnessed everything.
It watched us review together minutes before an exam, coffee cups scattered across the table while someone desperately explained a lesson we all swore we had studied the night before.
It watched us eat lunch while sitting against the walls because every table in the cafeteria was already occupied.
It watched us celebrate after passing an impossible quiz.
It watched us sit quietly after failing one.
Sometimes, the coffee grew cold before our conversations ended.
Sometimes, we ordered another cup simply because none of us was ready to go home.
Somewhere between those ordinary mornings and late afternoons, life quietly kept moving.
Some friends stayed.
Others slowly became memories.
The people who once shared the same table eventually chose different seats.
The coffee we used to order together slowly came in different flavors, reflecting the people we were becoming.
Conversations that once filled the hallway became occasional smiles exchanged from opposite ends of the building.
Some people walked in different directions, and that was okay.
College has a quiet way of teaching us that not every connection is meant to last forever.
But every connection leaves something behind.
This year feels different.
Not because the hallways changed.
Not because Still Brewing changed.
But because I did.
The nervous freshman who once wondered where he belonged now walks these same corridors carrying responsibilities he never imagined having. From simply finding his classroom to helping create spaces where other students can feel seen, heard, and represented, college has a way of placing us exactly where we need to grow.
Growth did not always arrive as grand achievements.
Sometimes, it looked like choosing peace over proving a point.
Sometimes, it meant accepting that not everyone was meant to stay.
Sometimes, it meant showing up anyway, even on the days when everything felt heavy.
And sometimes, it simply meant finishing another cup of coffee, taking a deep breath, and stepping back into the hallway, ready to begin again.
Looking back, I realized college was never only about lectures, examinations, or deadlines.
It was about routines that slowly became traditions.
About finding your circle without forcing it.
About discovering comfort in familiar faces.
About realizing that belonging is not something you stumble upon.
It is something you build—one conversation, one shared laugh, one hallway, and one cup of coffee at a time.
As another academic year begins, you do not have to reinvent yourself overnight.
Carry the lessons that challenged you.
Carry the mistakes that strengthened you.
Carry the friendships that continue to choose you.
And carry the memories of those who helped shape the person you have become, even if they are no longer walking beside you.
When you pass by that little coffee shop again, maybe you will realize it was never just Still Brewing.
It was never only about coffee.
It was about the people who held those cups while sharing pieces of themselves.
It was about the hallway that quietly witnessed us becoming.
We were all brewing.
Through every conversation between classes.
Through every late-night review.
Through every shared cup that stayed on the table longer than it needed to.
Through every friendship we found.
Through every goodbye we learned to accept.
Through every ordinary day that quietly became unforgettable.
And perhaps that is the beautiful thing about college.
The coffee may eventually be finished.
The hallways may one day belong to another batch of students.
But the person you became because of them will continue growing long after you have walked beyond these walls.
After all, college is not measured only by the classrooms we enter.
Sometimes, it is measured by the hallways we keep coming back to—
where strangers became friends,
where routines became memories,
where every shared cup carried a story,
where we learned what it meant to belong,
and where, long after the coffee has gone cold,
we continue brewing into the people we are still becoming.
