Bernie had always been the kind of guy who turned heads. At 18, with chiseled cheekbones, a mop of dark hair, and a smile that could melt ice, he was the heartthrob of his Manila high school. But city life was starting to bore him—endless traffic, noisy clubs, and girls who only cared about his Instagram followers. So when his mom suggested a two-week vacation to her hometown in a rural province called San Isidro, somewhere in the Visayas, Bernie thought, Why not? A break from the concrete jungle might be just what he needed to recharge. Plus, he’d heard stories about the simple life in the province—fresh air, starry skies, and maybe a cute farm girl to flirt with.

The bus ride to San Isidro was a nightmare. Eight hours of bumpy roads, a broken air conditioner, and a seatmate who kept trying to sell him herbal supplements left Bernie sweaty and irritable. When he finally stepped off the bus, the humid air hit him like a wall. San Isidro was a sleepy little town: dirt roads, wooden houses with tin roofs, and roosters crowing at all hours. His Tita Linda, a plump woman with a laugh that could wake the dead, welcomed him with a bone-crushing hug and a plate of kinilaw—raw fish marinated in vinegar. “You’ll love it here, Bernie!” she said, her eyes twinkling. “The people are so friendly, and the farms are beautiful.”

The next morning, Bernie decided to explore. Dressed in his best sneakers, a fitted tank top, and sunglasses, he looked like a K-pop idol who’d gotten lost on his way to a music video shoot. The townsfolk stared as he walked by, some giggling behind their hands. “City boy,” he heard one old man mutter, shaking his head. Bernie didn’t care—he was on a mission to find some fun. He wandered past rice paddies and mango trees until he reached a small farm with a sign that read “Isabella’s Fresh Produce.”

And that’s when he saw her. She was bent over, pulling weeds from a patch of eggplants, her long black hair tied back in a messy bun. Her skin was a sun-kissed bronze, and her curves—accentuated by a tight tank top and denim shorts—made Bernie’s jaw drop. She looked like a Latina goddess who’d stepped out of a reggaeton video. When she stood up and wiped the sweat from her brow, their eyes met. She smiled, and Bernie felt his heart do a somersault. “Hey there,” she called, her voice warm and teasing. “You lost, pretty boy?”

“I—uh—no, I mean, maybe?” Bernie stammered, suddenly forgetting how to form sentences. She laughed, a sound like wind chimes, and walked over to him. “I’m Isabella,” she said, extending a dirt-smudged hand. “I run this farm. You must be the city boy everyone’s talking about.” At 20 years old, Isabella had a confidence that made Bernie feel like a bumbling kid. She was the hottest person he’d ever seen, and he was determined to make her his summer fling.

They spent the afternoon talking. Isabella told him about her farm—how she’d taken it over after her parents moved to the city, how she loved the quiet life, and how she dreamed of traveling the world someday. Bernie, trying to sound cool, bragged about his life in Manila, though he quickly realized Isabella wasn’t impressed by his stories of clubbing or his sneaker collection. Still, she seemed to like him, laughing at his jokes and playfully nudging him when he tried to help her pick tomatoes (and failed miserably). By the time the sun started to set, Bernie was smitten. “You should come back tomorrow,” Isabella said, her eyes sparkling. “I’ll teach you how to milk a carabao.”

Bernie walked back to Tita Linda’s house in a daze, already planning his outfit for the next day. He didn’t notice the group of townsfolk watching him from a nearby sari-sari store, whispering and snickering to each other. “He’s got no idea,” one of them said, grinning. “This is gonna be good.”