Across Every Universe – Happy 34th Birthday!

Dear Engineer RJ Hermoso,

If you are reading this, it means three years have passed since I first wrote these words in 2025. I wanted to keep this letter safe until your 34th birthday in 2028, a day that feels so special in more ways than one. Here in 2028, you celebrate your 34th birthday. Thirty-four—when three and four are joined, they become seven. And seven will always matter to me, because in this universe, it was on the seventh day that we finally met in person, after three long years of waiting.

You came into my life like starlight breaking through the quiet night, and for a time, you filled spaces in my heart I didn’t even know were empty. From our late-night conversations that carried me through the quiet hours, to the day you traveled over four hours from San Felipe, Zambales to Basista, Pangasinan, just to hand me my very first iPhone. I held onto those moments like constellations guiding me through the dark.

I must confess something here. I was on cloud nine with the simplest gestures you gave. I never felt so seen, so valued, so quietly special before; It was totally indescribable. I waited for you. For months, I held on to the hope of hearing your voice again, of laughing together past midnight, of dreaming of the places we once swore we would see. Yet, like a bubble glistening in sunlight, you disappeared. And when you left in November 2023, I was left with silence so heavy it nearly broke me. Alone. Lonely. Carrying questions that never found their answers, and the clarity of truth that sometimes love arrives, but not at the right moment.

Still, even in the loneliness, I found meaning. Because what you left me with was more than silence, you left me with proof that admiration itself is a kind of love. One that doesn’t demand, doesn’t possess, but simply exists. In this universe, you were my fleeting miracle, a constellation I could never touch but will always look for in the sky.

Now, as you turn 34, I see you living the dreams we once spoke of in whispers. The places we imagined together, you have now walked. The life you once described in words, you are now building with your own hands. And though I am not part of this version of your journey, I cannot help but admire the man you’ve become.

So let me tell you this, from the depths of my heart: if the multiverse is real, then somewhere out there exists a universe where you never left. A universe where those late-night calls never ended, where laughter still fills the silence, where I am not just a passing chapter in your story. And even if this universe could not keep us, I like to believe there are countless versions of us, choosing, finding, and keeping each other across infinite timelines.

And if somehow this letter reaches you on your 34th birthday in 2028, let it be known that it was written three years ago, on August 29, 2025. Written in a time when I was still holding on to the memory of you that I’m about to let go off, still piecing together the silence you left behind. I was totally deeply hurt then, cried in silence, yet I never showed the world my tears. I never hold a grudge against you. For a long time, I carried the weight of missing you quietly, in the spaces no one else could ever see.

But with time, I learned. I learned from what you had done, both from your presence and from your absence. I learned that even brokenness can shape a stronger, softer heart. And through all of it, I found my own happiness again.

This letter is not just a birthday greeting. It is a time capsule of what was, what could have been, and what I have finally learned to accept. Happy 34th Birthday, Engineer RJ. In this universe, I wish you nothing but joy, peace, and fulfillment. And in every universe beyond this one, I will always carry you—in my heart, in my memory, in every possibility of love that could have been.


With endless admiration, across all worlds and lifetimes,
Luke