The sun felt brighter than usual today.
Maybe it wasn't just the heat of the day, but the warmth in people's hearts in these final days of the campaign.
For weeks now, we have walked narrow alleys and winding roads, shaken thousands of hands, and covered every corner of Concepcion with the honest hope of continuing the service that had begun years ago.
But today, Barangay San Francisco, Main, became the scene of something unforgettable.
At three in the afternoon, the house-to-house campaign began. Immediately, we were met by crowds so thick there was barely space to move a red balloons, banners, and tarpaulins with Mayor Andy's face lined the streets.
At every corner, children waved eagerly, mothers held garland leis ready to place over the mayor's neck, and elderly folks carried flowers or chocolates to give.
One woman even rushed from inside her house clutching a rosary she said she'd been offering up in prayer for Mayor Andy for a long time.
"Mayor, this is truly for you. I pray for you every day. I wouldn't give this to just anyone," she said, tears brimming in her eyes.
The vehicle carrying Mayor Andy quickly turned into a makeshift store of gifts, there were snacks, bottled water, local rice cakes, junk food, corn, chocolates, and soda.
The chocolates came in all kinds, imported, local, but they all had one thing in common: the love packed into each gift.
Near the chapel, a teenage boy approached, beaming, to hand over a sketch he had drawn of Mayor Andy.
It was beautiful.
You could see not just the skill, but the hope of a young dreamer.
In Barangay San Francisco, Mayor Andy has never lost, not because of party colors, but because of the deep roots he has built here.
Years may have passed, but residents still clearly remember the times he helped them quietly.
No cameras, no publicity.
One little girl approached shyly with a letter she had written for him.
Mayor Andy picked her up in his arms and kissed her cheek.
These children may not be voters yet, but they know who they want to support.
As one elderly man quipped:
"Those kids may not vote yet, but they're heard up there! They're Mayor's lucky charms."
Just like in Sta. Rita, San Francisco has never turned its back on him.
Instead, their love seems to have only grown stronger over the years.
With every wave, hug, and shared meal, it was as if the residents were all saying:
"Thank you for coming back. We never let go. And we won't let go."
As we neared the covered court for the final Miting de Avance, I noticed a simple banner held by a group of young people.
It was just white cardboard with handwritten words:
"We will stand, support, and fight—until the end of our fight."
We all stopped.
MayorAndy paused, reading it carefully, then lifted his gaze slightly.
I saw he wasn't just smiling, he was deeply moved.
Maybe he remembered every moment he nearly gave up, and every person who made him believe he could keep going.
By 7:30 that evening, the Miting de Avance felt like a festival mixed with prayer.
The entire covered court was packed, no seats left, no standing room.
People crowded the sides, the back, and even peered in from outside through the grills.
When Mayor Andy finally arrived, a roar erupted, gravelly, raw, but undeniably loud:
"BRING BACK THE RED! MAYOR ANDY! MAYOR ANDY!"
Some people were shouting.
Others were crying.
Some waved banners they'd ripped from old tarpaulins kept in storage for years.
One woman shouted above the crowd:
"I waited three years for this, Mayor! I won't let tonight end without seeing you!"
As Mayor Andy entered the court, he could barely move.
Every step someone tried to reach for his hand, hug him, kiss his cheek, or simply say "thank you."
Yes, he looked like a celebrity, but not Because of fame.
Because of connection.
A connection to people's life stories.
A connection to prayers that felt answered.
A connection to promises that were never broken.
Mayor Andy took center stage.
The place fell silent.
You could hear nothing but the low hum of the wind and the sound of people exhaling, as if realizing this was the final night of the campaign.
"I don't know how to thank you enough… You know, before I came here, I asked myself, have i given everything? But seeing you here, my answer is this: what i can give to a town that loves like this will never run out."
"Thank you, San Francisco. Thank you, Concepcion. For every tear I've seen in your eyes, every hug, every smile you gave even though you were tired, you chose to love me back. We will continue this. Not because we want power, but because we all need hope."
And just like in all the previous nights, I realized why he was often left speechless.
It's because every heart that came to see him was already speaking for him.
As we drove away from San Francisco that night, no one said anything.
No "great turnout," no "congrats," no "we've won here."
Just silence.
But that silence was the loudest victory.
Because at the end of all of this, one thing was clear: the people loved Mayor Andy deeply.
And in their eyes, we saw a promise that would never fade:
"Until the very end, we're with you."