The Hollow Coin: Part 2

The Upload

Cebu City, Philippines – 4:02 a.m. local time

Lina Esquivel hunched over the glowing screen of a borrowed laptop in the back room of an internet café that smelled faintly of boiled coffee and plastic. The overhead fan ticked with each rotation. Outside, the early sounds of motorbikes and roosters hinted at morning, but it was still dark enough to feel private.

Her voice trembled slightly in the audio clip.

“Kuya, I transferred you the Sats. It should clear soon—fees are higher right now, sorry. But it’s there. Enough for medicine and rent.”

She stopped, clicked her tongue softly, then tried again, more like herself.

“You always said never sell. Never. I remember when you told me… what was it? ‘Bitcoin is like bottled time.’ That it would save us.”

She smiled. It wasn’t bitterness. Not yet.

Her fingers hovered over the trackpad. The transaction had gone through. She double-checked the hash—outbound, confirmed, timestamped, engraved into eternity. Twenty-seven dollars left in her Lightning wallet. Enough for a tricycle ride home, two days of rice, maybe an egg.

She clicked send on the voice memo. The blue checkmarks hit instantly. Her brother, somewhere in Iloilo, was always awake.

The chat lit up seconds later:

“You didn’t have to. But thank you. I love you.”

No mention of selling. No shame. That was the rule. You don’t talk about cashing out. You HODL. Even when it hurts.

She opened her Twitter tab. Her pinned post still read:

“One day I’ll buy mama a house with sats. 3/3 multisig. Bulletproof.”

The likes had dried up, but the dream still glowed.

Outside, a sudden burst of rainfall hit the tin roof. Not enough to drown anything—just enough to remind you that time was passing.

Lina leaned back, stared at the monitor, and whispered, “Just a few more months.”

On the screen, Bitcoin was up 0.7% in the last hour.

She allowed herself a moment of hope.