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By the time Mikha got to Poblacion, her Grab driver had already complained about traffic three separate times and asked if she was sure she wanted to be dropped off “Dito mismo, ma’am?” like the street ahead might personally rob her.
She tipped him anyway.
Rain had started maybe twenty minutes earlier—not enough for umbrellas yet, but enough to leave the pavement wet and reflective beneath the neon signs. Music spilled out from open bars along the street. Someone was smoking beneath a convenience store awning. Two foreigners were arguing loudly beside a tattoo shop while a girl in heels walked past carrying Jollibee takeout like she’d done this exact routine a hundred times before.
Friday night in Makati.
Mikha already wanted to go home.
She checked her phone while walking toward the building Stacey had pinned in their group chat.
Stacey: if u ditch us again, i’m blocking u
Gwen: bring cigarettes
Colet: where are u na
Mikha rolled her eyes before typing a quick reply.
on my way, just chill..
Several typing bubbles immediately appeared.
She shoved her phone back into her pocket before any of them could respond.
The stairway leading to the rooftop bar smelled faintly like rain and alcohol and somebody's vape. By the second floor, bass was already vibrating through the walls.
"AYAN," Stacey yelled the moment Mikha appeared upstairs. "Akala ko e gho-ghost mo naman kami."
“I considered it.”
“Of course you did.”
Gwen moved her bag off the empty chair beside her. “You’re late.”
“There was traffic.”
“There’s always traffic.”
“Exactly.”
Mikha dropped into the seat anyway, accepting the drink Colet immediately pushed toward her. Something citrusy. Strong enough to burn pleasantly down her throat.
The rooftop was crowded but not unbearably so. Strings of warm lights hung overhead, reflecting against damp tabletops while the skyline stretched around them in blurred gold and white. Somewhere behind her, a group was drunkenly singing along to a One Direction song like it was still 2014.
“Ang ingay naman,” Mikha muttered.
“And yet you came,” Gwen replied.
“It's against my will.”
Stacey snorted. “You say that every time.”
Because it was true every time.
Mikha wasn’t antisocial exactly. She just got tired of people faster than most. Nights out usually followed the same pattern: drinking, flirting she didn’t mean, someone asking for her Instagram, someone trying too hard to impress her. By midnight she’d usually be halfway out the door already.
Still, she stayed.
Mostly because her friends would complain if she left early again.
Partly because going home meant being alone with her thoughts, and lately that had been exhausting in ways she didn’t know how to explain.
By 11 o'clock, the table had gotten louder.
Stacey was ranting about an ex-situationship while Gwen kept teasing her for still checking the girl’s Spotify playlists.
“I'm not stalking her, pwede accidentally lang,” Stacey insisted.
“You knew her top artist changed,” Gwen said immediately.
“I saw it accidentally.”
“Sure,” Gwen replied, not even looking up from her drink.
Colet, meanwhile, had somehow convinced a random guy from another table to buy them a round of tequila shots and was now carrying them back like she’d just won something.
“Ladies,” she said, dropping the shots onto the table with satisfaction.
“Of course you did that,” Mikha muttered.
“I provide services,” Colet replied proudly.
“You’re a liability,” Stacey said.
“And yet,” Colet said, sliding a shot toward her anyway.
The table erupted into noise again—laughter, protests, someone complaining about salt ratios—until it all blurred into the kind of chaos that only made sense if you were already inside it.
Mikha stayed just long enough to take it in.
Then she exhaled, pushed her glass slightly forward, and stood.
“I’m getting another drink.”
“You say that like you’re not part of the problem,” Gwen called after her, laughing. “You’re literally still here.”
Mikha ignored her on the way to the bar.
The line at the bar was shorter now. She leaned one elbow against the counter while waiting, absently watching raindrops gather along the edge of the rooftop.
"You look like you're planning your escape route."
The voice beside her was warm, amused.
Mikha turned automatically and paused.
Beautiful.
Well.
That was unfortunate.
Not like the people Mikha was used to seeing around BGC or Pobla—too put-together, too aware of how they were being looked at.
The girl beside her didn't seem aware of it at all.
Her hair was slightly frizzy from the rain outside, sleeves pushed messily up to her elbows. Converse instead of heels, like she hadn't thought about anything except getting here.
Nothing about her looked particularly calculated.
And somehow, she still stood out.
The kind of beautiful that caught you off guard when you weren't expecting it.
The kind that made staring feel dangerously tempting.
Mikha looked away first.
“Maybe I am,” Mikha answered.
The girl smiled a little. “Grabe. Ganun ka ba ka bored?”
“You assuming I’m bored?”
“You have the face.”
Mikha laughed softly through her nose. “What does that even mean?”
“It means,” the girl said carefully, like she was genuinely thinking about it, “you look like someone who leaves parties early.”
That—
Okay. A little too accurate.
Before Mikha could answer, the bartender finally approached.
“Miss, what can I get you?”
“Gin tonic,” Mikha said.
“Same for me,” the girl added immediately.
The bartender nodded and disappeared.
Mikha glanced sideways at her. “Copycat.”
“Maybe you just have good taste.”
“Or predictable taste.”
“That too.”
The drinks arrived quickly. The girl handed one over before Mikha could reach for it herself.
“Mikha,” she said after a second.
“Aiah.”
The name settled somewhere warm in Mikha’s chest before she could stop it.
Rain tapped softly overhead while people squeezed around them trying to order drinks. The city below looked hazy through the drizzle, headlights stretching into long streaks of white and red.
For a few seconds, neither of them spoke.
Not awkwardly.
Just... looking.
Aiah was the first to smile again, smaller this time. “So were you actually planning to leave?”
“Maybe.”
“Damn. But we just met.”
“You say that like it’s tragic.”
“Maybe it is.”
Mikha looked down at her drink to hide the smile threatening to appear.
Jesus.
That was fast.
Usually, flirting came easy to her, something she could do without thinking too hard about it. But this felt different already. Softer somehow. Like Aiah’s attention felt real in a way Mikha wasn’t used to.
Which was worse.
Because now Mikha cared.
“So what brought you here tonight?” Aiah asked.
“My friends forced me.”
“Ah. Peer pressure.”
“You?”
Aiah shrugged lightly. “My roommate’s out of town. I got bored.”
“You came alone?”
“Mhm.”
“That’s brave.”
“I mean… I was hoping some hottie would talk to me.”
Mikha laughed. “And? Successful ba?”
Aiah looked directly at her over the rim of her glass.
“Very.”
Okay.
Yeah.
Mikha was absolutely screwed.
One drink became two without either of them noticing.
Conversation unfolded strangely easily after that. They talked about bad dates, favorite café's, traffic, and the universal Filipino experience of nearly losing your mind trying to book a Grab past midnight.
“Actually,” Aiah said at one point, leaning slightly closer across the bar, “I think the worst part about living in Manila is pretending you’re okay while waiting forty minutes for a ride home.”
“That’s not even pretending anymore,” Mikha replied. “That’s psychological warfare.”
“Exactly.”
“You know it’s bad when the app starts suggesting prices that feel personally insulting.”
Aiah pointed at her immediately. “YES.”
“Like what do you mean 600 pesos from Makati to QC?”
“And then somehow you still book it because you’re tired and it’s humid and your social battery’s already dead.”
Mikha laughed softly into her drink. “You get it.”
“I really do.”
Aiah grinned a little after that, eyes smiling along with the rest of her face in a way Mikha was starting to find dangerously distracting.
“So,” Mikha said, “what’s the worst commute experience you’ve had?”
“Oh easy,” Aiah answered immediately. “I cried in a Move It once because I was exhausted from work and the driver panicked so badly he offered me candy.”
Mikha blinked. “What kind of candy?”
“Menthol.”
Mikha nearly choked on her drink.
Aiah looked entirely too pleased with herself after that, grinning into her glass while Mikha tried unsuccessfully to stop laughing.
And there it was again—that warmth low in her chest, unfamiliar enough to make her uneasy.
Attraction she understood.
This, though, felt dangerously close to fondness already, which made absolutely no sense considering they’d known each other for less than an hour.
Still, Mikha found herself noticing everything.
The way her eyes smiled whenever she did.The way she tucked hair behind her ear while listening. The fact that she laughed with her whole face instead of trying to hide it behind practiced composure.
Beautiful.
God, she was beautiful.
“You’re staring again,” Aiah murmured.
Mikha didn’t even deny it. “Can you blame me?”
Aiah shook her head like she was trying not to smile too hard.
The music around them slowed sometime after midnight. Rain had gotten steadier now, cooling the humid air drifting through the rooftop.
Somewhere nearby, someone dropped a glass and half the crowd reacted with a synchronized “AYYY.”
Mikha and Aiah both laughed instinctively.
Then their eyes met again, and something shifted between them—not dramatically, just enough.
Enough for Mikha to suddenly become aware of how close they were standing. Enough for silence to start feeling heavy instead of casual.
Aiah leaned one elbow against the bar beside her. “Can I tell you something?”
“Depends.”
“You look intimidating at first.”
Mikha snorted. “At first lang?”
“No, wait.” Aiah laughed softly. “I mean—you have this vibe like you know exactly what you’re doing all the time.”
“And now?”
“Now I think you’re just shy.”
Mikha stared at her. “Excuse me?”
“You keep looking away whenever things get serious.”
“That’s not true.”
Aiah only lifted an eyebrow.
Annoyingly observant.
Mikha looked down into her drink briefly, mostly because she suddenly felt too seen in a way she wasn’t prepared for. Most people didn’t notice when she got nervous. Mostly because she’d gotten very good at pretending she never was.
But Aiah apparently noticed everything.
“That’s unfair,” Mikha muttered.
“What is?”
“You figuring me out this fast.”
Aiah’s expression softened a little at that.
For one suspended moment, the noise around them seemed to blur at the edges. Music. Rain. People shouting over each other near the tables. Everything suddenly felt farther away.
“You know,” Aiah said quietly, “I almost didn’t come tonight.”
“Really?”
“Mhm.”
“Why not?”
A shrug. “Long week. I wanted to stay home.”
“Same.”
“But...” Aiah glanced at her. “I’m glad I didn’t.”
The honesty in her voice landed somewhere beneath Mikha’s ribs. There were no games in it, no pretending, none of the usual smooth lines or practiced charm Mikha had gotten used to from people who flirted just to flirt. Aiah simply sounded sincere, and maybe that was what scared Mikha the most—because suddenly, against her better judgment, she wanted this night to matter.
Aiah looked down briefly, then back up again. “Dance with me?”
Mikha almost said “No”.
She hated dancing. Too many strangers treated dance floors like excuses to get too close.
But Aiah wasn’t asking like that.
So Mikha followed her anyway.
The crowd near the speakers was warmer, bodies moving lazily beneath dim yellow lighting while bass pulsed through the floor. Rain-cooled wind drifted occasionally through the rooftop, carrying the smell of wet concrete and cigarettes from downstairs.
Aiah stepped closer carefully, giving Mikha enough space to pull away if she wanted.
Instead, Mikha placed her hands lightly against Aiah’s waist.
She was warm.
That was the first thing Mikha noticed.
The second was how easily Aiah relaxed into her touch.
Their movements stayed slow, almost absentminded. Neither of them seemed particularly interested in actually dancing. It felt more like orbiting each other.
Aiah’s fingers settled against Mikha’s shoulders.
Then, after a moment, slightly higher.
Mikha’s heartbeat stumbled hard enough to annoy her.
“You okay?” Aiah asked softly.
“Yeah.”
“You sure?”
“No.”
A laugh escaped Aiah before she could stop it.
Mikha smiled helplessly. “Grabe ka.”
“Sorry,” Aiah said, still laughing a little. “You just suddenly looked so serious.”
“I am serious.”
“Mikha.”
“What?”
“You’re literally blushing.”
“Oh my God.”
Aiah laughed harder this time, ducking briefly against Mikha’s shoulder.
The contact lasted maybe two seconds.
Still, it lingered longer than it should have.
Something in Mikha’s chest tightened unexpectedly because suddenly this didn’t feel like flirting anymore.
It felt intimate.
The realization unsettled her enough that Mikha instinctively pulled back slightly.
Aiah noticed immediately.
There it was again—that quiet attentiveness that kept catching Mikha off guard.
“You don’t have to freak out,” she said gently.
“I’m not freaking out.”
“You kinda are.”
Mikha exhaled through her nose. “Maybe a little.”
Aiah looked at her for a long moment, expression softer beneath the dim lights.
“You know what I think?” she asked quietly.
“What?”
“I think you’re used to people wanting things from you.”
Mikha blinked.
Aiah’s thumb brushed lightly against her wrist where their hands met.
“And now,” Aiah continued carefully, “you don’t know what to do because I’m just talking to you.”
The words settled somewhere deep in Mikha’s chest, loosening something she hadn’t realized she’d been holding so tightly.
Not painfully.
Something softer than that.
Rain hammered harder against the rooftop overhead. Someone near the bar screamed excitedly because their song started playing.
But Mikha barely heard any of it.
All she could focus on was Aiah looking at her like she actually meant every word she said.
“You make me nervous,” Mikha admitted finally.
Aiah smiled slightly. “Good.”
Then she touched Mikha’s face.
Just her fingertips against Mikha’s jaw at first, tentative enough to stop if unwelcome.
Mikha leaned in before she could think too hard about it.
The kiss was softer than Mikha expected. She’d anticipated sparks maybe, or heat, or something reckless enough to laugh off tomorrow morning. Instead, Aiah kissed her slowly, carefully, like she was trying to learn her instead of consume her, and somehow that affected Mikha more than anything rougher could have.
Mikha deepened the kiss instinctively, one hand tightening slightly at Aiah’s waist while the city blurred around them. Aiah sighed quietly against her mouth, warm and breathless enough to send heat rushing straight through Mikha’s body, and suddenly Mikha understood why people wrote terrible songs about this kind of thing.
When they finally pulled apart, neither of them moved very far.
Aiah’s forehead rested briefly against hers.
“Come home with me,” she whispered.
There was nothing casual about the way she said it.
Maybe that should’ve scared Mikha more than it did.
Instead, she found herself smiling.
“Okay,” she said softly.
The elevator ride up to Aiah’s condo was almost worse than the kiss.
Neither of them talked much during the Grab ride over. Aiah sat beside her with one knee angled toward hers while city lights streaked across the windows in blurred reds and golds. At some point the driver quietly started playing old OPM love songs through the speakers, which should’ve been embarrassing honestly, but Mikha caught Aiah smiling to herself and decided not to say anything.
Now, standing beside her inside the elevator, the silence felt charged enough to make Mikha aware of everything—the faint smell of rainwater lingering in Aiah’s hair, the tiny lipstick smudge near the corner of her mouth, the way their shoulders brushed every time the elevator shifted slightly.
“You’re staring again,” Aiah murmured.
“You keep noticing.”
“Mhm.”
The elevator dinged softly.
Aiah's condo was larger than Mikha expected.
Not extravagant. Not the kind of place people showed off on social media. Just comfortably lived in, with enough space that it immediately felt different from the studio units she was used to seeing around the city.
The entryway opened into a bright living area framed by floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the skyline. Books were stacked unevenly on a shelf near the television. A hoodie hung over the arm of the couch. A half-finished puzzle sat abandoned on the dining table beside a mug that looked like it had been forgotten hours ago.
The kind of mess that came from actually living somewhere.
Not the kind people cleaned up before company arrived.
Mikha found herself looking around while Aiah kicked off her shoes near the door and tossed her keys onto the kitchen counter.
Three doors branched off the hallway beyond the living room.
One stood slightly open, revealing part of a desk setup and a second monitor resting in sleep mode. Another remained firmly shut. The third sat farther down the hall, half-hidden by the corner.
"You have a lot of space," Mikha said.
Aiah glanced over.
"My roommate says the same thing."
"The roommate that's out of town?"
"Mhm."
Aiah disappeared briefly into the kitchen before returning with two glasses of water.
"She claims we're wasting square footage."
"She's probably right."
"Don't encourage her."
Mikha laughed.
Aiah smiled immediately after, looking unfairly pleased with herself for causing it.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
The night suddenly felt quieter than it had upstairs at the bar. No music vibrating through the floor. No strangers brushing past them. Just the distant sound of rain against the windows and the city glowing beyond the glass.
Mikha looked at her and found Aiah already looking back.
Neither of them said anything. They didn't really need to.
Something warm settled between them, lingering just long enough for Mikha to become aware of her own heartbeat again.
Then Aiah stepped closer.
The distance between them disappeared so gradually that Mikha barely noticed it happening until Aiah was standing right in front of her.
A laugh threatened at the corner of Aiah's mouth, soft and familiar already, and suddenly Mikha found herself forgetting whatever she'd been about to say.
This time there was nothing tentative about it.
Mikha backed her carefully against the kitchen counter, hands settling at her waist while Aiah’s fingers slid into her hair. The kiss deepened slowly, breathlessly, until Mikha forgot about the rain outside completely.
Someone in another unit was loudly singing karaoke.
Somehow it only made the moment feel more real.
Aiah laughed softly against her mouth at one point, cheeks warm beneath Mikha’s hands.
“What?” Mikha murmured.
“Nothing.”
“You’re laughing at me.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Aiah smiled again, softer this time. “You’re different than I expected.”
Something vulnerable flickered unexpectedly through Mikha’s chest.
“Good different?”
“Yeah.”
Aiah brushed her thumb lightly beneath Mikha’s jaw.
“Good different.”
For a while, neither of them seemed interested in moving very far from where they stood. The city stretched beyond the windows behind them, blurred by rain and distance, while the condo felt strangely quiet compared to the noise they'd left behind in Poblacion.
At some point, Aiah reached for her hand.
Not dramatically. Just naturally.
Like she'd already forgotten there was a reason not to.
Mikha followed when she tugged gently.
The apartment seemed bigger crossing it than it had when she'd first walked in. They passed the dining table, the hallway, the half-open office door Mikha had noticed earlier. Aiah said something about the plant in the living room being on its last chance at survival, and Mikha laughed hard enough that Aiah immediately looked pleased with herself.
The conversation didn't really stop.
It just became softer.
Interrupted occasionally by stolen kisses and half-finished thoughts.
Neither of them seemed particularly concerned about where they were going.
Only that they were going there together.
By the time Aiah pushed open her bedroom door, Mikha was smiling again.
Aiah noticed immediately.
"You're doing that thing."
"What thing?"
"The smiling."
"I am not."
"You absolutely are."
Mikha rolled her eyes.
Aiah looked entirely too satisfied by that response before reaching for her hand again and pulling her inside.
The rain outside had softened into a steady drizzle by then, faint against the windows compared to the noise inside Mikha’s head. The room was dim except for the city lights bleeding through the curtains, enough for her to still make out the shape of Aiah’s smile whenever they pulled apart for breath.
Mikha kissed her again before she could think too hard about what she was doing.
Maybe that was the problem.
Nothing about tonight had gone according to plan. She’d only agreed to come out because Stacey threatened to drag her out herself if she stayed home another Friday night in a row. She’d planned to stay for one drink at most, pretend to socialize for an hour, then disappear before midnight like she always did.
Instead she was here, in Aiah’s bedroom somewhere in BGC, kissing a girl she’d met barely a few hours ago like she already knew her.
Worse, it didn’t even feel reckless anymore.
Aiah’s hands slid beneath the hem of Mikha’s shirt slowly, hesitant enough to give her time to pull away if she wanted to.
Mikha didn’t.
Warm fingertips skimmed against her skin carefully, almost tentative, and the gentleness of it nearly undid her. Most people approached Mikha like they were trying to keep up with her, match her confidence, impress her somehow.
Aiah touched her differently.
Not rushed. Not greedy.
Just careful enough that it made Mikha’s chest ache unexpectedly.
Like she was trying to learn her instead of simply wanting her.
Mikha exhaled shakily against Aiah’s mouth before kissing her again, deeper this time, one hand sliding into her hair as if she needed something steady to hold onto.
“You okay?” Aiah asked softly after a moment.
Mikha laughed under her breath, though it came out shakier than intended. “I think so.”
“You think so?”
“That’s the best I can give you right now.”
Aiah laughed quietly at that before kissing her again, softer this time.
“Fair enough.”
The kiss after that turned slower. Warmer. Less about tension and more about closeness, which somehow felt infinitely more dangerous. Mikha became aware of everything—the warmth of Aiah’s skin beneath her hands, the quiet little sounds she made whenever Mikha kissed her neck, the way she kept smiling halfway through kisses like she genuinely couldn’t help it.
Outside, someone somewhere was still doing karaoke despite the rain. Mikha could faintly hear a horribly off-key rendition of an old Moira song drifting through the building.
It should’ve ruined the moment.
Instead it only made everything feel more real.
Aiah laughed quietly when Mikha paused long enough to listen.
“Oh my God,” Mikha muttered against her shoulder. “There’s always someone doing karaoke at this hour.”
Aiah laughed softly. “As if you don’t do the same thing.”
“I absolutely do not.”
Aiah pulled back slightly, clearly unconvinced. “You’re telling me you’ve never screamed karaoke lyrics at 2 o'clock in the morning?”
“That’s different.”
“That is literally not different.”
Mikha grinned before kissing her again.
Aiah smiled into it immediately, one hand finding its way to the back of her neck.
Outside, someone somewhere was still confidently belting a Moira song off-key.
Neither of them paid much attention to it anymore.
When they finally pulled apart, Aiah laughed softly.
"You're impossible."
"You were talking."
"I still am."
"Are you?"
Aiah narrowed her eyes.
"Rude."
Mikha only smiled.
Aiah shook her head before continuing anyway, launching into another story as though she hadn't just been interrupted.
The conversation drifted after that.
Work stories became roommate stories. Roommate stories somehow turned into childhood memories. Every answer seemed to lead to three new questions.
At some point, Mikha realized she genuinely wanted to know the answers.
That realization should have worried her more than it did.
Aiah kept talking, comfortably filling the quiet spaces between them while rain tapped softly against the windows.
Mikha listened.
Mostly.
The problem was that Aiah had become increasingly difficult to focus on.
Halfway through a story about a plant she insisted had died under suspicious circumstances, Mikha found herself leaning closer and pressing a distracted kiss against her shoulder.
Aiah didn't stop talking.
"...and apparently I'm the villain in this situation."
"You killed the plant."
"It was one plant."
Mikha smiled against her skin.
Aiah continued as though nothing had happened.
A few minutes later, she was already telling a different story.
Mikha kissed her shoulder again.
Still talking.
Another story.
Another laugh.
Another absent-minded kiss.
Somewhere along the way, Mikha stopped keeping track of what the stories were actually about.
She only knew she liked listening to Aiah talk.
The conversation faded after that. Not awkwardly. There just eventually stopped being space for words between touches and laughter and growing warmth settling deep in Mikha’s stomach every time Aiah looked at her too softly. By the time they finally settled beneath the sheets sometime later, Mikha’s heartbeat still hadn’t calmed down properly.
Aiah curled instinctively toward her almost immediately, hair messy across the pillow while rain light from outside painted silver shapes across the room. For a while neither of them spoke. Mikha stared at the ceiling trying unsuccessfully to organize her thoughts into something less embarrassing.
This was exactly why she avoided nights like this.
Hooking up had never been the hard part.
It was the way people sometimes stayed in your head afterward.
And somewhere between the rooftop bar and Aiah laughing into her shoulder while kissing her, things had stopped feeling simple.
Beside her, Aiah shifted slightly. “You’re thinking too loud again.”
Mikha turned toward her. “You keep saying that. What does that even mean?”
“It means,” Aiah mumbled sleepily, eyes still closed, “I can literally feel you overthinking.”
“That’s creepy.”
“Mhm.”
A beat passed quietly between them.
Then, softer this time:
“Stay tonight.”
The words landed somewhere painfully gentle inside Mikha’s chest.
Aiah still hadn’t opened her eyes when she said it. Somehow that made the vulnerability of it feel even more real.
Mikha swallowed hard before answering.
“Okay.”
Aiah smiled immediately after, small and sleepy and unfairly fond, and somehow that expression affected Mikha more than anything else that night.
Outside, Manila kept moving beneath the rain.
Inside the room, neither of them slept for a long time.
Morning arrived slowly.
Gray light filtered through the curtains, soft and diffused like everything outside the room had been turned down a little. The city was already awake—distant traffic, faint horns, the low hum of Manila beginning another ordinary day—but inside, everything still felt suspended.
Mikha woke up first.
For a few seconds, she didn’t move.
There was a weight on her arm she hadn’t registered at first, warm and steady. Aiah had shifted closer in her sleep sometime during the night, face half-buried against Mikha’s shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.
That alone should’ve made her panic.
It almost did.
But she stayed still instead.
Just looking.
Aiah looked completely different like this. No teasing smile, no careful awareness of everything around her. Just soft, unguarded sleep and messy hair spread across the pillow.
Cute.
Still unfairly cute.
Mikha exhaled slowly through her nose, staring at the ceiling like it might give her answers.
This was the part she usually left before.
Morning meant clarity. Clarity meant distance. Distance meant forgetting.
That was the routine—easy, predictable, safe.
Aiah stirred slightly, blinking awake in fragments before fully focusing on her.
And Aiah smiled like she was still half-asleep, small and real in a way.
“Hi,” she mumbled.
Mikha’s chest tightened instantly in a way she absolutely did not appreciate.
“Hi,” she answered.
“You’re still here.”
A pause.
“…yeah.”
Aiah shifted closer again like it wasn’t even a question worth worrying about, pressing her face briefly into Mikha’s shoulder with a sleepy sigh.
“My head hurts,” she complained.
“You drank too much.”
“I was emotionally vulnerable.”
“That’s not an excuse.”
“It is to me.”
Mikha huffed a quiet laugh despite herself.
Aiah cracked one eye open. “You’re smiling.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I hate you.”
“No you don’t.”
That landed too softly between them.
Neither of them said anything for a moment after that.
The air in the room felt different than last night—less heat, more awareness. Not awkward, exactly. Just real in a way neither of them had fully dealt with yet.
Aiah finally stretched a little, then looked at her properly.
“So…” she said.
Mikha already knew what was coming.
“So what now?”
The question should’ve been simple.
It wasn’t.
Mikha stared at her for a long second, watching the way morning light caught in her hair, the way she looked like she wasn’t trying to force anything out of the moment.
There was no pressure in it, just quiet patience, and somehow that only made Mikha more aware of her.
“…coffee?” Mikha tried.
Aiah smiled again, softer this time.
“That’s your answer?”
“For now.”
A brief silence settled between them.
Then Aiah nodded.
“Okay.”
And the strange thing was, she sounded like that really was enough.
Mikha watched her for a moment longer, surprised by how calm the uncertainty suddenly felt.
Outside, Manila kept moving.
Inside the room, neither of them did.
Not yet.