Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Prologue – The Dress, the Mirror, and the Rain

Mikha’s POV

It was raining the day before my wedding.

I was sitting in front of a mirror. My hair was up, soft and red, pinned neatly. There were voices around me—fast, busy, full of small panic—but they all sounded far away, like music from another room. I didn’t speak. I just touched my earrings and watched the rain outside the window.

The dress was already on. White, soft, smooth. It looked perfect. It felt calm. I reached up and touched the necklace around my neck. Thin gold, heart-shaped pendant, old. I wore it without thinking. I don’t remember picking it up. It was just there, like it always had been.

“Wear it when you need to remember.” That’s what someone said once. I don’t remember the voice, only the words.

I closed my eyes. The room was full of rushing people, but in my head, it was quiet. Just the sound of rain. Just the mirror. Just me.

There was a night I sometimes think about. I was waiting in a lobby, holding flowers. My feet hurt. My hands were shaking, but I didn’t notice until later. I remember the flowers—white, maybe lilies. Or roses. I’m not sure anymore.

There was a sound.
One sound.
Sharp. Loud. Final.

And then, nothing.

The rest is blurry. Just flashes. Lights. Voices. A face I used to know. A face I didn’t. The flowers hit the ground. And then it was raining again.

And I was standing alone.

Now, years later, I sit in this soft chair. My hands are still. My eyes look calm, but they don’t see the mirror anymore. Only small pieces of memory.

Laughter in the rain. Cold drinks under the sun. Quiet songs from a tiny speaker. A hoodie that smelled like home. A hand holding mine without saying anything. The kind of silence that used to mean comfort.

Someone once said, “Stay. Just stay.” Someone else promised, “I’ll come back.” There was a time I believed that if it rained on your birthday, it meant you were lucky. I believed a lot of things back then.

Sometimes I remember a hand brushing my cheek. A whisper in the dark. A fight over something silly. A secret look from across the room. A joke with no punchline. A soft song with no words.

I don’t know if all of them happened, or if my mind just softened the sharp edges to make them easier to carry.

There’s a version of me I still see. Younger. Brighter. She laughed too loudly. She danced barefoot in the kitchen. She believed in surprises and never checked the time. She cried when movies got too quiet. She faded slowly, not all at once.

Somewhere between late replies and early goodbyes.

Now I know how to smile without thinking about it. Now I know how to hold space for my sadness without being consumed by it. Now I know how to remember something—or someone—without wishing to go back. Still, every now and then, something pulls me to the past. A sound. A smell. The weight of rain on the window.

“Don’t forget.”
“Wait for me.”
“You’re safe here.”

I don’t know if those were ever said to me. But they echo, quietly, when the world slows down.

-

Someone came in earlier and told me I looked beautiful. I said thank you. I smiled. They fixed my hair and asked if I was excited. I nodded. I didn’t lie, but I didn’t give everything either.

Because the truth is—I feel a lot of things. Some of them quiet. Some of them sharp. Some of them soft and sweet like old songs.
But more than anything—I feel ready.

There are rooms in my memory I’ve stopped walking into. Moments I’ve stopped re-living. Not because they didn’t matter, but because they did. And they were enough. They gave me pieces of myself I needed, even if they didn’t last.

When it rains like this—soft, steady, forgiving—I let myself remember.
Not to ache.
Not to hold on.
 Just… to see where I’ve been.
So I know where I’m going.

-

The light in the room is warm now, and the cold doesn’t sit so heavy anymore. I touch the necklace again. The gold is warmer now, molded by years, by my skin, by time.

“Keep this,” someone said. “It’s not much, but it’s real.”

Real. That’s all I ever wanted. Not perfect. Not always easy. Just real.

And I have it now.

The mirror in front of me shows a woman. A bride. Still quiet. Still soft. But no longer unsure.

Behind these eyes are old sidewalks, rainy nights, missed calls, held hands, unspoken goodbyes. But also open windows, loud laughter, bright mornings, and love that never once tried to hide her.

And maybe remembering is a kind of honoring.

And maybe peace doesn’t mean forgetting. It just means letting go without erasing the story.

I breathe in.
I breathe out.
And for the first time in a long time—
I feel free.

Chapter Text


Mikha's POV

1 – RED STRINGS

I met her on a hot afternoon.

I was drinking water beside the gym when she walked past me, her hair messy from running. She looked like she didn’t care about anything except the next game. She was laughing with someone. Loud. Free. But heck, that laugh stayed in my head for days.

We met again after practice. I had a scraped knee. She offered me a band-aid from her bag. It was pink with tiny cartoon strawberries. I love it.

“You’re not crying?” she said.

“No,” I answered, trying to look cool. But my face was probably red. Because the truth is? IT HURTS.

After that, we started talking more. Before games, after games. During breaks. On the bleachers. On the school rooftop.

Sometimes even in the middle of the street, eating fishballs.

She made everything feel light.

One time, we were sitting by the court, and she looked up at the sky and said, “Do you believe in red strings?”

“Red strings?” I asked.

“Yeah. That invisible line that connects people. You might not see it, but it’s always there. Tied to your finger. Tied to someone else’s.”

I laughed. “Parang batang nanonood ng fairytale lang ah.”

She smiled. “I hope mine’s tied to you,” I froze.

She said things like that all the time, and my reaction never really failed to change.

I really hope so too, Aiah.

“I’ll never leave you.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“I’ll stay. Even when it’s hard.”

Late at night, we would sneak out for ramen. We sat close, whispering things we were too shy to say in daylight. I told her my fears. She told me her dreams. She said she wanted to be on stage one day. Bright lights. Music. Her name everywhere.

I told her I believed in her. Even if part of me was scared. I didn’t say that out loud, of course. Maybe it was my guts telling me to leave.

But…

That time, I believed her when she said forever.

2 – SPOTLIGHTS AND SMOKE

When she got into the group, we screamed in my bedroom. She jumped on the bed, nearly knocked over a lamp. I caught her.

“I got in, love! Can you believe it?! You’ll have a popstar girlfriend na!”

We were both laughing, and for a second, it felt like nothing would ever change.

But things did.

It starts small, signs. She became busy. There were rehearsals, meetings, calls she had to take. She came home late, left early. I waited, always.

“It’s just the start,” she said, brushing my cheek. “Things will get better soon.” I nodded. I wanted to believe that.

At the same time, I had my own struggles. School was hard. Home wasn’t easy. I was tired, stressed, confused about myself, about everything. But I never told her much. I didn’t want to be a burden.

I just want her to realize that we can make this work, that I can manage and adjust.

So I stayed quiet. I smiled. I clapped the loudest during her mall shows. I brought her vitamins, messaged her when she forgot to eat, cleaned her apartment, and left little sticky notes that said things like “You got this!” or “I’m proud of you!”

One night, she didn’t reply to my messages. Then I saw a picture online—her in a bar, holding a drink, surrounded by strangers.

The caption said “wild night.”

I felt my chest tighten.

But then I saw her, I didn’t mention it. I didn’t know how. She was standing too close next to someone. My heart dropped, eyes starting to burn.

“Is that Aiah? Mikha is she cheating on you?!” My friends were mad, wanting to cause a scene.

“No, baka close friend n’ya lang. Let’s just go home,” I just smiled.

Then came the first real fight.

“You just don’t get it,” she snapped. “You think this is easy?!”

“I never said it was,” I replied. “I just miss you. I just want you to make time, kahit konti lang. I also have my own struggles, Aiah. Pero can’t you see? I’m doing the best I can to support you! To understand your decisions even if you’re not the Aiah I once knew anymore,” my voice cracked.
She didn’t answer.

She looked tired. I looked tired.

That night, she left without a hug. And I sat alone in her room, holding my breath.

3 – AT THE CLUB

She started disappearing more often. Her phone was always on silent. Her eyes stopped meeting mine. Her scent changed—stronger perfume, alcohol, smoke.

I only heard stories. From others. From whispers. From posts.

“She’s always at that bar.”
“She’s with them again.”
“Did you know she smokes now?”
No. I didn’t know. I stayed blind and deaf. My faith on her was losing, I felt numb. Not feeling anything everytime she leaves me and shuts me out. But we promised to stay, so I did.

One day, I sat in the condo lobby for hours. Holding flowers. White ones. Simple. Clean. I wanted to remind her of who she was before everything. Before the lights. Before the noise. I wanted to let her know na I’m not making her choose between me and her career, she can have both and I’m okay with that.

People came in and out. The guard looked at me with pity. I just waited for 6 hours. This is it, my last fight. Kasi hanggang dito na lang ang kaya kong tiisin.

My hair was messy. My eyes were tired.
Then I saw her.

She walked in, laughing, arm in arm with some guy. She wore heels. Her makeup was dark. She looked like a stranger.

Then she saw me.

Our eyes met.

She froze.
.
.
.
I smiled. Just a little. Just enough to pretend I was okay.

“Hey,” I said, soft.

Then I stood up, walked outside, and threw the flowers in the nearest bin. I looked at her one last time, she’s still standing there, looking at me like she wanted to chase after me. But she didn’t.

4 – BANG

It was dark.

The street was half-empty. I didn’t really know where I was walking. I just kept going, hoping the cold air would stop the burning in my chest. My eyes wet with tears.

“AAAAHHH!” Then a scream.

Then running footsteps.

Then—
Bang

My body hit the ground before my brain caught up. The pain came later. First came silence.

“Aiah”

Then light.

Then nothing.

In the hospital, I was between sleep and waking. I saw lights. Faces. Heard machines beeping. I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. I asked for a last sign, if Aiah would come, I’ll forget everything and stay. And so I waited.

In that empty space between dreams and pain—I waited.
I waited.
And I waited.
And I waited.
.
.
But she didn’t come.

Every day, I thought she would.
Every time the door opened, I hoped.
But days passed.
Weeks.
No messages. No visits. No flowers.
Only me, and the sound of rain against the window.

5 – RAINY SEASON

They said it would take months before I could walk properly again. I nodded. I didn’t really care. Wala naman nang pupuntahan pa ang mga paa ko.

Some friends visited. Brought snacks. Told stories. Tried to make me laugh.

But one day, my friend just snapped. “You’re still waiting for her?” I looked down.

“She’s not coming back, Mikha. Look at you, if she really cared, she would’ve been here the moment you opened your eyes. She left you when you needed her. Forget her. I just hope that career is worth all of this.”
I didn’t answer.

But that night, I cried in the shower. Quiet. Hidden. Like always.

Because I remembered her voice.
“I’ll never let you cry alone.”
Lies. Bullshit.
Or maybe just broken promises. Maybe it was real, until it wasn’t.

Rehab was slow. Painful. My legs shook. My body felt weak. But I pushed through. Not because I was strong. But because I didn’t want to disappear. I still have to keep living.

One night, while scrolling through my phone, I saw it. A new music video. Her group. BINI.

There she was—center, shining, perfect.
I watched her smile. I watched her dance.
But her eyes were cold. Distant.
Not the same eyes that once looked at me like I was her whole world.

I didn’t cry.
I just sat there.
Still.

Watching her through a screen, like a stranger. And maybe that’s what we were now.

Strangers who once promised forever in a small ramen shop, under soft yellow lights, with red strings tied to their fingers.

6 – SENT TODAY

Dear Aiah,

I’m writing this with hands that still shake when I think of you. I don’t even know if matatanggap mo pa ‘to. Your email’s probably spammed with thousands of messages everyday.

I know you’re busy. I know your world is loud and fast and full of lights now. I’m not asking you to look back. I’m just hoping you’ll pause for a second to read this. That’s all I ask — just one quiet moment with me, even if it’s just through this.

This isn’t a hate letter.
This isn’t even an angry one.
I think I stopped being angry the moment I realized you weren’t coming back.
I think I started loving you softer when I learned you could live without me. So no, I’m not mad. I don’t have it in me to hate you. I’ve only ever known how to love you.
But this time, I’m writing to say goodbye.

I waited.

You know I did.

Through long cold nights and aching days. Through empty hospital rooms. Through birthdays you didn’t remember. Through seasons you missed. I stayed. I waited, hoping one day, you’d remember where home was, your promises.

But maybe you forgot. Or maybe you just outgrew the version of me you once held so tightly. And I can’t blame you for that.

I just wish I was easier to stay for. I wish I mattered enough for you to try. I wish you saw the way I still check my phone when it rains. The way I still walk slower past the ramen place. The way I still carry that stupid keychain you gave me — the one you probably forgot about already. I was never the loudest, never the best, never the one who lit up the room.
But I loved you so gently. So patiently. And maybe that wasn’t enough to keep you. I understand now. You’re chasing something bigger. Something I was never meant to follow.

So I’m letting go. Not because I stopped loving you. But because I finally started loving myself.

I’ll still remember you kindly.
I’ll still listen to your songs in secret.
I’ll still wish for your happiness — even if it doesn’t include me.

I was never meant to be your stage. I was just the quiet place you rested in before the lights came on. But for a while… you were my whole sky.

Please take care of yourself, Aiah. And if one day you ever think of me — even just for a second — I hope you remember me in soft colors.
I hope you remember I was warm.
I hope you remember that I stayed, even when you didn’t ask me to.

With all the love I have,
Mikha

7 – LETTER LATER: 3 YEARS EARLY

(She set this letter to arrive no matter what — even if she’s forgotten)

Hi, Aiah.

If you’re reading this… then I guess I didn’t cancel the scheduled delivery. Part of me thought I would. But part of me knew I wouldn’t.

It’s been three years now.

I don’t know where you are. I don’t know what kind of songs you’re singing. I don’t know if you ever looked back. But I hope you’re safe. I hope you’re loved. I hope you made it.

I don’t need a reply. I just wanted to say something one last time.

I forgave you. A long time ago. Not because you asked. Not because you explained. But because I needed to stop carrying the ache of waiting. I know I’ll still dream of us sometimes. Not the bad parts. Just the silly ones. The small ones.
Ramen nights. Rooftop sunsets. You sleeping with your face buried in my neck, mumbling lyrics in your sleep.

Sometimes I wonder — do you remember any of that?

Maybe not.

But if you do, I hope it makes your heart ache just a little. Not out of guilt. But out of the knowing… that you were once deeply, truly, quietly loved by someone who would’ve never left you first.

I hope you’re happy.
And if not…
I hope you find your way back to yourself soon.

Goodbye, Aiah. You were never the villain in my story. You were the love I had to survive.

And I did.

— Mikha

Chapter Text

Mikha's POV

8 – THE PARTY AND THE BROKEN SINK

I didn’t even want to be at that party.

The music was loud. The lights kept blinking like my brain trying to stay awake. I stood by the corner, holding a paper cup with flat soda, pretending to drink it so no one would talk to me.

Then suddenly — CRASH.

A loud bang. A girl slipped through the bathroom door, holding something metal, water dripping from her elbow. Wait, this girl is an idol too! The one labeled as the ‘Rival group’ of Aiah’s.

“Oh no,” she said, blinking at me. “Was that the sink?”

I stared at her. “Oh my God! Did you just break the bathroom sink?!”

She looked at the pipe in her hand, then back at me. “Uh… maybe?”

And then she laughed. Loud. From her stomach. Like she wasn’t embarrassed at all.

Is this girl crazy?

I laughed too — not because it was funny, but because I hadn’t laughed like that in a long time. Something about her made it easy.

“Wanna run before they notice?” she asked, eyes shining.

And so we did. We ran out of the house barefoot and breathless, two strangers laughing on the street. We ended up sitting by a fishball stand, her still dripping a little from the pipe mess, and me with my red hair sticking to my neck.

She bought me kwek-kwek.
“I’m Sophia,” she said, mouth full. I know.
“I’m Mikha,” I said, not full at all.

And as she wiped orange sauce from her chin, I thought — this is the first time I felt… light again.

9 – RED HAIR, RED FLAGS, RED HEARTS

We became friends first — the kind of friends who texted at 2AM just to share a random thought or a blurry moon photo.
The kind who sent each other the ugliest selfies possible just to out-ugly the last.
The kind who argued passionately over which ramen flavor was superior, only to end up sharing both anyway.

Sophia was loud — the good kind.
She was sunlight through curtains, not a spotlight. Bright, but not blinding. Soft, but never unsure. She had this way of entering a room like a burst of music. Not to steal attention — but to invite you in.
She danced in elevators, no music needed. She sang during car rides, voice clear, a little raspy in the morning, always beautiful.

And the most surprising part?

She didn’t try to fix me.
 She never made me feel like I was broken.
 She just stayed.

Even when I was quiet.
 Even when I wasn’t okay.
 Even when my smiles were delayed, or small, or tired — she stayed.

And not once… not once did she pretend I didn’t exist.

She called me “Miks,” like we’d known each other since we were kids. Like I was always part of her world.

She took photos of our coffees. Sometimes just my mug. My fingers wrapped around the cup. My messy red hair tangled in a frame by accident. And she’d post them.

“Soft-launch queen,” I teased once, scrolling through her story.

She grinned. “I’m hinting. Let them figure it out.”
And later that night, she answered a fan Q&A on Twitter.

Q: “What’s your ideal type?”
A: “Someone with red hair.”

She didn’t tag me.
 Didn’t wink or nudge. 
Just left it there — soft, simple, almost secret.

But I saw it.
I didn’t reply. Didn’t retweet.
I just stared at the screen, heart full and confused and fluttering.
I wanted to believe it.

But some ghosts are stubborn.

A part of me still carried the ache of being hidden — of being someone’s secret, someone’s shame.

I remembered what it felt like to be loved in silence, to be erased in public.

My smile faltered, just a little. The doubt crept in like it always did. But that night, when I got home, I cried.
Not because I was sad.
But because — for the first time in a long time — I felt seen.
 Not tolerated. Not half-loved. Not blurred in the background.

Seen.

Just Mikha.
The girl with too many feelings and too much hair and a laugh that sometimes came out in snorts.
And someone — this loud, golden, fearless girl — liked all of me.

Even out here.
 Even in the open.
And I didn’t have to ask for it.

She just did.
She stayed.

10 – MY SEXY LOVE

UAAP Finals: DLSU vs NU

The gym was packed wall to wall — students, fans, alumni, banners, flashing lights, booming cheers. The kind of energy that crackles in your chest. I was on the sidelines, wearing the assistant coach’s green jersey, trying to look cool and composed, but my knees? They were jelly. Kahit ilang taon na ang nakakalipas, nakakakaba pa rin talaga. But this one’s different.

I clutched the clipboard like it could anchor me to the ground. It wasn’t just the pressure of the championship. It was the fact that… she said she’d come.

Sophia.

I hadn’t seen her yet. Part of me thought she was joking. Or busy. Or maybe she changed her mind.

But then—
“GO SEXY LOVE!!! MIKHA IS MY SEXY LOVE!!!”

My head snapped up.

No way.

I turned to the source of the chaos and nearly dropped the clipboard. There she was — standing on her seat in the bleachers, waving a giant neon-pink banner that screamed SEXY LOVE in glittery capital letters. She was in full idol-mode, wearing a green varsity jacket, a matching skirt, and a cropped shirt that showed a bit of skin. Her wavy hair was down, with soft bangs framing her face. Sunglasses rested on her head, giving her that cool, confident look everyone loved, surrounded by her members who looked half amused, half ready to dissolve into the floor from secondhand embarrassment.

My face burned. The crowd LAUGHED.
Cameras swung toward her. A few phones pointed at me too. The announcer paused mid-sentence.

“Sexy… love? Wow Kathniel yarn?” someone in the booth mumbled into the mic, and the whole gym cracked up.

I scratched my head in disbelief, my heart thudding against my ribs like it was trying to climb out of my chest.

What the hell, Sophia.

After the first set of the game — which we won, somehow — I made a beeline toward the bleachers.

They gave us a minute to rest before the second set starts, but my eyes were already locked on one person. She was waiting, still holding the banner rolled up in her arms, grinning from ear to ear.

I jogged over, slightly breathless.
“You’re insane,” I said, cheeks still hot.

She poked my cheek with one finger. “Yeah,” she smirked. “But you smiled. Don't even lie. Don’t hide it, come on!”

I laughed, shaking my head.
“You hijacked the UAAP Finals for a soft launch,” I teased. “That’s illegal.”

“I don’t believe in soft launches,” she said proudly. “Hard launch agad. Full audio. With fireworks. May choreography pa if you ask nicely.”

I covered my face with one hand, but I couldn’t stop smiling. She made it feel like the most natural thing in the world — to be seen, to be adored, to be publicly claimed.

No shame. No secrets.
Just love. Loud and proud.

She leaned in a little, still playful.
“You embarrassed?” she asked.

“Terrified,” I said.

She tilted her head. “Of what?”

“Of how much I like you,” I admitted, barely above a whisper.

Her eyes softened. “Then be scared with me.”

And just like that, I felt it — that dangerous, beautiful thing again.
Hope. But this time, it didn’t come with a chokehold. It came with light.

She slipped her fingers into mine, right there in the side of the court, cameras still flashing.
“Let them figure it out,” she murmured. “I don’t need to explain. I just need you to know.”

I looked at her — really looked.

She wasn’t the kind of girl who would ever make me beg to be acknowledged.
She wasn’t afraid of the spotlight if it meant holding my hand inside it.
And most of all… she wasn’t ashamed.

So I smiled.

“Okay,” I whispered. “You win.”

She raised a brow. “What did I win?”

I leaned closer, bumped my forehead against hers.
“Me.”

And somewhere behind us, the crowd kept cheering. But this time, I knew… the loudest sound was the quiet thump of two hearts finally finding home.

11 – WHEN SOFT ISN’T SILENT

Sophia never made me feel small.

She would grab my hand in crowded rooms like it was the most natural thing. She’d take silly photos of us — messy hair, double chins, toothpaste on my lips — and post them with captions like, “She makes my mornings better than coffee.” No filters. No hiding. Just... us.

She’d smile at me in public like I was the best thing that ever happened to her.

Sometimes, out of nowhere, she'd lean over and whisper,
"I want the world to know I’m lucky."

And I'd just sit there, stunned. Because how could she say it so easily, like it wasn’t a heavy thing to carry? Like love wasn’t something to be folded up and hidden in a glove compartment?

Is this what love feels like when it’s not hiding?

One night, I broke.

We were sitting on the floor of her condo, legs tangled under a blanket, surrounded by open snack bags and half-melted ice cream. A soft playlist played from her speaker — her comfort playlist. It was late, the city lights leaking through the curtains.
I stared at my hands for a long time before I said it.

“I was hidden before.”

Sophia stopped mid-chew, her spoon frozen in the air.

“She loved me,” I continued, my voice cracking. “But not enough to say it out loud. Not enough to risk anything for me. I was always the one waiting in the car, the one cropped out of photos. I couldn’t even touch her in public without wondering if I’d ruin everything. I felt like a ghost. Like I was only allowed to exist in the quiet. It broke me.”

Sophia didn’t speak right away. She set the spoon down and reached for my hand. Her thumb brushed over my knuckles like she was memorizing the pain in my silence.

“I won’t do that to you,” she whispered. “You’re not a secret. Not with me.”

I looked at her, eyes glossy. “But you don’t have to— I mean, I know how this works. You have your image. Your fans. I don’t want to ruin anything for you.”

She shook her head. “You’re not ruining anything. You’re the softest thing in my world. I want them to know I’m happy. That it’s you.”

“I doubted you at first,” I admitted. “I thought… you were just saying things to make me feel better. I thought one day, I’d be the secret again. The phase. The girl before someone better.”

Sophia’s eyes softened. “You’re not a phase, Mikha. You’re the person I kept wishing I’d meet.”

I felt my lip tremble. “I didn’t believe you. Not really. Not until I started catching myself hoping you’d prove me wrong.”

She pulled me into her arms and whispered, “Then I’ll keep proving it. Every day.”

That night, she didn’t post anything.
But a few days later, I woke up to my phone vibrating nonstop.

Sophia had tweeted, “Again, I like someone with red hair and a stubborn heart.”

The tweet had over 40k likes in an hour.
And on her story was a photo of my hand in hers — rings and all — captioned with a green heart and the words, “Mine, if she’ll still have me.”

A fan had replied to her tweet:
"Is it who we think it is?? Please tell us the redhead is real."

Sophia liked the reply. And left it at that

No explanations. No press release. Just one loud, quiet truth.
She never blurred me out.
She never made me shrink.
She never made me question if I was wanted.

That night, we were lying on her couch, her arm around me, phone buzzing somewhere on the floor. I looked at her, heart full and fragile all at once.

“Why are you doing this?” I whispered.

She kissed my forehead and smiled. “Because I want to love you without parentheses.”

And somewhere inside me — where old wounds still echoed — a softer voice whispered:

You’re not someone to hide anymore.
You’re someone to be proud of.

12 – THE GIRL IN THE CROWD

The game ended in a win.

The buzzer rang and the crowd erupted — a sea of green and white, banners flying, people screaming their lungs out.

Teammates tackled each other, coaches cried, and somewhere above all the noise, I heard my name being shouted over and over.

“MIKHA!!! SEXY LOVE WINS!!!”

And then she came.
Sophia.

Running across the court like a kid in a movie, arms wide open, hair bouncing with each step, a bouquet of yellow tulips in one hand — our inside joke from weeks ago. Her jacket flapped behind her like a cape, and her cheeks were flushed from yelling too hard.

I didn’t even think — I just ran to her.

We crashed into each other in the middle of the confetti storm, laughing, spinning, almost dropping the flowers as her group screamed from the stands like they were part of a K-drama scene. One of them yelled, “KISS NA YAN!!!” while another blew a party horn too close to my ear.

Sophia tried to kiss my cheek through the madness, slipping once on the confetti and yelling, “DI KO ALAM KUNG MOVIE BA TO O KDRAMA!”
I was laughing so hard I couldn’t even breathe.

And in that moment, I wasn’t just happy.

I was free.

Not the kind of happy you post about with a filtered selfie. Not the one you pretend to have when you win but feel empty. This one lived in my bones. In the way I reached for Sophia’s hand without hesitation. In the way I didn't care who saw. In the way my smile wasn’t held back by fear anymore.

I was loved — loudly, wholly, without apology.

But what I didn’t know…

Was that somewhere in the upper rows of the crowd, almost hidden behind the tinted shadows of the lights —
Someone was watching.

Covered in a gray hoodie. Mask on. Cap pulled low. Her body still, her face unreadable except for the glassiness in her eyes that never left me.

She didn’t cheer. She didn’t clap. She didn’t even blink.
She just watched.

She watched me jump into Sophia’s arms.
She watched me laugh without looking over my shoulder.
She watched the way I glowed under the lights, the way I shone not just from the win — but from love.

And in her chest, something cracked. Quietly. Slowly. Like a breath that never made it out.

She closed her eyes for a second too long.

And in the midst of all the joy, with the world screaming around her and my name echoing off the gym walls, she whispered something only she could hear:
“…She never looked that free when she was with me.”

Her fingers tightened around the folded letter she didn’t deliver. The one meant to say sorry. The one she spent nights rewriting.

But she didn’t come down from the stands.

She didn’t call my name.
She just turned, and walked away — heart heavy, eyes burning, the sound of my laughter chasing her down the halls like a ghost.

And still, I didn’t see her.

I wouldn’t know she was there until much later, when someone posted a blurry crowd shot and the internet did its thing.

But even then, I wouldn’t know what she whispered.

That soft, small ache.

The realization that sometimes, the person you love learns how to smile only after you let them go.

And for the first time in forever —
I wasn’t waiting anymore.

But she was.

And maybe, this time…
She was the ghost left behind.

Aiah.

Chapter Text

Aiah’s POV

"Ms. Arceta, with all the success you have now—" the host asked, her voice warm, curious, "—have you gotten everything you’ve ever wanted?"

I froze for a second. Just one second.
But it was enough.

The room felt quiet, even if the cameras were still rolling and the lights were too bright. My members turned to look at me. I gave a small smile, the kind that doesn’t really reach the eyes.

"No," I said softly.
"But I once got very close."

I always smile. I always say thank you, nod politely, talk about dreams and hard work and destiny.

But this question made me stop. Because how can I tell them? That yes.
I had everything once.
And I let it slip away.

And just like that, my heart took me back.
-
-
-

13 – The First Flame

I still remember the first time I saw her.

Mikha.

Her red hair was like a flame in the crowd. Bright. Alive. Wild. Something about it just pulled me in — like a match striking air.

It was a volleyball game — the kind where your heart beats with the sound of the cheers, where every serve feels like it could change everything. I wasn’t playing yet, just watching from the side, too nervous, too quiet. But then I saw her. Laughing with her friends. Her eyes were full of life, like she belonged on that court, like she belonged everywhere.

And me? I just stood there, clutching my water bottle like a lifeline. I wanted to run to her. I wanted to say something — anything. Tell her I felt something strange, something warm. Like something in me lit up.

But I didn’t. I just watched her laugh, and that was enough to make my heart remember her forever.

We met because of volleyball. That was fate, I think.

I was shy back then. Still scared of getting things wrong. But when she smiled at me, the whole world felt softer. Like maybe it was okay to be unsure. Like maybe I belonged somewhere — with someone.

The first time we played together, I was a mess. I kept missing the ball. I tripped. I panicked. I thought she’d get annoyed. But she just laughed, the way only she could.

“It’s okay,” she said. “We’ll learn together.”

Then she reached out to help me up. Her hands were warm. Steady. Real.

And I remember thinking — I want to stay in this moment. Just a little longer.

The days that came after felt like a dream. Late night talks that turned into early mornings. Shared snacks between practice. Quiet walks after school. Small adventures that felt big because she was there.

We never said the word “forever” out loud. But we promised it anyway, in the way we held each other’s gaze, in the way we stayed close even when we didn’t speak.

And I told myself, I won’t mess this up. I won’t let the darkness inside me touch this light she gave me.

But still... I was scared.

Scared that one day, she’d see the cracks I tried to hide. The ones under my smile. The ones I couldn’t fix.

Still, back then… it felt like the start of something real.

Because Mikha wasn’t just a flame.

She was the first one who ever made me feel warm.

14 – Storm Inside

When I got into the group — into BINI — she was the first person I told.

We screamed in my bedroom. I tackled her on the bed, laughing like a kid. “You’ll have a popstar girlfriend na!” I shouted, and she pretended to flex.

We believed we could survive anything.
She believed in me.
But I started forgetting how to believe in us.

Rehearsals began. Long nights. Early mornings. My schedule stretched thin. There were always lights, cameras, voices, rules.

She waited. Always.

Sometimes, I’d come home and find a sticky note on my mirror: “You’re doing great.”

Or a bag of food by the door with my favorite drink and a note: “Eat, love.”

She never asked for anything.
She just stayed.
Even when I started slipping away.

The truth is, I had a storm inside me that no one could see.

I was broken in ways I couldn’t explain.

There were days I didn’t understand myself. Mornings I didn’t want to get up. Nights where I stared at the ceiling wondering why I felt so empty when I had someone like Mikha by my side.

But that’s the thing about storms—they don’t ask permission. They just come. And they ruin things, even the things you love.

I didn’t want to hurt her. God, I never wanted to hurt her. She was my light. My safe place.

The one who cheered the loudest during my worst days, the one who brought me coffee when I was too drained to speak. But I was scared. Scared she’d see me for who I really was. Not the confident girl on stage, not the cool girlfriend she always showed off to her friends—but the mess underneath.

So I looked for ways to survive, even if they were wrong.

I started spending time with someone else.

Someone who didn’t love me. Someone who didn’t know me. He was nothing but a shadow. A distraction. A way to silence the voices in my head for a while.

I never loved him. Not like I loved Mikha.

But when I was with him, I felt numb. And for someone who always felt too much, that numbness felt like peace.

I kept it a secret. I thought I could handle it. I told myself I was protecting her by hiding the worst parts of me. But the truth? I was just afraid of losing her. Afraid that if she knew, she’d walk away. So instead, I let the distance grow. I stopped answering her calls sometimes. I missed her messages. I forgot the dates that mattered. And every time I looked her in the eyes, I felt the guilt eat me alive.

I love her. I really do. But I was already drowning.

I remember the fights. Her voice breaking. Her hands trembling.

“I just miss you,” she said once. “Kahit konting time lang, Aiah. I’m not asking you to quit your dreams… I’m just asking you not to forget me while you chase them.”

But I already had.
Not because I wanted to.
But because I was too scared to admit I was already losing her.

She showed up with flowers once. White ones. She waited in the condo lobby for hours. I saw her the moment I walked in — messed-up hair, tired eyes, holding hope in her hands like it was the last piece she could offer me.

And what did I do?

I froze.
I looked at her.
 I didn’t run to her.
 I didn’t hug her.
 I didn’t say sorry.
I wanted to, but I can’t.

I just stood there. Watching.
 While she walked away from me.

She still smiled at me.
 Even then.

And then she turned around.
 Walked away.

I just stood there. Frozen.
Watching her leave.

But the moment she disappeared from my sight—
That’s when everything hit me.

What am I doing?
 Why didn’t I run to her?
 Why did I let her go again?

“Mikha...” I whispered, like her name was the only thing that could save me.

I knocked some sense into myself and ran.
I didn’t care if people were watching. 
I didn’t care that Caelan was still standing next to me, confused.
I just ran.
 I ran like my heart was on fire.

“Please, please let me reach her,” I kept saying.

And then I saw her.
 On the ground.
 Blood.
 Everywhere.

“Babi?!”
I screamed.
I fell to my knees.
“Babi, no—no, no, no—please.”
 I touched her face. It was cold.
“I’m here now. I’m here, love. Please don’t leave me.”

My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. I dialed for help.
The whole time I was crying, begging, whispering things I should’ve said so long ago.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
 “All I ever did was hurt you. I don’t deserve you.” 
“If letting you go is the only way to stop your pain—then I will. I promise, Mikha. I’ll disappear. Just… please be okay.”

I held her hand inside the ambulance.
I wiped her tears, even though she was unconscious.
I told her stories. Jokes. Memories. Anything to keep her close.

“Remember that time you made me eat spicy noodles and I cried in the corner? “I let out a shaky laugh.
 “You laughed so hard you fell off the couch.”

I stayed with her at the hospital. Quiet. Hidden.
Whenever a nurse came in, I turned away, acted like I didn’t matter.

I was scared someone would see me.
 Scared they’d ask questions.
 Scared they’d find out who she really was to me.
So I kept my mouth shut. 
And stayed by her side.

“I love you,” I whispered. 
“So much it hurts. I just… didn’t know how to be brave.”

And before she could open her eyes, I left.
I kissed her hand.
And walked away.

Then after that accident happened, I heard that she woke up, looking for me. And I kept my promise.
I didn’t go.
 I couldn’t.

Because how do you show up for someone when you know you’re the reason they were walking alone in the dark?

Every day I thought about calling. 
Every night I’d stare at my phone and wonder if she still wanted to hear my voice.
But I was a coward.

I left her in a hospital room.
 Alone.
 And I never forgave myself for that.

The next time I saw her — really saw her — was on a random scroll through social media.

Someone tagged me in a post: 
“She’s walking again! Go Mikha!”
 And there she was. Still standing.
Without me.

Sometimes I watch our old videos. The ones she took when we were laughing on rooftops. I replay her voice in my head, just to remember how it felt to be loved without conditions.

I scroll through old chats. I still have her last message saved. It just said:
“Take care, love. Always.”

I wasn’t there when she needed me.
 I wasn’t the safe place I promised to be.
And now the world sees me as a star.
But no one sees the parts of me that are still searching for her in every crowd.

15 – The Break

The letter came on a Tuesday.

My manager handed me a printed copy, saying it had been filtered from an old email account I barely checked. I was half-listening. Hair in rollers. Eyes half-open.

Another day, another shoot. But then I saw the name.

Mikha.

My hands went cold.

I locked myself in the dressing room and read the letter under fluorescent lights that suddenly felt too harsh, too real. And for a moment, the walls around me disappeared.

The noise stopped. The world quieted — like she asked.

Just one quiet moment with her.
I read it once. 
Then twice.
 Then again.
 And again.
 Until the ink blurred, and my tears stained the paper.

She wasn’t angry.
 She wasn’t cruel. 
She was kind — even in goodbye.
I think that hurt the most.

“I think I started loving you softer when I learned you could live without me.”

That line stayed in my chest like a burn.
She was right.
 She waited for me.
 Through everything.

Through the tours, the lights, the cold hotel rooms I never invited her into. Through the nights I didn’t call. Through the birthdays I forgot. Through every silence I filled with excuses. She waited. I knew she did. But I kept telling myself she'd understand.

I thought I had more time.
 I thought she’d still be there.
 I thought love could stretch forever.

But it couldn’t.

Because love isn’t a rubber band.

Love is paper.
 And I kept folding and folding her until I creased every soft part of her soul.

Until all that was left was a girl still hoping, still holding on, alone in the dark.

And now she was saying goodbye. Not with fire. But with rain.

“I wish I mattered enough for you to try.”

That line broke me.

Because the truth is, she did matter. She mattered so much it scared me. She saw me when I didn’t want to be seen. She held me when I didn’t even know how to hold myself. She kept me grounded while I was chasing the clouds. She gave everything without asking for much.

And I couldn’t even show up when she needed me most.

I remember her in the hospital — or rather, I remember not being there.

I could have dropped everything. 
I could have gone.
 But I didn’t.
 I let fear win.
 I let guilt silence me.
 I let pride bury my love.

And she… she stayed.
She always stayed.

“I was never the loudest, never the best, never the one who lit up the room. But I loved you so gently.”

She did.
God, she did.
She was never loud, but I always found her in the crowd. She didn’t sparkle like the stage lights — but she warmed me like the sun. When I forgot to eat, she cooked. When I forgot myself, she reminded me who I was. She left notes. Brought flowers. Waited in lobbies. Carried the weight of our love like it was something holy.

And I treated her like background noise.

When I finished reading, I couldn’t breathe.

I clutched the letter to my chest like it could rewind time. Like it could take me back to our tiny ramen shop, our sticky notes, our matching keychains. Like maybe, if I held it tightly enough, I could hold her again.

But she was already gone.

“I’m letting go. Not because I stopped loving you. But because I finally started loving myself.”

I think that’s the line that finally crushed me.
Because I realized — she had to teach herself to stop waiting for me.

She had to be the one to walk away from something I abandoned first.

And still, she wished me well.
Still, she said she loved me.
 Still, she said take care.

I didn’t deserve that kind of grace. 
But she gave it anyway.

That night, after the shoot, I cancelled everything. I sat alone in my room, lights off, music low, the letter on my lap.

And I cried like I hadn’t cried in years.

Not as a popstar.
 Not as Aiah the performer.
 Just as Maraiah, the girl who lost Mikha.

I whispered her name again and again.
 Like prayer. Like punishment.
 Like maybe, somewhere, she’d still hear me.

If she ever reads this…
If she ever looks back just once…
I want her to know:
I kept the keychain too.
I never threw it away.
It’s in a drawer with her letters, her photos, her voice messages I couldn’t bring myself to delete.

I still pass by the ramen place.
 Still hope to catch a glimpse of her red hair.
 Still wonder if she walks slower when it rains.

I lost her.
And I will never forgive myself for that.

“I was never meant to be your stage. I was just the quiet place you rested in before the lights came on.”

No, Mikha. You weren’t the quiet place.
You were the reason I found the courage to step onto the stage in the first place.
You were the voice in my head when I forgot who I was.
You were my beginning — and I treated you like an intermission.

I’m sorry.

If you ever think of me…
I hope you remember I looked at you like you were my whole world.
I just didn’t know how to hold onto it.
Not then.

And now, I sing songs about heartbreak.
 I smile for the cameras.
 But no one knows… every time I look at the crowd, I still search for her.

The one girl who never needed a spotlight.
 Just me.
But I left.
And now the stage is full —
And my heart is empty.

16 – Years in Waiting

It had been three years.

Three years since I last saw her face in person. Three years since I let go of the one person who loved me when I didn’t know how to love myself. The calendar moved forward, but part of me stayed frozen in that night. The night I saw her sitting in that hospital bed. The night I didn’t show up. The night she left.

I tried to live.
Tours, albums, cameras, lights.
Smiles that weren’t always real.
I chased dreams, but I left pieces of myself scattered along the way.

And then it came.
A letter.
 Digital.
 Time-stamped.
 Scheduled.
From her.
Mikha.

The email notification sat there for minutes before I dared open it. My hands were shaking like the first time I held a mic in front of a crowd. Only this time, it wasn’t nerves. It was grief. It was longing. It was guilt that had never fully gone quiet.

“If you’re reading this… then I guess I didn’t cancel the scheduled delivery.”

I read her words like a song I didn’t know I needed to hear. Soft. Careful. Kind, as always. Still her.

She didn’t even know where I was. What kind of songs I was singing. If I ever looked back.

God, Mikha… I never stopped.

I looked back every damn day.

Every time it rained. Every time a fan gave me white flowers. Every time we passed a ramen shop. Every time I heard the word “home.”

I just didn’t have the courage to turn around.

And there she was, in the letter, forgiving me. Not because I said sorry. Not because I gave reasons. But because she wanted to be free.

That’s what hit me the hardest. She had freed herself from the pain I gave her. While I had been punishing myself with it every day.

“You were never the villain in my story. You were the love I had to survive. And I did.”

I broke down, right there on the studio floor. Cried the kind of cry that made your chest hurt.
The kind of cry that made it hard to breathe.

Because all this time, I thought I was the one trying to survive losing her.

I didn’t know she was surviving me.

I remembered everything she mentioned.
The ramen nights. The rooftops. The way she used to whisper, “I love you even if hindi mo sabihin pabalik.”

I remembered the stupid keychain on her bag. The little notes she’d leave in my guitar case. The way she looked at me like I was a universe, even when I felt like a black hole.

And it hit me:
I had love.
 Real love.
And I let it slip through my fingers because I was too broken to believe I deserved it.

But Mikha did.
 She deserved everything.

I whispered her name through the night. Quiet. Shaky. Full of regrets.

“Mikha…”

There were no answers.
 No second chances.
 Just the stillness of a heart finally letting go.

But her letter gave me something I didn’t expect.

Hope.

Not for us.
 But for me.
Hope that maybe I could heal too. That maybe I could forgive myself — the way she did.

She survived.
Now it was my turn.

So I picked up my guitar, wiped my eyes, and started writing again.
Not for charts. Not for the crowd.
 But for the girl I left behind.

And for the one I was finally ready to become.

But before I heal completely—
Before I finally accept that it’s over—
I want to find her.

Just once.
Just to see her smile again.
Just to say sorry with my whole chest.
Just to ask…
"Can I still fight for us?"

Even if the answer is no, I need her to know—
That I would’ve.
That I’m ready now.

That this time,
 I’d stay.

17 – The Volleyball Game

I told myself it was just a game.

I even wore a cap and a mask, hoping no one would notice. I found a seat in the farthest corner of the gym, where the lights didn’t reach and the cheers sounded a little less sharp. But no matter how much I tried to prepare my heart, I wasn’t ready.

Not for her.

And definitely not for that.

“MIKHA IS MY SEXY LOVE!!! GO SEXY LOVE!!!”

The voice echoed above the crowd like it owned the room — bold, proud, fearless.
My heart dropped.

I turned my head and saw her. Sophia.

Standing on a chair, waving a huge neon banner that screamed SEXY LOVE. Her members were beside her, laughing and cringing and cheering with her. And right in the center of it all — Mikha.

Wearing green. Looking up at Sophia with a smile so bright, it made my chest cave in.

She laughed. Really laughed.

And I knew that laugh. That was the laugh she used to save for me — when we were in my old room, eating ice cream and pretending the world wasn’t chasing us. That was the laugh she used when I told her she was my home. Now, she was laughing with someone else. Smiling like the pain I gave her never happened. Like she had finally been chosen — loudly, completely, without shame.

I didn’t cry. Not there. I just gripped the edge of my seat, teeth clenched, heart in ruins.

Because I saw it.

I saw what it looked like when someone loved her right.

Sophia didn’t care who was watching. She didn’t hide. She wasn’t afraid to be seen. She screamed Mikha’s name like it was the only word she knew. And Mikha? She didn’t shrink away. She didn’t look around nervously. She glowed. Like she finally felt safe.

And I thought:
 Kaya ko rin naman pala eh. Bakit ngayon lang?

I could’ve been that person.
 I should’ve been that person.

But when she needed me to hold her hand, I let go. When she needed to be seen, I turned away. When she begged me — silently, gently — to stay, I disappeared.

So I watched. Just watched.

My sexy love — not mine anymore.

Just a girl I used to love from the shadows, now standing in the light with someone who never asked her to hide.

18 – The Quiet Talk

After the game, we met. It was quiet. No yelling, no blaming. Just two broken people looking at each other with tired eyes. Hanggang sa huli, pagod pa rin kami. Walang nagbago.

Mikha told me something I never expected.

She didn’t want me to shout from the rooftops. She didn’t want me to prove anything to anyone. She just wanted me to see her. To see the woman she had become. The woman she was with Sophia.

“Do you regret anything? Na we didn’t really ended up the way we planned noon?” I softly asked, hoping for something. That maybe there’s still a part of her that loves me. Kahit konti lang.

She stopped, thinking. Then she smiled.

“Aiah, kung may pinagsisisihan man ako, it’s that I never really asked you rin before. Kung nagihirapan ka na ba? Are you really okay? I just regretted not giving you a reason enough to tell me what was wrong. And that hinayaan lang kitang umalis everytime.”

With that, I cried. “I’m so sorry, Mikha. Ako, I regretted everything I did before. But I want to let you know na I never cheated on you. Caelan—he was just something I can vent on all of my frustrations, but we didn’t do anything and I didn’t feel anything for him-“

“-Aiah, let’s be real. With our set up before, the fact that he liked you and he took advantage of it, my absence and our lack of time together — it will eventually lead to that,” she held my hand. “I already forgave you, so please forgive yourself too.”

“Ang tagal kong naniwala na we would end up together, na maybe our quiet love is enough for us to stay. I thought it was you and me against the world,” she paused. “You know, if someone would ask me if I’m sad na I didn’t end up with my greatest love, I would say na it’s not something to be sad about,” my heart clenched as she said that.

“It’s not sad, Aiah. Because I met you,” she smiled. “It’s not sad because it was so great — it felt so great na hanggang ngayon nararamdaman ko pa rin yun. The love that could sneak every night, eat at a small ramen shop, get chased by paparazzis, my god! Let’s hide at the most disgusting places, sa likod ng basurahan! And it would still be the best life I would ever had. It’s (the love) something na I can never forget, I just feel happy na I got to experience it. Hellooo! I was a popstar’s girlfriend kaya.”

I guess the love never really stopped amidst of all that mess. The love had always been there, we were just two people in love that went through problems.

Wala na akong ibang nagawa kundi ngumiti na lang. “You still are, Mikha,” she just chuckled, and I stared at her. Because that laugh stirred something inside me, something so familiar. Like the first time I saw her.

You still are, just not with me.

“But I’m most thankful that I experienced it with you. That I was once loved by Mariah Arceta.”

I looked at her, the girl I loved and lost. And I saw a strength I never knew she had. A kindness that stayed even after all the pain.
We talked about everything. About the past, about the mistakes, about the love that was still there but couldn’t be enough.

I asked her, quietly, almost afraid of the answer. “Do you love her?”

She looked at me, her eyes soft, her smile gentle. “Yes, Aiah. I love her very much. She just came when I was at my lowest and never once made me feel hard to love. You loved the version of me that was easy to love — you had me at my best. But she stayed when I was falling apart… and loved me anyway. She sees me—really sees me—and still chooses me every day. With her, I feel safe, free, and whole… something I never really felt with you.”

I smiled too, but it broke me inside. That was enough. I wanted to hold onto her, to tell her everything would be okay. Na kaya ko na rin s’yang ipagsigawan sa mundo. But I knew some loves are meant to heal us, not keep us forever.

Now, I just have to accept the fact that she said goodbye. I guess it’s over. We’re still soulmates, yes. Just not the kind who ends up together.

19 - Ghost

Days later, I opened Twitter without thinking. Just muscle memory. Just habit.
Just a girl alone in her condo, trying not to drown in the quiet.

I typed the words slowly, every letter a confession I never got to say out loud.

“No one had ever loved me like you did. And I have never loved anyone the way I love you.”

Then I pressed send. I didn’t even check it. Didn’t try to soften it, didn’t make it vague. Just let it bleed.

The fans noticed, of course. They always do.

“Who was she talking about? Why did she say loved and love in the same sentence?”

“Poor aiah, ramdam ko yung relapse n’ya ngayon huhu”

“minumulto ‘to ngayon pusta”

But I didn’t reply.
I just let the silence do what I couldn’t: speak.

Because some aches are too old for explanation. Some griefs don’t want to be healed — they just want to be seen.

Now I sit by the window of this too-clean, too-quiet condo. My phone lies face-down on the table, screen off, world shut out.
Outside, the city glows like it always does — too loud, too bright, too alive for how hollow I feel.

And I wonder.

Was this the life I fought so hard to build?
The life I chose over love? Over her?

I used to think the spotlight would be enough. That the stage would fill the space she left behind. That applause could drown out regret. But it doesn’t. Not really.

I miss her.

Not just the person — but the safety of her.
The quiet comfort of being held with no expectations. The way she looked at me like I was enough, even on the days I didn’t believe it myself.

Maybe this is the price of chasing dreams without holding onto your anchor.
Maybe I traded forever for a flicker of fame.

I don’t have the answers yet. But maybe someday, I’ll find peace. Maybe the ache will soften. Maybe I’ll learn how to love myself the way she once did — without condition, without fear, without hiding.

And maybe, if I’m lucky…
The next time I look out this window, the city won’t feel so cold.

But for now, I’ll just sit in the dark, and remember the girl with the red hair who once lit up every corner of my sky.

Chapter Text

Epilogue — The Day She Chose Herself

The room smelled like fresh flowers and warm vanilla. The lights above glowed softly, almost like the sky was blessing this moment. Mikha stood in front of the mirror, her heart beating calmly — not nervously, not with fear, but with peace.

She looked beautiful. Not because of the dress, or the soft curls in her hair, or the way her eyes sparkled. She looked beautiful because she was sure. This time, she was choosing the right kind of love.

A knock on the door.

"Five minutes," her best friend said.

Mikha nodded, smiling. She held her bouquet close, the soft red roses matching the streak of red in her hair — a small reminder of who she had always been. Even when it was hard. Even when she was breaking.

The music started. People turned. The doors opened.

And there she was — Sophia, standing at the end of the aisle.

Her smile was wide, her eyes already tearing up. She looked like sunshine, like safety, like a thousand loud “I love yous” that never needed to be whispered. This was the girl who never hid her. Who screamed “Sexy Love” in a crowded volleyball game. Who told the world, "She’s mine."

Mikha stepped forward slowly, each step a memory. Of pain. Of healing. Of learning to breathe again. And of choosing herself — finally.

And then she saw her.

Aiah.

Sitting quietly on the left side, near the back. Her eyes soft, lips pressed together in something like a smile. A heartbreak smile. The kind that still aches even when it understands.

Mikha paused for a moment when their eyes met.

No words.
Just a quiet look.
And then Mikha whispered, almost like a prayer only Aiah could hear:
“Thank you.”

Because Aiah was part of the story too.
 She was the beginning.
 She was the reason Mikha learned what it meant to love quietly — and what it meant to finally want more.

From Aiah, Mikha learned what it felt like to be unseen.

From Sophia, she learned what it meant to be loved out loud.

From both, she learned that healing isn’t forgetting — it’s forgiving, especially yourself.

That sometimes soulmates come and go.
 That some loves stay in the heart, even when they’re not in your life.

And that sometimes, the greatest kind of love…
 is choosing yourself first,
 so when real love finds you,
 you finally have space to say yes.

Mikha took a deep breath.
Then she walked down the aisle.
And this time, she didn’t look back.

Chapter Text

“No one had ever loved me like you did. And I have never loved anyone the way I love you.”
.
.
THE MORNING AFTER

My phone was vibrating like crazy under my pillow. Nonstop. As in parang may lindol sa kama ko.

I groaned, still half-asleep. “Ugh... anong kalokohan na naman ’to…”

I reached under the pillow and pulled it out.

48 missed calls
300+ notifs
12 unread group chats
2 voice messages

And my name—AIAH ARCETA—flashing in bold letters at the top of the trending list.

My brain hadn’t even booted up yet. Still loading. Then a message from one of my members popped up in all caps:

“ATE. GET UP. NOW. TWITTER IS A MESS. YOU’RE #1 TRENDING. NOT IN A GOOD WAY.”

My stomach twisted.
 I opened the app.

And then I saw it.

#AiahArcetaExposed
#SexyLoveLeaks
#TOTGAConfirmed
#AiahWasThere
#MikhaSophiaAiah
#WattpadIRL
#JusticeForMikha

I blinked. Closed the app. Opened it again.
Still there.

My heart started racing. Palms? Sweaty. Throat? Dry.
 Brain? Screaming.

“What the hell is happening…”

My heart dropped to my stomach. 
I tapped the top trend. And there it was.

A thread.

By a RANDOM Twitter user with a frog profile photo and the bio:
“Truth hurts but I’m here to hurt feelings 🤷‍♀️”

Their @?
@spillthefrog

Their tweet?
@spillthefrog:
:y’all crying over that aiah tweet like you don’t know what REALLY happened.
:y’all want tea? ok here’s what really went down 🍵
#SexyLoveLeaks
#AiahWasThere
#TotgaConfirmed

I swear, I felt my soul leave my body.

Tweet 1:
:let’s start here: AIAH and MIKHA? yeah they weren’t just “close.” they were SECRETLY DATING.
 no label to fans, no hard launch. just soft kisses in the dark and matching keychains.
:
y’all thought it was fanservice. babes… IT WAS REAL.

Photo 1: A blurry mirror selfie. Aiah with her arm around Mikha’s waist. Mikha wearing Aiah’s hoodie.
Photo 2: Matching frog keychains, same style, different colors.
Photo 3: Aiah wiping Mikha’s sweat at a volleyball practice WAY back in college.

Tweet 2:
:they were THE power couple. secret but solid. fans just didn’t connect the dots.
:but the signs? babe. the signs were SIGNING.
:mikha’s journals. aiah’s sad lyrics.
:they weren’t “besties.” they were “babe-sties.” 😭✋

Tweet 3:
:and then there was the INCIDENT.
:
yes bff mikha GOT SHOT. robbery attempt. tragic af.
:everyone asked where aiah was. she was "busy" daw.

Photo 4: The actual crime scene. Mikha on the ground.
Photo 5: Aiah at the hospital. Hoodie on. Face covered.

But the eyes?
Crying. Red. Swollen.

:and y’all said she wasn’t there? lol. think again.

Tweet 4:
:now let’s talk about CAELAN.
:mr. therapist-boy-bestie.
:Aiah x Caelan was NEVER a thing — but the rumors hurt Mikha.
:and guess what? she still stayed.
:she even planned their anni dinner. WAITED 5 HOURS.
:and guess who didn’t show up? 🤡

Photo 6: Mikha alone in a restaurant. Dressed up. Table for two.
Photo 7: Aiah and Caelan in a van. She looks… miserable.

Tweet 5:
:after that, her friends went OFF.
:
remember those subtweets?
:yeah, those were real. and they were MAD MAD.

Screencaps of tweets from Mikha’s volleyball girls:
“u don’t leave someone bleeding and call it love lol.”
“i hope u heal, even if she didn’t deserve what u did.”
“popstar ka nga. but u dropped the mic on the wrong person.”

Tweet 6:
:and AIAH? she was NEVER the same.
:
sis went full sadgirl. no more bright eyes. no more genuine smiles.
every performance? empty.
:
and the songs? straight up from a heartbreak playlist.
:ever wondered why her sad songs hit so hard? YEAH now u know

Photo 8: Aiah in a rehearsal. Hoodie. Eyes puffy. Sunglasses indoors.
Photo 9: Side-by-side. “Then vs Now.”
Caption: “from girlfriend era to grief era 😭”

Tweet 7:
:and THEN, this happened.

Photo 10: Secret snap of Aiah and Mikha at the volleyball game. Talking alone. Faces close.

Caption:
“u don’t look at someone like that unless u still love them.”

Tweet 8:
:and y’all wonder why she tweeted that last night?

screenshot of Aiah’s tweet:
“no one has ever loved me like you did. and i have never loved anyone the way i loved you.”

:BABE WE GET IT. YOU MISS HER. WE DO TOO.

Tweet 9:
conclusion:

mikha = totga.
sophia = current gf (yes they’re dating, open ur eyes).
aiah = sad poetic gay girl with 0.5 regret per second.
this story? wattpad-coded. kdrama levels.

me? entertained.
y’all? you’re welcome 😘
#SexyLoveLeaks

AND THE INTERNET??

LOST.
ITS.
MIND.

Fan Tweets:
“THIS IS THE BEST LEAK IN HISTORY IDC IDC”

“I FEEL LIKE I’M READING A 93-CHAPTER AO3 ENTRY”

“aiah letting THAT woman go is WILD behavior”

“sophia better protect mikha at ALL COSTS”

“my girls are fighting but in a classy sapphic way 😭”

“TOTGA? more like TO-TWEET-GA.”

“why do the hottest people have the saddest love stories”

“somebody give @spillthefrog a journalism award pls”

“this is not a ship. THIS IS A CRUISE.”

“BEST REAL LIFE ANGST EVER”

“akala ko kung anong tumutulo… luha ko pala”

-

I knew the moment I opened my eyes that something was wrong. You know that heavy feeling? When you just know the world is on fire… and you might’ve lit the match?

Yup. That was today.

My phone was vibrating like crazy on the nightstand. It was hot from all the notifications. My group chat was exploding. I didn’t even have time to scroll before—

BANG BANG BANG

Someone was at the door. No, wait. Someone was about to break it.

“AIAH ARCETA, OPEN THIS DOOR RIGHT NOW.”

It was my manager.

She barged into my condo like a typhoon, hair wild, eyes already bulging from stress.

“WHAT DID YOU POST LAST NIGHT?”

I stayed seated on the couch. Hoodie up. Blank stare. Still groggy.

“Did you even THINK?” she continued. “Do you know what kind of scandal this is? That thread exposed years of your life! Your private relationship, the Caelan drama, the—the hospital photos?? WHAT EVEN??”

I didn’t say anything. I just handed her my phone.

There, on the screen, was that one image from the thread:

Mikha. Smiling. In the middle of a gym.
Sophia. Right behind her. Holding her hand.
They looked peaceful. Happy. Real.

Then, my phone lit up again.

Mikha:
“Hey… saw the thread. You okay?”

Me:
“No. But I’m ready to talk. Can we?”

-

We met in a quiet café in Quezon City. Lowkey. Tinted windows. Safe.

Mikha arrived first, her hair tied up in that lazy bun she used to wear when she’d sneak into my studio. Still the same Mikha. But softer. Stronger.

And beside her?
Sophia.
Calm. Classy. Unbothered. But alert — like she was ready to defend Mikha at any second if I said the wrong thing.

I stood there for a few seconds before approaching.

“Hi,” I said, my voice almost a whisper.

“Hi,” Mikha answered, standing up. Then she surprised me.

She hugged me.

Not long. Not desperate. Just enough.
 Like a full stop on a long, run-on sentence.

I tried not to cry.

We sat down. The three of us. The most awkward throuple that never happened.

“I didn’t mean for this to explode like that,” I started. “I didn’t know someone would—”

Sophia raised her hand gently. “It’s okay,” she said, calmly. “Whatever pain you caused her before… she already healed from that. She chose to forgive you. And I trust her.”

I looked at Mikha. She smiled — sad, but sure.
“I’m sorry again,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “For everything. For not staying. For hiding you. For making you feel like you had to fight for a space in my life.”

Mikha just reached for her coffee and took a slow sip. “It’s not your fault alone,” she said. “We were young. You were scared. I kept hoping you’d choose me, but I never really asked how heavy it was to carry all that pressure.”

“Still…” I looked down. “You didn’t deserve to bleed alone. I should’ve been there.”

She didn’t reply. But she didn’t have to.

Because when Sophia reached out and took Mikha’s hand across the table, and Mikha laced their fingers together effortlessly…

That’s when I knew.

This was it.
The real ending.
No cliffhanger.
No sudden twist.

Just… peace.

-

As we walked out of the café, I turned to Mikha one last time.

“Thank you,” I said. “For everything. For loving me, even when I didn’t know how to love myself.”

Mikha smiled again — the kind of smile you give when you’ve already made peace with the past.

“I’ll always be rooting for you Aiah, you know that,” she said softly.

“Just not beside you.”

-

That night, I sat by my window, just staring at the city.

Too loud. Too bright. Too alive.
But I knew what I needed to do.

At 10:31 PM, I opened Twitter and typed.

“Yes, everything in that thread was true.

Mikha and I shared something real, deep, and beautiful.
 She was my best friend, my safe place, my first great love.

I hurt her. I lost her. And I’ll carry that for the rest of my life.

But I’m happy for her now.
 She deserves the kind of love that’s proud, loud, and soft at the same time.
She found that in Sophia.

And me? I’m still learning how to love myself the way she once did. I’m not here to reopen wounds.
 I’m closing this chapter with love and peace.

Please respect our past, and most especially, her present.

Mikhaela Janna Lim — you are and will always be my TOTGA.
 Thank you for loving me.

I’ll never love anyone the way I loved you :))

– Aiah

I pressed “Tweet.”
And just like that, I closed the door.

-

At 11:45 PM, Sophia finally dropped the bomb.

“Yes. I’m dating Mikha.
 No, we’re not hiding anymore.

The past is part of our story — but it doesn’t define our future. I love her. She loves me.
 That’s all that matters.

Thank you to everyone who stayed kind through the mess.

And to Aiah — thank you for loving her the way you did.
You helped shape the woman I now call mine.

We’re okay. We’re happy. And we’re moving forward.”

Attached photo:
Sophia hugging Mikha from behind.
Mikha’s head leaning back into her shoulder.
Both of them laughing, mid-motion. Glowing.

I stared at it for a minute.

Smiled through the ache.
Then I double-tapped.

Aiah liked this.

FAN REACTIONS — THE INTERNET GOES FERAL (AGAIN)

“IS THIS A MOVIE??? THIS IS A MOVIE.”

“She called her TOTGA. I am crying. Sobbing. Screaming.”

“Sophia Laforteza you are SO powerful for this mature hard launch.”

“This is the most respectful love triangle I’ve ever seen 😭”

“I want what these three have… minus the trauma.”

“I hope Aiah heals and finds a girl who looks at her the way Mikha looked at Sophia.”

“Sayang… but my god, what a beautiful ending.”

“REAL WOMEN. REAL FEELINGS. REAL GROWN-UP LOVE.”

“Wattpad authors are shaking rn.”

“not me making a playlist for the story like it’s real… oh wait.”

-

We didn’t end up together.
We didn’t get the wedding, or the comeback, or the kiss in the rain.
But we got something else.

We got peace.
We got clarity.
We got the chance to say goodbye without bitterness.

The love? 
It was real.
The goodbye? 
It was honest.

And honestly?
That’s enough.

BONUS TWEETS:

“IDK but Sophia feels like a rebound. Aiah was her soulmate. Don’t argue.”

“Mikha, baby, I KNOW Sophia treats you right but… you still smiled the brightest with Aiah 😭💔”

“Aiah was the blueprint. Sophia is the editable Canva version.”

“Mikha and Aiah's pain was the kind of slowburn that built empires… Sophia’s giving early Wattpad love interest”

“Okay but why does Sophia feel like the safe choice, not the passionate one?”

“Y’all is it just me or I don’t trust Sophia 😭 something about her gives me soft-launch energy even during a hard launch”

“I REFUSE TO BELIEVE THIS IS THE END. MIKHAIAH WAS ENDGAME”

“SOPHIA STANS CAN FIGHT ME. AIAH MADE HER LAUGH HARDER!!!”

-

“Mikha didn’t move on. She leveled up. Sophia is THE woman. Next question!”

“Respectfully, Sophia is hotter, more talented, and unproblematic. Goodbye!”

“Sophia said ‘I love her, she loves me’ without drama meanwhile Aiah was crying in a hoodie for three years”

“Mikha went from closet to red carpet. From crumbs to a buffet. From ‘please don’t leave me’ to ‘I choose you everyday’”

“Sophia’s vocals? Her dancing? The way she protects Mikha publicly? Sorry but Aiah could never”

“Mikha went from being a secret to being celebrated. That’s the glow-up.”

“Y’all call it ‘TOTGA’? I call it ‘TOXIC LOVE THAT SHE SURVIVED”

“Sophia hard-launched and served. Cry harder Aiah stans 🥰”

-

“They were soulmates. The timing just wasn’t.”

“You can’t fake that kind of history. Mikhaiah was real. They just didn’t make it to the ending”

“They had love letters. Rooftop moments. Ramen shops. You can’t fight history with Instagram posts”

“I’m not team Aiah or Sophia. I’m team Mikha and her healing. But my heart? Still with Aiah’s letter 😭”

“I just know Mikha still thinks about her sometimes when it rains.”

“That ‘you’re still my TOTGA’ tweet ruined my year already and it’s only June wth”

-

“CAN WE GET A NETFLIX SERIES PLEASE?? I NEED ACTORS RN”

“The plot twist? Sophia, Aiah, and Mikha do a podcast together 😭😭😭”

“SOPHIA IS THE WIFE. AIAH IS THE EX WHO’LL ALWAYS BE IN THE WEDDING SLIDESHOW.”

“Naalala ko pa nung ang drama lang natin eh kung secret friends ba sila. Now? Gunshot, heartbreak, and lesbian love triangles”

“I’m just here for the fanfics and the Spotify playlists. Please carry on.”

“This is more painful than my thesis and I’m only on Chapter 2”

“They’re all too hot for this. Like excuse me? Love triangle of the century??”

“No one talk to me I’m rewatching the volleyball fancam where Sophia screamed ‘SEXY LOVE’ while Aiah watched from the shadows 😭”