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Chapter Text

Stacey and I had been inseparable for fifteen years. A lifetime of inside jokes, whispered secrets, and unshakable loyalty. But for the last seven, I’d been carrying something alone. Something fragile and burning quietly inside me.

I was completely, hopelessly in love with my best friend.

It didn’t happen all at once. At first, I brushed it off as admiration. A deep bond, sure. But the moment I knew, really knew, hit me like a punch to the chest.

It was the night of the Battle of the Bands. I'd poured everything into that performance. Every beat, every lyric, every shred of energy I had. My heart had been pounding with adrenaline and hope, convinced we were going to win. I lived for competition; I always had. But second place felt like a slap. All that effort, and it still wasn’t enough.

I remember staying in our garden afterward, the moonlight barely touching the wilted flowers. That space used to calm me, but not that night. I was crumpled on the bench, knees to my chest, sobbing like something inside me had snapped. The voice in my head kept asking; Why wasn’t I enough?

Then I felt it. Warmth.

Not metaphorical. Stacey. Sitting next to me, quiet as ever, just there.

She didn’t say anything for a long time. Just leaned in, steady and solid. I didn’t even have to look. I knew it was her. I could feel her presence like gravity.

“You know,” she said softly, finally breaking the silence. “Feeling ko bingi yung mga judges.”

I let out a breath, shaky and sharp. “No, Stacey, they were just better.”

“Better?” She let out a little laugh, light in the darkness. “Meron ba silang drummer na sobrang astig? I don't think so.”

I sniffled, the ghost of a smile twitching at my lips. “You're just saying that.”

“Am I?” Then she slipped an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close. Her voice softened, almost like a secret. “All I saw tonight was my best friend on stage, and she was the best one there. Ang galing galing mo kanina, Colet. You were enough and more.”

And that was the moment.

The moment it all shifted.

I turned to her, really looked at her and it hit me like a storm surge. The softness in her eyes, the way her hand held me, not like I was breakable, but like I mattered. Her smile was this warm, delicate thing, and I felt it, my heart. It flipped. Fluttered. Sank and soared at the same time.

That wasn’t just comfort. It wasn’t just support. It was love.

And after that night, everything changed.

Every time she smiled at me, my stomach would knot with butterflies. When she stood too close, I could barely breathe. I started noticing everything. How her laugh curled at the edges, how her hand would brush mine when we walked side by side. And every time it happened, I’d freeze or pull away, terrified she might see what I was trying so hard to hide.

But of course she noticed.

She always noticed.

One day, I slammed my locker shut and practically jumped out of my skin. Stacey was right there, leaning against the locker like she’d been waiting for hours.

“Anong problema mo?” she asked, brows furrowed.

“Huh? Wala.” I forced a laugh, but it sounded wrong even to me.

“Don’t lie to me,” she said, voice sharp with worry.

“I’m not lying!” I insisted, already starting to walk away, desperate to escape before the tears or the truth caught up with me.

But she followed. Of course she did.

“Did I do something? Did I say something to hurt you?” she asked, her tone softening now, like she was afraid of the answer.

“Stacey, wag kang makulit, wala nga.” I snapped, colder than I meant to. And the second the words left my mouth, I regretted them.

I kept walking, but the silence behind me hit like a brick. No footsteps.

I stopped. Closed my eyes.

Please don’t be crying.

When I finally turned around, my heart shattered. Stacey stood a few feet away, lip trembling, eyes glassy. And then a tear slipped down her cheek.

“Oh my god, are you crying?” I gasped, rushing back to her. “Staks, ‘wag kang umiyak, please.”

Her pout deepened as more tears followed. I panicked, glancing around before gently brushing them away with my thumb.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to be so cold.”

She sniffled. “Hin-hindi ko kasi alam-alam kung-kung may gi-ginawa ba ko-ko. Did I- did I offend you-you?”

Hearing her voice like that, cracked and uncertain, it made something inside me twist painfully.

“No, Staks. Never. I swear.” I took her hand, holding it tightly between mine. “Lately I’ve just been losing myself. I’ve been a mess. And I’ve been pushing you away and you’re the last person in the world I want to hurt.”

Then she threw her arms around me, clinging like I was slipping away. “Please, stop doing that,” she whispered, her voice still trembling. “Nag-o-overthink ako. I can’t handle it when you’re cold to me, Colet. Don’t ever do that again.”

I held her close, breathing her in. She smelled like vanilla and peppermint and everything that felt safe.

“I’m really sorry,” I murmured into her hair. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Hindi ko naisip yung nararamdaman mo. Sorry, Staks.”

There was a beat of quiet, and then she pulled back just enough to look at me, her eyes shining.

“What if?”

I blinked. “If what?”

Her lips tugged up into the tiniest smile. “Libre mo ko ng ice cream!”

I laughed, the tension finally breaking. It felt like a breath after drowning. We were okay again. For now.

As we walked side by side, our hands brushing, I told myself not to overthink the flutter in my chest.

It was just relief.

Just relief.

Nothing more.

Right?

We were fine.

At least, that’s what I kept telling myself.

We were fine because Stacey didn’t know. She didn’t see how I looked at her when she wasn’t paying attention, or how her voice could make my heart skip a beat just by saying my name a certain way. As long as I kept it buried, we were okay.

But each day it got harder. Like something as simple as her wearing my hoodie was enough to drive me insane.

I wasn’t expecting her to wear it.

My hoodie.

It was nothing special, gray, slightly oversized, soft from too many washes. She had borrowed it a few days ago when she got cold during class and said she’d return it the next day.

She didn’t.

Instead, she showed up at school wearing it like it was hers.

“Uy,” I said when I saw her coming down the hallway. “Yan ‘yung hoodie ko, ah.”

She just grinned, tugging it tighter around herself. “You weren’t wearing it. And it smells like you.”

My brain short-circuited for half a second.

“What?”

She blinked, then shrugged, too casually. “I mean, your shampoo. Or sabon ba 'to? Whatever. I like it.”

I couldn’t speak. I just stared as she brushed past me, her hand grazing my arm like it meant nothing.

But it meant everything.

The whole day, I kept catching myself watching her. Watching how the sleeves were too long on her. Watching how she tugged the hood up when she was cold. Watching how she absentmindedly hugged herself during math class, like she was hugging me.

It was ridiculous. Stupid. Dangerous.

But I couldn’t stop the heat that crept up my neck every time someone said, “Uy, Stacey, kay Colet ‘yan diba?”

And she never denied it.

She just smiled.

At night on the same day, we were at her place, and she was showing me her updated skincare routine. Something I pretended to care about just so I could spend more time with her. She handed me a face mask.

“Here,” she said. “Trust me, your skin will thank you.”

“You just want to mess with my face,” I joked, tearing the packet open.

“Maybe,” she grinned. “But you’ll look glowing after. Like, kilig-worthy glowing.”

I raised an eyebrow. “At para kanino naman?”

She blinked, then smirked. “Basta. Malay mo.”

She stood in front of me, took a bit of product on her fingers, and without warning applied it to my cheeks herself.

Her face was close. Too close. I could feel her breath, smell her citrus-scented moisturizer. Her touch was gentle.

“There,” she murmured, smoothing it in. “Soft ka na ulit.”

I didn’t breathe until she stepped back.

My skin was on fire, and it had nothing to do with the skincare.

It was another day, at school, she was talking to this guy from our math class. Ely was harmless, kind of charming, the type that made everyone laugh during group projects.

They were joking around, and she laughed in that way she only did when something genuinely got her. Her hand brushed his arm. Light. Careless.

But my stomach clenched.

I looked away, trying to focus on my own conversation. I could feel it creeping in again. Jealousy. Ugly, sour, and absolutely unjustified. I had no right to feel it. And I knew that.

But knowing didn’t make it stop.

Later, when we were walking home, Stacey was quiet for a moment before suddenly saying, “Colet, what if Ely asked me out, do you think I should say yes?”

I almost tripped.

“Why?” I asked, trying so hard to sound casual, but my voice came out higher than I wanted.

“I don’t know. He’s cute. And nice. And maybe gusto ko lang malaman yung opinion mo?”

My throat tightened. I didn’t know what she wanted me to say. 

So I laughed instead. Sharp. Forced.

“If gusto mo sya, why not?” I said, keeping my eyes on the road ahead.

There was a pause. I could feel her watching me.

“Colet.” she said quietly. “Sure ka? Walang magiging problem? Okay lang sa’yo?”

I nodded. Too fast. “Of course. Totally.”

She didn’t say anything after that, but the tension between us was thick the rest of the walk.

A few days later, I found myself sitting on her bed, surrounded by dresses and regret.

She’d texted me earlier: "Help me pick something cute for Saturday? ☺️💖"

I said yes, like I always do.

Now I was here, cross-legged on her bed while the sun painted soft gold streaks across her floor, pretending this was just another afternoon. Pretending I wasn’t helping the girl I liked get ready for a date with someone else.

She held up a navy blue dress against herself, glancing at the mirror. “This one? Too formal?”

I shrugged. “Depends. Where’s he taking you?”

She smiled, eyes lighting up a little. “Some cafe near the park. Yung may string lights sa labas. Kind of cute, kind of lowkey.”

Of course it was.

“Then maybe something lighter?” I said. “Hindi ganun ka-heavy yung vibe.”

She nodded and tossed the dress onto the growing pile beside me. It landed with a soft thump, right next to my hand.

She disappeared into the closet again.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and stared at the ceiling for a second.

I should’ve said something. When she asked me that day. She gave me a way in. An opening. And I just let it go. Maybe I thought if I ignored it long enough, the feeling would pass. But sitting here now, seeing her excited, seeing her try to look perfect for someone else. All it did was make the silence louder.

“I found it!” she called out.

She stepped into the light in a cream-colored dress that brushed just above her knees, soft and fluttery like something from a quiet dream.

It suited her too well.

“What do you think?” she asked, twirling slightly. Her hair lifted with her spin. She looked effortless.

I stared for a second too long.

“You look beautiful,” I said, because it was the truth.

Her face lit up. “You think he’ll like it?”

My hands curled tighter in my lap.

Do you care if I like it?

But I only said, “Sympre naman! Stupid sya, if not.”

She turned back to the mirror, smoothing the dress down, humming to herself.

And I sat there, drowning in words I didn’t say, in a room full of pretty things that weren’t mine.

Still silent.
Still smiling.

Still pretending it didn’t hurt.

“Colet, anak! Nandito si Stacey!”

My mom’s voice floated up the stairs, a little surprised, a little curious.

I sat up fast, phone still glowing beside me on the bed. The half-sent message staring back: Did your date go okay?

I didn’t hit send. I didn’t need to.

I was already heading down the stairs when I heard the soft murmur of voices or rather, one voice. Stacey's. Quiet. Tired.

Stacey was standing in our living room, still wearing the same cream-colored dress I helped her choose. Her arms were wrapped around herself, cardigan buttoned up to her collarbone. Her makeup was faintly smudged, not from crying, just worn. Like she'd had to hold herself together for too long.

She looked up as I stepped into the room. Her smile was small, almost apologetic. “Hey.”

My heart thudded in my chest. “Hey. You okay?”

She nodded, hesitated. “Can I stay over?”

I glanced at my mom, who gave me that look; the kind that said she's family, and walked back into the kitchen without a word.

I reached for Stacey’s hand. “Come on.”

Upstairs, everything felt quieter. The moment the bedroom door closed behind us, she let out a breath like she’d been holding it in all night.

“Did something happen?” I asked softly.

She shook her head. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Okay.” I didn’t press. I just stepped closer and touched her wrist, lightly. “Do you want to borrow something comfy?”

She nodded, eyes already glassy from exhaustion, and I handed her an old oversized shirt she’d probably worn ten times before.

When she came back, barefoot and quiet, she looked more like herself. She crawled into bed beside me, sat up with her knees pulled to her chest.

“Still got your favorite,” I said, tossing the pack of gummy bears into her lap.

Her eyes lit up just a little. “You’re kidding.”

“Always prepared,” I said, settling beside her.

She tore open the bag, popped a red one in her mouth, then closed her eyes like it was some sacred ritual. “Grabe! I love this!"

“I wouldn’t feed you anything less.”

She laughed softly, and I felt my chest loosen just a little.

After a few more gummy bears and a few quiet moments, she leaned her head on my shoulder. Her hair tickled my neck, but I didn’t move. I didn’t want to.

“Ely has terrible taste in dessert, by the way,” she murmured.

I paused, waiting for her to say more but she didn’t. So I didn’t ask. Instead, I leaned my head lightly against hers. “Natatandaan mo nung science camp, we tried to build a soda bottle rocket?”

“And it exploded on the launchpad and almost blinded us,” she said.

“Grabe sigaw mo nun.”

“You bled!”

We both laughed, for real this time. Like we used to, before the tension, before Ely, before everything got quiet and confusing.

She tugged my hand into hers, lacing our fingers together. It was casual, like a habit but it wasn’t. Not really. Not anymore.

“Your hand’s still warm,” she said.

“Yours is freezing.”

“Then don’t let go.”

I didn’t plan to.

We laid back, side by side, our joined hands resting between us on the blanket. She reached over with her other hand and gently brushed my bangs from my face, fingers grazing my temple before drifting back.

“Ang haba na ng hair mo,” she said.

I turned my head slightly to look at her, really look at her. Her face was soft, her eyes a little tired but calm. No trace of the girl who left for a date earlier. Just Stacey. My Stacey.

“Salamat, Colet,” she said. “I didn’t want to be alone.”

“You’re not,” I said. “You never are.”

She rolled toward me, close enough now that I could feel her breath fan across my cheek. She didn’t say anything, just looked at me, for a long, long moment then leaned forward and rested her forehead gently against mine.

It wasn’t a kiss. But it felt like one. Her fingers found mine again, squeezing gently. I squeezed back.

And in the silence that followed, in the gummy bear wrappers, the soft laughter, her skin warm against mine; I felt something I hadn’t felt in a while.

Not clarity. Not certainty.

Just this quiet, glowing kind of joy.

A soft happiness that didn’t ask questions.

It just stayed.

It was our last year of senior high. Three years that I have been keeping my feelings for her.

The year everything was supposed to come together, plans, dreams, the future. But it was also the year I started realizing some things don’t fall into place. Sometimes, they fall apart quietly.

Stacey got a boyfriend. His name was Mike.

I heard about it first from someone else. Some girl in our section who saw them holding hands outside the school gates. My heart dropped into my stomach before I could even stop it.

When I asked her about it, Stacey just said, “Yeah. It kind of just happened.”

And maybe that was the part that hurt the most. That something so big could happen just like that.

At first, nothing changed too much. She still sat next to me in class, still messaged me during lunch. But slowly, our little world, the one we had built between library whispers and late-night gummy bear talks began to shrink.

Plans were canceled.

Study dates became “Can we resched?”

Movie nights turned into, “Mike already bought tickets, sorry.”

Always with an apologetic smile, always with a touch to my arm like that made it okay. And I kept saying it was okay. Even when it wasn’t.

I tried to keep my life full, if not with her, then with something else. I started accepting invitations to sing at school events. Club fairs. Foundation Day. Random birthdays of people I barely knew. Apparently, people liked hearing me sing.

Suddenly I was “Colet, the girl who performed at the Linggo ng Wika program.”

“Colet, ang ganda ng boses mo pala?”

“Colet, can you sing for our event next month?”

The compliments came easy. Too easy. So I smiled and said yes. All the time. I kept myself busy. Too busy to think. Too busy to feel the way Stacey stopped looking for me first. Too busy to realize I was standing in crowded rooms, being seen by everyone but known by no one. Boys and girls started talking to me more. People I barely interacted with before were suddenly “interested.” They said nice things, complimented my voice, offered to walk me home, some even left notes in my locker. I didn’t know how to handle it. So I smiled. Laughed. Acted like I understood what I was doing. But I didn’t. The truth was, I was still looking for one person in every crowd.

Still watching the door in case she came in late.

Still checking my phone, waiting for her name to appear.

And sometimes it did. But the messages were shorter now.

“Good luck sa event! Galingan mo 😘”

“So sorry again about tonight 😭 next time, I promise!!”

There was always a next time. Until I stopped believing there would be.

One night, after a performance at a school club party, I walked off the stage and heard someone say, “She’s really cute when she sings.”

A guy I didn’t know was smiling at me. His friend elbowed him playfully. I smiled back, out of habit, and thanked them.

But when I turned to grab my bag, I felt empty. Not flattered. Not excited. Just tired.

I walked out into the corridor and pulled out my phone, thumb hovering over Stacey’s name. I thought of calling her. Thought of asking her if she wanted to meet up, maybe go to that little café near school we used to sneak off to after classes.

But I saw her story before I could even hit dial.

A photo of her and Mike. Her head on his shoulder.

The caption:

“My favorite safe place 💙”

My chest tightened. I locked my phone.

At school, people thought I was glowing. They said I looked confident. That I was “blossoming.” That I was finally coming out of my shell. But I didn’t feel like I was growing.

I felt like I was hiding. Burying everything under applause, under forced laughter, under spotlights I never asked for.

And when I walked home alone after each event, voice sore, makeup smudged, smile long gone, I still found myself wishing she would call. Still hoping, quietly, that somehow, she’d remember who I used to be when it was just the two of us.

And maybe, maybe, that version of me was still enough.

Graduation was a few weeks away.

The air was heavy with deadlines, class photos, and half-meant promises of “we’ll still hang out, right?” Everyone was planning their endings like they had control over them. Like they knew how to say goodbye.

I wasn’t planning mine. I didn’t know how.

What I knew was this: Stacey was happy. Still with Mike. Still smiling. Still cancelling plans. And I was still trying to be fine with that.

It was a Friday when I first noticed it, not just what I lost, but what I had somehow found. Another cancelled dinner. Another unread message.

I sat alone in the empty hallway outside the music room, still dressed from rehearsal, still waiting. Hoping. Knowing.

And then:

“Hey. You okay?”

Reign. Again.

She always appeared like that, quietly, never demanding, never asking for more than I could give. I didn’t know when it started, exactly. Maybe it was the night Stacey bailed on our café plan and Reign found me in the courtyard, sitting alone with a melting iced coffee. She had just sat down beside me, no questions, and started talking about constellations.

Or maybe it was after that singing competition; the first solo one I ever joined. The one I lost.

Stacey was supposed to be there.

She wasn’t. But Reign was.

She found me backstage, barely holding back tears, makeup cracking, voice raw. She didn’t say, “It’s okay” or “You’ll do better next time.”

She just handed me a bottle of water, sat next to me, and said, “That was brave.”

No one else had said that. Not even me.

Now, weeks from graduation, I started noticing the pattern. Every time I was left waiting, Reign found me. Every time I felt stupid for hoping, she made it feel less lonely. She wasn’t loud about it. She just showed up.

One afternoon, we sat on the rooftop bleachers after class. I was humming something quietly, a half-finished melody I didn’t even realize she was listening to.

“Gawa mo?” she asked.

I shrugged. “Maybe. Just playing around.”

“Ganda,” she said, eyes still on the sky. “Sounds a little sad, though.”

“Most of my songs are,” I admitted.

Reign smiled, but didn’t press. She never did.

After a while, she pulled a pack of gummy bears from her bag and offered it to me.

I blinked. “You remember?”

“Sympre naman.” She tossed me a red one. “It’s you.”

I chewed slowly, letting the sweetness coat my tongue. I didn’t realize how much I needed that little moment. How grounding it was, how gentle.

“How do you do that?” I asked.

She looked at me, puzzled. “Do what?”

“Just, show up. Palagi.”

Her eyes softened. “Because you need someone who does.”

Simple. No drama. No expectations.

And that was the moment, that soft second between words, where something shifted in me.

Not a new crush. Not a dramatic realization.

Just a quiet blooming.

The days kept passing, fast and golden. Yearbooks were being passed around. Signatures. Doodles. Goodbye notes that didn’t know how to say goodbye.

Stacey and I still talked. Still smiled when we crossed paths. Still hugged. But something between us had thinned out. Stretched by time and choice.

One afternoon, we were both sitting in the classroom, waiting for a teacher who never showed up. She looked at me, eyes uncertain.

“Na-miss kita,” she said.

I smiled gently. “I’m still here.”

But I think we both knew; not in the same way.

The night before graduation, I got a message from Reign.

“Wanna go somewhere? Just us.”

I said yes.

We didn’t go far. Just the old rooftop behind the auditorium, the one no one really went to after dark. She brought snacks. I brought my guitar. We sat side by side under the faint stars, not talking much. It was the kind of silence that held meaning, not absence. I strummed a few chords. She hummed along. And when I stopped playing, she looked at me, really looked at me.

“You know, I think you have no idea how much people look at you like you’re the sun,” she said. “But you don’t need to be bright for everyone all the time.”

I didn’t say anything for a long time. My throat ached, but not in the way it used to when I was trying not to cry. It ached with softness. Gratitude.

“You always say the right thing,” I whispered.

Reign reached over and touched my hand, light, not assuming. Just warm. Real.

“Hindi,” she said. “I just say what’s true.”

And that was it.

No fireworks. No declarations.

Just two girls on a rooftop, under the stars, on the edge of something new.

One trying to move on.

The other just there.

And for the first time in a long while, I didn’t feel like I was waiting for someone else to choose me.

Because someone already had.

Reign and I were in the same university. Stacey enrolled to a different one. That helped.

After years of constant closeness, the sudden space between us felt jarring but necessary. I didn’t want to keep bleeding quietly over someone who would never love me the way I loved her.

So I let the distance grow. Not abruptly. Just enough. We still texted. Still called sometimes. But not every day. Not like before. And in that silence, I found a little room to breathe.

One night, I was driving home after a late class, my playlist low, headlights casting long shadows across the quiet street. I turned into our subdivision and slowed as I approached the gate then stopped.

Mikha, my bandmate, was standing outside, holding someone up by the arm.

Stacey.

My heart dropped. I parked and stepped out quickly.

“Colet,” Mikha said, relief flooding her voice. “Thank God. Hindi ko alam kung saan ko sya dadalhin."

Stacey was slumped against her, clearly drunk. Her mascara was smudged, hair disheveled, eyes barely open.

“Saw her at Rusty Mug,” Mikha continued. “Alone. Wasted. She didn’t want to go home, and I didn’t know who else to call.”

I stepped closer, reaching out to take Stacey’s other side. “It’s okay. I’ve got her.”

Stacey stirred, tried to say something, but it came out as a soft, broken sound. I guided her toward my car, opened the door, and helped her into the passenger seat. She leaned against the window like her bones couldn’t hold her up anymore.

I turned back to Mikha. “Thanks. Ako na bahala.”

She nodded, eyes still worried. “She kept mumbling about Mike. Something about him being gone. Di na kami nakaabot sa bahay nyo kasi pilit syang lumalabas ng car. Salamat sa child lock pero parang gusto nya basagin yung bintana ko." I looked at Mikha's car that was parked on the side of the road.

"Salamat Mikha. I owe you one."

"No probs! I'll go ahead."

My grip on the steering wheel tightened as I drove the few blocks to our house.

When we got home, I helped her inside, guiding her step by step, like we were walking on eggshells. I sat her down on the couch, grabbed a glass of water, and knelt in front of her.

She blinked at me, slowly, like it took effort just to focus. “He left,” she whispered. “Two months ago.”

I stared at her. “You and Mike?”

She nodded, her face crumpling. “He just ended it. Said he wasn’t happy anymore.”

I felt something sharp twist in my chest. “Bakit di mo sinabi sakin?”

“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” she said, voice breaking. “I didn’t want to need anyone.”

I didn’t know what to say. Two months. Two whole months of pretending. Of carrying pain in silence. While I’d been so focused on pulling away, thinking space would heal me.

But I hadn’t noticed she was falling apart.

I felt sick with guilt.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, sitting beside her. “I should’ve checked in more.”

She leaned into me, heavy and tired. “No. I pushed you away too. I guess we both just, disappeared.”

I held her tighter than I should’ve.

Because even after all the distance, even after all the silence, even after trying to let go. She still felt like home.

And I hated that part of me was relieved to have her back, even like this.

Even broken.

Even if she still wasn’t mine.

A week after that night, I visited Stacey at her university. It wasn’t planned. I just woke up that morning and decided maybe it was time I stopped waiting for her to show up. Maybe it was my turn to cross the distance we both built.

When I texted her that I was outside her building, she replied with a “Wait, what?!” followed by three missed calls in under a minute. She ran out not long after, hair slightly messy, notebook still in hand, and the look on her face. She was surprised.

Genuinely.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming,” she said, slightly breathless.

I shrugged, trying to act casual. “Parang gusto lang kitang makita. Is that okay?”

She stared at me for a second too long before answering. “Yeah. Of course. Yeah.”

We were about to head out when a group of her blockmates came around the corner, laughing loudly. One of them slowed down when she saw us.

“Oh my god,” she said, eyes widening. “Is that Colet?”

“Colet? As in Colet-Colet? From last year’s Music Fest?” another girl gasped.

“Told you it was her,” a third chimed in, giving her friend a triumphant look.

They swarmed toward us, clearly excited. I smiled out of politeness, but inside I already felt Stacey subtly stiffen beside me.

“I watched all your covers on YouTube, after kitang mapanood last year ng live!” one said, pushing her hair behind her ear like it was the first time anyone had ever pushed hair behind an ear before. “You’re, like, really talented. And hot, honestly.”

“Are you single?” another added, joking.

Stacey coughed, loudly.

I glanced at her.

She gave them a tight-lipped smile. “We were just on our way to lunch.”

“Oh, right! Sorry! We didn’t mean to interrupt,” one said. 

Then turned back to me, lowering her voice a little. “But can we take a quick photo? Please? My roommate will literally die when she sees this.”

Before I could answer, another girl had already pulled out her phone and was angling it just right.

“Here,” one said, stepping beside me. “We can do a selfie. Okay lang ba?” Her shoulder pressed into mine a little too long even after taking few photos. “You smell nice, by the way.”

I just laughed awkwardly. “Uh, thanks.”

That was when Stacey finally stepped forward and gently but firmly placed herself between me and the girl holding the phone.

“She only came to visit me,” she said with a sweet tone that didn’t match the look in her eyes. 

“So we kinda want to enjoy our time, y’know?”

“Oh, of course! Sorry!” They backed off quickly, but not without a few more stares and one last dramatic sigh from a girl who muttered, “Ugh, she’s even hotter in person.”

Once they were gone, Stacey didn’t say anything right away. But her lips were tight, and she kept her eyes straight ahead as we walked to the café.

We had lunch at a nearby café, and she was oddly quiet. I broke the silence when our food arrived.

“You okay?” I asked.

“I’m fine,” she answered quickly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You tell me,” I said, smirking. “You were basically throwing daggers with your eyes.”

She took a long sip of her drink. “I wasn’t.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Sure.”

She stabbed her fork into her pasta a little too aggressively. “They were all over you. Flipping their hair na akala mo nasa shampoo commercial. You were flattered.”

I laughed. “I was being polite.”

“You were being charmed,” she mumbled.

“If I didn’t know any better,” I said, leaning slightly closer across the table, “I’d say you were jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” she shot back, cheeks pink now. “I just don’t like when girls act like that. Ang aarte! Sobrang arte!”

“But you don’t care.”

“I don’t.”

“Okay.”

She glared at me. “Wag ka ngang ngumiti, nakakapikon.”

“I’m not.”

“You are. Your face is doing that smug thing.”

I grinned even wider and leaned back in my chair. “Interesting how fast your mood changed after a few girls took a liking to me.”

Stacey didn’t respond right away. She just rolled her eyes, poked at her food, and muttered under her breath, “Whatever. You’re still here with me.”

And in that moment, God help me, I knew I was already in too deep. Because that one sentence made the whole day worth it.

I let the conversation drop after that, but the air between us had shifted. Her leg brushed against mine under the table. She didn’t move it away. And when she reached across to take a fry from my plate, something she hadn’t done in months, it felt so normal. So us.

Too us.

And I realized something I didn’t want to admit:

The distance I worked so hard to build, the walls I carefully put up, the progress I made trying to let her go, all of it crumbled the moment she looked at me like I still belonged to her.

And just like that,

I felt like I was back to zero. Again.

Not until a few days later, I was at home working on a new song with Reign.

We were seated on the floor of my room, surrounded by scribbled notebooks and her guitar. She was humming a melody we'd been trying to finish for days. The energy was good. Productive. Steady.

Then the doorbell rang.

“Sa’yo ba 'yan?” Reign asked, not looking up.

“Di ko sure. Baka lang delivery,” I said, standing up.

But it wasn’t a delivery. It was Stacey.

She was in one of my old hoodie, like she owned it, holding a bottle of soda, looking way too casual for someone who didn’t tell me she was coming.

“Hey,” she smiled. “Busy ka ba?”

“Actually, oo. Reign’s here. We're working on a song.”

She tilted her head slightly. “Reign. As in yung sinasabi mong singer?”

“Yeah,” I nodded. “Nasa loob siya.”

She didn’t hesitate. “Cool. I’ll say hi.”

Before I could react, she walked past me and let herself in. I followed, my mood shifting.

“Hi!” Reign greeted politely when we re-entered the room. “You’re Stacey, right?”

“Yup,” Stacey replied, flashing a sweet smile as she sat on my bed like it was hers. “Best friend ni Colet.”

I saw Reign glance at me for a second.

“Nice to meet you,” she said, standing to shake hands.

“You too,” Stacey answered. Then she looked around. “So, songwriting session?”

“Yup,” I said. “Trying to finish something for Reign’s set next week.”

We tried to continue but the vibe was already different. Every time Reign sang a line, Stacey had something to say.

“Parang masyadong sharp yung note, no? Maybe soften it a bit.”

Later, she interrupted a harmony Reign was layering with her own version. Louder. Off-key. Reign looked at me subtly. I gave her a small shrug.

And then Stacey turned to me. “Remember nung tayo palagi gumagawa ng songs dati? Ikaw pa nga nagtuturo sa’kin ng harmony. Namiss ko lang 'yon.”

I forced a smile. “Yeah. Tagal na rin no’n.”

Reign stayed polite, but she started talking less. Playing less. And Stacey kept inserting herself like she was part of it.

Then she said it.

“Honestly, bagay talaga kami ni Colet mag-collab. Alam mo 'yun, same wavelength.”

That was it.

Minutes later, Reign stood up and started packing her guitar. “I think I should go. May kailangan pa akong ayusin.”

“You sure?” I asked, though I already knew.

“Yeah. Send ko na lang yung parts later.”

She gave me a look, understanding, maybe. Or tired.

Then she left.

And I was left alone with Stacey, who looked unbothered as ever, drinking her soda like she didn’t just throw off the entire afternoon.

“Ang sungit niya,” she commented. “Chill lang dapat, diba?”

I stared at her, silent.

She looked at me. “What?”

I shook my head, then stood up.

“Colet?”

“You can stay here if you want,” I said quietly, walking toward the door.

“Huh?”

I turned to her. “Just lock the front door when you leave.”

“Wait, saan ka pupunta?”

“Anywhere but here.”

Her face twisted in confusion. “Colet, ano bang—”

“I’m tired, Staku,” I said, not looking back. “Pagod na pagod na ako.”

And I left her sitting there in my room, surrounded by scraps of lyrics she never cared about, in a moment she didn’t understand because she still thought she knew me.

She didn’t.

Not anymore.

Chapter Text

After that day, I stopped replying.

I didn’t block Stacey. I didn’t even mute her. But I stopped opening her chats. Stopped entertaining the idea that we could keep playing this game where she breaks things and expects me to quietly sweep them under the rug.

But of course, she didn’t stop reaching out.

Day 1

Colet I didn’t mean to ruin your writing session. I swear. Can we talk?

Day 2

I’m sorry. Please don’t shut me out like this. I didn’t know I was overstepping.

Day 3

Hindi ko sinasadya. I thought we were okay. I thought I could just be around.

Day 4

Okay. I’ll give you space. But please know I miss you. Sobra.

I left them all unread.

Because reading them meant opening a door I wasn't ready to walk through again.

But she didn't just stop at texts.

One night, I came home from a long day at school, tired and wanting nothing but to collapse onto my bed and I found her in the kitchen.

Cooking.

With my mom.

She was wearing an apron that clearly wasn't hers, holding a ladle like she’d been there for hours. There was sinigang simmering on the stove, my favorite. I didn’t even say hi.

I just walked past her and up to my room.

I heard her call out, “Colet, pwede ba tayong mag-usap?”

But I closed the door.

The next morning, I found a tray of breakfast on the dining table. Tocino, garlic rice, scrambled egg, exactly how I like it. There was also a small paper bag with packed lunch and my name written on it in her handwriting.

I didn’t touch either of them.

Later that night, while I was washing my mug, Mom entered the kitchen, arms crossed.

“Anak,” she said carefully. “Galit ka pa rin ba kay Stacey?”

I didn’t answer.

“Kanina pa ‘yun dito. Sinusubukan niya naman, diba? Hindi mo man lang kinausap.”

“Ma, hindi mo naiintindihan,” I sighed.

“Eh ‘di ipaintindi mo,” she replied, soft but firm. “She’s trying.”

I rinsed my mug in silence.

“Masakit ba?” she asked gently.

I didn’t answer that either. Because yes. It was.

But it wasn’t the kind of pain that could be soothed with sinigang or breakfast trays. It was the kind that lingered because it was invisible to the one who caused it.

I was in the library, cramming a reaction paper and half-hoping the world would leave me alone, when Reign walked in, holding two cups of coffee.

She slid one in front of me.

“Peace offering,” she said with a small smile.

I looked down. There was a message written on her cup in black marker.

Sorry, I was a bitch. – S.

I blinked. “S?”

“Stacey,” she said, sitting beside me. “She dropped by earlier.”

I stared at the cup for a while, unsure whether to be impressed or annoyed.

“She said she wanted to apologize to me too,” Reign continued. “Honestly, she didn’t have to. But she seemed sincere.”

I slowly peeled back the lid and took a sip. Flat white. Extra shot. Just the way I liked it.

Reign nudged me gently. “You don’t have to forgive her agad. I get it. But I think she’s starting to realize she messed up.”

I didn’t answer right away. My fingers tightened around the cup.

Because as much as I hated to admit it, part of me still wanted her to try.

Even when I was pretending not to care. Even when I wanted to stop wanting.

Because that’s the thing about Stacey. She doesn’t always show up right. But she always finds a way to get through.

And it scared me, how much I still wanted her to.

I don’t know what changed.

Maybe it was the coffee cup. Or maybe it was just me, finally tired of pretending I didn’t care.

So I waited.

I parked outside Stacey’s building right before her last class ended. I didn’t text her. I didn’t call. If she saw me, fine. If she didn’t, maybe that was my answer.

While waiting, I leaned on my car, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the campus parking lot. I was sipping an iced drink when someone familiar passed by.

“Hey!” the girl beamed. One of Stacey’s blockmates, the one who had asked for a selfie the first time I visited. “Colet, diba? Akalain mong andito ka ulit.”

I smiled politely. “Yeah. Naghihintay lang.”

“Kay Stacey?”

I just shrugged.

She leaned on the other side of the car. “Ang ganda mo talaga in person,” she said, laughing. “Crush pa rin kita, FYI.”

I let out a small chuckle. “Salamat?”

“Seryoso. ‘Pag single ka pa rin in five years, call me ha?”

I laughed, not saying anything back, just sipping on my drink. We talked a bit, nothing flirty on my end, but she was definitely laying it on thick. Still, I let her talk. I let her laugh. I let her lean just a little too close.

And then I saw her.

Stacey.

She was walking out of the building, holding her phone in one hand, bag slung lazily over one shoulder. The moment her eyes landed on us, she slowed down.

Our eyes met.

I stood up straighter, gently stepping away from the girl who was still mid-sentence. “Sorry,” I said quietly. "I have to go.”

She followed my gaze and sighed, “Figures.”

I took a step forward. So did Stacey.

We met halfway. Awkward. Hesitant. Like two people trying to remember how they used to be around each other before everything got complicated.

“Hi,” she said first.

“Hey.”

She looked at me for a moment, then at the girl behind me, then back. “Friend mo?”

“Classmate mo,” I replied. “Blockmate mo, diba?”

She nodded. “Oo.”

Silence.

I crossed my arms. “So..”

She exhaled, looking down for a second before meeting my eyes again. “I’m sorry, Colet.”

There it was. No long speech. No excuses. Just that.

“I didn’t mean to ruin things. With your music. With Reign. With you.”

I didn’t answer right away.

She continued, “Alam ko ang dami kong sablay. Hindi ko rin talaga alam kung paano bumawi kasi parang bawat galaw ko mali. Pero I’m trying. I swear, I’m trying.”

I looked at her then, really looked. She had that same nervous energy she always had when she didn’t know what came next. 

“I know you’re mad,” she added. “And maybe you have every right to be. Pero kung may space pa somewhere, kahit konti lang. I’d really like to fix this.”

I let out a slow breath. “I’m not mad.”

“Then?”

“I’m disappointed.”

She nodded slowly. “Okay. Gets ko.”

“But I’m here,” I added. “So that counts for something, right?”

She smiled, the corners of her eyes softening. “Yeah. Yeah, it does.”

Another pause. This one, not as awkward.

“Gusto mo bang kumain?” she offered. “Or, I don’t know. Kape? Ice cream?”

I gave her a small, tired smile. “Ikaw na mag-decide. I did the waiting today.”

She laughed quietly, the sound oddly comforting. “Fair enough.”

And for the first time in a long while, we walked, side by side, not quite sure where we were going, but somehow, heading there together.

We ended up driving aimlessly, no real destination in mind, just the low hum of the engine and the soft playlist playing in the background. I always found peace behind the wheel, especially at night when the roads were half-asleep and the city lights felt gentler.

Stacey sat beside me, fiddling with the sleeves of her hoodie, well, mine again, I noticed.

We hadn’t spoken much since getting into the car. Not until she finally broke the silence.

“Na-realize ko,” she said quietly, “Ang dami kong mali.”

I glanced at her, then back to the road.

“Sa totoo lang,” she continued, voice a little shaky, “Hindi ko rin maintindihan kung bakit ako umarte ng ganun kay Reign. Parang, automatic. Like may nag-trigger sakin. Hindi naman kita girlfrie—” she stopped, catching herself. “I mean, I don’t even know why I felt that way.”

I kept my eyes forward. “Hindi mo kailangang maging in a relationship with someone para magkaroon ng respeto. What you did was out of line.”

“Alam ko.” She looked down at her hands. “I’m really sorry. Sa'yo. And sa kanya. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. I promise, Colet I’ll be better. I don't want to be that person.”

I stayed quiet for a moment, letting her words sink in and deciding how much of myself I was ready to share tonight.

“She’s special to me,” I finally said. My voice came out softer than I expected. “Reign.”

Stacey looked at me, listening.

“She doesn’t try too hard. Hindi siya naninira ng moment para mapansin. She listens. Hindi siya nagko-compete sa room. She just adds to it.”

I paused, letting the weight of that settle before continuing.

“Yung ginawa mo that day, Staku, it hurt. Not just because you were being difficult. But because you, of all people, should’ve known how much that meant to me. You know what music is to me. You know what it looks like when someone disrespects it. You know me.”

“I know,” she whispered, her voice barely above the music. “I wasn’t thinking. I was too caught up in my own ego, I guess.”

I glanced at her again. She looked small, vulnerable in a way she rarely allowed herself to be.

“It’s not about you being jealous,” I said, keeping my tone steady. “It’s about you not trusting me. Not respecting who I let into my life, especially when I’ve never asked you to compete for a place in it.”

She nodded slowly, swallowing hard. “You’re right.”

We stopped at a red light. I rested my hands on the steering wheel and let the silence stretch for a few seconds.

“I miss when we were honest,” I said, barely above a whisper. “Yung hindi tayo naglalaro ng position, ng pride, ng control. Just real.”

Stacey looked at me. “Gusto kong bumalik don, Colet. Sa totoo lang.”

I didn’t look back this time. The light turned green, and I started driving again.

“Then don’t say it,” I said quietly. “Show me.”

She nodded, folding her hands in her lap. “I will.”

We drove on, no longer in silence but not quite talking either. Just sharing the same space. And for now, maybe that was enough.

We ended up in a quiet restaurant tucked away in a corner street, one of those small, unassuming places with yellow lights, wooden booths, and background jazz no one really listens to. Familiar. Comforting.

The kind of place you go to when you want to talk without rushing it.

We sat across from each other in a booth near the window. Ordered sinigang, grilled liempo, garlic rice, and two mango shakes, just like old times.

For a while, we just ate. No tension. No posturing. Just chewing and sighing over how good the soup was.

Then, somewhere between the last spoonful of rice and the silence that came after, I spoke.

“Staku” I said quietly, pushing my glass aside. “Can I say something?”

Stacey looked up, surprised. “Of course.”

I watched her for a second, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, eyes a little tired but clearer than they were days ago. Less defensive. Less afraid.

“You know you're special to me, right?”

She blinked. “Colet—”

“No, listen,” I said gently. “Before anything else gets said. Before you start second-guessing yourself again. I just, I want to make it clear.”

I took a breath, steady and slow.

“You’re my best friend. Even when I’m mad. Even when I need space. Even when I don’t have the energy to open your messages. That doesn’t mean you stop mattering.”

Her lips parted, like she was about to interrupt, but she didn’t.

I continued, “You being in my life, Staku, it was never something you had to fight for. You were already there. You always have been.”

Stacey looked down, suddenly blinking fast, like she wasn’t sure what to do with the softness.

“And I know I said Reign is special. She is. But that doesn’t cancel you out. It doesn’t make you less.”

I saw her shoulders rise, then fall. Like a breath she’d been holding finally let go.

“I was hurt,” I added. “But I was never trying to replace you. I just needed to protect what mattered to me. And that includes you.”

She looked up at me then, eyes glassy but steady. “Okay,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “Okay. Thank you.”

“No need to thank me,” I said, smiling a little. “Just, keep trying. That’s all I ask.”

“I will,” she nodded. “I promise.”

And just like that, the silence between us shifted. Softer now. Less like a wall, more like a pause.

We didn’t talk much after that. Didn’t need to. We just sat there in that quiet little restaurant, letting the music play and the mango shakes sweat on the table.

Some friendships get loud again after a fight. Ours got quiet. But maybe that was okay.

Because not everything has to be said all at once.

Some things are better proven slowly.

Together.

By the time we reached fourth year, a lot had already changed between us.

Not everything was fixed, some cracks never really seal shut but things settled.

Stacey still had her moments. That flash of jealousy in her eyes when she’d see Reign touch my arm during rehearsals, or the clipped tone she’d use when asking, ”Kasama mo na naman siya?” But she caught herself now. Took a breath. Stepped back. And for someone like her, that alone was growth.

There were nights she'd crash at my place again. Like old times.

She’d bring snacks from her late-night convenience store runs and climb onto my bed like it still belonged to both of us. She’d hog the blanket. Talk endlessly about her day. Complain about her profs. Ask me to scratch her back. And I would.

Always, I would.

But what she didn’t know, what I never had the guts to say was that I still loved her.

In that way. The way that keeps you up at night. The way that settles deep and refuses to leave.

Still. After all these years.

She didn't know that sometimes, when she'd fall asleep beside me, curled up with her face buried in my pillow, I'd stay awake just watching her breathe. That there were nights I had to remind myself not to reach for her hand. Not to brush that stray hair off her face. Not to ruin what little peace we managed to rebuild.

And then there was Reign.

Kind, steady Reign. Who never asked for anything more than what I was ready to give.

She was a constant now. Study sessions, rehearsals, late-night coffee runs. She didn’t fill a void. She never tried to. She just stayed. Without conditions.

And in that quiet, patient way, she became someone important to me.

There were nights I felt like I could breathe because of her. Like she could anchor the chaos in my head just by sitting beside me, nodding along to whatever song I was struggling to finish. She never pushed. Just sat there, listened, hummed softly when I played. It was comforting.

Sometimes, I wondered if things would be easier, simpler, if I let myself fall in love with her instead.

But love was never simple.

Not when your heart had already chosen someone else long before you could name it.

One Thursday afternoon, Reign and I were sitting in the campus garden. My guitar was on my lap, and she was holding her notes, but not really reading them.

“I think you’re stalling,” she said with a teasing smile, watching me pluck the same melody over and over again.

I smirked. “No, I’m perfecting the stall.”

She rolled her eyes, leaning her head back against the tree trunk. “You know, for someone who’s so good with words in music, you suck at saying the important ones out loud.”

I paused mid-strum. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Reign tilted her head, studying me. “You love her, don’t you?”

My fingers froze. A chord hung unfinished in the air.

She didn’t say Stacey’s name. She didn’t need to.

I looked away. “It’s not that simple.”

She nodded, as if she’d expected that answer. “Is it ever?”

Silence fell between us. The kind that wasn’t uncomfortable, just honest.

“I tried not to,” I admitted quietly. “Seryoso, I really did.”

“I believe you,” she said. “But that’s not something you can force away.”

“Hindi ko na rin alam,” I confessed, voice barely audible. “She’s still her. And I’m still me. The stupid girl who wrote a lot of songs thinking she’d never hear it.”

Reign chuckled softly. “She’d probably cry if she did.”

“She wouldn’t know it was about her.”

“She’d feel it,” she said simply. “People always feel it when they’re the ones being sung about.”

I looked at Reign then. She wasn’t angry. Not bitter. Just quietly accepting.

“You deserve someone who loves you like that,” I told her.

Reign smiled, but there was a sadness in it. “I know. And maybe one day, someone will. But for now I’d rather be your friend than force something that doesn’t belong to me.”

She reached over, plucked a leaf from my hair, and tossed it away.

“You still light up when she texts you,” she added, half-laughing. “And no one has ever called her Staku but you.”

I laughed softly, nodding. “Yeah.”

“Just don’t lose yourself chasing her, okay?”

“I won’t,” I promised.

Because I already did once. I wouldn’t let it happen again.

---

That weekend, Stacey slept over again.

She barged in with snacks, in her oversized hoodie and messy bun. She dumped her bag on my floor like it belonged there and said, “Let’s watch something. I had a long day.”

I didn’t ask questions. I just made space.

Halfway through the movie, she shifted closer, her head falling lightly on my shoulder. My body tensed but I didn’t move.

“Can I ask you something?” she said, voice muffled against my shirt.

“Sure.”

“Do you think we’ll still be like this after graduation?”

I swallowed. “Like what?”

“Like this,” she said, gesturing vaguely between us. “Still close. Still in each other’s lives.”

I bit my lip. “I hope so.”

“I don’t think I’d survive without you, Colet.”

And God, she had no idea how those words hit me.

She didn’t know how many times I’d imagined her saying them with a different meaning. With more weight. With a choice in them.

Instead, they floated between us, half-meant and fully devastating.

“Don’t say things you don’t mean,” I said softly.

“But I do mean it.”

I looked at her. And for a second, she looked back at me like she knew. Like she finally knew.

But maybe I was just projecting again.

She leaned in, resting her head fully on my lap this time, eyes fluttering shut.

“I missed this,” she murmured.

I ran a hand through her hair without thinking. “Yeah. Me too.”

Outside, the night deepened. The world slowed.

And in that quiet moment, with her heartbeat echoing against my thigh and my fingers still tangled in her hair, I wondered how much longer I could do this.

Stay close. Stay silent. Stay in love.

Because Stacey was still my best friend.

And I was still hers.

But I wasn’t sure if that would ever be enough.

Not for me. Not anymore.

Late September. The offer came on a Tuesday.

Reign and I were huddled in the cramped campus studio, fixing the last mix of our midterm composition when the email pinged. We read it once, then again, then just stared at each other in disbelief.

A London-based indie music label. A two-year program.

Full training in songwriting, production, and live performance. All expenses covered. It didn’t feel real. We’d submitted our work on a whim last semester, not expecting anything but the standard “thank you for your submission” rejection.

But now here it was. Real and waiting.

Reign screamed first, practically launching herself across the studio in a whirlwind of excitement. I laughed, caught her mid-hug, and we spun until we were both breathless.

But underneath the joy I felt it. That pinch of fear. 

The kind that sits in your chest and whispers, “Are you really ready for this?”

Reign was already packing ideas into notebooks by the weekend.

I, on the other hand, sat cross-legged on my bed, staring at the offer like it might disappear if I blinked too long.

“You haven’t replied yet,” she said gently, sipping her tea across from me.

“I know.”

“It’s been three days, Colet.”

I leaned back into my pillows. “I just, I don’t know if I can do it.”

“You mean the music part?”

“No.” I sighed. “The leaving part.”

Reign tilted her head. “Is this about your mom? Or?"

She didn’t say it, but I knew what she meant.

“Staku,” I admitted. “It’s about Staku.”

Reign set her mug down, her eyes soft. “I figured.”

“I don’t want to leave things hanging. And what if..” I paused, picking at the edge of my blanket. “What if I go and regret not telling her? What if I stay, and still regret it anyway?”

Reign exhaled, leaning forward. “So tell her.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?”

“Because if she doesn’t feel the same-” My voice cracked. “It changes everything.”

Reign nodded slowly. Thoughtfully. “And if she does?”

I didn’t answer.

“Colet,” she said, voice low but steady, “We got in. This is huge. This is everything you’ve worked for." 

She moved closer, her gaze locking with mine.

“You have the chance to chase the life you’ve been dreaming about. And yeah, it’s scary. But you’re not doing it alone. I’ll be there too. We’ll figure it out, just like we always do.”

I swallowed. The weight in my chest hadn’t lifted, but it started to shift.

“You’re right,” I whispered.

She smiled. “I usually am.”

I gave her a look. “Don’t push it.”

We sat in silence for a while. The fan hummed overhead, brushing the edge of my curtains. Outside, the city moved on like nothing was changing. But it was.

“I think I want to tell her,” I said finally.

Reign didn’t flinch. Didn’t shift. Just nodded, quiet and calm.

“Good,” she said. “You should.”

“But what if she says she doesn’t feel the same?”

Reign hesitated for a second, then reached out and took my hand.

“Then at least you’ll stop wondering,” she said. “And you’ll be free. To leave. To grow. To chase what you want without always looking back.”

My throat tightened.

“Whatever happens,” she continued, “I’ll be there. London or not. Confession or heartbreak. I’ve got you.”

I looked down at our hands, hers warm and sure around mine. Then up at her face, kind, steady Reign. The one person who had seen me at my best and my most unravelled, and never once walked away.

“You’re kind of amazing,” I said quietly.

She smiled. “I know.”

We both laughed.

“Okay,” I said, finally letting out the breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. “I’ll do it. I’ll tell her.”

Reign squeezed my hand once before letting go.

“Good,” she said again. “Because you deserve the truth, Colet. And so does she.”

And for the first time in days, the fear didn’t feel as heavy. Because I knew what I needed to do.

I had the words. Reign helped me piece them together the night before, not as a script but a safety net, something to fall back on in case my voice shook, in case I forgot how to breathe when I stood in front of Stacey.

“I need to tell you something,” I had practiced. “Before it’s too late. Before I go.”

But when the time came, I didn’t even make it to the door.

I sat in my car, parked across the street from Stacey’s house, heart thudding hard enough to drown out the engine’s soft hum. The porch light was on. Her bedroom window was glowing. I just needed to get out. Walk up. Knock.

That was the plan.

Then another car pulled up.

I didn’t recognize it at first. But when the headlights dimmed and the driver stepped out, everything in me went still.

Mike.

Tall, clean-cut Mike. Her ex. 

I watched as the passenger door opened.

And there she was.

Stacey.

Wearing the oversized hoodie she’d once left in my room. Hair in a lazy bun. Slippers. Laughing.

They stood there, talking. Easy. Familiar. And I felt something in my chest twist so hard it almost knocked the air out of me.

Then Mike leaned in. Not for a kiss on the lips. Just the cheek. A soft, casual goodbye. But it was enough.

Stacey smiled. Hugged her. Held on just a little longer than she should have.

And I sat in the dark, my fingers curled too tightly around the steering wheel, watching the scene I was never supposed to see.

My plan shattered. My courage crumbled. And suddenly, I couldn’t breathe.

I drove away.

Not fast. Not dramatic. Just quiet. Almost numb. Like if I moved slowly enough, the pain might not catch up.

But it did.

By the time I reached Reign’s neighborhood, it was everywhere.

I didn’t even remember deciding to go there. All I knew was I didn’t want to go home. I didn’t want to be alone in that moment. Not with those thoughts. Not with that ache.

I stood outside her gate, unsure what I looked like, unsure if I should even be there. But the porch light turned on. And a second later, Reign opened the door.

She saw me. And that was all it took. My eyes burned. My throat closed. My legs didn’t trust themselves.

But before I could say anything, she pulled me in, arms wrapping around me like a harbor and I broke.

No questions. No "what happened?" No "are you okay?" Just the steady rhythm of her breath against my shoulder, her hands grounding me when the world had tilted too far.

I didn’t cry loudly. I just folded in. And Reign, like she always did, held the pieces gently.

Later that night, I sat on the floor of her room, curled up in her extra blanket, staring blankly at the ceiling while she made tea.

She didn’t pressure me to talk. Didn’t fill the silence with reassurances or advice. She just sat beside me, her presence doing what words couldn’t.

After a while, I whispered, “They looked good together.”

Reign didn’t flinch. Just sipped her tea and waited.

“I was ready to tell her,” I said. “Finally. I rehearsed it. I meant it.”

Silence.

“But when I saw her with Mike, laughing like that, hugging her. I realized maybe I waited too long. Or maybe I was just wrong all along.”

I looked down at my hands.

“I thought she might look at me one day and just know,” I added, voice cracking. “But maybe she did and she still chose someone else.”

Reign placed her mug down and reached for mine, holding it steady as I took a sip.

“You’ll be okay,” she said gently.

“I don’t feel okay.”

“You don’t have to. Not tonight. But you will be.”

I let her words hang in the air, soft and unshakeable.

And then I said it.

“I’m going.”

Reign turned to me. “To London?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Kailangan ko.”

“Because of her?”

I paused. “Because of me.”

She smiled at that. A sad smile, but proud.

“I think I’ve spent so many years orbiting Stacey,” I continued, “like she was the center of my world. And I forgot what it felt like to dream for myself. Not for her. Not around her. Just for me.”

Reign nodded. “Then go. And don’t look back.”

I leaned my head on her shoulder, exhausted but a little lighter.

“I’m scared,” I admitted.

“So was I,” she whispered. “Still am.”

“But we’ll be scared in London?”

She laughed softly. “Yeah. Together.”

And that night, in the quiet of Reign’s room, I finally understood.

Sometimes, the closure you need isn’t in a confession.

It’s in choosing yourself, even when it hurts.

Even when it means walking away. Even when you still love them.

Because love, unreturned or not, shouldn’t keep you small.

And I was done being small for someone who never asked me to grow.

Chapter Text

Colet was all sweat and rhythm when she played.

We were at an old garage they’d turned into a rehearsal space. Her band had been rehearsing all afternoon, and I’d been there since lunch, curled up on an overturned amp, watching. Always watching.

She was behind the drum kit, hair sticking to her forehead, sticks flying like they were part of her hands. The band was running the song for the third time in a row, and she still had that same fire in her. That fire that always made it impossible for me to look away.

“She’s so intense, no?” Mikha’s voice popped beside me, her tone casual but her smirk meant something. 

I blinked and turned, trying but failing to sound unbothered. “Huh?”

“You’ve been staring like you’re composing a love song in your head.”

“I’m literally just watching.” I said quickly, arms crossing over my chest like that could shield me from her teasing.

Mikha raised an eyebrow. “Sure, sure. Watching. Totally platonic. Very supportive. Super normal to look at someone like they hung the moon.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh my God, shut up.”

But the heat blooming in my face gave me away. I looked back at Colet, only to catch her glancing at me between beats. Just for a second. But it was enough to make my chest do that weird tight-fluttery thing again.

She grinned, all teeth and trouble, before diving right back into the rhythm.

Mikha nudged me with her shoulder. “Ayan. Super normal.”

I don’t know when it started, this feeling. I don’t think I noticed at first. At least, not in the way I should have. But there were moments; tiny, blinking lights across the years, that should’ve told me.

Like when she broke her arm falling off her bike when we were younger, and I was the one who cried harder than she did. Or when she held my hand during that school field trip because I was too nervous to cross the rope bridge. Or when she made me a playlist called “For Staku on Bad Days” and I played it on good days too, just to feel close to her.

But it wasn’t until that night after the Battle of the Bands when I finally let myself know.

When I saw her curled up on the garden bench, small and quiet and unraveling, something cracked inside me.

Colet always burned so brightly. She was the storm, the spark, the sound. Seeing her like that, silent and hurting. It felt wrong. Unnatural. Like the universe had hiccuped.

So I sat next to her, didn’t say a word at first. Just leaned in. I knew she’d feel me there.

And when I did speak, I kept it light. That’s how we’d always been, jokes first, feelings buried beneath.

“Feeling ko bingi yung mga judges.”

She let out this tiny sound, like a laugh dragged through tears. “No, Stacey, they were just better.”

I wanted to scream NO, because how could she not see it? How could she not know that when she was on stage, I couldn’t see anyone else?

“Better?” I shook my head. “Meron ba silang drummer na sobrang astig? I don't think so.”

She sniffled, and I caught the faintest curve of a smile.

“You’re just saying that.”

“Am I?” I pulled her closer, my heart thudding against my ribs like it wanted out. “All I saw tonight was my best friend on stage, and she was the best one there. Ang galing galing mo kanina, Colet. You were enough and more.”

And that was the truth.

But what I didn’t say, what I couldn’t say was that she had always been more than enough for me.

Even if she never knew it. Even if she never felt the same.

After a week, Colet hadn’t replied to my messages again. Not even a stupid reaction. Not even a single dot to show she was typing.

She was always the one who left long voice notes at midnight, half-asleep and rambling. She was the one who spammed me with random cat memes, her favorite song of the week, and blurry selfies captioned "pangit pa rin ba ‘to?" even though she knew the answer.

But for the past week? Nothing. Or if there was something, it was clipped, short, like she was trying to disappear one word at a time.

And now, here I was, frozen in the hallway, pretending to drink water from the fountain just so I wouldn’t have to walk past her locker and pretend I wasn’t looking.

What if she knows? The thought came out of nowhere, sharp and sudden like a slap. What if she knew? What if the way I looked at her, like she was the sun and I’d been living in grayscale, finally gave me away?

What if she noticed the way I always showed up early, just so I could watch her laugh with her band? The way I always memorized the tiniest things, her favorite pens, how she only tied her hair with scrunchies that matched her mood, the way she hated people stepping on the back of her shoes?

What if she pieced it all together and hated me for it?

I felt my chest tighten. My hands were clammy.

And just like that, I approached her. She slammed her locker shut with a little more force than usual. She startled when she saw me.

“Anong problema mo?” I asked before I could stop myself. The words came out sharper than I meant.

She blinked at me, obviously caught off guard. “Huh? Wala.” A nervous laugh escaped her lips, and I instantly knew, it wasn’t real.

My stomach dropped. 

“Don’t lie to me,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, but I knew the worry had already cracked through.

“I’m not lying!” she said too quickly, already walking away.

But of course I followed. I always followed.

“Did I do something?” My voice trembled. “Did I say something to hurt you?”

“Stacey, wag kang makulit, wala nga,” she snapped, turning sharply.

I froze. Her voice was cold. So cold it made me stop in my tracks.

And suddenly the fear I’d been wrestling with for days slammed into me full force. Maybe I was right. Maybe she did know. Maybe that was exactly why she couldn’t even look at me the same way anymore. I didn’t move. I couldn’t.

She walked off, her back getting smaller with every step, until she finally paused and turned.

Our eyes met. I didn’t mean to cry. I really didn’t. But the tears came anyway, silent and hot, sliding down my cheeks before I could blink them away.

“Oh my god, are you crying?” she gasped, hurrying back.

I tried to shake my head but couldn’t find the words. My throat felt like it had been tied in knots.

“Staks, ‘wag kang umiyak, please.”

Her thumb brushed against my cheek and it made me cry harder.

“I’m so sorry,” she said softly. “I didn’t mean to be so cold.”

I sniffled, my voice breaking. “Hin-hindi ko kasi alam-alam kung-kung may gi-ginawa ba ko-ko. Did I—did I offend you-you?”

My worst fear spilled out, raw and messy.

She took my hands, squeezing them between hers.

“No, Staks. Never. I swear.” Her voice was calm now, like she’d anchored herself. “Lately I’ve just been losing myself. I’ve been a mess. And I’ve been pushing you away and you’re the last person in the world I want to hurt.”

Then she pulled me into her arms, and the breath I’d been holding all week finally escaped.

“Please, stop doing that,” I whispered into her shoulder. “Nag-o-overthink ako. I can’t handle it when you’re cold to me, Colet. Don’t ever do that again.”

She held me tighter, her heartbeat loud against mine.

“I’m really sorry,” she murmured. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Hindi ko naisip yung nararamdaman mo. Sorry, Staks.”

I wanted to believe her. I did. But that voice in my head still whispered; What if she knows? What if this is just guilt, not love?

So I pulled back, forcing a smile. Tried to breathe again.

“What if?”

She blinked. “If what?”

I swallowed. I almost said it.

What if I’m in love with you?

But instead I said, “Libre mo ko ng ice cream!”

Her laugh broke through the tension like sunlight. And for now, that was enough.

We walked side by side, our hands brushing, her shoulder occasionally bumping mine. I told myself not to overthink the flutter in my chest.

It was just happiness.

Just relief.

Nothing more.

Right?

At first, I thought I was imagining it.

The way Colet sometimes tensed when I touched her. The way her smile would flicker for just a second when I leaned in too close. The way she blinked, slow, guarded, when I teased her with that soft, half-meant flirtation we used to joke about.

But lately? Lately it felt like more than just me overthinking.

After school, she still came over. Still crashed on my bed like it was hers, still stole my snacks, still complained about calculus like it had personally wronged her. But something had changed, something small and quiet. The kind of shift that only someone who memorized her every little mood could notice.

And I noticed. I always noticed.

That night, the one with the skincare and the stolen hoodie and my heart doing cartwheels in my chest, I caught it again.

The flinch.

It wasn’t dramatic. Just a flicker. A pause in her breath. Her eyes widened just a little when I smoothed the cream onto her cheeks, when I got too close. Like she wasn’t expecting it.

Or like she was and didn’t know how to react.

I stepped back, laughing it off. “Told you. Glowing na yan.”

She smiled. But it didn’t reach her eyes, not all the way. She looked overwhelmed. And suddenly, I couldn’t stop the thoughts.

Was I being too much? Was I pushing some invisible line between us? Was I making her uncomfortable without meaning to?

I kept replaying it in my head, the hoodie, the way I joked about how it smelled like her, how I wore it around school like I wanted people to notice it was hers. Because maybe, I did.

And that terrified me. I waited until she went to the bathroom to wash off the mask. Sat on the edge of my bed, hands curled into fists, heart racing like I’d just confessed something out loud.

You’re not supposed to want this, I told myself. You’re supposed to be her best friend. That’s all.

When she came back, towel in hand, fresh-faced and beautiful in the most devastatingly casual way, I smiled. But it was smaller now. Controlled.

She didn’t notice. Or maybe she pretended not to.

We went back to watching dumb K-dramas, sitting side by side like nothing was wrong.

But something was.

Later, when I walked her to the gate like I always did, I didn’t lean against her the way I usually would. I kept my hands in my hoodie pocket. I made the jokes shorter, less flirty. I gave her space.

And when she turned to me and said, “Uy, tahimik mo,” with that familiar little smile, I smiled back.

“Pagod lang,” I lied.

She nodded, and that was that.

When she was gone, I sat on the front steps for a long time. The night air was cool, but my chest burned.

I need to step back, I thought. Just a little.

I couldn’t lose her. I wouldn’t lose her. Not over this. Not because my heart couldn’t shut up.

So I promised myself, no more lingering touches. No more almost-confessions disguised as jokes.

I would bury it deeper this time. I had to.
Because loving her from a distance?
At least that way, I still got to keep her.

Then there was Ely. I didn’t even like Ely like that.

Well, he was nice. Smart in that “I forgot we had homework but still aced it” kind of way. He made people laugh without trying too hard. The kind of guy you’d bring home to your mom and she’d immediately start setting up wedding plans in her head.

But he wasn’t the reason I laughed so hard that day in the hallway.

It was Colet.

Standing a few feet away, pretending she wasn’t listening. Her arms crossed, that little furrow in her brow she gets when she’s annoyed but doesn’t want to show it. I knew that face. I knew all her faces.

And for a second, it hit me, she’s jealous. My heart thudded so hard I almost missed Ely’s joke.

That’s why I said it, later on the way home. I wanted to be sure.

"Colet, what if Ely asked me out? Do you think I should say yes?"

She flinched. Just barely. But it was there. I almost smiled until I heard her answer.

"Why?"

She was trying to sound chill, but her voice cracked at the edges. I leaned into that, trying to tease out something more.

"I don’t know. He’s cute. And nice. And maybe gusto ko lang malaman yung opinion mo?"

That was it. That was the window. If she felt anything, this would be the moment she’d show it.

But she didn’t.

She laughed. Not the soft kind, not the warm one that made my chest flutter, it was sharp. Dismissive. Like a blade between my ribs.

"If gusto mo sya, why not?"

I stopped walking for half a beat. Just stared at the side of her face.

"Colet," I said, gently. "Sure ka? Walang magiging problem? Okay lang sa’yo?"

She nodded. Too fast. 

"Of course. Totally."

And that was that. Except, it wasn’t.

A few days later, I sent her the message half as a joke, half as a desperate attempt to hold onto something.

“Help me pick something cute for Saturday? ☺️💖”

She replied with a thumbs up and a “Laban!”

Now she was on my bed, surrounded by a battlefield of dresses and hangers, acting like nothing was wrong. Like her chest didn’t cave in when I mentioned the date again. Like I didn’t notice how her hands were a little too still when I twirled in front of the mirror.

I held up the navy blue dress and turned. “This one? Too formal?”

She shrugged. “Depends. Where’s he taking you?”

“Some cafe near the park. Yung may string lights sa labas,” I said, trying to keep my tone light. “Kind of cute, kind of lowkey.”

I peeked at her.

Still no reaction. Not even a twitch.

“Then maybe something lighter?” she said. “Hindi ganun ka-heavy yung vibe.”

I tossed the dress beside her and tried not to sound disappointed. She wasn’t even looking at me anymore, just staring at the ceiling like it held all the answers she didn’t want to say out loud.

I bit my lip and disappeared back into my closet.

I felt stupid.

Why did I even ask her? Why did I think even for a second that she might say something like “don’t go” or “I don’t want you to”?

Was I just imagining all of it?

The hoodie. The way she used to lean just a little too close when she was tired. The way she laughed the hardest at my dumbest jokes. The way she watched me when she thought I wasn’t looking.

Was I reading into everything?

I found the cream-colored dress and slipped it on.

When I stepped back into the room, she finally sat up.

“What do you think?” I asked, twirling. I knew I looked good but I wasn’t asking for Ely.

I was asking for her.

She stared.

“You look beautiful,” she said, and for a second my heart soared.

But then I added, “You think he’ll like it?”

Her hands curled into fists on her lap.

"Sympre naman! Stupid sya, if not."

The ache settled in again.

I turned back to the mirror, smoothing the dress down just to keep myself busy. “Thanks,” I said, quietly.

But the truth was?

I didn’t care if Ely liked it.

I wanted her to tell me not to wear it.

I wanted her to look at me and say “Please don’t go. Pick me instead.”

But she didn’t. She just sat there, pretending.

Same as me.

And as I brushed my hair out of my face, I decided something, something I never wanted to admit before.

She was okay with me dating someone else. She really was.
Maybe it was time I stopped waiting.
Maybe I should just stop hoping altogether.

The zipper on my dress kept snagging.

Ely was saying something, a story about his friend’s dog, or maybe his car, I wasn’t listening anymore and I laughed, politely, like I was supposed to.

The restaurant was nice. The lighting soft. The food expensive. He even pulled out my chair. On paper, it was perfect. On paper, he was perfect.

But halfway through dinner, while he scrolled through photos to show me something funny, I caught myself looking at the silverware.

Not really looking. Just remembering.

How Colet once tried to twist a fork into a bracelet. How she actually bent it and the waiter gave her a look that made us both choke on our drinks trying not to laugh.

I smiled at the memory. Ely thought it was for him. And I let him think that. Because I was supposed to try. Wasn’t I?

Try to move on. Try someone new. Someone who didn’t make my chest hurt when they walked into a room.

But the more I tried to like Ely, the more I started to notice everything he wasn’t. He didn’t offer me his hoodie when the air-conditioning got too cold. He didn’t remember I hated lemon in my water. He didn’t ask why I looked tired or if I was okay. He didn't even notice that I barely touched my food.

And I didn’t care enough to explain.

Because the whole night, Colet was there.
Not in the room, but in every space that felt empty.

Every silence I wished she was filling. Every smile I faked.
Every moment I wanted to hear her laugh, see her eyes, feel her hand brushing against mine like she always used to do when she was trying to get me to focus.

By the time Ely dropped me off, I was already folding in on myself.

I thanked him, gave a half-smile, and got out of the car like I was crawling out of the wrong story.

I didn’t even make it all the way home.

I turned.

Walked the few extra blocks with aching feet and a heart too full of thoughts that had only one name attached to them.

Colet.

The second I saw her, hair a little messy, shirt wrinkled from lying down, I felt like I could finally exhale.

She looked at me like she knew.

Not everything.
Just enough.
Enough to take my hand and lead me upstairs without asking too many questions.

She always knew how to make space for my silence.

And when she gave me that oversized shirt, I felt more cared for than I had all night.

No explanations. No effort. Just home.

When she tossed the gummy bears into my lap, I nearly cried.
Not because of the candy. But because she remembered.
Because she always did.

I let myself lean into her, quietly. Carefully.

I didn’t have to tell her that Ely liked weird chocolate mint gelato.
That he talked more about himself than he ever asked about me.
That I kept wanting to text her halfway through dinner, just to ask what she was doing. Just to hear her say something silly. Just to feel less alone.

I didn’t have to say it. Because she was here.

Her hand in mine, warm. Familiar.

And when we laid back, and she let me touch her face like I always used to, like she was a safe place I could still return to. I felt something settle inside me.

I didn’t know what this was. Not exactly. Not yet.

But I knew this:

Ely made me feel like I had to perform.
Colet made me feel like I could just exist.

And right now, existing beside her, quiet and close, was the first time all day that I felt like me again.

So I held her hand tighter. Not because I was afraid she'd leave. But because I finally knew where I wanted to stay.

And that also scared me.  

I always knew it would hurt.
I just didn’t think it would hurt like this.

Not like a slap to the face, but like a slow unraveling one thread at a time.

Colet and I had always existed in a quiet kind of closeness. We were never loud about it, never the kind of friends who needed to post about each other all the time. But she was my person. Late-night calls, scribbled notes on the edge of handouts, gummy bears exchanged during boring lectures. She was the constant I didn’t know I could rely on until I realized I was already building my world around her.

And then Mike happened.

No, he wasn’t a mistake. He was kind. He was safe. The kind of guy who planned dates, remembered celebrations, and held my hand like he meant it. He made me feel wanted. And for a while, that was enough. Or at least, I thought it was.

But the moment Colet asked me about him, voice quiet, trying to sound casual, something inside me faltered.
“Yeah. It kind of just happened.”

I hated how that came out. Because it wasn’t just anything.
It was me choosing the easy path when my heart was tangled in something I didn’t have the courage to name.

You see, I had a feeling. For a long time. About her. About me. About us.

But I didn’t know what to do with it.
And part of me thought: maybe if I step away, maybe if I create a little distance, I’ll understand my feelings better. Maybe I could protect both of us from the mess I was afraid to make.

So I let things fade. I told myself she’d be okay.
She was strong. Bright. Talented.
She could light up any room, I had always known that.

But I didn’t expect to feel so hollow watching her do exactly that.

I saw her shine. First at the Linggo ng Wika program, then at club events, then at that big Foundation Day performance.
Everyone fell in love with her voice. With her smile.
And I did too, all over again, every time.

But I kept my distance. I clapped from the back row. I watched her through the crowd. I took blurry videos I never posted.
I saved her photos from other people’s stories. I cheered quietly, silently, faithfully, from just out of frame.

When she started replying less, I told myself it was only fair. When our hangouts stopped happening, I told myself she needed space.
But every time I typed her name into my phone, I froze. What would I even say? That I missed her? That I chose someone else, but still looked for her in every moment that was supposed to feel happy?

I kept thinking she’d confront me one day. Ask me why I let go. But she never did. She just kept blooming.
And the more she grew, the more I felt like maybe she never needed me as much as I needed her.

But I saw it.
The way her smile sometimes faltered when no one was looking.
The way she looked around rooms like she was searching for someone. The way she’d hold her phone for a second longer, just before slipping it into her bag.

I wanted to call. So many times. I wanted to tell her that I saw her. That I still see her. Not just the singer. Not the crowd favorite. But the girl who once stayed up with me till 2 AM just to talk about dreams. 

But I didn’t.
Because I thought staying away would make things easier. Cleaner. I didn’t want to risk breaking what little we had left.

So I watched her from the edges of her world. Applauding. Wishing. Regretting.

Hoping that maybe, one day, when the lights dimmed and the music faded, she’d turn around and see that I had never really left.

And maybe, just maybe, she’d still see something in me worth coming back to.

Graduation was weeks away, and everything felt like it was ending before I could even hold it.

Mike and I had been over for two months.

But I hadn’t told anyone. Not really. Not even Colet.

Especially not Colet.

We broke up in the middle of a Wednesday. No dramatic fight, no betrayal. Just a quiet conversation in his car after dinner. He said he wasn’t happy anymore, and I didn’t argue. Maybe because I wasn’t either. Maybe because deep down, I knew I’d never fully chosen him in the first place.

Not while Colet was still in my life.

I thought it would hurt more, losing Mike. But what haunted me most was that when it ended, my first instinct was to call Colet.

And I didn’t.

I hadn’t for a while.

Because I knew. I knew what I’d done, keeping Colet close, but never close enough. Letting her love me in silence while I offered crumbs and half-truths. I’d wanted her near, but never gave her the space to be honest. Or the courage to be, myself.

And now we barely spoke. Now there was space. Cold, echoing space.

I thought I could live with it. I thought I could be mature. Respect the distance. Pretend I didn’t still think about her at night, when everything was quiet and my chest hurt with things unsaid.

I tried to play it cool, smiling, cancelling plans, pretending everything was fine.

It wasn’t.

So that night at Rusty Mug, I drank too much. Way too much. Alone. Like a cliché. A pathetic one.

I don’t remember texting anyone. I don’t even remember seeing Mikha until she was holding me up and half-dragging me into her car. I just remember crying in the back seat, whispering Mike’s name even though I knew he wasn’t the one I was mourning. I was slurring nonsense and trying to open the door mid-drive. I didn’t want to go home. Not alone.

Then I saw Colet.

Everything blurred.

I felt her hands guiding me into her car, her touch so familiar it hurt.

I leaned against the window, dizzy. My whole body was heavy, like it didn’t want to hold the weight anymore. I could barely keep my eyes open, but I felt safe. I always felt safe with her.

Next thing I knew, I was on her couch. There was water in my hand. I felt her presence. Steady. Unmoving.

“He left,” I whispered, barely recognizing my own voice.

I saw her expression change, sharp and confused. “You and Mike?”

I nodded, tears already threatening again. “Two months ago.”

Her silence was a punch. Until, “Bakit di mo sinabi sakin?”

I stared down at the glass. “I didn’t want you to see me like this,” I said, swallowing a sob. “I didn’t want to need anyone.”

But that wasn’t the full truth.

The truth was, I didn’t tell her because I knew what it meant. That I'd finally run out of excuses. That the space I’d always used as a shield had collapsed.

I had cheated myself out of something real because I was scared of what being honest might do to us.

I’d chosen Mike, yes, but only on the surface. I posted the photos, wore the girlfriend badge, smiled through dates. But I wasn’t all in. I was never all in. Because a part of me never stopped wanting Colet.

And I think Mike knew.

I think I knew.

But it was easier to live in denial than face what I really wanted. Because wanting Colet meant risking everything. Our friendship. Our history. Her heart.

And I had already broken too many pieces of it.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered beside me, voice shaking. “I should’ve checked in more.”

I leaned into her shoulder, tears finally falling. “No. I pushed you away too. I guess we both just, disappeared.”

She held me. Too tightly.

And for a second, I let myself imagine what it would feel like if I just turned my head. If I looked at her and said that I still love her. If I admitted that Mike was a safety net, and I’d spent years avoiding the fall.

Because that fall would always lead back here.

To her.

But I didn’t say it.

I just let myself be held.

Because broken or not, I still felt like I belonged in her arms.
Because part of me still hoped. 

That maybe she hadn’t stopped loving me either. Even just as a friend. 

Few days after that night, I got Colet’s text that she was outside my building, I thought it was a mistake.

I stared at it for a full five seconds, blinking like the words might rearrange themselves. Then I called her. Three times. No answer. Typical.

I ran out without fixing my hair, notebook still clutched to my chest like a shield.

And then there she was. Standing by her car, looking so Colet: calm, cool, a little smug and it made my stomach flip in a way it hadn’t for a while.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Parang gusto lang kitang makita,” she said with a shrug. “Is that okay?”

God. That voice. 

I stared at her, too long probably. She always had a way of catching me off guard, even when she said something as simple as that.

“Yeah,” I managed. “Of course. Yeah.”

We barely made it to the corner before the girls from my block showed up.

At first, I smiled. Friendly. Polite. But then they recognized her. 

“Is that Colet?”
“Colet-Colet? From last year’s Music Fest?”
“I watched all your covers on YouTube—”

And just like that, I became invisible.

They fawned over her. Gushed. Threw compliments like confetti. One even asked if she was single.

I laughed under my breath, bitterly. I hated how easily they made her smile. I hated how close they stood. I hated how one girl pressed her shoulder into Colet like she had any right.

And when she said, “You smell nice, by the way,” I almost lost it.

That was when I stepped in.

“She only came to visit me,” I said, sweetly, placing myself between them. My smile was tight, controlled. “So we kinda want to enjoy our time, y’know?”

They backed off fast, murmuring apologies, but the damage was done.

Colet didn’t say anything.

Neither did I.

At the café, I couldn’t stop fidgeting. Picking at the edge of my napkin. Stirring my drink too many times. I felt ridiculous, jealous, irritated, off-center.

It wasn’t like I had any right to feel that way.

But when she looked at them, she smiled. And when she looked at me, she saw history. Complication. Distance.

"You okay?" she asked when our food came.

"I'm fine," I said, too fast. "Why wouldn’t I be?"

She raised an eyebrow. “You tell me. You were basically throwing daggers with your eyes.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Sure.”

I stabbed my fork into the pasta. “They were all over you. Flipping their hair na akala mo nasa shampoo commercial. You were flattered.”

She laughed. That soft, teasing laugh that always made my heart jump. “I was being polite.”

“You were being charmed.”

She leaned in a little. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” I snapped, instantly defensive. “I just don’t like when girls act like that. Ang aarte! Sobrang arte!”

“But you don’t care.”

“I don’t.”

“Okay.”

I glared at her. “Wag ka ngang ngumiti, nakakapikon.”

“I’m not,” she said, her lips twitching. “Your face is doing that smug thing.”

I rolled my eyes, but it was too late. She knew.

And then she said it.

“Interesting how fast your mood changed after a few girls took a liking to me.”

I froze, fork halfway to my mouth.

But instead of responding, I mumbled, “Whatever. You’re still here with me.”

The words came out before I could stop them.

I didn’t mean for them to sound so possessive. But the second they hung in the air, I felt her look at me differently. I saw it in her eyes, the shift.

Something soft.

Something dangerous.

The rest of lunch was quieter, but in that loaded kind of way. Our legs brushed under the table. She didn’t move hers. Neither did I.

When I reached for a fry from her plate, our fingers touched.

She didn’t pull away.

And for a second, I felt it again, the thing I’d been pretending didn’t still exist. The thing I thought I could silence by dating Mike, by keeping distance, by drinking it all down in the back of a bar.

But it was still here. Alive. Thriving in every glance, every silence, every unfinished sentence.

The thing was I still loved her.

And not just in the old way. Not just from before Mike, or before we fell apart.

I loved her in the now. In the quiet, painful, healing now.

I didn’t say anything. I just let myself stay a little closer than I should.

Let my leg stay against hers under the table.

Let myself hope.

Just a little.

I didn’t plan it.

I’d been staring at the half-eaten lunch on my desk, scrolling through old voice memos of Colet singing, again, when I suddenly found myself standing, grabbing one of her hoodies from the back of my chair, and heading out the door.

It wasn’t supposed to be a big thing.

Just a visit. Something casual. Like before.

So I brought soda, wore her hoodie, and showed up at her house like it was still my place to show up. Like nothing had changed.

When she opened the door, her eyes widened just a little.

“Hey,” I said, smiling. “Busy ka ba?”

“Actually, oo,” she replied. “Reign’s here. We're working on a song.”

I paused. Reign.

The girl she’d been talking about for weeks now. The one with the dreamy voice and undeniable talent. I’d heard the songs. Heard the way Colet talked about her. Watched a few clips online when I was feeling especially masochistic.

Still, I smiled. “Cool. I’ll say hi.”

I didn’t wait for permission.

I walked in.

Reign was sitting on the floor, surrounded by crumpled notebooks and lyric sheets. She looked up and smiled when she saw me.

“Hi! You’re Stacey, right?”

“Yup,” I said, plopping down on Colet’s bed like it was mine. “Best friend ni Colet.”

I saw the way Reign glanced at her. The pause. The small, unreadable expression. Like she was clocking something.

“Nice to meet you,” she said, standing and offering her hand.

“You too,” I said. Then, glancing at the scattered pages, “So songwriting session?”

“Yup,” Colet said, sliding back onto the floor beside Reign. “Trying to finish something for her set next week.”

Her set. Not our set. Not us.

I bit my tongue and smiled.

They started working again, but it was different now. The way Reign sat a little stiffer. The way Colet’s energy shifted, subtle, but I noticed. I always noticed.

I didn’t mean to interrupt. Not really. I just couldn’t help myself.

“Parang masyadong sharp yung note, no? Maybe soften it a bit?” I said after Reign sang a line.

She gave me a small nod, polite. Tight.

Later, she tried layering a harmony. I sang over it. Just testing the waters. Loud, a little playful, but something inside me wanted to make a point.

I looked at Colet. “Remember nung tayo palagi gumagawa ng songs dati? Ikaw pa nga nagtuturo sa’kin ng harmony. Namiss ko lang 'yon.”

She smiled, small, forced. “Yeah. Tagal na rin no’n.”

Something in me twisted.

She was right. It had been a long time.

But I didn’t want it to be over.

So I pushed again.

“Honestly,” I said, laughing lightly, “bagay talaga kami ni Colet mag-collab. Alam mo 'yun, same wavelength.”

Reign looked up at that.

And I knew I’d gone too far.

A few minutes later, she started packing her things.

“I think I should go,” she said, her voice even. “May kailangan pa akong ayusin.”

“You sure?” Colet asked.

“Yeah,” Reign replied. “Send ko na lang yung parts later.”

She gave Colet a look. Something between understanding and disappointment. Then she left.

And I was left in the room that used to feel like mine but now didn’t.

I took a sip of my soda, pretending I wasn’t affected. “Ang sungit niya,” I said, casually. “Chill lang dapat, diba?”

Colet didn’t answer.

I turned to her. “What?”

She just shook her head and stood up.

“Colet?”

“You can stay here if you want,” she said quietly, walking toward the door.

“Huh?” I blinked. “Wait, saan ka pupunta?”

She turned, her face tired. So tired it hurt to look at. “Anywhere but here.”

“Colet, ano bang—”

“I’m tired, Staku,” she said.

I froze.

Nobody had called me Staku in months. Not even her.

“Pagod na pagod na ako.”

And then she walked out.

I sat there alone, the soda suddenly too sweet in my mouth. Her hoodie heavy on my shoulders.

All I could do was stare at the scraps of lyrics on the floor. The ones I didn’t help write. The ones she never showed me. The pieces of her life that I’d stopped being part of and didn’t even notice until now.

I thought I could just show up and slip back in.

But I didn’t realize she’d already started letting me go.

And this time, I might have pushed her too far to come back.

Chapter Text

I didn't think I'd actually lose her.

Not like this, not to silence. Colet’s silence had always been sharp, but this one? This one cuts differently.

I kept checking if the messages were at least marked "Seen." Nothing. Just the small grey text: “Delivered.”

And the longer it stayed that way, the louder the pit in my stomach grew.

Day 1

"Colet, I didn’t mean to ruin your writing session. I swear. Can we talk?"

Day 2

"I’m sorry. Please don’t shut me out like this. I didn’t know I was overstepping."

Day 3

"Hindi ko sinasadya. I thought we were okay. I thought I could just be around."

Day 4

"Okay. I’ll give you space. But please know I miss you. Sobra."

But none of it worked.

She didn’t reply.

And the guilt sat in my chest like wet laundry, heavy and cold. I couldn’t shake the thought that I broke something in her that was already cracking.

So I showed up.

Not because I thought food would fix it, I was not that naive but because I didn’t know what else to do with my hands except try to create comfort. Even if I was not allowed to be part of it anymore.

Her mom opened the door like nothing’s wrong. Like I was still welcome.

"Stacey! Uy, sakto, I was just about to cook. Help me out?"

I nodded before I could stop myself. I didn’t know if I was doing the right thing. Maybe I just wanted to be in the orbit of where Colet existed. Even if it was just proximity. Even if I was just some ghost in the background of her kitchen.

I found an old apron, tie it awkwardly around me, and stirred the sinigang while her mom chats.

I heard the front door. Footsteps.

Then her.

I turned. 

She didn’t even look at me.

She walked past, eyes straight ahead, like I was not there.

“Colet, pwede ba tayong mag-usap?"

No answer. Just the sound of a door closing upstairs. A sharp, clean sound.

I stared at the ladle in my hand like it could tell me what the hell to do next.

The next morning, I sneaked in before school, left the tray on the table. Breakfast, exactly how she liked it. Lunch, too. A note with her name on it. No big words. No apologies.

I imagined her seeing it and pausing, maybe just long enough to think of me without anger.

Maybe.

Then I left.

Because love isn’t just presence. Sometimes it’s patience. And right now, that’s all I have to offer her.

But God, it hurts not knowing if she’d ever want anything from me again.

I stared at the message thread for ten full minutes before hitting send.

“Hey. I know I’m probably the last person you want to hear from.”

“But do you think we could talk for five minutes? I just want to apologize.”

“No pressure. I’ll wait outside your building if that’s okay.”

She didn’t reply for a while.

I kept refreshing, checking my signal, wondering if maybe she’d blocked me.
Then finally:

Reign:
“Five minutes. Front gate. Nothing dramatic.”

Fair enough.

I got there early, too early. Leaned against the rusted green fence like some lost freshman, holding two cups of coffee and a thousand versions of what I might say.

The sun was high, students spilling out of the building in waves. When Reign finally appeared, she walked with that same no-nonsense energy, like she was ready to fight or walk away without a word.

“You came," I said, handing her one of the cups.

She didn’t take it right away. Just stared at me with arms crossed.

"This is weird," she said.

“Yeah," I agreed. "But it felt important."

She took the coffee then, inspecting the lid like it might explode. It didn’t, but I could tell she was still waiting for the catch.

"I wanted to say sorry," I started. "To you. Not just for dragging you into the middle of things, but for being rude. Possessive. The kind of person I swore I never wanted to be."

She raised an eyebrow. "You mean the kind of person who treated me like a threat just for being close to Colet?"

“Exactly that kind of person," I said.

She looked at what I’d written on the lid in black marker:

“Sorry, I was a bitch. – S.”

I gave her another cup. The one that was for Colet.

"I thought maybe you could give this to her. I won’t go in, I’m not trying to force anything. Just—“

I sighed.

"She liked her coffee like this. Flat white, extra shot. I still remember. I just want her to know I still see her. Even if she doesn’t want to see me."

Reign studied me again. Not blinking. Not smiling. And then:

"She’s mad, Stacey. Not just hurt. Really mad."

"I know."

“You messed her up pretty bad."

"I know that too," I said quietly. “Sobrang nagsisisi ako. And I want to start by being accountable and to the people who care about her."

For a second, I thought she was going to walk away.

But then she took the second cup, holding it carefully like it meant something. Like maybe it could carry a message I couldn’t say out loud.

"I’ll try, sana tanggapin nya." she said. "No promises, though."

"Thanks, Reign."

She didn’t respond to that. Just turned around and walked back through the gate.

And I stayed outside, watching students pour into the world with backpacks and earbuds and plans for later, wondering if maybe, just maybe, this was the start of doing things right.

I wasn’t expecting anything. Not that day.

I’d been keeping my head down, focusing on school, answering people with half-smiles, pretending I was fine when I wasn’t. I'd said sorry. I meant it. But I wasn’t stupid. I knew that “sorry” didn’t fix things, not with Colet. Not after how I acted.

So when I stepped out of class, phone in hand, ready to disappear into another uneventful afternoon, the last person I expected to see was her.

Leaning on a car. Hair slightly wind-blown. Iced drink in one hand.

Just there. Waiting.

And for a moment, I froze.

Because there she was.

Still mad, probably. Still disappointed, definitely. But still here. 

Still mine in some strange, lingering way.

Then I saw her smile at someone, someone standing way too close.

My blockmate. Of course.

I knew the girl. Loud, pretty, persistent. She’d always lit up when Colet visited campus, and apparently, that hadn't changed.

I slowed my steps, watching as the girl leaned closer, said something that made Colet laugh. Not a big laugh. But enough. And it stung. In a way I didn’t expect.

I hated that it still had that effect on me, like something sharp pressing into old skin.
But I kept walking.

And then Colet looked up.

Our eyes met. And everything else dropped away.

The girl said something else. Colet barely replied. She stepped back, excused herself, and walked toward me.

I mirrored her. Hesitant. Careful. Like we were both approaching something fragile.

"Hi," I said first, voice low.

"Hey."

I glanced over her shoulder, then back at her. "Friend mo?"

She raised a brow. "Classmate mo. Blockmate mo, diba?"

I nodded. "Oo."

The silence between us was heavy. Not angry. Just tired.

Like both of us had worn out every version of pretending we didn’t miss each other.

She crossed her arms. “So—”

I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. Looked down, then back at her.

“I’m sorry, Colet."

No script. No rehearsed speech. Just the words I should’ve said sooner.

“I didn’t mean to ruin things. With your music. With Reign. With you."

She didn’t say anything. Not right away. And the silence made my heart pound harder.

So I kept going.

"Alam ko ang dami kong sablay. Hindi ko rin talaga alam kung paano bumawi kasi parang bawat galaw ko mali. Pero I’m trying. I swear, I’m trying."

She looked at me, really looked at me, and I felt naked under her gaze. Like she could see right through every apology I was offering.

“I know you’re mad," I added, almost defensively. "And maybe you have every right to be. Pero kung may space pa somewhere, kahit konti lang. I’d really like to fix this."

She exhaled, quiet. Her voice, when it came, was calm. Too calm.

"I’m not mad."

My heart jumped. "Then?"

"I’m disappointed."

That hit harder than any insult would have. I nodded, swallowing hard. "Okay. Gets ko."

She looked at me again, eyes a little softer now.

“But I’m here. So that counts for something, right?"

I let out a small laugh, relieved. “Yeah. Yeah, it does."

We ended up in her car.

No idea where we were going.

Didn’t care.

I just knew I wasn’t ready to say goodbye again. And maybe she wasn’t either.

The drive was quiet. I fidgeted with the sleeves of her hoodie, yes, her hoodie again. She hadn't said anything about me wearing it, but she noticed. I could tell. She always noticed.

Finally, I spoke.

"Na-realize ko, ang dami kong mali."

She didn’t answer. Just kept driving.

So I kept talking.

“Sa totoo lang, hindi ko rin maintindihan kung bakit ako umarte ng ganun kay Reign. Parang automatic. Like may nag-trigger sakin. Hindi naman kita girlfrie—"

I caught myself.

"I mean, I don’t even know why I felt that way."

Still no reaction. Just quiet.

Then she said, eyes on the road, "Hindi mo kailangang maging in a relationship with someone para magkaroon ng respeto. What you did was out of line."

I nodded, the guilt swelling again. "Alam ko. I’m really sorry. Sa'yo. And sa kanya. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. I promise, Colet, I’ll be better. I don't want to be that person."

More silence.

And then she said something that made my heart pause.

"She’s special to me."

I looked at her, bracing myself.

“Reign. She doesn’t try too hard. Hindi siya naninira ng moment para mapansin. She listens. Hindi siya nagko-compete sa room. She just adds to it."

Every word felt like a knife, not because she was trying to hurt me, but because it was true. And because I’d failed to be that kind of presence.

She turned to me, voice quieter now.

"Yung ginawa mo that day, Staku, it hurt. Not just because you were being difficult. But because you, of all people, should’ve known how much that meant to me. You know what music is to me. You know what it looks like when someone disrespects it. You know me."

My voice cracked a little. "I know. I wasn’t thinking. I was too caught up in my own ego, I guess."

And then, the one that broke me:

"It’s not about you being jealous. It’s about you not trusting me."

I nodded, swallowing the knot in my throat. I had nothing to say to that. Not really.

Because she was right.

We stopped at a red light. She whispered:

"I miss when we were honest. Yung hindi tayo naglalaro ng position, ng pride, ng control. Just real."

I looked at her. Everything in me ached to go back.

"Gusto kong bumalik don, Colet. Sa totoo lang."

She didn’t look at me.

Just whispered:

"Then don’t say it. Show me."

I nodded, slow and certain.

"I will."

At dinner, I watched her speak. I watched her eat. I listened to her laugh softly at a joke I made without even thinking. It felt almost normal, like we were slowly unfolding the tightness between us, bit by bit.

Then she said my name.

"Staku." 

My chest tightened.

“Can I say something?"

I nodded. "Of course."

She looked at me and said the words I didn’t know I needed.

“You know you're special to me, right?"

My throat went dry.

"Before anything else gets said, I want to make it clear. You’re my best friend. Even when I’m mad. Even when I need space. Even when I don’t have the energy to open your messages. That doesn’t mean you stop mattering."

I couldn’t speak.

"You being in my life, Staku, it was never something you had to fight for. You were already there. You always have been."

I blinked fast. Forced myself to hold it together.

And then she added:

"I know I said Reign is special. She is. But that doesn’t cancel you out. It doesn’t make you less."

I swallowed hard. My voice was a whisper:

"Okay, Thank you."

She smiled gently. “No need to thank me. Just, keep trying. That’s all I ask."

"I will," I said. "I promise."

That night, I didn’t cry in front of her.

But back in my room, I sat in the dark, hoodie still clinging to the warmth of the restaurant, and I cried quietly into my hands.

Not because I was ashamed.

But because I knew how close I came to losing something good.
And because she chose to wait for me.

Still.
Again.
Anyway.

By the time we reached fourth year, things between us had settled. Not everything was healed. Some fractures never really close all the way. But we found a way back to each other. We were steady now. Softer.

Still, I never asked if she felt the same. I didn’t want to ruin the only version of her I was allowed to have.

Sometimes I wondered if she knew. If she ever caught the way I looked at her during rehearsals, when she’d be laughing with Reign and the light hit her just right. If she noticed the pause in my voice when I’d ask, “Kasama mo na naman siya?”

She never called me out for it. Just gave me that look. The one that said, “I know what you’re doing, but I’m not going there.”

Some nights, I’d find myself in front of her door again, plastic bag in hand, full of junk food and an excuse to be close to her. It became a habit. A pattern I never broke. I’d throw myself onto her bed like old times, pull the blanket over me, pretend it still belonged to both of us.

And she’d let me.

She always did.

I talked too much on those nights. Filled the room with pointless chatter about professors, random TikToks, some irritating guy from class, anything but the truth. And when the silences got too heavy, I’d ask her to scratch my back. It was stupid, maybe, but I just wanted to feel her hands on me. To remind myself what it was like to be cared for by her, even in the smallest ways.

I wonder if she ever noticed that I didn’t ask anyone else for things like that. That only she got those parts of me. Always her.

Sometimes I’d watch her fall asleep. Her face soft, breathing steady, curled up like she never left. And I’d think about how I could reach for her hand. How easy it would be to just say it.

But I never did.

Because I didn’t know. After all these years, I still didn’t know. She never gave me anything to hold onto, no late-night drunken confession, no lingering glance I could point to and say, “There. There it is.”

And I was so scared of finding out that she didn’t feel the same. That this, whatever this was, was just friendship to her. That I was the only one lying awake at night, trying not to fall all over again.

So I stayed in the in-between. In the safety of old routines. I gave what I could, asked for crumbs, and convinced myself they were enough.

But sometimes I’d catch her looking at me. Quietly. Softly. Like she was about to say something but stopped herself.

And on those nights, I’d wonder, was I the only one afraid to ask?

Then there was one day that Mike reached out. It started with a reply to my story.

Just a throwaway post, some ramen I made, captioned “Same cravings, same struggle.” I didn’t tag anything, didn’t expect much.

Then Mike replied:
“Still your favorite, huh 😂”

I laughed a little. We hadn’t talked in months. Nothing bad happened, we just drifted. The way some things do after they’ve cracked and tried to pretend they didn’t.

A few messages later, he asked, “You home?”
I said, “Yeah.”
He said, “Want to catch up?”

I didn’t even think about it too hard. Just grabbed the hoodie nearest the door, one of Colet’s, soft and worn and slipped on house slippers. My hair was a mess, no makeup, not even lip balm. Didn’t care.

He pulled up outside twenty minutes later, same beat-up car, same lopsided grin.
“Hala, may dress code pala. Nakapambahay pala dapat,” he teased as I climbed in.
I rolled my eyes. “You get what you get.”

We drove aimlessly for a while, windows down, the wind tugging at my hair. Eventually, we ended up at the old park near the school. The one we used to sneak off to after late classes. It looked smaller now. Or maybe we were just older.

We sat on the rusted bench under the half-dead streetlight. It flickered every now and then, like it was trying to decide whether to stay on or give up.

Mike leaned back, arms stretched across the backrest. “So,” he said, “you’re still dancing?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Still in the org. It’s kind of the only thing keeping me sane.”

He glanced sideways. “And Colet?”

I swallowed. “Still in music.”

He didn’t say anything at first. Just let the silence sit there. Then, quietly, “You ever tell her?”

My stomach knotted.

“Tell her what?”

Mike gave me a look. “You know what.”

I stared straight ahead, at the swings swaying gently in the breeze.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Ewan.” I picked at the sleeve of my hoodie. “Because I’m a coward, maybe. Because it’s easier to pretend I don’t feel anything than risk losing her.”

Mike was quiet for a beat. “But you do feel something.”

I nodded. “Oh god, you have no idea. Ilang taon na. I don’t even remember when it started. It was just her. It’s always been her.”

He exhaled, slow. “You know, I used to wonder.”

I turned to him. “Wonder what?”

“If I was ever really the one you wanted. Or if I was just—” he shrugged, “someone to fill the space.”

“That’s not fair.”

“I know,” he said. “It’s not. You did care. But sometimes it felt like your heart was always facing somewhere else.”

I looked away. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be. I’m not saying it to make you feel bad. Siguro, this is the first time you’ve actually said it out loud.”

“I think I needed someone who wasn’t her to hear it first,” I admitted.

Mike leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “So what now? Wala kang gagawin?”

“I’ve thought about telling her a million times,” I said. “But it’s like, I look at her and my throat closes up. What if she doesn’t feel the same? Pa’no kung layuan nya ko? I’d rather have her like this than not have her at all.”

He didn’t respond right away.

Then, “But is ‘like this’ really having her?”

I didn’t answer.

We stayed there for a while. Just sitting. Breathing. Letting the wind speak for us.

Eventually, he stood and stretched. “I met someone, by the way.”

I blinked. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. She’s different. Good different. It’s not intense like we were, but it’s steady.”

I smiled. “You deserve steady.”

“You do too,” he said.

He drove me home in silence. No music. Just the low hum of the engine and the occasional click of the turn signal.

When we reached my home, he opened the passenger’s door for me.

“No hard feelings?”

I shook my head. “None.”

He leaned in, pressed a kiss to my cheek, and pulled me into a soft, brief hug.

It didn’t ache this time.

It just felt closed. Like a page turned.

“Take care of yourself, Stacey.”

“You too.” I walked back inside.

And maybe nothing had changed.

But something in me felt a little closer to brave.

After few weeks, the distance came back before I even realized it had.

At first, it was subtle. The kind you could explain away if you wanted to, she was just busy, just tired, just caught up in thesis, in org duties, in life.

But then a few weeks turned into a few months.

The sleepovers stopped.

Her replies got shorter. Her voice felt guarded, careful.

She still smiled at me, still laughed at my jokes, still touched my arm when she was explaining something like she always did but there was a weight behind it now. Like she was holding something in, like she was halfway somewhere else.

And then there were the glances.

Between her and Reign. I’d catch them when they thought no one was watching. 

It was never obvious. Nothing scandalous. Just enough to gut me slowly.

But I didn’t ask.

Because how could I, when I’d never told her what I felt in the first place?

So instead, I stayed quiet. Smiled through it. Let the thoughts spiral when I tried to sleep at night. Wondered what I didn’t know. Wondered what she was keeping from me.

I started to memorize the space between us again. How it grew. How it settled in all the places we used to be close.

Then came her graduation.

She didn’t make a big deal out of it, said she didn’t want anything flashy. Just dinner with family and a few friends at her house. I showed up with flowers and a card I rewrote three times. Ended up keeping it simple, I’m proud of you. Always. The “I love you” stayed folded in my chest.

Her house was warm, full of voices and food and congratulations. I stayed close to her the whole night, even if I felt like I was standing just outside something I didn’t have the name for.

Then it happened.

We were all in the middle of dinner, her mom, cheerful as ever, refilling everyone’s plates when she said, almost absentmindedly:

“And before she leaves for London, dapat mag-bonding muna kayo nang matagal, ‘di ba, anak?"

London.

The word hit like glass shattering inside me.

I looked up. Colet had frozen, chopsticks mid-air, eyes wide like she hadn’t meant for me to find out like this.

“What?” I asked, too softly.

Everyone went quiet.

Colet swallowed. “I—I was going to tell you.”

“Kelan?” I asked, louder now. “When you were already gone?”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. I could see it, she didn’t know how to explain. Didn’t know where to begin.

“It’s a two-year program,” she finally said. 

But I couldn’t breathe.

London. Two years. A life she never told me she was about to start.

“I have to go,” I said, standing up before I could stop myself.

“Staku, wait—”

But I was already walking out. Fast. Like if I didn’t leave right then, the weight in my chest would crush me completely.

I made it home before I started crying. Locked my door. Threw the hoodie off like it burned. Collapsed onto my bed and tried not to scream.

My phone rang all night.

Over and over.

Colet
Calling…
Missed Call (7)
Missed Call (12)
Missed Call (15)

Then came the knocks.

Soft at first.

“Staku” Her voice through the door, barely a whisper. “Please. Can we talk?”

I stayed silent. Not because I hated her. But because I didn’t know how to open the door without everything inside me spilling out.

After a while, I heard another voice, my mom’s speaking gently.

“Hayaan mo muna siya, Colet. She just needs some space tonight.”

A pause.

Then footsteps, slow and heavy, walking away from my door.

I stared at the ceiling until the sun came up, wide awake in a room full of everything I never said.

We never talked after that night.

No calls. No messages. Nothing.

The silence between us stretched into something that didn’t feel temporary anymore. Something colder. Final.

Even on the day she left for London, there was no knock on my door. No dramatic chase to the airport. No last-ditch attempt to fix what broke.

Just a message.

A single one.

Hey.
I’m sorry I couldn’t say this in person.
I didn’t mean to hurt you.
Thank you for everything. I hope we’ll be okay someday.
Take care, Staku.

That was it.

No “I’ll miss you.”
No “I wish things were different.”
Not even a “goodbye.”

I stared at that message for what felt like hours. Reread it so many times the words started to lose meaning.

What do you even reply to something like that?

Nothing, I guess.

So I didn’t.

I let it sit there. Like a missed call you didn’t return in time. Like a door that had already shut before you even realized it was closing.

The thing was, I could’ve handled her leaving. I could’ve learned to live with the fact that she was going to London for two years, that her life was shifting into something that maybe didn’t have a place for me in the same way.

But what hurt the most, what kept me up long after she left was the feeling that somewhere along the way she stopped loving me.

Even just as a friend.

That’s the part I couldn’t wrap my head around. I spent years trying not to ruin us. Holding back, staying quiet, choosing her happiness over my feelings just so I wouldn’t lose her completely.

And somehow, I still lost her.

It wasn’t the kind of heartbreak that comes with shouting or slammed doors. It was the kind that creeps in slowly, quietly, until one day you look around and realize the space she used to fill in your life is just empty.

She used to be my person.

Now, she was just someone who left without turning back.

And the worst part?

I still loved her.

Even now.

Even after everything.

Chapter Text

It had been almost three years since Colet left Manila.

London changed her in ways she didn’t expect. She’d learned discipline, independence, and, more than anything, how to be honest with herself. But now that she was back for a three-month vacation, she didn’t want to spend it doing nothing.

The room buzzed with the usual first-day energy. Colet stood near the back, scanning the trainee group, clutching her folder a little too tightly. She had prepared for this temporary job like she always did. Meticulous notes, warm-up exercises, even a playlist but she hadn’t prepared for Stacey.

It had been two years and six months since she last saw her, since a goodbye that never felt finished.

And now, Stacey was right there. At the front of the room, calm and focused, correcting a trainee’s posture like it was the easiest thing in the world. Her voice hadn’t changed, sharp, steady, and somehow loud even when she wasn’t raising it. The kind of voice that people listened to.

Then she looked up.

For a second, their eyes met.

Just a second.
Then Stacey nodded, quick and distant. Like Colet was a stranger she recognized from a meeting, not someone who used to be something else entirely.

Colet gave a polite smile, but Stacey had already looked away.

“Voice warm-ups will be at 10:30,” Colet told the group, doing her best to sound normal. “Please be in Studio B five minutes early.”

The trainees answered, “Yes, coach” then drifted off. Colet stayed still, folder still tight in her hands. Her heart had started to pound in that quiet, sneaky way it always did when she wasn’t ready.

Then she heard it.

A voice she hadn’t expected, though maybe she should have.

“Hey! Didn’t expect to see you back.”

Mikha. Cool as ever. Standing beside Stacey now, who was focused on packing up her things.

Colet turned, calm on the outside. “Yeah. Didn’t expect to see you either.”

Mikha grinned. “Well, andito lang naman kami the whole time.”

Then Stacey spoke, not looking at her. “Right. Because not everyone gets to run off to Europe.”

The words landed sharp. Not loud, but cutting. Colet didn’t flinch, but she felt the sting deep. She didn’t answer.

The silence after was thick. Not awkward but heavy. Like both of them were standing on top of something they’d buried but never really let go of.

Colet shifted, folder still clutched to her chest. She could hear her own thoughts too clearly now.

She had told herself this was just another job.

But Stacey was here.
And nothing about this was simple anymore.

Before Stacey and Mikha could step out of the room, the door swung open.

“How’s my London baby!” Mike’s voice boomed, full of energy and too much volume for such a tight moment.

Colet looked up, startled but then her face lit up in a way that hadn't appeared all morning.

“Mike!” she laughed, actually laughed, the tension in her shoulders loosening as she walked toward him. They hugged like old friends, no hesitation, no polite distance, just warmth.

Stacey froze mid-step.

Mikha blinked. “Wait, magkakilala kayo?”

Mike pulled back from the hug and grinned. “Hell yeah. Nagkita kami sa London! Small world, right?”

Stacey turned around slowly. Her expression was calm, practiced. But her eyes had narrowed just a bit.

“How did that happen?” she asked, voice easy, too easy.

Mike caught the edge in her tone but ignored it. “I was there for the label’s showcase. Colet was coaching a band on vocal training. We grabbed coffee after one of the sessions, then kept bumping into each other. Ended up hanging out a lot.”

Colet stayed quiet, but her eyes were watching Stacey carefully now.

Mike, still oblivious, added, “Honestly, I’m surprised you two never talked about it. Colet, you didn’t tell Stacey?”

Stacey’s mouth tightened for just a second then it was gone.

“We have to go,” she said, voice smooth.

Then she turned to Mikha. “Come on. Naghihintay na si Mommy.”

And just like that, she was gone. No look back. Mikha gave Colet a half-smile and trailed after her.

The room felt colder once they left.

Mike looked at Colet.

Then, out of nowhere, he let out a laugh, short at first, then full-on.

Colet blinked at him. “Are you serious right now?”

Mike just laughed harder, so she punched him, hard enough to make a point.

“You didn’t tell Stacey?! Seriously?!” Colet said, eyes wide. “Na para bang hindi mo alam history namin dalawa?! Siraulo ka talaga!”

Mike wheezed through the laughter. “Okay okay! Sorry! But come on, your face? Her face? Ang awkward! Parang teleserye!”

Colet groaned and turned away, shaking her head. “Ugh! You enjoy chaos.”

Mike wiped a tear from his eye, still grinning. But when Colet didn’t laugh with him, his expression softened.

“You know why I didn’t tell you,” he said. “Because if I said, ‘Hey, by the way, you’ll be working with Stacey again,’ you wouldn’t have taken the offer.”

Colet didn’t answer, but the silence spoke for her.
“I asked my uncle to make this happen, Colet,” Mike continued. “You wanted to do something while you were home, right? Something that mattered. And I knew the label needed a temp coach. You were perfect. I told him I’d vouch for you.”

She stared at him. “You planned this?”

“Not everything,” he admitted. “Pero ayun. I connected the dots.”

Colet exhaled, slow and sharp. “So you set me up.”

“I gave you a chance,” Mike said, more firmly now. “A year ago, I also referred Stacey to the label. My uncle owns it, you know that. She’s been doing well. And when you told me na babalik ka na and stay here for three months, looking for something to do, I saw an opening.”

“An opening for what? A reunion? Closure?” she said bitterly. “Some kind of full-circle healing moment?”

Mike didn’t flinch. “Yeah. Maybe.”

Colet sat down on the bench, gripping her folder loosely now. “Galit pa rin sya.”

“I saw,” Mike said. “But you know what else I saw?”

She looked up at him.

“She still cares. You don’t get that kind of reaction from someone who’s over it. She looked at you like she didn’t know what to feel.”

Colet stayed quiet.

“I just thought,” Mike continued, “if there was even a small chance na harapin mo ‘to or ewan, ask for forgiveness maybe? Or finally let go of whatever's been sitting on your chest since London, then maybe I should give that a push.”

Colet scoffed. “You should’ve at least warned me.”

“I thought about it,” Mike admitted. “But I knew if I gave you the full picture, you'd say no. You’d avoid it again. And I didn’t want you to keep carrying this.”

She looked away. Her throat felt tight. “I’m not even sure if I’m here to fix anything.”

“I’m not asking you to fix it. Just face it.”

“Gusto ko lang tumulong,” he went on, “if there was a chance you could face it, fix it, even a little, I had to make space for that.”

“By tricking me?”

“No,” he said. “By not giving you a reason to run.”

“You had no right.”

“Tama ka naman,” he said, sitting beside her. “But I also had no right to watch you act like you were fine when you weren’t.”

Colet scoffed. “She didn’t even stay to hear me out.”

“She didn’t stay today,” he corrected. “But you’ve got three months here, remember?”

She turned her head, looking at him.

“This isn’t just about bumping into her,” Mike said gently. “This is your chance to finally say what you couldn’t. Kahit hindi ka pa nya kayang patawarin. Even if it stays messy. At least it won’t stay quiet.”

Colet swallowed hard.

That weight in her chest, the one she thought she left behind in Manila, was still there. Still full. Still waiting.

“You really think there’s space for that?” she asked.

“I think if there’s anyone who deserves to put that story to rest, it’s you.”

They sat in silence again. Not heavy this time, just still.

Colet looked down at her hands. “I don’t know if I’m ready.”

Mike gave her a small smile. “You don’t have to be. You just have to show up.”

She nodded slowly.

Three months.
Three months to face it.

Maybe not to fix everything but maybe, finally, to let it go.

The next day, Colet stepped into the staff pantry, tray in hand, eyes scanning the room. She was still getting used to the place.

At the far end of the room, Stacey sat alone, earbuds in, half-focused on a tablet as she picked at her lunch. She was wearing her usual all-black training set, a towel draped over the back of her seat, hair pulled into a knot that didn’t move even when she turned slightly.

Colet found herself walking toward her before she fully decided to.

"Hey," she said, pausing by the edge of the table. "Pwede makiupo?"

Stacey didn’t look up immediately. She removed one earbud, glanced at Colet, then shrugged.

"Free country.”

It wasn’t warm. It wasn’t hostile either. Just neutral enough to sting.

Colet sat across from her, tray settling against the table with a soft clink. The silence between them wasn’t awkward, not quite. It was heavier than that. Full of something unspoken. Something that neither of them seemed ready to dig up.

She pretended to focus on her lunch.

Then she saw it.

Tucked behind Stacey’s tumbler and lunch bag sat a half-opened packet of gummy bears. The same brand. The same mix. Familiar reds, greens, oranges, like a quiet punch to the chest.

Colet’s heart tugged without warning.

"Favorite mo pa rin ah," she said, before she could stop herself.

Stacey looked up. Followed her gaze. Then back to the gummy bears. Another shrug.

"Yeah. Why?"

Colet smiled, small and sad. "Hmm, wala naman."

A pause passed between them, soft and brittle.

"I mean," she added, trying to keep her voice light, "you used to say they were our ‘brain fuel’."

A chuckle slipped out, low and real. "Lagi tayo may baon nyan."

Stacey’s face didn’t change. She stabbed a piece of tofu with her fork.

"That was a long time ago."

"Yeah," Colet said quietly. "I know."

She looked back down at her tray, nudging rice around with the back of her spoon.

"Napansin ko lang and thought, maybe some things stayed the same."

Stacey didn’t answer.

The silence returned, longer this time, and harder.

Finally, Stacey wiped her mouth with a napkin, folded it neatly beside her tray, and stood.

"I have a class at one."

"Right," Colet murmured. "Thanks for letting me sit."

Stacey picked up her tray but left the gummy bears behind.

Colet sat there, watching the half-open pack in front of her. She reached out, gently closed the plastic, and slid it toward herself. Her lunch was half-eaten, her appetite gone.

Across from her, the space Stacey had just vacated felt heavier than when she first walked in.

Later that afternoon, Mikha pushed open the dance studio door with one hand, holding a cup of coffee. She spotted Stacey. 

"Look what I’ve got," Mikha called out, grin already halfway to mischief.

Stacey raised a brow, not quite turning her head.

"Kape? You bought me coffee without me begging you??"

"Not really," Mikha replied. "But someone else did."

She handed it to Stacey.

"Flat white. Extra shot. Just how your soul likes it. Or should I say just how both of you like it?"

Stacey didn’t move. She paused, letting that hang.

"She said it like it wasn’t a big deal. But it kind of was.”

Stacey crossed her arms, still not taking the cup.
“She didn’t need to.”

“Yeah,” Mikha replied, tone softening. “But she did anyway.”

Another pause. 

“You gonna take it or should I start drinking coffee I don’t like just to avoid hurting your feelings?”

Then, slowly, she took it from Mikha’s hand.

"Napaka-OA. Nakikisawsaw ka pa." she muttered.

"Hey," Mikha shrugged. "If the vibes are unresolved, someone’s gotta move the story along."

Mikha was already stepping out.

"Enjoy your emotional espresso!" Mikha called over her shoulder as she walked off.

Stacey stood there, alone again, holding the cup.

She stared at the lid.

The café’s logo. The familiar smell of roasted beans and warm milk. The heat pressing gently against her fingers.

For a moment, she just held it.

Then she walked into the pantry.

No pause. No second thoughts.

She stared down at the coffee and dropped the entire thing into the trash bin.

Cup and all.

She watched it fall. Listened to the soft thud as it hit the bottom. Then reached for a napkin, wiped her hands without rush, and tossed that in too.

No expression. No drama.

Just done.

She walked out of the room without looking back.

It had been few weeks since Colet returned to Manila.

She and Stacey had been working side by side. Stacey with the choreography, Colet handling vocals; acting professional, as if nothing had ever existed between them.

From the outside, they looked fine. Polite. Functional.

But under the surface, Colet had been trying to break the wall, through small talk, quiet smiles, and gentle openings. Stacey never snapped, but she never let her in either. Always just professional. Always just enough.

They worked like that. Parallel lines. Close, but never crossing.

And still, something kept pulling at the space between them.

Backstage smelled like sweat, dust, and faint desperation. Everyone was cranky. Everyone was tired.

Stacey rubbed the back of her neck and muttered under her breath, “Great. Wala na naman akong Katinko.”

Before she could even finish her sentence, Mikha reached into her bag and held up a fresh, unopened tube like it was a trophy.

“Got you, ma’am,” she said, a little too smug. “Bago pa ’yan. Galing Mercury.”

Stacey blinked. “Seriously? You don’t even use Katinko.”

“I do now. Scent of the gods.” Mikha gave an exaggerated inhale, like she was selling it. “Also, you always forget it during blocking. Duh.”

Stacey narrowed her eyes, suspicious. “Okay, weird ka na. Don’t tell me you brought efficascent too?”

Mikha didn’t flinch. In fact, she looked offended by the low expectations. “Mini bottle. May extra strength at may regular. Gusto mo yung may heat o ‘yung chill lang?”

Now Stacey was looking at her like she had grown a second head. “Don’t tell me you have,
gummy bears.”

Mikha didn’t say anything. Just smirked and pulled out a small pack like it was part of a magic trick. “Tadaaahh!”

Stacey stared. “Okay. Now you’re creeping me out.”

“Si OA?” Mikha said with a shrug. “I’m just prepared.”

“You’ve never been this prepared in your life.” Stacey gave her a questioning look.

Mikha didn’t answer. Just sipped her coffee like she was innocent.

Stacey leaned forward slightly. “Mikha.”

There was a pause.

“She just reminds me what you usually forget,” Mikha said at last. “That’s all.”

“Why would she even care?” Stacey asked, quieter this time.

Mikha glanced at her, her expression unreadable. “Because she still does. Whether you want her to or not.”

Stacey didn’t respond. She just took the Katinko from Mikha’s hand and rubbed it against her temples, the smell strong and familiar.

The next day, Colet was standing in front of Stacey’s home. The gate hadn’t changed. 

When the door opened, Stacey’s mom blinked once, then twice. “Colet? Anak, ikaw ba ’yan?”

“Hi po,” Colet said, offering a shy smile. “Long time.”

“Grabe. Parang kailan lang, halos araw-araw ka dito.” Ivy pulled the door open wider. “Come in. Don’t stand there.”

Colet stepped in, the house smelling exactly the same. Old wood, coffee, and something she used to call home.

“I’m sorry I haven’t visited,” Colet said softly. “I didn’t know if I’d still be welcome here.”

“You’re always welcome, hija,” Ivy said without hesitation. “Whatever happened between you two, doesn’t erase everything good. You were family once.”

Colet nodded, staring at the living room like it was frozen in time.

“This house, it hasn’t changed much,” she said.

“Except the silence.”

“Still quiet?” Colet asked.

“Not with everyone,” Ivy said. “But it’s a different quiet, when your name comes up. She pretends it doesn’t sting. But a mother knows.”

She set down a mug of coffee and a small plate of pandesal with cheese spread. The same brand Colet used to hoard from their fridge.

“Eat. You always liked cheese spread,” Ivy said, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Thank you po,” Colet said, sitting on the edge of the couch. “This feels weird but comforting.”

“Like healing?”

Colet tilted her head. “Maybe like remembering.”

“Well, remember this too,” Ivy said. “Just because someone pretends they’re okay doesn’t mean they’ve let go.”

“I don’t know how to reach her anymore,” Colet admitted.

“Then don’t reach,” Ivy said. “Just stay where she can find you when she’s ready.”

They sipped quietly. No more words needed.

“You came back, anak,” Stacey’s mom said after a while. “Sometimes, that’s already the apology.”

Her talk with Ivy had brought a kind of comfort she hadn’t expected. After a string of moments that felt like quiet rejection from Stacey, that conversation with Stacey’s mom gave her something she hadn’t let herself feel in a while. And with it, the courage to try again.

One night after their training, the studio was almost empty. Colet was stacking music sheets, still humming softly to herself, when Erika lingered by the door.

“Coach Colet?” Erika’s voice was hesitant.

Colet turned. “Hmm? You okay?”

Erika took a breath. “Can I ask something?”

“Of course.”

“Be honest po please.” she said. “Do you think I’ll ever be good enough to sing solo?”

Colet paused, studying her. “That depends. Are you asking if you’re talented, or if you believe you deserve the mic?”

Erika looked down. “I think I’ve always been told I’m a dancer first. That I should be grateful for the choreography roles. Na para sa ibang tao yung singing.”

Colet leaned against the mirror wall, arms crossed.

“Let me tell you something,” she said. “Stacey was told the same thing. Years ago. That she should just focus on dance. She almost believed it too. Until someone reminded her that her voice mattered.”

Erika looked up. “Who reminded her?”

Colet’s voice was softer now. “I did. I believed in her voice when no one else would. At naniniwala pa rin ako dun. I mean, look at her.” Erika recalled moments when Stacey had stepped in to help with their vocals too. Confidently demonstrating how a line should be sung, unbothered by whether it was part of her job or not.

Just outside the room, Stacey had stopped walking. She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. But she stayed still.

“What if people still see me na dancer lang?” Erika asked, her voice cracking slightly.

“Then you prove them wrong,” Colet said. “Not by shouting louder but by being undeniable. That means showing up. Training harder than anyone. And remembering this Erika—“

She stepped closer, not commanding, just sure.

“You don’t need permission to be more than what they expect of you.”

Erika nodded, swallowing down something between fear and hope.

“Thank you, coach.”

Colet smiled. “Erika?”

“Yes?”

“Your voice has depth. Soul. It reminds me of someone who used to sing even when she thought no one was listening.”

Outside, Stacey didn’t move. Her face gave nothing away. But her grip on her water bottle loosened. Just a little.

On the same week, when rehearsal was over, everyone was sweaty, tired, and stretching on the floor. Laughter scattered the air as the trainees gathered their things, but the coaches had one last debrief meeting before heading out.

They stood in a small circle, Stacey, Colet, Mikha, and two other staff members.

Stacey was in charge today. She spoke cleanly, efficiently.

“Vocals on verse two were shaky,” she said, without glancing in Colet’s direction. “Colet, please coordinate warm-ups tomorrow so they don’t sound like they’re waking up on stage.”

Colet nodded. “Got it.”

Stacey continued, “Blocking needs adjustments. May mga times na nawawala pa rin si Erika. Mikha, can you handle that?”

“Sure,” Mikha said, watching the space between them closely.

One of the junior staff members chimed in, “Honestly, vocals improved this week. Erika hit that bridge beautifully. I think the one-on-one coaching helped.”

Colet smiled softly. “Yeah. She’s been working hard.”

There was a beat where Stacey could have acknowledged it. A glance. A nod. A single word.

Nothing.

She just said, “We’ll see if she can keep it consistent.”

Then she turned to the rest. “That’s it for today.”

Colet stayed behind, collecting her notes while the others dispersed.

She was still adjusting her bag when she caught Stacey across the room, speaking quietly to one of the stylists. Her voice was low, but the room was quiet enough.

“Double-check Erika’s mic tape, she’s sweating through it.”

Then, a pause.

“And get someone to shadow vocals. If Colet’s not available, have Mikha step in.”

Colet’s hand stopped mid-zip.

Not if Colet’s busy.
Not if Colet’s sick.
Just, if she’s not available. Like she was optional.

Replaceable.

She looked up, and for one stupid second, she wanted to say something. Anything.

But Stacey was already walking away, like she hadn’t just cut her out of her own role. Like she wasn’t even worth confirming with.

Colet stood there, notebook in hand, trying to breathe past the way it hit her chest.

She didn’t expect a thank you. She didn’t expect warmth. But she hadn’t expected to be erased.

The label had been buzzing with energy for weeks. Posters printed, lights rehearsed, outfits meticulously chosen, and a full lineup of performances locked in. Tonight was their anniversary celebration of growth, hard work, and the messy, beautiful chaos that came with building dreams out of rhythm and sound.

Everyone arrived dressed to impress. Gowns, tailored suits, glittering accessories. The studio kids traded sneakers for heels, hoodies for sleek silhouettes. The performance hall had been transformed into a wonderland of neon lights and soft jazz, a haze of music and clinking glasses floating in the air.

Colet had never been the kind to obsess over appearances, but tonight she looked stunning. A silk emerald dress clung to her figure effortlessly, a slit running high on one leg. Her hair curled into soft waves, framing her face delicately. She moved through the crowd like she didn’t quite believe she belonged there.

But she did.

Stacey, on the other hand, looked devastating in a deep red halter gown, her usual sleek bun swapped out for a looser, tousled style. She rarely dressed up but tonight, she had. And people noticed.

More than a few heads turned when the two of them ended up on the same side of the room. Not speaking. Not touching. But the tension between them sparkled just as much as the lights.

As the night unfolded, drinks were poured, performances ran, and laughter came easy.

Stacey already had her third cocktail, just a little tipsy, cheeks warm from both the alcohol and the electric energy of the night. She leaned over to the host, her voice slurred just slightly, her breath warm against his ear.

“Call Colet,” she whispered. “Tell her to sing.”

The host blinked, surprised. “Is she on the lineup?”

Stacey smirked lazily. “She is now.”

Mike stood beside Colet near the side of the room. They had been laughing about something when the host’s voice cut through the air.

“Alright, everyone! We’ve got a special treat. Our very own Coach Colet is going to bless us with a song!”

The room applauded, heads turned, and spotlights moved.

Colet froze.

Mike’s head snapped toward her, a flicker of concern flashing instantly across his face. “Wait. Did you plan this?”

But Colet was already shaking her head. “No. No, hindi!”

People clapped louder. Some of the trainees cheered.

Stacey smiled faintly from the bar, eyes finding Colet across the room, raising her glass in quiet encouragement.

It should’ve been nothing.

It wasn’t.

Colet stepped forward slowly, like she was walking into fog. The mic stand was waiting, a quiet hum of feedback already filling the silence. The band behind her looked on, ready for a cue.

But she didn’t give it.

She took one more step. Then another.

Then it hit her.

The room. The eyes. The stillness before the music. The weight of expectation. The silence before a sound you can’t take back.

And suddenly, it was London all over again.

The stage. The voices. The paralyzed breath. The shame.

The panic came swift and brutal.

Her chest tightened.

She couldn’t breathe.

A sound caught in her throat, stuck somewhere between a gasp and a plea. Her eyes darted across the room. Faces blurred. Her hands started shaking. The mic was too close. The lights were too bright.

“I—” she whispered, barely audible. “I’m sorry.”

And then she walked off the stage.

People watched, stunned. Some laughed awkwardly, unsure if it was a joke. Others looked at each other, confused. Murmurs spread like wildfire.

Mike was already moving.

“Colet—” he called, heart pounding.

But someone else was moving too.

Stacey, wine glass abandoned on the bar, heels clicking fast against the floor.

Outside the venue, the night air was cooler. Less suffocating. The noise of the celebration was muffled behind the glass doors.

They split paths at the exit.

“Where is she?” Stacey muttered, glancing left and right. “I didn’t think she’d just—”

“You didn’t think.” Mike’s voice cut clean through the space between them.

Stacey turned to him, surprised by the edge.
“Mike—”

“No,” he said, stepping in front of her. “You don’t get to play shocked. You called her up there. You.”

Mike turned sharply to face her. “Hindi mo alam kung anong ginawa mo!”

Stacey blinked, surprised. “I—what?”

“She has stage trauma,” Mike said, voice low but furious. “She had a panic attack in London after freezing during a performance. It wrecked her. That's why she stopped performing. That’s why she coaches now.“

Stacey opened her mouth, but no words came.

“And after weeks of brushing her off, now you pull that stunt? What the hell do you want from her?” Mike’s voice cracked with restrained fury. “Sinusubukan nya Stacey, and you, you’ve been punishing her. Is that not enough?”

“I’m not punishing her,” Stacey snapped back, wounded. “I’m surviving her.”

Mike’s breath hitched, taken aback by the sudden sharpness in her tone.

Stacey pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead, stumbling slightly, still tipsy, still reeling. “You think it’s easy? Seeing her every day? After all that time she vanished, after she left without a word? She didn’t even say goodbye.”

“Kasi she was confused! She thought she was doing the right thing.”

Stacey laughed bitterly. “I waited Mike. And then I hated myself for it. I hated her for not choosing me. I hated her for being so close for years, and being her best friend ng napakaraming taon but what? She didn’t love me enough to stay for. Or even not love me enough to at least tell me her plans? All I got was a message? Ni hindi nya ko sinubukang kausapin ulit. Ni hindi sya nag-effort to show me how sorry she was!”

They both fell silent.

Then a voice, soft but unmistakable, broke the quiet.

“I didn’t say goodbye because I was in love with you.”

They turned at the same time.

Colet stood a few feet away, breath heavy, eyes shining in the low light. Her dress shimmered faintly under the glow of the lamppost, but it was her expression that held them still. Open. Raw. Finally, unafraid.

“So freaking in love with you, Stacey,” she said again, voice stronger now. “And I hated it.”

Stacey stared, frozen. Her mouth opened slightly, but no sound came.

Colet kept going, like something inside her had finally cracked open.

“I hated how much I loved you. How every time you touched me, even just your shoulder brushing mine, it felt like my body forgot how to function. And I pretended it didn’t. Because I didn’t want to lose what we had. But God, it tore me up.”

She took a shaky breath.

“You’d lie down next to me after school. Same bed, same blanket, same playlist. And I’d stay awake half the night, praying you couldn’t hear how hard my heart was pounding. For sure, hindi mo na natatandaan.”

Stacey didn’t answer. Her silence was too loud.

“We were so close,”Colet whispered, “but we never crossed the line. We’d talk about love like it was somewhere far away, like it wasn’t already sitting between us. I remember how you'd reach for my hand and hold it just a little longer than normal, and I’d pretend I didn’t notice. Kasi iniisip ko, if I asked for more, you’d let go.”

Stacey blinked. Her lashes fluttered like she was holding something back.

“And every time you got jealous of the people na nadidikit sakin, I convinced myself it was just friendly possessiveness. That you were just being protective. I wanted to believe it meant more. But I couldn’t risk the truth, because if I was wrong—“, her voice broke, “mawawala ka sa’kin.”

Colet stepped closer, tears falling freely now. “I left because I couldn’t carry it anymore. I couldn’t keep loving you in silence. And I thought, if I stayed, I’d keep hurting you kasi kailangan ko lumayo from time to time, kailangan ko ng distansya every time may mangyayari that would make me realize my place, or I’d end up hurting myself worse.”

She looked down, then up again, trembling.

“But even after I left, I couldn’t stop. I’d see something in London, ice cream you’d love, or a street performance that reminded me sa pagsayaw mo and I’d want to tell you. I almost messaged you so many times. But I kept hearing your voice the day of my graduation. Flat. Cold. Mad.”

Colet swallowed, “I’ve been back for weeks and the truth is, Staku, nothing changed. I look at you and it’s still there. Like my body memorized how to love you and refuses to unlearn it.”

Stacey took one slow step forward, finally breathing again.

“You’re stupid. You are so stupid.” she whispered, voice hoarse.

“Do you know how hard I tried to tell you without saying it?” she said. “Do you remember when you got sick that week before our finals and I skipped my dance practice just to sit in your room, feeding you soup like some desperate wife in a teleserye? Or when I wrote you that birthday letter and rewrote it five times because I couldn’t decide if saying ‘I love you’ would give me away?”

Colet blinked. “I thought, I thought you were just being sweet. That it was your love language or something.”

“It was,” Stacey said, stepping closer. “But only for you.”

Her voice cracked now, hands tightening at her sides.

“I was loud, Colet. I didn’t know how else to show it. I memorized your food orders, your allergies, your moods before your period, the playlist you made for me. Those nights you let me sleep on your lap even when it cramped your legs. I used to stare at your messages before replying just so I wouldn’t sound too obvious but still too available. I was trying to say ‘I love you’ in every possible way that didn’t ruin us.”

She paused, eyes shining now, but not just with tears. With something heavier.

“And then I started dating. Ely, then Mike. Trying to move on. Or at least trying to look like I had. And every time I told you about someone, I waited. I waited for your face to change. For your voice to waver. For you to say something. But you never did. You just smiled like it didn’t matter. Like I didn’t matter.”

Colet’s face fell, breath catching.

“And that killed me,” Stacey continued, voice dropping. “Because I thought maybe you didn’t care. That all those nights meant more to me than they ever did to you. So I kept it up, kahit ang bigat bigat. I kept pretending I was fine, that I was just your friend, and that being near you wasn’t slowly tearing me apart.”

Colet’s lips parted, her throat tightening. “But you never said it,” she whispered.

“Because I thought you didn’t feel it back,”Stacey said. “Because you kept pretending we were just friends. So I convinced myself that maybe nag-iimagine lang ako. That maybe you were holding my hand because you were kind, not because you wanted to never let go.”

Mike looked between them, eyes softening.

“So I waited,” Stacey went on. “And then you left. And God, that was painful. Ang sakit sakit nun. But Colet—“

She took one last step forward, so close now.

“I would’ve waited forever if you had just asked me to.”

Silence.

Nothing but wind and memory.

Then Stacey laughed quietly, broken but real.

“And now I’m drunk and sad and I told you everything and I’m going to regret this tomorrow.”

She turned, stumbling slightly.

“Stacey—” Colet called out.

But Stacey didn’t stop.

“I have to go,”she mumbled. “Before I say something even more pathetic like ‘I still love you, too.’”

And then, she was gone.

This time, she was the one who walked away.

And Colet didn’t stop her.

Stacey disappeared around the corner. Colet stood still for a few seconds, chest still tight. Then, slowly, she turned to Mike.

He was already watching her. And he had that smile again. The one he wore when he was trying very hard not to say ‘I told you so’.

Colet narrowed her eyes. “Mike.”

Mike raised his hands in surrender. “Don’t look at me like that.”

She took a step toward him, arms crossed. “You knew.”

Mike blinked. “Knew what?”

“You knew she loved me.”

He scratched the back of his neck, guilty smirk deepening. “Well, hindi ako sure nung una.”

Colet stared.

Mike hesitated. Then, slowly, “Nararamdaman ko na. But the night I knew? That was the night you saw us sa bahay nila. The one you told me about.”

Her body tensed at the memory.

The image had burned itself into her, Stacey in Mike’s arms, quiet and close, the night before she was planning to confess but only to see that.

It had changed everything.

Colet’s throat was tight. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it wasn’t my story to tell,” Mike said, without apology. “I wanted to. Wala kang idea how badly I wanted to scream at both of you to stop being cowards and just say it.”

He sighed.

“But it had to come from her. Just like this, had to come from you.”

Colet let the silence sit for a moment.

Mike sighed. “You weren’t just running from that moment, Colet. You were running from everything you felt.”

She turned away slightly, hands trembling.

“I thought I was protecting myself,” she whispered.

“I know,” Mike replied. 

A long silence followed.

Then Colet looked up, eyes shimmering but steady. “She still loves me.”

Mike nodded. “Yeah. She does.”

“And I still love her.”

“I know.”

“But we’re idiots.”

Mike smiled softly. “Ang tagal na!”

They both chuckled, weakly, but honestly.

Mike clapped a hand gently on her shoulder. “Go home. Sleep. And tomorrow? Maybe, start again. No more almost.”

Colet stared up at the sky, breath shaky.

“I wasted so many years.”

“But you still have two months,” Mike said. “Maybe more. If you don’t run this time.”

She nodded. Slowly. The truth of everything was still raw, still aching. But there was something else now too.

Something like hope.

The house was quiet, too quiet except for the faint hum of the electric fan and the occasional clink of Stacey’s spoon against her coffee mug. She hadn’t taken a real sip. Just stirred, stared, and replayed every word from the night before like it was stuck on loop.

Her eyes were still swollen from sleep or crying. She wasn’t sure which.

Then came the voice from downstairs.

“Anak, may bisita ka.”

Stacey’s head jerked up. Her brows furrowed.

Still in her oversized shirt and loose pajama shorts, she walked barefoot down the stairs.

Her breath caught.

Colet.

She was sitting on the couch. No emerald dress. No makeup. Just a loose hoodie and jeans. Hair tied back simply. She looked like before. Like home.

In her hands: a small bouquet of white tulips.

Stacey stopped in her tracks.

Her mom looked between the two of them, arms folded but eyes kind. “Talk,” she said. Calm, but firm. "Habang andiyan pa ‘yang chance. Sayang naman.”

And then she was gone, into the kitchen, where she definitely stayed close enough to listen.

The living room fell into thick silence.

Colet stood awkwardly, extending the bouquet. “I, hmm, brought you flowers.”

Stacey hesitated for a moment before taking them carefully. “Thanks,” she murmured, setting them down on the coffee table. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” Colet replied quietly, sitting back down.

Stacey followed, sitting on the far end of the couch. Distance still sat between them, just like the words that hadn’t yet been said.

Then Colet spoke, softly.

“I’m sorry.”

Stacey looked up, surprised by how fast it came.

“I’m not just sorry for what I didn’t say,” Colet continued. “I’m sorry for how I left. For being selfish. For choosing to walk away from you, from our friendship, just because I wanted to move on from how I felt.”

She looked down at her hands, fingers clenched together. “I told myself I was protecting you. But really, I was just protecting myself.”

Stacey stayed quiet.

Colet went on, voice shaking slightly.

“You were my best friend. The safest place I had. And I still chose to disappear instead of telling you the truth. I didn’t trust you enough to be honest. I didn’t trust that what we had could survive it.” She swallowed. “Yun yung pinagsisisihan ko.”

The words hung in the air like smoke.

Stacey’s voice was low when she finally replied. “You think I would’ve hated you if you told me?”

“I don’t know,” Colet admitted. “I think I was just scared. That if I said I was in love with you, and you didn’t feel the same, I’d lose you. But instead of fighting for what we had, I let fear win. And I broke something I never thought I would.”

Stacey blinked slowly, eyes fixed on the flowers in front of them.

“I wanted to forgive you,” she said, “for a long time. I thought maybe if I pretended I was fine, I’d forget how much it hurt when you left.”

Her fingers gripped the edge of her seat.

“But the truth is, I was angry. I waited. And you didn’t come back. You didn’t even try.”

Colet’s eyes welled, her voice barely above a whisper. “I was a coward.”

Stacey nodded slightly. “Yeah. You were.”

Another pause.

Then Colet leaned forward, voice clearer now.

“I’m not asking you to forgive me today. I’m just asking for a chance to earn back what I broke. Even if we don’t go back to what we were. I’ll take that. I just don’t want to disappear again.”

Stacey’s throat tightened. “I’m scared, Colet.”

“I know,” Colet said, her voice steady. “Me too. But I’m here. And I’m not running anymore.”

Stacey glanced sideways at her, quiet for a long moment.

Her eyes flicked to Colet, not hard, not cold, just honest.

“I’m not ready to forgive everything,” she said. “But I’m not shutting you out, either. Not anymore.”

Colet’s breath caught.

Stacey continued, softer now, but still firm. “You hurt me. And it’s going to take time. But I don’t want to keep pretending like you don’t matter to me. Because you do. You always have.”

She looked down, fidgeting with the edge of the tulip stem resting on the table.

“I’ll let you in, just not all at once.”

A small, relieved smile, tired but real, touched Colet’s lips. “Okay,” she whispered. “I can wait.”

They didn’t hug. They didn’t cry.

They just sat there, not fully healed, not fully whole, but facing each other again.

And for now, that was enough.

The next day, the dance studio buzzed with energy. Mirrors gleamed under the ceiling lights, music thumped gently in the background as trainees stretched and chatted, sweaty but excited.

Stacey stood at the front of the room, hair up in a high bun, loose shirt tied at the waist. Her clipboard rested under one arm, whistle hanging from her neck. The routine they were practicing was sharp, a contemporary-meets-pop choreography, all about tension, closeness, and synchronized movement.

“This is a partner sequence,” she called out. “Trust is key here. You can’t fake chemistry, even in choreography. You move like you’re breathing the same air. Got it?”

Everyone nodded.

Stacey glanced down at her notes. “Ralph, you’re with me. Let’s demo it first—”

“Wait.” 

The interruption was soft but clear.

Everyone turned.

Colet stepped forward from the back of the studio, her water bottle hanging loosely from her fingers.

“I’ll do it,” she said. “I’ll partner with you.”

The air shifted instantly. Nothing hostile, just aware. People glanced at each other, then back at the two of them. No one commented, but everyone noticed.

Ralph gave a half-smile and backed off. “All yours, Coach.”

Colet took his place beside Stacey, who hadn't moved yet. Her brow arched slightly.

As the others reset around them, Stacey leaned in just a little and murmured under her breath, “What are you doing?”

Colet’s eyes didn’t leave the mirror in front of them. Her voice was quiet but firm. “No more other guys touching you. At least not if you’re not okay with it.”

Stacey’s breath caught in her throat.

Then, just as quietly, Colet added, “Only if you’re fine with me.”

There was no smugness in her tone. No pressure. Just sincerity. Just hope.

Stacey hesitated for half a second, then gave the tiniest nod.

The beat started soft, pulsing through the studio.

“Okay, listen up,” Stacey said, clapping her hands once. “First, relax your shoulders, feet shoulder-width apart, ha? Ready?”

She looked sideways at Colet, standing close beside her.

“Unahin natin yung right foot, slide it back ng konti. Tapos, left arm mo, cross over sa shoulder ng partner mo, light lang yung touch, ha? Wag yung OA,” she added with a small smile, demonstrating the move and reaching for Colet’s shoulder.

Her hand landed gently, and Stacey’s breath hitched for a moment. She quickly looked away from Colet’s reflection in the mirror.

Focus, Stacey. Focus.

Colet didn’t say anything, just followed quietly. Her heart was pounding so loud she was sure Stacey could hear it. She counted silently, one, two, three, moving exactly with Stacey’s rhythm.

Stacey continued, voice steady but softer now. “Then, partner, ‘di mo siya hahawakan ng buong katawan, ha? Konti lang, cross center kayo ng konti. Para may space pero close pa rin.”

Her hand found the side of Colet’s waist. Fingers hesitated a beat, then settled.

Shit, Stacey thought. 

Colet mirrored her movement, palm resting lightly on Stacey’s upper back, eyes fixed on her lips as Stacey explained.

“Next step, pivot tayo dito, medyo lumiko ka, pero dahan-dahan lang. Lean lang konti, wag buong weight mo, dapat may trust kayo.”

Her chest brushed past Colet’s, and Stacey swallowed hard. The closeness was too much.

Colet’s throat tightened. She followed Stacey’s lead wordlessly, lips pressed tight, every nerve alive with the heat of being this close.

“Last count,” Stacey whispered, voice cracking just a bit. “Step, lift, slide your hand down your partner’s arm, like you're letting go of something slow.”

Her fingers trailed slowly down Colet’s forearm, lingering at her wrist.

Colet didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Stacey quickly straightened up. “Okay, so ‘yan muna. Repeat natin in pairs. Five counts each.”

She turned to the group, avoiding Colet’s eyes.

“Ready?”

Everyone began moving. The spell broke.

But for those few minutes, with music, motion, and skin just barely touching, neither Colet nor Stacey could ignore how much they’d missed being this close.

Even if they didn’t say it.

They felt it.

And maybe, for now, that was the safest place to start.

The sun was dipping low, streaking warm amber light across the pavement outside the studio. The air had cooled a bit, and the buzz of trainees clearing out was slowly fading.

Colet leaned against the hood of her car, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, casually scrolling through her phone but glancing up every few seconds.

She’d offered Stacey a ride home earlier, “Wala lang, sakto naman pauwi rin ako,”she’d said, casual but hopeful and Stacey had only nodded, “Okay. Wait for me outside.”

So she did.

Stacey finally emerged, gym bag slung over her shoulder, shirt damp with sweat, hair tied into a loose bun now slightly frizzed from all the movement.

Just as Colet was about to straighten up, Coach Patrick, one of the vocal coaches, jogged up behind Stacey.

“Stacey!”

She turned, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Oh, hey, Coach!”

“Grabe ka, thank you ulit ha,” he said, slightly breathless. “’Yung dance training for my team? You literally saved me. My partner was out and I would’ve canceled kung hindi mo kinover.”

Stacey smiled, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “No problem. It was fun, actually.”

“Still,” he added, “Thank you. I owe you one. Maybe coffee? One of these days? My treat.”

Colet blinked.

Stacey laughed a little, not catching Colet’s reaction. “Cool! Let’s plan.”

“Okay,” Coach Patrick said with a grin. “Ingat!”

He jogged off toward the parking lot.

Stacey turned and spotted Colet already waiting by the car. Without a word, Colet stepped forward and opened the passenger door for her.

The drive started in silence, just the hum of the engine and faint city noise through the windows. Colet’s hands were on the wheel, but her jaw was tight.

Stacey didn’t notice at first, just leaned back, scrolling through her phone.

After a few blocks, Colet finally spoke.

“Are you gonna say yes?”

Stacey glanced up. “To what?”

“To the coffee.” Colet’s eyes stayed on the road.

Stacey tilted her head slightly, confused. “Why? Are you asking as my partner-coach, or as something else?”

Colet exhaled through her nose, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “I’m asking because I remember a time you asked me the same thing.”

Stacey blinked.

Colet didn’t look at her, eyes fixed forward. But her voice softened.

“You asked me if it was okay if you dated Ely.”

Stacey’s breath caught. “I remember.”

“You asked me then I said it’s okay.”

Stacey didn’t say anything.

Colet finally glanced at her. “And I lied, by the way.”

Stacey blinked.

“I wasn’t okay,” Colet said, quieter now. “I hated it. Every time you were with him, I’d feel this twist in my chest I couldn’t name yet. But I told myself I had no right to ask you not to.”

A long pause passed between them.

“So no,” Colet went on, “I wouldn’t be comfortable knowing you’re having coffee with Patrick. But—” she took a slow breath, “I also know it’s your decision. Always has been.”

Stacey turned slightly in her seat, watching her. “Is this your way of saying you’re jealous?”

Colet laughed under her breath, shaking her head. “I’m saying I’m human. And I’m still in love with you. But I’m not gonna try to own your time just because of that.”

Stacey looked down at her lap.

The car stopped at a red light. Colet’s grip on the wheel relaxed slightly.

“Gusto ko lang maging honest,” she added, softly. “I wasn’t honest before. I didn’t tell you how I felt. Pero ngayon, I don’t want to keep pretending.”

The light turned green.

Still no answer from Stacey.

But she reached out slowly, letting her hand rest just briefly, on Colet’s knee.

Not a promise. Not a confession.

But a sign.

That maybe, this time, she’d be honest too.

The rooftop had become their unofficial escape, a place to breathe between rehearsals, away from the blaring speakers and the crowded training halls.

Colet and Stacey sat side by side on the bench, lunch containers balanced on their laps.

Then Stacey spoke, voice casual but a little careful.

“So, what’s your plan after this?” she asked, not looking directly at Colet. “Pagkatapos ng temp contract mo?”

Colet paused mid-bite, then lowered her sandwich. “Actually, I’m flying back to London.”

Stacey turned slightly to look at her. “Seriously?”

“Yup, pero six months lang,” Colet said quickly. “I took a short program. New trainees, mostly. It’s this crash course thing. Three months of coaching, then three months of showcases.”

“Oh.” Stacey turned back to her food.

“I’ll be back after that,” Colet added gently. “And I’m thinking, baka I’ll talk to Mike’s uncle. See if I can be part of the label. For real this time.”

Stacey nodded slowly, still processing. “So you’re planning to stay here?”

“Yeah,” Colet said, glancing sideways at her. “If they’ll let me.”

There was a pause. Then Stacey asked, “What if you get a good offer in London? Something permanent?”

Colet smirked a little. “Depende siguro.”

“On what?”

She leaned a bit closer, teasing. “Kung kaya mong mag-LDR.”

Stacey scoffed under her breath, shaking her head but her smile faded almost instantly. She glanced down at her hands, then back at Colet.

“If it was before, siguro oo,” she said, voice quieter now. “But after everything we’ve been through? After all the time we already lost?”

Colet turned to her fully, lips slightly parted, heart thudding.

“I think I’d want to be with you. All the time,” Stacey continued, not quite meeting her eyes. “I don’t want to watch your life from a distance, anymore.”

She took a breath. “I want the real thing. You. Here. But it’s still your decision.”

Before she could even finish that thought, Colet was already moving.

She shifted on the bench, set her sandwich down, and wrapped her arms around Stacey in a tight, sudden hug.

Stacey stiffened in surprise, chopsticks still in hand.

Then she slowly melted into it, arms circling Colet’s waist, forehead brushing against her shoulder.

Neither of them spoke. But the air around them thickened with something unspoken, something that felt more honest than anything they'd said out loud.

When they finally pulled away, their faces were closer than expected.

Too close.

Both of them paused, breath caught, eyes locked.

Then, slowly, Colet leaned in, unsure, heart in her throat, gaze flickering to Stacey’s lips like a question she wasn’t brave enough to ask out loud.

But just as the distance narrowed, Stacey placed a hand gently on Colet’s chest and pushed her back a few inches.

“Hoy,” she said, a crooked smile forming. “Don’t push your luck.”

Colet blinked, caught mid-lean, then let out a soft laugh. “Sorry. Weak moment.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t shove you off the bench.”

“You like me too much for that.”

Stacey rolled her eyes but didn’t move away.

Then, after a beat, she said quietly, “Thanks for not running, Colet.”

Colet looked at her, smile fading into something gentler. “Thanks for not shutting me out.”

They didn’t kiss.

But Colet’s pinky brushed against Stacey’s on the bench between them and this time, Stacey didn’t move hers away.

They just sat there, close, quiet, something rebuilding quietly between them, slow, certain.

It wasn’t a promise yet.

But it was enough.

The afternoon air was still thick with heat as Colet and Stacey made their way downstairs, walking shoulder to shoulder, each step somehow lighter than before.

Their smiles were small but real, the kind that came from half-spoken promises and something cautiously blooming.

But the ease in Stacey’s chest evaporated the second a familiar voice echoed from the lobby.

“Babe!”

Colet looked up, surprised but Stacey froze.

And just like that, her stomach dropped.

It was Reign.

Wearing her usual fitted-shirt and jeans, makeup-free, hair in a loose bun, all casual warmth and confidence. Mike walked beside her, but Reign was only looking at one person.

Colet.

“Oh my god!” Colet grinned, stepping forward automatically. “Reign?! I thought you weren’t coming back until next month!”

Reign practically bounced toward her and threw her arms around Colet’s shoulders. “Early flight! I missed you too much, duh.”

Colet laughed, returning the hug without hesitation. “Grabe, bakit wala kang sinasabi?!”

“I wanted to surprise you.” Reign pulled back just enough to nudge her forehead lightly against Colet’s. “Worth it.”

Stacey stopped a few feet back, her arms instinctively crossing. She kept her expression neutral, but her eyes didn’t lie.

Mike saw it. And so did Reign, briefly.

“Hey, Stacey,” Reign said smoothly, as if this wasn’t awkward at all. “Long time.”

“Yeah,” Stacey said flatly. “Two years and a few unresolved grudges ago, I think.”

Reign chuckled like it was nothing. “Glad you’re still a bitch?” she joked.

Mike, sensing the shift in energy, stepped in. “Stacey, we’re all just catching up—”

“I’m fine,” Stacey cut in, her smile tight. “You all enjoy. I’ll head back inside.”

Mike sighed and nudged Colet with his elbow. “You’re so dense.”

“What? What did I—?”

He tilted his head toward the hallway. “May nagselos.”

Colet’s eyes widened slightly. “You think?”

“I know,” Mike said. 

As Colet processed that, Reign was already glancing toward the practice room.

Mike pulled her gently by the waist. “Thanks for dropping by, babe. I missed you.”

He kissed her on the forehead before leading her down the opposite hall.

But Colet? She was already following Stacey to the locker room.

Stacey was tossing her towel into her bag like it had personally offended her. Her lips were tight, her movements just a little more aggressive than necessary.

Colet leaned against the row of lockers beside her, arms crossed, fighting back a grin.

“So,” Colet started casually, “Is this your post-jealousy silence or just a normal grumpiness?”

Stacey paused, slowly turning her head toward her. “Jealousy?”

Colet shrugged, "Staku, bigla ka nagwalk-out kanina.”

“Hindi yun walked-out,” Stacey said, rolling her eyes. “I walked away. Calmly.”

“Okaayyyy,” Colet smirked. “And the death glare you gave her? Super subtle.”

Stacey huffed a laugh, but didn’t confirm nor deny. “She was being extra.”

“She always is,” Colet said. “But I didn’t realize you were still jealous of her.”

“I’m not jealous.”

Colet leaned in a little, eyes twinkling. “Staku.”

“What?”

“You are so jealous.”

“I am not!”

“Look at you, para ka nang sasabog.”

Stacey snapped her locker shut and faced her with mock impatience. “Okay,”

Colet burst out laughing. “Okay, you’re dodging the question like a pro.”

“Maybe,” Stacey shrugged, a small smile forming, “pero ikaw ‘yung mukhang kinikilig.”

“Kinikilig? Ako?” Colet put her hands on her hips. “Excuse me, I’m totally chill.”

“You think so,” Stacey said under her breath, grinning.

Then suddenly, she stepped closer and lightly tugged Colet by the sleeve. Before Colet could say anything, Stacey leaned in and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. It was soft. Barely a second.

When Stacey pulled back, she grinned at the stunned look on Colet’s face, mouth slightly parted, blinking like her brain short-circuited.

Stacey smirked and stepped back, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

“See?” she said, cocking her head. “No one else makes you look like that.”

Then she turned and walked away, smooth, calm, annoyingly victorious.

Colet stayed frozen for a beat too long, hand slowly rising to touch her cheek.

“Okay,” she mumbled to herself, still dazed. “That’s unfair.”

From down the hall, Stacey’s voice called back, “Heard that!”

Colet groaned and grinned at the same time.

The soft glow of fairy lights lit up the small backyard of Colet’s home. The air smelled of garlic, herbs, and candle wax. A gentle playlist hummed through the speakers, jazz, a little acoustic, and that one song Stacey always used to hum under her breath while organizing practice schedules.

The table wasn’t fancy, but it was perfect: plates of creamy salmon pasta, garlic bread on the side, and a chilled bottle of wine Colet had been saving for a “someday” kind of moment.

Tonight was that someday.

“Wow,” Stacey whispered as she stepped outside, taking it all in. “You did all this?”

Colet smiled, a little shy. “Yaz. One of the things I learned in London. Cooking calms me down. And I wanted to make tonight feel better than the last time I said goodbye.”

They sat down, shared food and stories, letting laughter fill the spaces where years had once lived in silence. For a moment, it didn’t feel like the eve of a departure. It just felt like them.

Later, Colet stood and offered a hand.

“Dance with me?” she asked.

Stacey raised a brow, teasing. “Kahit walang ballroom dito sa likod ng bahay mo?”

Colet grinned. “Kahit sa tabi ng halaman.”

Stacey rolled her eyes playfully but stood anyway, letting Colet pull her in gently. Their hands found each other easily, and their movements swayed naturally to the slow rhythm of the music.

They were close. Closer than they’d been in years, no eyes watching. Just them. Breathing the same air, moving in sync, hearts unsure whether to race or slow down.

After a while, Colet spoke, her voice quiet, her forehead gently leaning into Stacey’s.

“Alam mo,” she began, “I used to count the miles between us in hours, flights, time zones. But distance was never what hurt me the most.”

Stacey looked up, gaze soft. “Ano?”

“It was not being able to tell you,” Colet said, voice trembling, “that I love you. That I never stopped loving you. Even when I left, even when I tried to move on, it was always you.”

Stacey’s arms tightened slightly around her, pulling her closer, but she didn’t speak just yet.

“I should’ve done this before,” Colet whispered. “Not disappear. Not leave you like that. This—” she gestured to them swaying under the soft lights, “This should’ve been my goodbye back then.”

Stacey rested her head lightly on Colet’s shoulder. “But you’re here now.”

Colet nodded, blinking back the sting in her eyes. “I’ll be back. It’s just six months.”

“You better,” Stacey said, smiling into her neck. “Kapag ‘di ka nag-update, ewan ko na lang talaga.”

Colet laughed softly. “Everyday. I promise. God, I love you so much.”

Then, slowly, Stacey leaned back to look at her.

“If this were years ago,” Stacey whispered, “I would’ve hidden behind a joke. I would've smiled and walked away.”

“But not tonight?” Colet asked, her voice barely a breath.

Stacey shook her head. “Not tonight.”

She leaned in, her forehead resting lightly against Colet’s.

“Because tonight, I can finally say it, fully, clearly, no fear.”

She pulled back just enough to look into Colet’s eyes.

“I love you,” Stacey said. “And no amount of waiting, silence, or distance ever really took that away.”

Colet’s breath hitched, eyes shining. “You just ruined my whole speech.”

Stacey laughed softly, wiping away a tear from Colet’s cheek with her thumb.

“Good,” Stacey whispered. “Now we’re even.”

And under the fairy lights and the quiet sky, they held each other, no longer afraid of what tomorrow might bring.

Then, in the middle of flickering candles and soft music, Stacey leaned in, and finally, finally, they kissed.

It wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t unsure. It was gentle and unshaken. It was the kind of kiss that didn’t beg for forever, but carried a quiet hope for the next day.

When they pulled apart, their foreheads rested together.

Stacey whispered, smiling, “Six months lang, diba?”

Colet nodded. “Six months. Then I come home to you.”

They stood there for a while, wrapped in each other, with hearts full, no longer with unsaid things, but with hope.

And this time, they were certain.

This wasn’t an ending.

This was a beginning.

-END-

Chapter Text

It started off shy“love” and “mahal” said with hesitation, almost in a whisper, like both were testing the weight of the words in their mouths.

On a late-night call, Colet yawned, “Mahal, okay ka lang ba sa work kanina?”

There was a short silence.

Then Stacey laughed, a little teasing. “Wait, did you just call me mahal?”

Colet covered her face with her hand, even though Stacey couldn’t see her. “I did,” she said, voice small. “Sorry, ang corny ba? Parang ang awkward.”

“No,” Stacey said, a little shy herself now. “Hindi lang ako sanay. Pero I like how it sounds.”

Colet let out a nervous laugh. “So, pwede ko na ulitin?”

Stacey was smiling now, you could hear it in her voice. “Sige nga, try mo.”

Colet took a deep breath, then cleared her throat, trying to sound confident. “Mahal, may sasabihin ako sa’yo.”

Stacey leaned in a little, curious. “Oh? Ano ’yon?”

“I miss you. Sobra.”

There was a pause again, softer this time. Then Stacey replied, her voice low, almost a whisper, “Miss din kita, love.”

Neither of them said anything for a while after that. Both of them were smiling like fools. Both feeling awkward but also warm, and full.

Since then, the words came a little easier. Although still shy, still new, but sweeter each time.

Stacey lay on her bed, curled up under her blanket, eyes heavy from the long day. The light from her phone screen painted her face in soft tones. On the other end of the call, Colet sat on her bed, legs crossed, her guitar resting on her lap.

She strummed lazily, like she wasn’t thinking about it, just playing to pass time while they talked. Then, without warning, she sang quietly:

Sa dulo sana tayo pa rin
Nananalig at di mamadaliin
Dahil kung para sa’tin, dun tayo dadalhin

She didn’t even realize she’d said the words out loud until she noticed Stacey had opened her eyes.

“Wait,” Stacey said, lifting her head slightly. “What was that?”

Colet blinked. “Huh?”

“That song. Yung kinanta mo.”

“Oh.” Colet looked down at her guitar, suddenly shy. “Wala lang, I was messing around. It’s something I wrote.”

Stacey sat up a bit more, interest piqued. “You wrote that? That didn’t sound like wala lang.”

Colet laughed under her breath. “Okay, fine. I started writing it few years ago. Around the time I moved here. Yung hindi tayo nag-uusap.”

Stacey’s smile faded just slightly. She remembered.

“I didn’t know how to say everything I was feeling, so I tried to turn it into something,” Colet said softly. “Pero ‘di ko natapos dati. Not until today. Kaya LSS pa.”

There was a pause. Then Stacey asked, almost whispering, “Can you sing it for me?”

Colet glanced at the screen, and for a second, she looked like she might say no. But then she nodded, adjusted her guitar, and started again, this time from the top. Her voice was steady but gentle, like she was letting the song carry everything she couldn’t say before.

Ang nakalipas, 'di na binalikan
Mula nang ang puso'y labis na nasaktan
Naghilom lubusan no'ng nanahimik lang
Ngunit ano itong naririnig ko na naman?
'Di nawawala, 'di naaalis sa isipan ko
'Di nawawala, 'di naaalis, pag-ibig sa 'yo
Kahit kay tagal, walang kapalit ang katulad mo
'Di ba, tadhana ito? Bakit bumabalik sa 'yo?

As Colet played, Stacey’s fingers crept up to her lips. She bit down gently, trying to hide the smile spreading there, but failing. Her cheeks flushed, and her heart thudded a little louder in her chest.
She didn’t dare look away.

Sa dulo, sana tayo pa rin
Nananalig at 'di mamadaliin

Colet, still singing, met her gaze through the screen, voice raw, honest, no longer shy. For a second, it felt like the whole world had gone quiet except for that song. Except for them.

At kung 'di man mawala at 'di maalis
'Di mo man alam, ika'y iibigin.

When she finished, the last chord lingered in the quiet space between them.

Stacey didn’t say anything right away. Her lips were parted, eyes a little glassy, like she was still holding onto the words.

“That was—” she started, voice low. “Grabe.”

Colet gave a small shrug, trying to play it cool. “I guess I just needed to finish it now that we’re, okay again.”

Stacey smiled, slow and full. “Unfair ka. I think I just fell for you all over again.”

Colet grinned. “Na para bang tumigil syang ma-inlove sakin?”

Stacey rolled her eyes, biting back a laugh. “Napakayabang.”

And even with only a screen between them, it felt like they were exactly where they needed to be. Still in love, still choosing each other, all the way Sa Dulo.

Stacey had grown more expressive than she ever thought she could be. Her messages had turned longer, calls more frequent, and kisses through the screen, though pixelated, felt warmer somehow.

“I miss you,” she said one night, blinking away tiredness. “Like, nakakainis na. Sobrang nakakainis na!”

Colet, working late, smiled gently. “Aww, love—”

“Hindi. I mean it. May araw talaga na parang ang hirap gumising. Tapos maalala ko lang na tatawag ka mamaya, gumagaan ulit.”

“Mahal,” Colet whispered, her voice aching with longing. “Kaunti na lang. Last few days na ako dito. Baka few more weeks to settle papers and say goodbye sa mga trainees.”

“Okay,” Stacey nodded, trying to stay calm. “But promise mo ha. Uuwi ka.”

“I will,” Colet said. “To you. Always to you.”

What Stacey didn’t know was that Colet had been planning something else entirely.

Her last class had wrapped up a week early. Paperwork? Finished. Cleared. Signed. What she was really working on was a flight home and a quiet surprise she hoped would say more than any FaceTime call ever could.

It was a Tuesday evening. Stacey came home tired, her steps heavy from a long day. She kicked off her shoes at the door, dropped her bag by the stairs, and sighed.

As she climbed up to her room, something felt off. Her bedroom door was slightly ajar. The lights inside were on, dim and warm.

“Mommy?” she called out, instinctively.

No answer.

Heart beating faster, she pushed the door open.

And there, on her bed, curled up under the blanket like she’d always belonged there was Colet, fast asleep.

Her suitcase sat neatly in the corner.

For a second, Stacey just stared, her breath catching somewhere between a laugh and a sob. Then, all at once, she rushed across the room, crawling onto the bed and wrapping her arms tightly around Colet’s sleeping form.

“Love.” she whispered, voice shaking. “Mahal, wake up.”

Colet stirred, eyes fluttering open. She blinked a few times, disoriented until she realized whose arms were around her.

A slow, sleepy smile spread across her face. “Surprise?”

Stacey buried her face into Colet’s neck, holding her like she never wanted to let go. “You’re here. You’re really here.”

Colet chuckled, wrapping her arms around Stacey and pulling her close, their noses brushing. “Told you. Six months. Then I come home to you.”

“You liar,” Stacey murmured, pulling back just enough to cup Colet’s face. “You’re early.”

“I couldn’t wait anymore.” Colet leaned forward, resting her forehead against Stacey’s. “Sobrang miss kita. Every damn day.”

Stacey smiled through tears, brushing her thumbs over Colet’s cheeks. “I should be mad you didn’t tell me. But I can’t even think straight right now.”

“Don’t be mad,” Colet whispered, nuzzling her gently. “I wanted to see your face. I wanted to come home like this.”

Their lips met, soft, slow, like they were learning each other again. Colet shifted slightly, ending up half on top of Stacey, her fingers tangled in Stacey’s hair, both of them laughing between kisses.

And then, a soft knock. The door creaked open.

“Stacey, anak. Ay!” Her mom stopped in the doorway.

Time froze.

Stacey’s eyes widened in horror as she looked past Colet’s shoulder.

Colet blinked, head still resting on Stacey’s chest.

They both froze.

Her mom stood there, clearly taking it all in. Colet on top of her daughter, both of them very much wrapped in each other.

Stacey immediately panicked. “OH MY GOD! Mommy!”

Stacey panicked, pushed Colet off the bed.

“Aray!” Colet tumbled off the bed and hit the floor with a soft thud and a stunned “Ouch.”

Her mom blinked once. Twice.

Then said, perfectly calm, “Well. Welcome home, Colet.”

From the floor, Colet groaned. “Hi po ulit, Tita.”

Stacey was bright red, hair a mess, hugging a pillow to her chest. “We weren’t! We didn’t! I mean, we just hugged!”

Her mom raised an eyebrow, amused. “Sure. With your whole body.”

Stacey buried her face into the pillow. “Please leave.”

Her mom smiled, clearly enjoying herself. “Just checking if gusto nyo na mag-dinner. But I guess busog na kayo pareho. Sarap?”

“MOMMY!”

“Okay, okay.” She chuckled, backing out of the room. “I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone.”

As the door shut, the room fell silent.

Colet lifted her head, still a little out of it. “Ang sakit nun, mahal.”

Stacey stared down at her, then burst out laughing. “You idiot.”

“Hey,” Colet grinned, reaching up for her hand. “Still worth it.”

She pulled Colet back onto the bed, and despite the embarrassment, they just held each other again, faces flushed, hearts full, and laughter spilling into the quiet.

Dinner was already on the table when they sat down, adobo, sinigang, and a few leftovers her mom had reheated. Colet took the seat beside Stacey, smiling like she was exactly where she belonged. Stacey still looked a little red from the earlier “incident,” stealing quick glances at her mom, who was clearly enjoying herself.

“So,” her mom said, raising an eyebrow as she passed the serving spoon. “Kamusta ang landing Colet? Soft ba? Or did someone push you out of the plane too?”

Colet chuckled. “A little bumpy po, but worth it.”

“Mommy,” Stacey groaned, slumping forward. “Can we not talk about that?”

Her mom only grinned. “What? I’m just happy. You brought me home entertainment.”

As they all laughed, Stacey leaned forward to reach for something under the table, a spoon that had fallen. Without a word, Colet gently covered the edge of the table with her hand, shielding it so Stacey wouldn’t bump her head coming back up.

“Thanks,” Stacey muttered, cheeks pink again.

Colet just smiled, then reached for the rice. “Here, let me.”

She scooped a warm serving into Stacey’s plate, then added sinigang, making sure there was enough meat and vegetables, just how Stacey liked it.

“Hindi ka na naman kumain ng maayos nung lunch mo ‘no?” Colet asked softly.

Stacey gave her a look. “How’d you know?”

“You always forget when you’re stressed.”

Colet reached for the pitcher next and filled Stacey’s glass. “And drink more water.”

Stacey rolled her eyes but took the glass anyway. “You’re so annoying.”

Colet grinned. “And you are in love with me.”

They ate quietly, but there was so much tenderness in the little things. Colet wiping a bit of adobo sauce off Stacey’s cheek. Stacey nudging her elbow whenever she said something corny. Their legs brushing under the table. And neither of them pulling away.

Her mom watched them closely, but not in judgment, just with warmth.

After the meal, she set down her spoon and said, “You know, I’ve seen my daughter happy before but never this soft.”

Stacey looked up, eyes wide.

“She’s always been strong, always trying to hold everything together. But now—” Her mom smiled. “She doesn’t look like she’s holding on. She looks like she’s being held.”

Stacey opened her mouth to say something but her throat tightened. She looked down, trying not to tear up.

Colet reached over and lightly squeezed her hand under the table.

“Thank you po, Tita,” Colet said sincerely. “That means everything.”

Her mom gave a small nod. “Salamat Colet. For loving her the way she deserves.”

Stacey looked at them both, heart full, eyes misty. “I’m really happy, Mommy.”

Colet leaned her head against Stacey’s shoulder. “Me too.”

And they stayed like that for a while, soft touches, warm hearts, and a quiet feeling of home.

Chapter Text

Colet sat on the couch, legs crossed, scrolling through her phone. She wore a fitted black shirt tucked into her slacks; simple, sharp, effortless.

She was early, on purpose.
While she waited, she scrolled back through her messages, rereading her conversation with Stacey when she sent her a message earlier that she was already downstairs.

Stacey: You always show up ng sobrang aga just to make me look bad. Kaya ako lagi pinagsasabihan ni Mommy eh!
Colet: No, I show up 30 minutes early para makita kang bumababa ng hagdan tapos nagsslowmo na yung paligid ko.
Stacey: Pacute. 🙄
Colet: Wait 'til you see me in person. 😘

Colet smiled to herself, thumb hovering over the last message. She hadn’t replied to Stacey's final one:

Stacey: Careful. If you're trying to distract me before I even come downstairs, it's working.

She lingered on it a second longer, then locked her screen. Every now and then, her eyes flicked over to the stairs.

Today wasn’t just any normal day. It was their first day back, together, in the same company. Colet had been planning her return while she was in London. Now, after everything that had happened, she was finally back to where she truly belonged.

She grinned to herself, excited and a little nervous. It felt like a fresh start.

And then, she saw her.

Stacey stepped down the stairs slowly, tugging on a zip-up track jacket over a fitted tank top, her high-waisted joggers clinging just enough to hint at the muscle underneath. Her hair was still damp at the ends from her shower, and she smelled like that same shampoo Colet always noticed. Clean, familiar, a little distracting.

Colet stood up quickly, casually leaning on the back of the couch like she was just passing through.

“Hi,” she said with a playful smile. “Parang ngayon lang kita nakita rito. Do you live close by?”

Stacey rolled her eyes but smiled as she reached the bottom of the stairs. Without breaking stride, she leaned in and gave Colet a quick kiss on the lips.

“Yeah,” she said, like nothing happened, “but I don’t usually talk to strangers this early.”

“Stranger?” Colet acted shocked. “Wow. Okay, I guess I’ll just leave—”

She pretended to turn toward the door, keys already in hand.

Stacey laughed and followed her. “Stop it, joke lang. Male-late na tayo sa kalokohan mo!”

“Not my fault you look so good this early,” Colet teased, opening the door for her. “Let’s go, mahal?”

Stacey walked past her with a smug look. “You flirt like you were not here all-day yesterday.”

“New rules, new setting,” Colet said, grinning. “We’re coworkers now. Gotta keep it professional. Unless, I see a really cute new coach today.”

Stacey nudged her, laughing. “Try it, lilipad ka talaga ulit pabalik ng London.”

Colet laughed, following her out the door. “No! Ayaw ko na dun. Wala ka dun.”

They both grinned at each other, their playful banter easy and natural.

Colet drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually between them, her fingers just barely brushing against Stacey’s. The music was soft in the background.

Stacey leaned her head against the window, her fingers idly tracing the seam of Colet’s sleeve. She kept glancing sideways, watching the way Colet’s jaw flexed and relaxed, the way her eyes stayed a little too focused on the road.

“You nervous?” Stacey asked softly.

Colet glanced at her briefly, then back at the road. “Medyo.”

“Why? You’ve done this before, right?”

“I have,” Colet said, quieter now, “Pero iba ‘to. Coming back to work, being with you. It’s all—it just feels more important now. I want to make it count.”

Stacey reached over and laced their fingers together, thumb stroking gently over Colet’s. “You’ll be great. I know you will.”

That made Colet smile. A small one, but it reached her eyes.

“Oh! By the way,” Stacey added, glancing out the window, “May bagong trainee na promising. Sheena. Just a temporary joiner. She’s sharp, super Gen Z energy tho. You’ll like her.”

“Gen Z energy?” Colet raised an eyebrow. 

“She called me ‘mother’ in front of the juniors. I almost resigned.”

Colet laughed, really laughed, the sound low and easy. “Yeah, I already like her.”

They rolled up to a red light. The car slowed to a stop.

Without warning, Stacey leaned in and kissed her. Quick, soft, but full of something steady. She pulled back like it was nothing.

“That was for luck,” she said, turning back to the window with a smile.

Colet blinked, then gave her a look. “One kiss? You think that’s enough luck?”

Stacey laughed, leaning back in to give her another one, slightly longer, a little slower this time. She pulled back again, only for Colet to tilt toward her with a grin.

“Kinakabahan pa rin ako,” Colet murmured.

“Oh my god.” But Stacey was already leaning in again.

Their lips met, familiar now. Colet’s free hand found Stacey’s knee, resting there as they kissed once, twice, a third time. Quick little hits between smiles, like they couldn’t stop.

Stacey finally pulled back, breath warm against Colet’s cheek. “Okay, okay. Naka-Go na! Drive, woman.”

Colet groaned but shifted gears, her smile stretching wide as she hit the gas. “Fine. Pero itutuloy natin mamaya.”

“You better earn them,” Stacey teased, resting her hand on top of Colet’s again, fingers sliding along her wrist, tracing lazy shapes.

They drove on like that, hands tangled in the middle, soft touches exchanged like a language only they understood. In that small space, wrapped in gentle warmth, they felt something tender and real unfolding. A steady, growing love that made everything else fade away.

They pulled into the parking lot, the engine fading into silence. Colet didn’t let go of Stacey’s hand, her voice soft but urgent. “One more kiss?”

Before Stacey could answer, their lips met again. Soft, slow, impossible to stop. Colet’s fingers curled into Stacey’s hair, pulling her closer.

Between kisses, Stacey spoke, her words brushing against Colet’s lips. “Mikha’s already annoyed with Sheena, can you believe it?”

Colet hummed against her mouth, tilting her head to deepen the kiss.

“She says Sheena’s way too loud,” Stacey continued, voice playful but breathless. “Like, every time Sheena’s around, she can’t stop talking or laughing. Na kala mo may party during rehearsals.”

Colet laughed softly into the kiss, sliding her hand down to squeeze Stacey’s knee. “That sounds like Mikha.”

Stacey smiled against Colet’s lips. “Yeah. Yesterday, Mikha actually told her to ‘please shut up before I lose it.’”

Colet kissed her again, eyes shining. “I kind of love that.”

Colet’s heart pounded as she pressed closer, her lips parting just a little, inviting more. The warmth between them was strong and steady, like they were the only two people in the world.

Their lips met and parted over and over. Colet’s hand moved slowly. It started at Stacey’s cheek, went down her arm, and then rested lightly on her knee before sliding back up to hold the back of her neck.

Colet pulled back a little and trailed soft, long kisses from Stacey's chin, down her jaw, and finally onto the warm skin of her neck. The feeling made Stacey shiver. But as Colet moved to kiss the skin below her ear, a thought suddenly hit Stacey.

Her eyes quickly looked at the car's dashboard clock. "Male-late na tayo!"

Colet leaned her head onto Stacey’s shoulder for a moment, letting out a soft groan as she caught her breath then let go reluctantly. 

“Yung work talaga panira ng love life!”

Stacey laughed at her and quickly reapplied her lipstick, her fingers still shaking a little, then ran a hand through her slightly damp hair before opening the car door. 

Colet caught her arm gently, stepping out first with a smile. She held the door open for Stacey.

Stacey’s eyes softened as she slipped her hand into Colet’s, and they walked toward the building, still wrapped in that warm, easy closeness.

The low hum of warm-up chatter shifted the moment the door opened.

A few trainees paused mid-stretch, turning toward the entrance and when they saw who walked in, the buzz began.

“Ayan na siya,” someone whispered.
“Si Coach Colet!”
“Sabi ni Coach Stacey dati ang galing niya sa harmonies, ‘di ba?”

A ripple of excited murmurs spread across the floor.

Colet smiled, a soft grin pulling at her lips as she stepped into the room. She was used to this, being talked about, noticed but something about being back home made it feel new again. Sweeter.

She leaned toward Stacey with a mock-whisper. “You hyped me up to the kids, didn’t you?”

Stacey smirked. “Konti lang naman. Told them you could arrange vocals with your eyes closed and call people out for singing sharp with a smile.”

Colet chuckled. “Well. Both true.”

Before they could take another step, a voice rose from the middle of the studio, loud and laced with frustration.

“I said quiet on counts,” Mikha barked, hands on her hips, her tone tight with irritation. “You can’t keep talking over everyone.”

She was staring down a girl with a sleek ponytail, oversized hoodie, the kind of confidence that didn’t ask for permission.

Sheena.

“I wasn’t talking over anyone,” Sheena shot back. “I was giving energy. Parang patulog na sila oh.”

“You’re not here to give energy,” Mikha said, arms crossed. “You’re here to follow instructions.”

“Maybe if yung instruction hindi tunog ng background music sa horror film.” Sheena muttered.

A few trainees looked away, biting back smiles. Others shifted uncomfortably.

Colet’s eyebrows lifted. “Sheesh.”

Stacey sighed, already walking forward. “That’s Sheena.”

“Ah. The ‘promising’ one?”

“The very.”

Mikha took a step forward, her voice sharp and low now. “This isn’t your show. If you can’t stay in line, then step out. I’m not wasting time.”

Sheena raised both hands, mock-innocent. “Okay, okay. Don’t cry about it.”

That did it. The tension snapped like a taut wire.

Stacey clapped loudly. “Alright, that’s enough.”

All eyes turned.

“Good morning,” she said pointedly. “Let’s all pretend we’re teammates for a few minutes.”

Colet stepped up beside her, offering the group a sunny smile. “Hi everyone. I’m Coach Colet. I’ll be working with you all on vocals moving forward. Breathing, placement, blend, expression. You’ll learn to sing like a group, not just individuals.”

A few girls nodded, wide-eyed. Someone whispered, “She trained with people in London ‘no?”

Colet caught it, winked. “Yes, I did. And trust me, no amount of choreography can save a messy vocal line. So I’m excited to get to work.”

She turned toward Sheena. “And you must be Sheena?”

Sheena tilted her head, curious. “Two weeks here and I’m already infamous?”

Colet grinned. “You’ve been making an impression. People talk when someone’s that outspoken.”

Sheena laughed, low, unbothered. “Guilty.”

“Well,” Colet said lightly, “Save the hot takes for after warm-up. Or direct them at me later. I don’t mind a challenge.”

Beside them, Mikha let out a breath through her nose. Colet glanced her way, catching the tension still locked in Mikha’s posture.

“Okay ka lang?” she asked quietly.

Mikha didn’t look at her. “Fine.”

“Mukhang kailangan mo rin ng vocal coaching.” Colet teased. “Your tone could use a little softening.”

That earned her a side-glare from Mikha but not an angry one. Just tired. A little helpless. Maybe, unsettled.

The group started breaking into their rehearsal groups as Stacey called out instructions, and Colet turned to observe.

Sheena passed Mikha on her way to the side and leaned in just enough to be heard.

“Don’t worry,” she murmured, “I’ll try to behave next time.”

Mikha didn’t respond. But her jaw clenched just slightly, not in anger. In something else.

Colet caught it all.

She leaned toward Stacey. “Love, tingin mo, how many weeks before those two end up kissing?”

Stacey gave her a look. “Baliw, ‘wag mo na gatungan.”

“Hindi ko ginagatungan,” Colet said, folding her arms. “I’m just, well, observing.”

The cafeteria was a low buzz of trays clinking, muted laughter, and the occasional sound of someone practicing vocals quietly into their phone mic.

Stacey and Colet sat at a corner table, plates half-cleared, both picking at their food like they were more interested in the conversation than the meal.

Colet stabbed a piece of chicken with her fork. “So, Sheena.”
She raised an eyebrow. “What’s her deal? Kasi kanina, she looked like she came here to start a fight.”

Stacey smirked and took a sip from her iced tea. “Yeah, she’s not like the others.”

“How so?” Colet asked, genuinely curious now.

“She’s actually just a temp trainee,” Stacey said, lowering her voice a little. “Came in through a different door. Couple years younger than us. She started in acting and mga commercials. Then I guess her agency figured if she could carry a tune and move a bit, she could be packaged into a full idol profile.”

Colet leaned back. “Ah. So she’s not really gunning for debut with the rest?”

“Not officially,” Stacey said. “Pero alam mo naman, once you’re inside the room, anything can happen.”

“Hmm.” Colet toyed with her fork. “That explains the confidence. She’s not afraid to break rules because she doesn’t feel bound by them.”

Stacey nodded. “Exactly. She’s not intimidated by hierarchy. She’s used to cameras, not choreographers yelling counts.”

Colet chuckled. “That makes sense. Pero si Mikha, she’s not built for that kind of chaos.”

“She’s not,” Stacey agreed. “But I also think Sheena gets under her skin for more than just the noise.”

Colet gave her a look. “You mean feelings?”

Stacey smirked. “I didn’t say that.”

Just then, the door to the cafeteria opened, and Mikha walked in, still in her hoodie, hair tied back, a little flushed from rehearsal. She scanned the room and her gaze landed squarely on Colet and Stacey.

They both smiled, ready to wave her over.

But instead of joining them, Mikha’s eyes shifted.

Across the room, at the far end, Sheena sat alone with a half-finished sandwich and her phone face-down beside her tray.

Without a word, Mikha walked past Stacey and Colet’s table and headed straight for Sheena.

Stacey blinked. “Wait, what—?”

They watched as Mikha stopped by Sheena’s table. She didn’t say anything at first, just hovered.

Sheena looked up, surprised. Her brows lifted slightly.

Then Mikha sat down.

No dramatic gestures. No sarcasm. Just joined her.

Sheena quirked a small smile and nudged her tray toward the middle, offering the other half of her sandwich. Mikha rolled her eyes but took a bite.

Colet stared at Stacey with a confident smirk, clearly saying without words: See what I’m talking about?

Stacey chewed slowly, eyes fixed on Mikha and Sheena across the room. 

They watched as Mikha took another bite of Sheena’s sandwich like it was nothing, while Sheena leaned in slightly, saying something that made Mikha smirk just barely, but it was there.

Colet glanced sideways. “So, are we sure Mikha hates her?”

Stacey didn’t answer right away.

Instead, she leaned back in her chair, looking almost stunned. “You know what’s wild?” she said slowly. “I didn’t see it. Not until now.”

Colet raised an eyebrow. “See? Told you!”

Stacey laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. “Okay, okay. I’m officially impressed.”

Colet took a sip of her drink, still confident. “Sometimes you just gotta trust the instincts, mahal. The drama’s already playing out.”

Stacey grinned, eyes twinkling with teasing warmth. “Honestly, I’m surprised you noticed all this drama so fast but it took you years bago mo malaman na mahal rin kita.“

Colet smirked, not missing a beat. “Hey, sometimes you have to wait for the right moment. Tamang panahon.”

Stacey laughed softly. “Yeah, took us long enough.”

Colet’s smile softened, her eyes warm. “And now? No more waiting.”

Stacey rolled her eyes, still smiling, but kept glancing back across the cafeteria at Mikha and Sheena, heads a little closer now, sharing food like it wasn’t the first time they’d fought in front of the whole studio.

Something had shifted. And Colet had seen it before anyone else.

Stacey rested her chin on her hand. “Alright. So what happens next in your ‘romantic tension’ theory?”

Colet smirked wider. “Now? We wait. And let the slow burn do its thing.”