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“𝘼𝙣𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙢𝙖𝙮 𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙠𝙞𝙨𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙗𝙧𝙞𝙙𝙚.”
The priest’s words lingered in the air before the church erupted into applause and cheers.
Aiah blinked back her tears, but they spilled anyway — warm, unstoppable. She laughed softly, embarrassed by how easily she cried, then joined the crowd in clapping. At the altar, her brother Bryan leaned in to kiss his new wife, Meg, sealing their vows with a tenderness that made Aiah’s chest ache in the best way.
For a moment, she simply watched them — the way Meg’s veil fluttered in the faint breeze, how Bryan’s usually serious face softened into a smile. Everything about the scene felt almost unreal, like a memory being written in real time.
She was still smiling when she felt a gentle nudge at her side. Aiah turned and gave Maloi a look, narrowing her eyes at her friend’s mischievous grin.
“Soon ikaw naman. Humanda ka na,” Maloi teased, her voice low but playful.
Aiah rolled her eyes but said nothing, only letting out a quiet chuckle before turning her gaze back to the couple. The newlyweds were now making their way down the aisle, hand in hand, faces glowing with joy. Aiah’s smile widened without her meaning to.
Hours later, the celebration had moved to the wedding party venue — a seaside resort Aiah had personally chosen and planned as her wedding gift to the couple. Lanterns swayed gently in the evening breeze, their warm light rippling across the water like scattered stars. The sound of laughter, clinking glasses, and soft music filled the air, wrapping everything in a tender kind of magic.
“Oh my god! Thank you, Aiah, for this venue. Ang ganda! Nagustuhan din ng mga bisita natin,” Meg gushed, rushing to hug her as soon as she found her near the entrance.
Aiah laughed, hugging her sister-in-law back. “Of course. Anything for you two,” she said, her voice thick with emotion.
When Meg was whisked away by a group of relatives, Aiah lingered by the edge of the hall. From where she stood, she could see her brother laughing heartily with his friends, their parents dancing awkwardly yet happily near the band, and guests swaying to the music under the golden glow of the lights. A quiet pride bloomed in her chest — mixed with something softer, something she couldn’t quite name.
“Aiah!”
She turned and saw Colet approaching, clipboard in hand, her usual event-coordinator seriousness softened by a grin.
“Ready na ang lahat para sa next activity,” Colet said, lowering her voice as she handed Aiah the mic. “Maghanda ka na rin para sa speech mo.”
Aiah blinked, the reality of it finally sinking in. “Right,” she murmured, glancing toward the stage where everyone’s attention would soon be on her. Her heart thudded once — hard — but she managed a small smile. “Let’s do this.”
Meanwhile, at the entrance of the resort hall, the glass doors slid open with a faint hiss. A woman stepped inside — her presence immediately catching the attention of the receptionist stationed nearby. She looked a little out of place: elegant but not quite polished, as if she’d rushed to get ready. Still, her outfit matched the color motif closely enough to pass for a guest.
“Ma’am, invitation card po,” the receptionist said politely, blocking her path with a practiced smile.
“Oh, shucks!” The woman patted her purse in mild panic before giving a sheepish laugh. “I forgot the card. But I’m a friend naman of the newlyweds.”
“Groom or bride side?” the receptionist asked, maintaining her professional tone.
“Uhh. . .” The woman hesitated, eyes darting toward the lively crowd inside. For a brief second, something unreadable flickered across her face — nerves, or maybe an odd kind of confidence.
“The groom,” she finally said.
The receptionist paused, studying her face as if trying to recall it from the guest list. But the woman just smiled faintly, almost pleadingly, her hands clasped tight in front of her.
Moments later, the receptionist gave a hesitant nod. “Sige po, ma’am. Please, enjoy the night.”
The woman flashed a small, triumphant smile and stepped inside. The hum of music and laughter immediately wrapped around her. Just then, her phone buzzed. She fished it out of her purse and answered without looking at the screen.
“You better pay me for this, Shee,” she muttered under her breath, her tone sharp.
“𝘏𝘢𝘭𝘢 𝘴𝘪𝘺𝘢! 𝘚𝘪 𝘔𝘪𝘬𝘩𝘢 𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘢 𝘯𝘪𝘺𝘢𝘯!” came the laughing voice from the other end.
A waiter passed by with a tray of champagne flutes, and she grabbed one without hesitation.
“𝘌𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘬𝘢 𝘯𝘢 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘶𝘯𝘢 𝘥’𝘺𝘢𝘯, 𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘶. 𝘚𝘦𝘹𝘺 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘯𝘢 𝘬𝘢𝘮𝘪,” Sheena teased, her laughter echoing faintly through the line.
“Yuck! Kadiri kayo,” she hissed, downing the champagne in one gulp. The bubbles stung her throat, but she didn’t care. She ended the call with a sigh and motioned for the same waiter, taking not one but two more glasses from his tray.
“Fine,” she muttered, rolling her eyes as she took another sip. “Let’s crash a wedding, then.”
She straightened her posture, brushed her hair over one shoulder, and casually joined the crowd just as a wave of applause broke out. Clapping along, she laughed under her breath, pretending she knew what was happening. The alcohol had already begun to warm her cheeks, softening the edges of her thoughts.
Her gaze drifted toward the stage, where a woman stood beneath the fairy lights, a microphone in hand. The music faded, replaced by the calm, clear rhythm of her voice.
——
Aiah stood near the stage, the microphone cool in her hand. For a moment, she just listened — to the murmur of the crowd, the soft clinking of glasses, the steady hum of the waves beyond the open terrace. When she finally spoke, her voice carried through the evening air, warm and steady.
“Good evening, everyone,” she began, her lips curving into a shy smile. “First of all, thank you for being here tonight to celebrate two of the most important people in my life — my brother Bryan, and my new sister, Meg.”
A ripple of applause followed, and Bryan grinned from his seat, giving her a mock salute that made a few guests laugh.
Aiah chuckled softly before continuing. “Growing up, Kuya Bryan was the kind of brother who always acted tough but secretly cared too much. He’d pretend he didn’t hear me cry when I scraped my knee, but he’d leave chocolates by my desk the next morning. That’s the kind of love he gives — quiet but steady.”
Her gaze softened as it shifted to Meg. “And then Meg came along — the calm to his storm, the reason he started smiling more, talking softer, and dancing like nobody’s watching — even though, sadly, everybody is watching.” The crowd laughed again, and Aiah’s heart eased.
She took a breath, her tone turning gentler. “Seeing the two of you today reminded me that love isn’t just about grand gestures or perfect moments. It’s about choosing each other — every single day — even when it’s not easy.”
She lifted her glass, her eyes glimmering under the fairy lights. “So here’s to Kuya Bryan and Ate Meg — may your love stay kind, honest, and stubbornly strong. Congratulations, 𝘨𝘪𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘶𝘨𝘮𝘢 𝘬𝘰 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘶𝘩𝘢.”
The crowd erupted into cheers and applause as Aiah lowered the mic, a weight lifting off her chest. Bryan stood and wrapped her in a hug, his voice thick with emotion.
“Best sister ever,” he whispered.
Aiah smiled against his shoulder. “Bigyan n’yo ako agad ng pamangkin,” she teased, earning laughter from the crowd nearby. For the first time that night, she allowed herself to simply breathe — full of warmth, pride, and quiet relief.
Everything was flowing perfectly — the speeches, the laughter, the glow of fairy lights reflecting off champagne glasses. The night felt almost flawless, the kind of moment people would remember fondly for years.
But just as Bryan finished his thank-you speech, a sudden murmur rippled through the guests. Chairs scraped against the floor. Heads turned toward the far center of the venue. The music faltered for a beat before fading completely.
Something — or rather, someone — had just disrupted the perfect rhythm of the night.
“Hey! Watch out, woman!” a male guest in his fifties barked, half-rising from his seat. His tone was sharp, cutting through the hum of confusion.
Gasps followed as a glass rolled off a nearby table and shattered against the marble floor. A woman stood frozen in the middle of the crowd, eyes wide, a few strands of hair falling loose from her curls. One of her heels was slightly askew, and in her hand was an almost-empty champagne flute.
For a moment, no one moved — only the sea breeze rustling through the drapes and the faint echo of broken glass. Then whispers began to spread, low and curious.
Aiah frowned, lowering her glass. From where she stood, she couldn’t see the woman’s face clearly — only the hint of red lipstick and the familiar tilt of her chin. Something about her presence felt off. Out of place.
“Saglit lang po. I’ll just go and check,” Aiah excused herself from the small group she’d been chatting with.
Bryan and Meg immediately followed, concern flashing across their faces. Colet and Maloi trailed close behind, exchanging uncertain glances.
“Tito, I’m sorry po,” Bryan said quickly, approaching the older man who had spoken earlier. His tone was calm, though his brow furrowed in quiet confusion.
The man only shook his head and muttered something under his breath before sitting back down.
Meanwhile, Aiah’s attention stayed fixed on the unfamiliar woman. She stepped closer, her heels clicking softly against the floor. The guest swayed slightly, brushing off invisible dust from her champagne-stained dress while avoiding everyone’s eyes. The sharp scent of alcohol lingered in the air between them.
Aiah’s forehead creased. She couldn’t recall inviting anyone who looked remotely like the woman standing before her. “Excuse me, miss,” she said carefully, her tone polite but laced with unease. “Are you one of Bryan and Meg’s guests?”
The woman lifted her head — slowly, almost hesitantly, as if the movement itself took effort — and for the first time, Aiah saw her face clearly. Her breath caught in her throat.
“Is she your friend, Yang?” Bryan asked, turning toward her with a furrowed brow.
“U-uh. . .” Aiah’s gaze darted between her brother, his new wife, and her friends hovering nearby. “No, I don’t k—”
“Asikasuhin mo muna siya, Aiah,” Meg said softly, laying a gentle hand on Aiah’s arm. “She looks wasted already. Kawawa naman.”
“B-but—” Aiah tried to protest, her voice faltering. She wanted to say it wasn’t that simple — that something about the woman didn’t just seem drunk but wrong. Off. Like she didn’t belong here at all.
But it was already too late. Bryan and Meg had moved on, smiling awkwardly as they reassured the curious guests that everything was fine. The chatter and music slowly resumed, though the tension still hung faintly in the air.
Aiah turned toward her friends. Colet gave a small shrug, flashing an apologetic smile. “Hanap na ako ni Jhoanna,” she said, already backing away. “Good luck, ha?”
That left Maloi beside her — quiet, steady, concern etched on her face. “Gusto mo, samahan kita?” she offered, glancing at the woman who now swayed on her feet, clutching her purse as if for balance.
Aiah exhaled, the weight of the situation pressing down on her. “Yeah,” she murmured. “Tulungan na lang natin siya bago pa magkagulo ulit.”
Together, she and Maloi approached the woman, who looked up with glassy eyes and a crooked smile — the kind that made Aiah’s stomach twist.
——
Aiah paced back and forth inside the dimly lit guest house, the muffled sound of laughter and music from the celebration drifting faintly through the closed door. She should’ve been out there — celebrating with her family, basking in the afterglow of her brother’s wedding. But instead, she was stuck here, babysitting a stranger who had passed out on the couch.
Her gaze flicked toward the woman, now sprawled sideways, her hair a tangled mess and her lipstick smudged faintly across her cheek. The soft rise and fall of her chest confirmed she was deeply asleep — or maybe just too drunk to move.
Aiah sighed and rubbed her temples. “Seriously. . . of all nights,” she muttered under her breath.
On the table beside her lay a small purse, its contents half-spilled. Out of curiosity — and maybe a bit of concern — she had fished through it earlier to look for a contact or ID, anything that might explain who this gatecrasher was.
Now, she stood there holding two IDs between her fingers, her brows furrowing as she examined them under the light.
One was a driver’s license. The other, an employee ID from a company she vaguely recognized. Both bore the same name — Lindtsey Stacey Aubrey Sevilleja— and the same familiar face that now slept soundly on the couch.
“Stacey. . .” Aiah whispered, testing the name on her tongue. It rang a faint, distant bell — but she couldn’t quite place it.
She looked at the woman again, unease creeping up her spine. “Who are you?” she murmured.
The woman stirred slightly, a low groan escaping her lips before falling silent again.
Aiah’s phone suddenly buzzed on the nightstand, the vibration slicing through the quiet hum of the air conditioner. She grabbed it quickly, glancing at the caller ID. Maloi.
“Hey,” she said softly, keeping her voice low so as not to wake the stranger on the couch. “Kumusta d’yan?”
“𝘈𝘺𝘰𝘴 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘢𝘯,” came Maloi’s reply, her voice barely audible over the distant thrum of music and chatter. “𝘌𝘩, 𝘪𝘬𝘢𝘸 𝘥’𝘺𝘢𝘯? 𝘒𝘶𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘢 𝘴𝘪 𝘈𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘨 𝘞𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘺 𝘊𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘛𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘚𝘦𝘹𝘺?”
Aiah grimaced, her tone sharp with whispered annoyance. “Huwag mo ngang tawagin ng ganyan,” she hissed, pacing toward the window. “She’s out cold. Tulog na tulog, parang walang pakialam sa mundo.”
Maloi chuckled. “At least di na nagwala. Baka napagod lang. Alam mo naman mga lasing — may sariling mundo.”
“Yeah, pero weird pa rin,” Aiah murmured, glancing over her shoulder. The woman’s hair spilled across the pillow in messy waves, one shoe missing, lipstick smudged. “Hindi ko talaga siya kilala, Maloi. And she doesn’t look like someone from either side of the family.”
“𝘉𝘢𝘬𝘢 𝘱𝘭𝘶𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘯𝘨 𝘨𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵?”
“Impossible,” Aiah said, her voice firm. “Security was tight. Wala sa guest list ‘yung pangalan niya. I checked.”
There was a brief silence before Maloi spoke again, her tone shifting. “𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘯. . . 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘰 𝘴𝘪𝘺𝘢, 𝘈𝘪𝘢𝘩?”
Aiah’s brows furrowed as she stared at the sleeping figure. “I don’t know,” she admitted quietly, her frustration simmering beneath the calm of her voice. “But I found her ID earlier while checking her purse.” She lifted a small leather wallet from the table and flipped it open. “Lindtsey Stacey Aubrey Sevilleja. What a lengthy name.”
“𝘖𝘩.”
Aiah frowned. “What ‘oh’?”
“𝘞𝘢𝘭𝘢,” Maloi said quickly, but something in her voice made Aiah’s stomach twist. “𝘛𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘬𝘰 𝘴𝘢 𝘮𝘨𝘢 𝘬𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘢𝘭𝘢 𝘬𝘰 𝘬𝘶𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘯𝘢𝘬𝘢𝘬𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘢𝘭𝘢 𝘴𝘢 𝘬𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘢.”
“Please do,” Aiah sighed, rubbing her temple. “I have so many things to do — dapat nasa program area pa ako ngayon.”
“𝘊𝘰𝘱𝘺, 𝘣𝘰𝘴𝘴,” Maloi teased. “𝘎𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘭𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘥’𝘺𝘢𝘯 𝘬𝘢𝘺 𝘔𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘔𝘺𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘎𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵.”
“Ha-ha. Very funny.”
Aiah ended the call and set the phone down with a sigh. Her eyes lingered on the woman again — Stacey, apparently. Still asleep, her breathing even, her expression unreadable.
Aiah folded her arms, her mind spinning. Something about this stranger didn’t sit right with her.
She just couldn’t figure out why.
Several minutes passed, and Aiah was already itching to go back outside. She could still hear the faint hum of laughter and music drifting from the venue — reminders that she was missing out on the rest of the program she’d worked so hard to organize.
Still, she couldn’t bring herself to leave. Her gaze drifted back to the stranger sprawled on the couch — her makeup smudged, lipstick uneven, mascara streaked faintly beneath her eyes. Poor thing, Aiah thought, sighing. There was something oddly pitiful about her — elegant yet disheveled, like she’d been trying so hard to keep herself together before everything fell apart.
She had already tried checking the woman’s phone earlier, hoping to find a contact or at least a clue about who she was, but it was completely dead — and, of course, she didn’t bring a charger with her.
“Perfect,” Aiah muttered to herself, setting the phone back on the side table. “Not even a power bank.”
After a moment’s hesitation, she shook her head and walked toward the washroom. Grabbing a small pack of wet wipes from the counter, she returned to the couch and crouched beside the woman.
“Lasing ka man ngayon, at least maganda ka pa rin bukas,” Aiah murmured under her breath, gently dabbing at the smudged lipstick. The woman didn’t stir, just breathed softly — a faint scent of alcohol and perfume lingering in the air.
Aiah frowned, studying her closer. Up close, the stranger looked younger than she’d first thought — maybe around her age, or younger. There was a certain familiarity in the curve of her face, though Aiah couldn’t quite place it.
She exhaled, shaking her head again. “What did you get yourself into, Miss Lindtsey Stacey Aubrey Sevilleja?” she whispered.
Outside, faint fireworks began to crackle — signaling the highlight of the wedding party. Aiah turned toward the sound, torn between duty and curiosity, before glancing back at the sleeping woman once more.
Aiah was halfway through cleaning the smudged lipstick when a soft groan broke the silence.
The woman stirred, her brows knitting together as she mumbled something incoherent. Aiah froze mid-dab, watching as the stranger’s eyelids fluttered open.
For a few seconds, her gaze was unfocused — hazy, lost somewhere between sleep and sobriety. Then her eyes finally found Aiah’s.
Both of them blinked.
“Oh. You’re awake,” Aiah murmured, lowering the wet wipe.
The woman squinted, then cracked one eye open again, studying her through messy lashes.
“Huh. . . pretty angel.” A short giggle escaped her lips, followed by a frown. “Wait, patay na ba ako?”
Aiah blinked twice. “No, you’re not dead.”
“Are you sure?” the woman slurred, blinking owlishly. “’Cause this feels like heaven. Or maybe hell—depends if there’s alcohol.”
“You’re at a wedding party,” Aiah said flatly, suppressing a sigh.
The woman sat up, wobbling as she did, her hair falling over one eye. “A wedding party?” She looked around, dazed. “Wow. . . whoever got married has great taste in air-conditioning.”
Aiah pressed her lips together. “That would be my brother.”
The woman gasped, eyes widening in mock horror. “Oh no. Don’t tell me I 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 that wedding — the one with fairy lights and classy people who smell like expensive cologne?”
“Yup,” Aiah confirmed, amusement flickering in her tone.
The woman groaned, dragging her hands down her face. “Ugh. I made it.”
Aiah tilted her head. “What?”
The stranger ignored her, leaning back dramatically against the pillows. “This is fine. Everything’s fine. I’ll just. . . live here now. Maybe start a new life. Maging unan o lampshade or something.”
Aiah exhaled through her nose, the corner of her mouth twitching. “You’re drunk.”
“Hindi kaya!” the woman said with mock indignation, though her words slurred around the edges. “I’m not drunk—I’m just. . . emotionally hydrated.”
“Right,” Aiah said dryly, pulling another wet wipe from the pack. “Well, Miss Emotionally Hydrated, your name’s Lindtsey Stacey Aubrey Sevilleja, right?”
The woman blinked at her, then broke into a wide grin, like she’d just been praised. “Oh wow, you said the whole thing! Ten points to you. Most people stop after Stacey. Too long daw. Parang teleserye title.”
Aiah didn’t respond, too focused on cleaning another smudge of red near the woman’s jawline.
“God. . .” Stacey mumbled suddenly, tilting her head as she studied Aiah’s face. “You have kissy lips, don’t you?”
Aiah froze mid-motion, her cheeks warming despite herself.
“I—excuse me?”
Stacey giggled, her voice lazy and thick with sleep. “You know. . . the kind that makes people want to say sorry and then kiss you again just to ruin the apology.”
Aiah blinked, utterly at a loss. “You should rest.”
Stacey sighed dreamily, falling back onto the pillows with a soft thud. “Mhm. Rest. But if I dream of you, I’m blaming you, ha?”
Aiah shook her head, half in disbelief, half trying not to smile. “Great. A drunk gatecrasher with a flirting problem,” she muttered, finishing the last wipe before setting it aside.
For a while, the only sound was the muffled laughter from the reception outside. Aiah stood there, looking down at the woman sprawled across the couch—still in her disheveled dress, still smiling faintly in her sleep.
——
By the time the clock struck twelve, Aiah’s phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen and sank onto the couch with a weary sigh. Earlier, she had gone outside to get some air, chat with her friends, and mingle with the other guests. But she hadn’t lasted long. The air had felt colder than it should, the night unusually still — almost too still for a wedding celebration. Something about it made her uneasy, a quiet tug in her chest urging her to return.
And her instincts were right.
When she stepped back into the guest house, the uninvited guest — the drunk stranger — was already attempting to get up from the couch. Her movements slow and wobbly, as though gravity itself had turned against her.
“Hey, careful,” Aiah said quickly, crossing the room before the woman could collapse onto the floor. “You’re still dizzy.”
The woman blinked at her, eyes glassy and unfocused. “I was. . . looking for the dance floor,” she mumbled, each word dragging lazily after the other.
Aiah stared, caught between disbelief and amusement. “Walang dance floor dito. You’re in the guest house, remember?”
Stacey frowned, tilting her head as if trying to process the words. Then she nodded solemnly. “Ah. Guest house. Fancy. . . prison.”
Aiah exhaled through her nose. “Something like that. Now sit down before you hurt yourself again.”
She guided her gently back onto the couch, adjusting the pillow behind her head. Stacey complied without protest, mumbling something under her breath — something that sounded suspiciously like, ‘𝘐 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘧𝘢𝘣𝘶𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘴.’
Aiah pinched the bridge of her nose, half in disbelief, half in reluctant amusement. How did she end up in this situation? Of all people, she had to be the one babysitting a complete stranger who’d crashed her brother’s wedding. She could’ve easily called security or asked one of the staff to deal with it.
And yet. . . here she was — standing in a quiet guest house, playing caretaker to a tipsy woman who smelled faintly of champagne and trouble.
It hadn’t even been that long since she’d settled her down, but Stacey stirred again, letting out a soft groan. Before Aiah could react, she was already pushing herself up, swaying dangerously like a leaf in the wind.
“Hey, whoa — ingat!” Aiah rushed forward, catching her by the arm before she could topple over. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”
“Okay lang ako,” Stacey mumbled, even as her knees buckled. Her words slurred, her tone stubborn — the kind of defiance that came with too much alcohol and misplaced pride.
“Sure you are,” Aiah muttered, looping an arm around her waist to steady her. The contact made her realize just how light the woman felt, and how she smelled faintly of perfume, sweat, and lingering champagne.
“Let’s get you to the bed before you fall flat on your face,” Aiah said, guiding her across the room.
Stacey blinked up at her, dazed. “Bed? Oh no. Beds are dangerous.”
Aiah frowned. “What?”
“They make you think of exes,” she whispered dramatically, pressing a finger to her lips as if it were a secret.
Aiah bit the inside of her cheek. “Right. Duly noted. But you’re still lying down.”
With a mix of patience and exasperation, she eased Stacey down onto the bed. The latter plopped onto the sheets with a sigh, half-conscious, half-content.
“See? Not so bad,” Aiah murmured, adjusting the blanket over her.
Stacey’s eyes fluttered open for a brief moment, unfocused but oddly soft. “You’re really pretty,” she murmured sleepily. “You look like. . . someone I used to dream about.”
Aiah froze, her heart skipping a beat — unsure if it was because of the words or the way they were said.
But before she could respond, Stacey had already drifted off again, her breathing evening out.
Aiah straightened, exhaling quietly. “Great,” she whispered to herself.
Now, phone in hand, Aiah began typing a reply to Maloi, who had been keeping her updated on how the program was going outside.
𝙁𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙈𝙖𝙡𝙤𝙞:
→ 𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘯𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘴𝘪𝘶𝘸𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘮𝘨𝘢 𝘨𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵
→ 𝘏𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘱 𝘬𝘢 𝘬𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘢 𝘯𝘪 𝘉𝘳𝘪𝘹
→ 𝘚𝘢𝘣𝘪 𝘬𝘰 𝘣𝘶𝘴𝘺 𝘬𝘢 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘯𝘦𝘸𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘹
𝙏𝙤 𝙈𝙖𝙡𝙤𝙞:
↑ ???
↑ 𝘚𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘭𝘺??
𝙁𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙈𝙖𝙡𝙤𝙞:
→ 𝘑𝘢𝘫𝘢𝘫𝘩𝘢𝘩𝘴𝘴𝘫𝘫𝘢𝘫𝘢𝘫𝘢𝘫𝘢𝘩𝘫𝘢𝘫 𝘦𝘮𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘦𝘩𝘩
→ 𝘔𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘢 𝘴𝘪 𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘨?
𝙏𝙤 𝙈𝙖𝙡𝙤𝙞:
↑ 𝘚𝘩𝘦’ 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦.
𝙁𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙈𝙖𝙡𝙤𝙞:
→ 𝘜𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘢 𝘺𝘶𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘢𝘵 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮
𝙏𝙤 𝙈𝙖𝙡𝙤𝙞:
↑ 𝘏𝘢𝘺𝘴
↑ 𝘐 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥’𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦.
𝙁𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙈𝙖𝙡𝙤𝙞:
→ 𝘕𝘶𝘬𝘢𝘣𝘢??
→ 𝘈𝘺𝘰𝘴 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘺
→ 𝘒𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘺𝘢 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘯 𝘯𝘪𝘭𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘬𝘢𝘩𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘢 𝘬𝘢
𝙏𝙤 𝙈𝙖𝙡𝙤𝙞:
↑ 𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘐’𝘮 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵. 𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘒𝘶𝘺𝘢 𝘉𝘳𝘺𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘈𝘵𝘦 𝘔𝘦𝘨.
↑ 𝘕𝘢𝘬𝘢𝘬𝘢𝘩𝘪𝘺𝘢 𝘴𝘢 𝘬𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘭𝘢.
𝙁𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙈𝙖𝙡𝙤𝙞:
→ 𝘖𝘬𝘦𝘺 𝘭𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘢
→ 𝘔𝘢𝘨𝘱𝘢𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘢 𝘬𝘢 𝘯𝘢 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘺𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘺 𝘬𝘰 𝘬𝘢𝘮𝘪 𝘯𝘢 𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘢 𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘰
Aiah let out a deep sigh, rubbing the back of her neck as she glanced at the clock. It was getting late, and her phone was still buzzing with messages from various group chat. She was about to type another reply when a faint sound caught her attention.
A soft groan.
She froze for a moment, then turned toward the bed. Stacey was stirring again, shifting under the blanket as her brows furrowed.
Aiah rose from her seat and walked over, her steps quiet against the floor.
“Tubig. . .” Stacey mumbled weakly, her voice dry and cracked.
Aiah blinked, a mix of concern and disbelief flickering across her face. “Water? Gusto mo ng tubig?”
Stacey didn’t answer — just gave a pitiful little whimper that made Aiah sigh again, heavier this time.
“Alright, stay there,” she muttered, heading toward the small kitchen counter by the corner.
She filled a glass with water, shaking her head before returning to the bedside.
“Here,” Aiah said gently, crouching down beside the woman. “Drink this before you pass out again.”
Stacey stirred, eyes half-open, blinking like she was trying to remember where she was. She squinted at the glass, then at Aiah.
“Are you. . . a nurse?” she asked hoarsely.
Aiah exhaled through her nose, fighting a smile. “No. Just someone too nice for her own good.”
Stacey giggled softly, the sound slurred. “Pretty nurse. Pretty nice.”
“Drink,” Aiah ordered lightly, holding the glass to her lips.
Stacey obeyed, taking a few slow sips before coughing a little. “Ang lamig,” she complained weakly.
“Then don’t drink too fast,” Aiah murmured, steadying the glass for her.
After a few more gulps, Stacey leaned back against the pillow, looking more alive — but just barely. Her eyes fluttered shut again, a faint smile tugging at her lips.
“Thanks. . . angel,” she whispered, her voice trailing off into a drowsy hum.
Aiah sighed, placing the glass on the nightstand. “You really need to stop calling me that,” she muttered, though her tone had softened.
Stacey smiled faintly, her flushed cheeks glowing under the warm lamplight. Her eyes fluttered open just enough to meet Aiah’s gaze — hazy, unfocused, yet oddly tender.
Aiah stilled. For a moment, she forgot to breathe. There was something disarming about the way those eyes looked at her — not quite aware, not quite gone either. Just. . . there. Vulnerable.
“Angel with pretty eyes,” Stacey mumbled again, her voice barely a whisper, thick with drowsiness.
Aiah blinked, caught off guard. “You’re drunk,” she murmured, trying to sound firm, though her voice came out softer than she intended.
Stacey only giggled quietly — that loose, unfiltered kind of laughter that belonged to someone far too intoxicated to care. Then, without warning, she lifted a trembling hand and brushed the back of it against Aiah’s cheek.
Aiah froze.
Her breath hitched as the woman’s touch lingered — featherlight, almost reverent. Then the other hand followed, cupping Aiah’s face with surprising gentleness.
“Hey—” Aiah started, but her words faltered the moment Stacey's thumb grazed her lower lip. The gesture was slow, unthinking, almost dreamlike.
“I like your lips,” Stacey whispered, her words slurring together. “They look. . . and feel so soft.”
Aiah’s heart gave a sharp, startled beat. For a split second, the world seemed to shrink — down to the warmth of that touch, the faint scent of alcohol between them, and the sound of Stacey's shallow breathing.
Then reality snapped back.
Aiah gently took the woman’s wrists and lowered them, careful not to wake her fully. “Okay,” she said quietly, her pulse still unsteady. “That’s enough touching for one night.”
She was about to stand when she felt a sudden tug on her wrist. She froze, startled, as Stacey's fingers curled around her hand — warm, unsteady, and desperate in their grip.
Before Aiah could even react, Stacey stirred, pushing herself halfway up from the bed. Her movements were slow, heavy with intoxication, yet there was something deliberate in the way her other hand reached out — sliding up to Aiah’s neck, resting there with a soft, trembling touch.
Aiah froze again. Stacey's fingers brushed against her neck, warm and quivering. For a split second, their faces were inches apart — her breath still tasting faintly of champagne.
The world seemed to slow.
Stacey's gaze softened, glassy but sincere, her lips parting as if to say something. Instead, she leaned in — slow, unsteady, her intentions clear even through the haze.
Aiah’s breath hitched. Her heart thudded in her chest, an instinctive part of her wanting to close the gap. But just as Stacey's lips brushed the edge of her cheek, Aiah turned slightly, steadying her by the shoulders.
“Hey—”
Aiah didn’t get to finish.
Before she could even process what was happening, Stacey leaned forward — slow, almost dreamlike — and captured her lips in a soft, trembling kiss.
It wasn’t deep. Just a fleeting brush of warmth — hesitant, searching, tasting faintly of champagne and uncertainty. But it was enough to make Aiah’s breath hitch, her heart stumbling against her ribs.
The world seemed to blur — the hum of the air conditioner, the faint music outside, the glow of the lamplight — all dissolving into that single, quiet second between them.
Then, just as suddenly, Stacey pulled back, her lips curving into a sleepy, content smile. “Your lips taste like cherries,” she murmured, her voice soft and slightly slurred, eyes half-lidded as if she were drifting between dream and reality.
Aiah froze, unsure what to say or even how to breathe.
Stacey's hand found her cheek again, fingers warm and trembling as she leaned forward — clearly intending to kiss her once more. But before their lips could meet, she suddenly stopped.
Her expression twisted. “Oh. . .”
Without warning, she slapped a hand over her mouth, eyes going wide in alarm.
Aiah blinked, realization dawning in an instant. “Oh no. Don’t tell me—”
Stacey made a muffled sound that confirmed it.
“Okay! Okay! Bathroom’s this way!” Aiah exclaimed, springing into motion as she grabbed the woman by the wrist and hurriedly guided her toward the washroom before disaster could strike.
Stacey stumbled along, mumbling incoherently, still clutching her mouth like a child caught misbehaving.
By the time they reached the bathroom, Aiah could only sigh — half in panic, half in disbelief. “What a night,” she muttered, brushing her hair back from her face.
——
It was already four in the morning when Aiah finally allowed herself to rest on the bed. Beside her lay the same stranger who had crashed her brother and his wife’s wedding party — the uninvited guest who turned the night into something she would never forget.
You could only imagine the chaos Aiah had endured in the past few hours with Stacey.
The woman had been a complete mess after vomiting — disoriented, stubborn, and utterly uncooperative. And once she started talking, she didn’t stop. She talked about the color of the curtains, the shape of the moon, how she once tried to befriend a stray cat that bit her, and something about “cosmic energy and bad tequila.” Half of it didn’t even make sense, but Aiah found herself listening anyway.
Somehow, between the mess and the madness, the night had grown strangely calm. Stacey’s voice, though slurred and unpredictable, had filled the room with an odd warmth that pushed away Aiah’s unease.
Now, as the stranger finally drifted off to sleep beside her — her breathing soft and steady, her expression peaceful despite the chaos she’d caused — Aiah felt an unfamiliar calm settle over her.
She couldn’t explain it.
There was no reason to feel this at ease next to someone she’d only just met — someone who had singlehandedly disrupted her brother’s perfect wedding night. And yet, here she was, lying beside this woman, watching her sleep under the dim glow of dawn.
Aiah exhaled, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “You’re trouble,” she whispered, almost fondly. “But somehow. . . you don’t feel like it.”
She stared at the ceiling for a while, the weight of the long night finally sinking into her bones. Her eyes grew heavy, and before she knew it, she had drifted off to sleep.
When she woke again, the sunlight streaming through the curtains had turned golden — soft, mellow, and fading. Her phone buzzed quietly on the nightstand, and that was when she realized how late it was.
“Almost six?” she murmured, groaning as she sat up. She had missed breakfast. . . and lunch.
She turned her head toward the other side of the bed — and froze.
The space where Stacey had been lying was empty. The blanket was folded neatly, the pillow slightly indented, and the faint scent of champagne and perfume still lingered in the air.
Aiah blinked, glancing around the small guest house. No sign of her. The door was slightly ajar.
“She’s gone?” Aiah whispered, more to herself than anyone.
For a moment, she just stood there, caught between confusion and disbelief. After everything that happened — the chaos, the talking, the vomiting, the unexpected tenderness — the woman had simply vanished.
No note. No message. Nothing.
Aiah rubbed her temples, torn between relief and an odd sense of disappointment. “Hindi man lang nag-thank-you,” she muttered under her breath. “Didn’t even say goodbye.”
She glanced once more at the empty side of the bed, and though she tried to shrug it off, she couldn’t help the small ache in her chest — that strange, quiet pull toward a woman whose name she wasn’t likely to forget.
𝘓𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘵𝘴𝘦𝘺 𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘺 𝘈𝘶𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘺 𝘚𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘫𝘢
Trouble, indeed.