Chapter Text
The roar of the stadium was not a sound; it was a physical weight. It pressed against Aiah’s eardrums, vibrated in the soles of her designer sneakers, and made her wonder, for the fourteenth time since the parking lot, why she hadn't just stayed home with her spreadsheets and a glass of Merlot.
"Aiah, are you sure? We can keep looking for a row with four!" Stacey shouted over the pre-game music, her face painted with a neat 'G' and 'C' on her cheeks.
Aiah waved them off, offering a practiced, weary smile. "Go, Stace. You guys are in the third row. I’m just five rows back. It’s fine. I’ll enjoy the... atmosphere."
The "atmosphere" currently smelled like overpriced hotdogs and collective adrenaline. As Mikha, Sheena, and Stacey disappeared into the sea of blue and white jerseys, Aiah navigated to Section 119, Seat 27.
She found it. Or rather, she found the person occupying Seat 26.
The girl was a whirlwind in a jersey that looked two sizes too big for her. She was currently standing on her seat, screaming something that sounded suspiciously like a threat directed at the opposing team’s goalie, while waving a foam finger with terrifying enthusiasm.
Aiah hesitated, then cleared her throat. "Excuse me? I think I’m right next to you."
The girl froze, hopped down with surprisingly athletic grace, and turned around. She was beaming—bright, sweaty, and radiating the kind of energy that Aiah usually needed three shots of espresso to face.
"Oh! Sorry, sorry! I’m Jhoanna," the girl said, wiping a stray strand of hair from her forehead. She didn't just speak; she projected. "You’re just in time! Gwen is starting today, and Colet looks like she’s out for blood. It’s gonna be a massacre. Are you hyped? I’m hyped."
Aiah sat down carefully, clutching her handbag like a shield. "I’m Aiah. And I’m... here."
Jhoanna blinked, her gaze dropping to Aiah’s pristine white blazer and then back up to her perfectly styled hair. A slow, mischievous grin spread across Jhoanna’s face.
"First time at a game, Aiah? Or are you just here to scout for a quiet place to nap?"
"I’m here under duress," Aiah replied dryly, pulling out her phone to check her emails.
"Duress? Oh, we'll see about that," Jhoanna chuckled, leaning back and encroaching just a little too much on Aiah’s personal space. "By the second half, I’ll have you screaming at the ref just like the rest of us. It’s a religious experience, I promise."
Aiah looked at the bright green field, then at the chaotic girl beside her, and sighed. It was going to be a very long ninety minutes.
If Jhoanna was a golden retriever in human form, Aiah was a very expensive, very stressed-out Persian cat dropped into a puddle.
Ten minutes into the match, Aiah had already checked her watch three times. She sat with her legs crossed tightly, her phone glow in sharp contrast to the stadium’s floodlights. To her, the game was just twenty-two people chasing a ball while thousands of others had a collective identity crisis.
“You’re doing it again,” Jhoanna said, not even looking away from the pitch.
Aiah didn’t look up from her screen. “Doing what?”
“Radiating ‘I’d rather be at a dental cleaning’ energy. It’s distracting.” Jhoanna finally turned, propping her chin on her hand, watching Aiah instead of the play. “Is that a spreadsheet? You’re seriously looking at a Pivot Table while Colet is literally tearing up the left flank? Seryoso? How? ”
“It’s a quarterly projection,” Aiah corrected calmly, finally locking eyes with Jhoanna. “And unlike the ‘left flank,’ this actually has consequences for my Monday morning.”
Jhoanna made a face as if Aiah had just admitted to eating unseasoned rice. “Monday is a lifetime away! Look at the field, Aiah. Look at the energy! You’re missing the plot.”
“The plot is that they want to put the ball in the net,” Aiah said, her voice dripping with artificial patience. “I’ve gathered that much. I’ll be impressed when it happens. Until then, I have emails na kailangang tapusin.”
Just then, the crowd let out a deafening “Ooooooh!” as a shot from Gwen rattled the crossbar. Jhoanna nearly leaped out of her skin, screaming a string of encouragements that were definitely not in any official handbook.
When Jhoanna settled back down, breathless and flushed, she caught Aiah watching her—not with interest in the game, but with a look of pure, bewildered judgment.
“What?” Jhoanna gasped, grinning.
“You’re very… loud,” Aiah noted, tucked safely behind her professional mask.
“And you’re very… quiet,” Jhoanna countered, her eyes softening just a fraction. “It’s a football stadium, Aiah. It’s the only place where being loud is a requirement. Wala tayo sa conference room maem. Try it. Just one ‘Go team.’ I won’t even tell your spreadsheets. Promise”
Aiah actually felt a tiny, traitorous twitch at the corner of her mouth. “I’ll pass. I’m conserving my energy para maglakad sa parking lot mamaya.”
“Hard to get,” Jhoanna muttered with a playful wink, turning back to the game. “I like a challenge.”
Aiah went back to her phone, but for the first time that night, the numbers on the screen didn’t seem nearly as interesting as the girl vibrating with excitement in the seat next to her.
Aiah had mastered the art of "selective hearing" years ago in boardrooms full of ego, but Jhoanna was a different breed of persistent.
"Okay, see that? That’s a 4-3-3 formation," Jhoanna said, pointing a half-eaten nacho toward the field. "But Colet—yung may headband and the 'don't mess with me' eyes—she’s playing as a false nine today. It’s basically tactical chaos. Very her."
Aiah didn't look up from her phone. "That’s nice, Jhoanna. I’m sure the false number is doing great."
"False nine nga," Jhoanna corrected, undeterred. "And look at Gwen! See how she’s tracking back? That’s work rate. That’s passion. Hindi mo malalagay yan sa spreadsheet, Aiah."
Aiah finally sighed, clicking her phone shut and sliding it into her bag. She realized she wasn’t going to get any work done as long as her seatmate treated her like a one-woman captive audience for a sports documentary.
"If I listen to you explain this for five minutes, will you let me sit in silence for the next fifteen?" Aiah bargained.
Jhoanna’s eyes lit up. "Deal. Okay, so, the offside rule. Think of it like a queue at a luxury sample sale. You can't just jump ahead of the last defender before the ball is 'dropped'—or passed—or you're disqualified from the 'purchase.'"
Aiah blinked. "You’re using a shopping metaphor for football?"
"I’m tailoring my content sa demographics ko aiah " Jhoanna teased, leaning in closer to be heard over a nearby drum group. "And that foul just now? That’s a yellow card. Basically, a 'final warning' email from HR. Two of those, and you’re fired from the pitch."
Aiah actually let out a short, surprised laugh. "HR? Really?"
"I'm a psych major, Aiah. Everything is about behavior and consequences," Jhoanna said, her tone shifting from manic fan to something a bit more observant. She nudged Aiah’s shoulder with her own. "Speaking of behavior... you’ve stopped checking your watch. That’s progress. 1 point sa poganda. "
Aiah realized with a jolt that she had stopped. She was sitting forward now, her eyes actually following the movement of the white jerseys on the grass. The game was still a confusing blur of grass stains and shouting, but Jhoanna’s voice was providing a map she hadn't realized she needed.
"The tapos na ang five minutes mo, and ang taas ng confidence mo huh? Poganda? Are you sure,?" Aiah said, though she didn't reach for her phone.
"I know, nagsasabi lang ako ng totoo. Sabi ni mama yan. " Jhoanna whispered, a smug little smirk playing on her lips as she turned back to the field. "But you're still watching, aren't you?"
Aiah didn't answer. She just watched Gwen sprint down the sideline, feeling the strange, thumping rhythm of the stadium finally start to sync up with her own heart.
The initial high of the game’s first half began to settle into a steady hum. Jhoanna, for all her loud bravado, had a secret weapon: she was a natural observer. It came with the territory of her degree, but with Aiah, it felt less like a clinical study and more like a puzzle she was desperate to solve.
Aiah was currently staring at the field, but her eyes weren't tracking the ball anymore. They were glazed over. One of her hands was unconsciously rubbing her temple, while the other gripped the strap of her bag so hard her knuckles were turning white.
The loud, booming voice Jhoanna had used for the last thirty minutes suddenly dropped an octave.
“Hey,” Jhoanna said softly. No teasing, no football metaphors. Just a quiet prompt.
Aiah jerked slightly, startled out of her trance. “Is it halftime?”
“Not yet. You okay? You’re vibrating, and not in the ‘I love sports’ kind of way.” Jhoanna shifted in her seat, creating a small physical barrier between Aiah and the rowdy fans behind them.
Aiah let out a breath she seemed to have been holding since she parked her car. “It’s just… a lot. The noise. The lights. I thought a break would help, but I think I’ve forgotten how to actually take one.”
Jhoanna didn't make a joke. Instead, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a pair of small, high-fidelity earplugs—the kind frequent concert-goers use. She held them out. “Here. They don’t block everything, they just… take the edge off the roar. Helps you breathe.”
Aiah looked at the earplugs, then at Jhoanna. “hindi mo ba kakailanganin to?”
“I thrive in the chaos,” Jhoanna said with a small, genuine smile. “But you look like you’re drowning in it.”
Aiah took them, her fingers brushing against Jhoanna’s for a second longer than necessary, and it sent million bolts to her nerves. But she tries to ignore it. As she put them in, the world muffled. The sharp, jagged edges of the stadium noise rounded out into a soft drone. The tension in her shoulders didn't disappear, but it loosened.
“Better?” Jhoanna mouthed.
Aiah nodded, feeling a strange warmth that had nothing to do with the humid night air. She had expected Jhoanna to mock her for being ‘sensitive’ or ‘too posh’ for the bleachers. Instead, this stranger was making space for her in a crowd of thousands.
“Salamat,” Aiah whispered.
Jhoanna just winked and settled back, keeping her commentary to a minimum for the next ten minutes, simply sitting close enough that Aiah could feel the steady, grounding presence of someone who wasn't asking for anything at all.
For a while, the quiet moment was shattered in the 42nd minute.
It started with Gwen. From her position in the midfield, she intercepted a pass with a clinical precision that made even Aiah lean forward. With a burst of speed that looked superhuman, Gwen carved through the defense, her eyes locked on a target only she could see.
"Go, go, go, Gwenny!" Jhoanna hissed under her breath, her body coiled like a spring.
Then came the cross—a high, arc of a ball that seemed to hang in the air for an eternity. Out of nowhere, Colet exploded into the box. She didn't just kick the ball; she met it with a ferocious header that sent it screaming into the top right corner of the net.
The stadium didn't just cheer—it detonated.
"COLET! BEST FRIEND KO YAN! THAT'S MY GIRL!" Jhoanna was airborne. She was screaming, jumping, and hugging the air. She accidentally clipped Aiah’s shoulder in her excitement, then immediately grabbed Aiah’s arms to steady both of them. "Did you see that?! Aiah, did you see that header?! Pure anger! Pure talent! PURE COLET POWER! "
Aiah was tossed into the middle of the whirlwind. Usually, this level of physical proximity and noise would have triggered a flight response. But looking at Jhoanna—whose face was alight with a joy so pure it was almost blinding—Aiah felt something else.
She felt a laugh bubbling up.
It started as a giggle and turned into a genuine, head-back laugh. Aiah looked at the field where Colet was doing a knee-slide and Gwen was jumping on her back, and then she looked back at Jhoanna, who was still vibrating with "feral" energy.
"She really is out for blood, isn't she?" Aiah shouted over the noise, using the football terminology Jhoanna had taught her.
Jhoanna froze, her hands still resting on Aiah’s upper arms. She looked at Aiah—really looked at her—and saw the way her eyes crinkled when she laughed, the way the corporate mask had finally cracked to reveal something soft and brilliant. She think her heart just did a somersault.
"Yeah," Jhoanna breathed, her voice suddenly losing its volume but gaining an intensity that had nothing to do with the score. "She is. And you... you have a really nice smile, Aiah."
Aiah’s laughter died down into a shy, flustered grin. For a second, the 20,000 people around them didn't exist. There was just the smell of grass, the heat of the stadium lights, and Jhoanna’s hands, which were still remarkably warm on Aiah’s skin.
The referee blew the whistle for halftime, breaking the spell. Jhoanna let go, looking a little dazed herself.
"Okay," Jhoanna cleared her throat, trying to regain her swagger. "Halftime. You want a hotdog? treat ko na. You've officially survived the first half without filing a lawsuit saakin."
"I think I'd prefer a water," Aiah replied, but she didn't pull away as they stood up to head toward the concourse. "And maybe more of those nachos. Since I'm 'missing the plot' of football and all."
The concourse was a chaotic swarm of jerseys and long lines, but tucked away near a concrete pillar with a view of the city skyline, Aiah and Jhoanna found a pocket of relative peace. They shared a tray of cooling nachos and two overpriced bottles of water which make jhoanna say: “If hindi ako swertehin sa pagiging psychologist, magbebenta nalang ako ng tubig dito. Grabe tenfold ang kita nila dito.” that makes aiah laugh so hard.
The "sports fan" and "corporate executive" personas had shifted. Away from the roar of the pitch, the air between them felt different—less like a confrontation and more like a conversation.
"So," Jhoanna started, crunching on a chip. "Quarterly projections, white blazers, and 'duress.' What does Aiah actually do when she isn't being forced to watch football by her friends?"
Aiah leaned against the cool concrete, looking out at the city lights. "I manage operations for a lifestyle brand. It sounds glamorous, but it’s mostly just making sure a thousand moving parts don't crash into each other. It’s constant. If I’m not answering an email, I feel like I’m falling behind."
Jhoanna stopped chewing, her expression turning thoughtful. "That’s why you were rubbing your temples. You don’t just work there; you are the operation."
Aiah looked at her, surprised. "Something like that. My friends—Mikha and the others—they thought I’d burn out if I didn't 'get out and do something normal.' I didn't realize 'normal' involved being yelled at by a stranger with a foam finger."
Jhoanna laughed, a bright, melodic sound that cut through the humidity. "Hey, I was providing a service! Social stimulation. Crisis intervention. Besides, I get it. I’m finishing my psych degree, and some days I feel like I’m absorbing everyone else’s stress. Coming here... screaming for Colet and Gwen... it’s the only time my brain goes quiet."
"Does it?" Aiah asked softly.
"Yeah. Because on that field, the rules are simple. You play hard, you support your team, and at the end of ninety minutes, it's over. No lingering emails." Jhoanna stepped a little closer, her eyes searching Aiah’s. "You should try it sometime. Yung 'not caring' part."
"I'm not very good at that," Aiah admitted, her voice barely a whisper.
"I can tell. You're a 'fixer.' But Aiah..." Jhoanna reached out, briefly touching the sleeve of Aiah's blazer. "You're allowed to just be here. You don't have to manage the game. You just have to watch it."
For the first time in months, Aiah felt the phantom weight of her laptop bag lift from her shoulders. She looked at Jhoanna—really looked at the smudge of face paint on her cheek and the genuine kindness in her eyes—and realized she wasn't counting the minutes until she could leave anymore.
"The second half is starting," Aiah noted, but she didn't move toward the exit. She moved back toward their seats.
"Wait," Jhoanna called out, grinning. "Does this mean you're officially a fan?"
Aiah looked back over her shoulder, a playful glint in her eyes. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Jhoanna. I’m a fan of the nachos. The rest is still under review."
Back in their seats, the atmosphere had shifted. The second half began with a grueling defensive struggle, but Aiah found she didn't need the earplugs as much anymore. The noise was still there, but she was anchored by the girl beside her.
They were leaning into each other now, shoulders pressed together to hear one another over the drums. The conversation had devolved into a spirited, low-stakes argument about the ethics of "flopping" for a penalty.
"No, look at her foot!" Aiah argued, pointing toward a player on the far side. "She tripped over his own ego, Jhoanna. That wasn't a foul."
Jhoanna gasped, clutching her heart. "Aiah! You’re becoming a cynic. That was a clear tactical disruption! His momentum was—"
"Her momentum was a theatrical performance," Aiah countered, a smug smile playing on her lips. She leaned in closer to Jhoanna’s ear to be heard. "I know a bluff when I see one. I deal with consultants all day, remember?"
Jhoanna laughed, turning her head so quickly their noses almost brushed. Neither of them pulled back. The air between them felt charged, like the static before a storm. Jhoanna reached over, instinctively smoothing a stray hair back from Aiah’s face—a gesture so natural, so domestic, that neither of them seemed to realize how "not-stranger-like" it was.
"You’re a natural scout," Jhoanna whispered, her eyes dropping to Aiah’s lips for a split second before snapping back up. "Colet needs to hire you."
High above them, in the production booth, a camera operator was scanning the crowd for the first "Kiss Cam" segment of the night. The lens zoomed past a bored teenager, skipped over a couple eating popcorn, and landed on Section 119.
The screen showed two women: one in a pristine white blazer, the other in a messy jersey. They were tucked into each other’s space, laughing privately, the brown haired one gently tucking hair behind the other’s ear. They looked like a couple in the middle of a soft, comfortable "I love you" moment.
The crowd began to titter, then cheer.
Down in the third row, Mikha nudged Stacey. "Wait... is that Aiah?"
Stacey squinted at the jumbotron. "Oh my god. Is she... flirting? With the girl who was screaming earlier? Oh my gosh. Our aiah is flirting? As in? Can't blame her ang pganda naman kasi ng bebot na yan. Go get here yang! "
But Aiah and Jhoanna were too deep in their own world. They didn't hear the specific roar of the crowd or notice their own faces projected forty feet high. By the time the camera panned away to a confused elderly couple, the moment had passed—leaving behind a lingering tension that neither of them knew how to name yet.
"What's everyone cheering for?" Aiah asked, looking around as the roar subsided.
"Probably a mascot doing a backflip," Jhoanna said, though she looked a little flushed. "Anyway, back to the 'ego trip' foul. I still think you're wrong..."
By the middle of the second half, the game had reached a fever pitch. But for the production crew in the media booth, the real entertainment wasn't on the field—it was the two girls in Section 119 who seemed to be living in a romantic indie movie while a sports riot happened around them.
The camera found them again during a corner kick setup. Then again during a substitution. By the fourth time the "Kiss Cam" graphic flashed on the jumbotron, the operator didn't even bother looking for anyone else.
The screen split: a giant green heart framed Aiah and Jhoanna.
The stadium exploded. It wasn't just a cheer; it was the sound of twenty thousand people demanding a finale.
"Wait," Jhoanna said, finally noticing the blinding light of the jumbotron reflecting in Aiah’s eyes. She looked up. Her jaw dropped. "Oh. Oh no."
Aiah followed her gaze. Her face went from pale to a shade of crimson that rivaled the opposing team's jerseys. There they were: Aiah, looking horrified and elegant, and Jhoanna, looking like she’d been caught stealing a car.
"Aiah! Girl! KISS HER!" Sheena’s voice shrieked from five rows down. Mikha and Stacey were standing on their seats, filming the whole thing with chaotic glee.
The "KISS" prompt on the screen began to blink rhythmically. The crowd started a chant: "KISS! KISS! KISS!"
Aiah felt the familiar prickle of a panic attack. Her lungs felt tight. The world was too big, too loud, and way too focused on her. She looked at the thousands of expectant faces, then at the camera lens that felt like a spotlight on her soul. She started to shrink into her blazer, her breath hitching.
Jhoanna saw it instantly. The "psych major" didn't just see a blushing girl; she saw someone about to hit a breaking point.
Jhoanna didn't look at the camera. She didn't look at the crowd. She turned her back to the jumbotron, effectively blocking Aiah from the stadium's view with her own body.
"Hey," Jhoanna said, her voice sharp and grounding, cutting through the chant. "Look at me. Only me."
Aiah’s eyes snapped to Jhoanna’s. Jhoanna reached out, taking Aiah’s cold hands in her warm ones, squeezing them tight.
"It's just us," Jhoanna whispered, her eyes intense and steady. "Forget the screen. Forget the idiots. It’s just a game, okay? You don't have to do anything you don't want to do."
Aiah’s heart was still hammering, but the rhythm was changing. It wasn't the rhythm of panic anymore. It was something deeper. Something that happened when she realized Jhoanna was protecting her.
The crowd’s chant began to falter into confused murmurs as they realized the "couple" wasn't performing. But on the screen, the image remained: Jhoanna holding Aiah’s hands, their foreheads almost touching, a moment of profound, quiet intimacy that was far more scandalous than a quick peck on the cheek.
"I've got you," Jhoanna mouthed.
And for the first time in her life, Aiah didn't care that everyone was watching. She just cared that Jhoanna wasn't letting go.
But the jumbotron was still on them, a glaring spotlight in a sea of twenty thousand people. The "KISS" text was screaming in neon pink, pulsing in sync with the deafening chant of "KISS! KISS! KISS!" that shook the very foundations of the stadium.
The loud cheers broke the shield jhoanna tried to build around her earlier and Aiah was frozen again. Her lungs felt tight, and her hands were trembling so violently she had to clench them into fists. She could command a boardroom of intimidating investors without blinking, but being perceived like this—as a spectacle, as a target—was her personal nightmare. She felt small, exposed, and ready to bolt.
Then, she felt a hand again. It wasn't a grab; it was a steady, warm weight that slid over her knuckles, grounding her.
Jhoanna looked at the screen, then at the sheer panic in Aiah’s eyes that's growing again. The playful, loud-mouthed fan vanished, replaced by someone whose gaze was suddenly, intensely protective. She leaned in so close their temples touched, her voice a low, private hum against the roar.
"Hey," Jhoanna whispered, her breath warm against Aiah’s ear. "Look at me. Forget the screen. I have an idea. We give them a 'friendly' one. Just a peck on the cheek to make them shut up so you can breathe. Okay? On three."
Aiah nodded frantically, clinging to Jhoanna’s voice like a lifeline. "Okay. Yes. Just a cheek. Please, Jho."
"One... two..." Jhoanna’s voice dropped to a soft, velvety count. "...three."
They both turned at the same time. But Jhoanna—ever the chaotic spirit—"tripped" on the uneven concrete at the exact moment she leaned in. Instead of the safe, polite graze of a cheek, Jhoanna’s lips landed squarely, firmly, and perfectly against Aiah’s.
The stadium didn't just cheer; it detonated.
Aiah’s eyes flew wide, her heart doing a frantic somersault in her chest. For a heartbeat, the world stopped spinning. Jhoanna pulled back just an inch, her face flushing a deep, beautiful shade of sunset red, looking genuinely rattled by her own "clumsiness."
"Oh my god, Aiah, I'm so sorry, I slipped—" Jhoanna stammered, her usual swagger completely evaporated. Her voice was shaky, her eyes searching Aiah’s with a mix of horror and hope. "I didn't mean to—I mean, I wanted to, but not like this, not by force—"
The camera was still on them, but for the first time, Aiah didn't feel like a target. She saw Jhoanna—the girl who had spent the last two hours making space for her, protecting her, and making her laugh—stuttering and vulnerable. The sight of Jhoanna finally being the flustered one was the final, electric push Aiah needed.
Aiah didn’t say a word. She reached out, her fingers tangling into the fabric of Jhoanna’s jersey, and pulled her back in before the apology could finish.
This time, it wasn't a slip. It was deliberate. It was slow.
Aiah let her eyes flutter shut as she leaned into the heat of it, letting every "professional" wall she’d built over the years crumble into the stadium dust. Jhoanna let out a soft, surprised hum against her lips before her hands found Aiah’s waist, pulling her flush against her, lifting her just slightly off the seat. It was a kiss that tasted like newfound freedom and the start of something terrifyingly beautiful.
On the jumbotron, the image was iconic: the poised corporate queen in her pristine white blazer, completely lost in the arms of the girl in the messy jersey.
Down in the front rows, Mikha was actually sobbing with laughter while Stacey and Sheena did a frantic victory dance. “BEST FRIEND NAMIN YAN! GO YANG! IUWI MO NA YAN! ” But up in Section 119, the noise was gone.
When they finally pulled apart, the "KISS" graphic on the screen had changed to a giant "MATCH POINT!" and the camera finally panned away. They were left in the sudden, intimate shadow of the stands, both breathless.
Jhoanna leaned her forehead against Aiah’s, her thumb tracing the line of Aiah’s jaw with a tenderness that made Aiah’s knees weak. "So... that was a pretty good slip, huh?"
Aiah wiped a smudge of Jhoanna’s face paint off her own lip, her eyes shining with a light that had nothing to do with the stadium. "If you ever use that 'I slipped' excuse again, Jhoanna, I’m firing you. Next time, just ask."
Jhoanna’s grin was slow, crooked, and devastatingly charming. "Is that an invitation for next time?"
"That," Aiah whispered, finally leaning back and interlacing their fingers, feeling the steady beat of Jhoanna's pulse against her own, "is a standing order."
The final whistle blew, signaling a 2-1 victory for the home team, but for Aiah, the score was the least interesting thing that had happened in the last ninety minutes.
The exit from the stadium was a slow-moving river of humanity. Usually, this was the part Aiah hated most—the rubbing of shoulders with strangers, the heat, the lack of personal space. But tonight, she felt like she was floating in a bubble. Jhoanna’s hand was a steady weight in hers, a physical anchor that kept her from drifting back into her head.
“ATE AIAH!”
The bubble burst as Mikha, Stacey, and Sheena barreled through the crowd, looking like they had just won the lottery.
“We have it from four different angles,” Sheena announced, waving her phone. “The group chat is already in shambles. Aiah, you’re a legend. You went from ‘I want to go home’ to ‘I’m going to take home someone’ real quick.”
Aiah hid her face against Jhoanna’s shoulder for a second, the embarrassment finally catching up to her. “I blame the atmosphere. And the nachos.”
“Sure, the nachos,” Stacey teased, winking at Jhoanna. “Take care of our girl, okay? She’s a lot of work.”
“Don't worry, I’m a psych major,” Jhoanna shot back, pulling Aiah a little closer. “I specialize in high-maintenance cases.”
The walk to the parking lot felt like a victory parade, though not for the reasons the jersey-clad fans around them were celebrating. Aiah and Jhoanna walked side-by-side, their hands still firmly locked, occasionally being nudged by the stray shoulder of a rowdy supporter.
"You realize," Jhoanna said, glancing sideways at Aiah with a playful smirk, "that we are definitely on several people’s TikToks right now. 'White Blazer Lady' is going to be a local stadium legend."
Aiah, who would usually be drafting a cease-and-desist letter in her head at the mere thought of viral fame, just laughed. "As long as they didn't catch the part where I was looking at a spreadsheet in the first half, my professional reputation might survive."
"Aiah! Jhoanna! Wait up!"
The rest of the group caught up to them near the exit gates. Mikha was practically vibrating, her phone already out and glowing. "Aiah, I’ve already sent the video to the group chat. Maloi is screaming. She wants a full debrief at dinner. Sorry Jho but our dinner today is reserved for 5 only. Next time?"
"Sure, we have planned dinner din e. But Dinner is definitely on me, next time," Jhoanna announced, raising their joined hands like a trophy. "Since I managed to convert the most stubborn non-fan in the city."
"You didn't convert me to football, Jhoanna," Aiah reminded her, though her voice lacked any real bite. "You just made the seating arrangement tolerable."
"Tolerable? You kissed me twice! That’s at least an 'Exceeds Expectations' on a performance review," Jhoanna teased.
They met up with Colet and Gwen near the players' exit. Colet, still wiped from the game but wearing a massive grin, bumped Jhoanna’s shoulder. "Good job, Jho. I saw the screen. Nice 'slip' by the way. Very subtle."
“Sure ka ba miss hindi ka na hypnotize ni Jho? ” Gwen said laughing
"Shut up, you two," Jhoanna laughed, flushing pink again.
As the group started heading toward the cars, Aiah slowed down, pulling Jhoanna back just a few inches. The chaos of the game was fading into the quiet of the night, and the reality of Monday morning was looming—but for once, it didn't feel heavy.
“So,” Jhoanna said, the playful banter softening into something more vulnerable. “Do I actually get to see you again? Or was this just a ‘what happens at the stadium stays at the stadium’ kind of thing?”
Aiah looked at the girl who had turned her stressful week into the most chaotic, beautiful night she’d had in years.
“The blazer stays,” Aiah said. “But the ‘duress’ is officially over. And oh, I usually hate surprises," Aiah said softly, looking at the stadium lights reflecting in Jhoanna's eyes. "I like plans. I like knowing exactly what's going to happen next."
Jhoanna reached up, her thumb grazing Aiah’s jawline. "And now?"
"And now," Aiah smiled, leaning in for a quick, private peck that wasn't for any camera. "I think I’m okay with not knowing. As long as you’re the one explaining the rules to me."
Jhoanna’s grin was blinding. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. "In that case... give me your number. I have a feeling the 'post-game analysis' is going to take a few more dates to finish."
Aiah took the phone, typed in her contact info, and saved herself as
'The Archivist (Kiss Cam)'.
"Call me tomorrow,"Aiah said, handing her her phone back.
Jhoanna took her phone back like it was a trophy, her eyes bright. “I don’t even know your last name yet.”
“You’ll find out on our first date,” Aiah promised, stepping away her car.
"I'll call you in ten minutes," Jhoanna shouted back as Aiah drove away.
As Aiah drove away, she looked in the rearview mirror. Jhoanna was still standing there, waving her foam finger in the air like a dork, a wide, ridiculous smile on her face and soon dancing a little jig on the sidewalk while her friends cheered her on. .Aiah shook her head, a permanent smile etched on her face. She still didn't understand the offside rule, but she finally understood why people loved the game.
And now Aiah realized she wasn't thinking about her emails or her Monday morning projections.
She was just thinking about how much she liked the color blue—especially when it was worn by a girl who knew how to make the world go quiet with her loudest chants.