Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Mikha Lim liked the idea of perfection more than she would ever admit out loud.

Perfection meant clean lines and quiet certainty. It meant knowing where to stand in a room and how long to hold someone’s gaze before looking away.

It meant choosing the right words at the right time, spoken in the right tone, with just enough softness to feel human and just enough restraint to feel controlled.

Perfection meant Sophia Laforteza.

The Laforteza house was already alive when Mikha arrived that evening, lights spilling from tall windows, voices layered over one another in a way that felt both warm and overwhelming. 

The place always felt like it was watching her, like every polished surface reflected a version of herself she had to live up to. She paused by the gate for a second longer than necessary, exhaling slowly before stepping in.

Inside, everything was as expected.

Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with thick volumes that smelled faintly of paper and permanence. Frames of certificates and awards hung in perfect alignment, each one a quiet testament to discipline and legacy. Conversations drifted through the air, sharp and articulate, sentences formed with precision, opinions backed by reason.

This was Sophia’s world.

Mikha stepped into it with a small, practiced smile.

“Babe, you’re here.”

Sophia’s voice cut through the noise, calm and steady, instantly grounding. She stood near the dining area, sleeves rolled neatly to her elbows, a glass of water in hand. There was something effortlessly composed about her, something that made the rest of the room fall into place.

Mikha felt her shoulders loosen just a little. “Traffic,” she said, slipping her bag off her shoulder. “You know how it is.”

Sophia’s gaze lingered on her, observant as always, taking in the slight crease of her blouse, the way her hair fell a little out of place. It wasn’t judgment, not exactly. It was an assessment.

“Your collar’s uneven,” Sophia said, already stepping closer.

Mikha let out a quiet breath as Sophia reached up, fingers brushing lightly against her skin as she adjusted the fabric with careful precision. 

The gesture was gentle, almost intimate, yet it carried that familiar undercurrent of correction.

“There,” Sophia murmured. “Better.”

Mikha smiled, soft and automatic. “Thanks, babe.”

Sophia gave a small nod, satisfied, then turned her attention back to the room as if nothing had happened.

It was always like that.

Small things. Subtle adjustments. Tiny refinements that shaped Mikha into something neater, something more fitting. Something closer to perfect.

Dinner began soon after, the long table filling with voices and movement. Plates were passed around, conversations weaving in and out of one another with effortless rhythm. Mikha sat beside Sophia, posture straight, hands neatly folded when she wasn’t eating.

Across from her, one of Sophia’s aunts tilted her head slightly. “Mikha, how’s work?”

“It’s been good po,” Mikha replied. “We just wrapped a campaign last week. The client was really happy with it.”

“A campaign,” another voice echoed, thoughtful. “Creative work, right?”

“Yes po,” Mikha said, keeping her tone light. “I’m actually a Creative Director already.”

There was a pause. Not long enough to be called silence, but enough to be felt.

“Law school would’ve suited you just as well,” the aunt added, almost casually. “You had the mind for it.”

Mikha felt something tighten in her chest. She reached for her glass, taking a small sip before answering. “I tried naman po.”

“You left,” someone else said, not unkindly, but not gently either.

Sophia spoke before Mikha could respond. “She made a decision that worked for her,” she said, voice even, firm without being defensive. “Not everyone has to follow the same path.”

The conversation shifted, but not entirely away.

“It’s not too late,” her uncle chimed in. “You could always go back. A law degree would open more doors.”

Mikha nodded politely, the way she had learned to do. “I’ll think about it po.” She always said that.

It was easier than saying no.

Sophia’s hand brushed against hers under the table, a brief, grounding touch. Mikha glanced at her, catching the slight tilt of her head, the unspoken reassurance.

Later, in the quiet of Sophia’s room, Mikha let herself breathe again. She leaned against the window, pulling a small vape from her bag, the familiar weight settling between her fingers. 

The first inhale came easy, the exhale even easier, the tension in her chest loosening just enough to make the night feel manageable.

“Mikha.” Sophia’s voice was sharp this time.

Mikha closed her eyes briefly before turning around. “It’s just one.”

Sophia crossed her arms, expression tightening. “You said that yesterday.”

“It helps me think.”

“It doesn’t,” Sophia replied. “It distracts you from thinking.”

Mikha let out a quiet sigh, lowering the vape. “I’ve had a long day.”

“That’s exactly why you shouldn’t rely on something like that,” Sophia said, stepping closer. “You’re better than quick fixes. You know that.”

There it was again.

Correction, wrapped in care.

Mikha nodded, even if part of her resisted. “Okay.”

Sophia’s gaze softened slightly. “I’m not saying this to control you. I’m saying it because I want you to take care of yourself properly.”

“Yeah, I know,” Mikha said, offering a small smile. “I get it.”

Sophia reached out, taking the vape from her hand and setting it aside on the desk. “Good.”

The moment lingered, then shifted.

Sophia’s fingers brushed against Mikha’s wrist, sliding down to lace with hers. The tension melted into something quieter, something steadier.

“You did well tonight,” Sophia said.

Mikha let out a soft laugh. “I answered questions and survived dinner. That’s considered doing well?”

“For my family, yes,” Sophia said, a hint of amusement in her voice. “They like you.”

“They like the idea of me,” Mikha replied before she could stop herself.

Sophia’s expression changed, just slightly. “What does that even mean?”

Mikha hesitated. “Nothing. I just mean… I’m not exactly what they expected.”

Sophia studied her for a moment. “You don’t have to be. You just have to be someone who knows what she’s doing.”

Mikha swallowed, nodding slowly. “I do,” she said.

Sophia smiled then, small but genuine. “I know you do.”

Silence settled between them, comfortable in its own way.

“You know,” Sophia continued, voice softer now, “we should start thinking long term.”

Mikha blinked. “Long term?”

Sophia nodded. “We’re not kids anymore. Everything we’re building now matters. Stability, direction, and consistency. It’s not just about the present.”

Mikha felt her heartbeat shift, just slightly. “And us?” she asked.

Sophia’s gaze didn’t waver. “Especially us.”

There was something certain in the way she said it, something that made the future feel less like a question and more like a plan.

“Marriage isn’t something you go into unprepared,” Sophia added. “It requires clarity and perfect alignment. You can’t be impulsive about it.”

Mikha nodded again, even as something inside her stirred. “I’m not impulsive,” she said.

Sophia raised an eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “You used to be.”

Mikha let out a quiet laugh. “Used to.”

Sophia reached up, brushing a stray strand of hair behind Mikha’s ear. “I know. You’ve grown.”

The words should’ve felt comforting.

They did, mostly.

Mikha leaned into her touch, closing the small distance between them. Sophia kissed her, soft and certain, like everything else about her.

It felt right, it always did.

Later that night, Mikha lay awake beside her, staring at the ceiling as the quiet hum of the room settled around them. Her phone buzzed faintly on the bedside table.

She didn’t reach for it, not yet.

Sophia shifted beside her, one arm draped lightly across her waist, steady and warm. Mikha turned her head slightly, watching her for a moment.

This was what mattered.

Not the questions at dinner. Not the expectations pressing in from every side. Not the constant suggestions about law school, about what she could still become if she chose differently. Her parents said the same things anyway.

That it wasn’t too late. 

That she could go back. 

That she could still fix it.

She had stopped arguing months ago.

There was literally no point at all.

Law school had never felt like hers. It had felt like a script someone else handed her, lines she was expected to memorize, a role she was supposed to play.

She knew she had tried. She had sat in those lecture halls, surrounded by people who seemed to belong in ways she never quite did. She had read the cases, memorized the arguments, forced herself into a shape that never held.

Leaving had felt like failure.

Staying would’ve felt worse.

Here, with Sophia, things made sense again.

Even if it meant adjusting. Even if it meant smoothing out the rough edges, quieting the louder parts of herself, and choosing reason over instinct. Even if it meant becoming someone a little different.

Mikha reached over, finally picking up her phone. An unread email sat at the top of her screen.

From an unknown sender about a package.

She stared at it for a second, her thumb hovering just above the notification. Then she locked the screen again, setting it back down without opening it. Since it could wait.

Her gaze drifted back to Sophia, to the steady rise and fall of her breathing, to the quiet certainty she brought into Mikha’s life.

Everything was where it should be.

Everything felt right.

Mikha closed her eyes, letting that thought settle, holding onto it a little tighter than she probably needed to.

Perfect.

That was enough.

For now.

Mikha learned early that love was easier when it came with structure.

Structure meant waking up before the alarm. It meant knowing the rhythm of someone else’s life so well that you could step into it without disruption.

It meant anticipating needs before they were spoken, smoothing out the day before it had the chance to wrinkle.

In Sophia Laforteza’s life, everything had a place.

Mikha made sure of it.

Morning arrived in soft light through the curtains, pale gold spilling across the edges of the room. Sophia slept with her face turned slightly toward the window, hair loose across the pillow, and expression unguarded in a way the rest of the world rarely saw.

Mikha watched her for a moment before moving. There was something almost sacred about this part of the day. Before words. Before expectations. Before the world began asking anything of either of them.

She rose quietly, careful not to disturb the stillness, stepping barefoot across the floor toward the kitchen. The apartment was already familiar in the way repetition makes a space feel like an extension of memory. Nothing was out of place. Nothing needed adjusting.

That was the point.

She started the coffee first, Sophia liked it ready before she even fully woke. Black, no sugar, exact ratio of strength that Mikha had memorized after weeks of trial and correction. 

Sophia never complained, only adjusted her gaze slightly whenever something wasn’t quite right, as if perfection was not a demand but an expectation that naturally existed between them.

Mikha set the machine to brew, then moved through the kitchen with quiet precision.

Breakfast was simple. 

Sophia preferred simple. 

Eggs cooked just enough, toast lightly crisped, fruit sliced in clean portions. No unnecessary embellishment. No chaos on the plate.

Everything had to feel intentional.

While the coffee brewed, Mikha returned to the bedroom. She sat gently at the edge of the bed, brushing a hand lightly against Sophia’s shoulder.

“Hey, babe…” she said softly. “Good morning.”

Sophia shifted slightly, eyes still closed. A small sound left her, somewhere between protest and acknowledgment.

Mikha smiled. “You’ve got a meeting at nine.”

That got her attention.

Sophia opened her eyes slowly, blinking against the light. Her gaze found Mikha almost immediately, steady even in half-wakefulness. “Good morning, babe,” she said, voice low and warm.

Mikha smiled. “Coffee’s almost done.”

A faint smile appeared on Sophia’s lips. “Of course, it should be.”

Sophia stretched slightly before sitting up, the sheets falling just enough to reveal the quiet disarray of sleep. Mikha reached for the robe hanging nearby, holding it open without a word. Sophia slipped into it with ease, fingers brushing briefly against Mikha’s as she did.

“Thank you. You’re the best,” Sophia said.

It was always like that.

Simple gratitude, spoken as naturally as breathing.

Mikha stood, watching as Sophia tied the robe loosely around her waist. “Breakfast will be ready in a few.”

Sophia tilted her head slightly. “You didn’t have to do all that naman, babe.”

“I know po,” Mikha replied. “But I have to.”

That earned her a look. Soft and familiar. Something that sat between affection and appreciation.

Sophia stepped closer, resting a hand lightly against Mikha’s cheek. The touch was warm and grounding in a way Mikha never admitted she needed.

“You always take care of me,” Sophia said gently.

Mikha leaned into the touch without thinking. “That’s kind of the point, isn’t it?”

Sophia studied her for a moment before smiling. “Mhm. Maybe.”

The kitchen filled with the scent of coffee by the time they both sat down. Morning light had shifted slightly, stretching further into the room, painting everything in a softer tone.

Sophia took her first sip, eyes closing briefly as she did. “You always remembered it right,” she said.

Mikha let out a small breath of relief. “S’yempre po.”

Sophia opened her eyes again, gaze settling on her. “That’s good.”

That should’ve felt simple.

Except it didn’t.

It felt like approval. 

Like something carefully earned.

Breakfast passed in quiet conversation. Sophia spoke about her schedule, her cases, and the expectations waiting for her at work. Mikha listened, occasionally nodding, occasionally offering small responses that kept the rhythm of the moment intact.

Sophia had a way of speaking about her life like it was a system that needed constant refinement. Efficient, structured, and controlled. Mikha admired that. She also felt, sometimes, like she was one of the variables being adjusted.

After breakfast, Mikha moved automatically into the next part of the routine. Sophia’s bag was already by the door. Documents neatly arranged inside, laptop charged, and everything placed exactly where it needed to be. Mikha checked it anyway, a habit that had formed over time.

“You don’t have to double-check naman,” Sophia said, watching her from the hallway.

“I like making sure,” Mikha replied.

Sophia leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed loosely. “You’re meticulous in ways that surprise me sometimes.”

Mikha zipped the bag shut. “Is that bad?”

“No,” Sophia said after a pause. “It’s just interesting.”

That word again.

Interesting always meant something deeper with Sophia.

They left together shortly after. The city outside was already awake, traffic building in slow layers of movement and noise. Mikha drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the console. 

Sophia sat beside her, reviewing something on her phone, occasionally typing brief responses that shaped decisions Mikha didn’t need to understand to appreciate.

At a red light, Sophia glanced over.

“You’re quiet today, babe.”

Mikha shrugged slightly. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

Mikha hesitated. “Work and stuff.”

Sophia hummed softly, not pressing further. That was another thing she did well. Knowing when to leave silence untouched. When they arrived at the courthouse building where Sophia worked, Mikha parked near the entrance.

Sophia gathered her things, then paused before stepping out. “My girl will pick me up later?” she asked.

“Of course. Same time,” Mikha said.

Sophia nodded, then leaned in slightly. The kiss was brief and familiar. A rhythm they had both learned.

“Don’t forget dinner tonight ha,” Sophia said as she pulled back.

“I won’t.”

“Good.”

Then she was gone.

Mikha watched her disappear into the building before leaning back in her seat.

The car felt quieter without her.

The rest of the day passed in fragments. Meetings, and emails. Creative discussions that required Mikha to be sharp in ways that felt different from Sophia’s world. There was freedom in her work, but also pressure, an expectation to translate imagination into something other people could understand. Still, she moved through it well.

People trusted her.

People liked her. 

That was what Sophia’s family had once called it too. She was impressive in her own way, they said. Just not the kind that lasted.

By late afternoon, Mikha found herself at a bakery she knew Sophia liked. She chose something simple, something sweet but not overwhelming. She added flowers at the last minute, small ones, arranged carefully so they didn’t look excessive.

Sophia didn’t like excessive.

She liked it intentionally.

By the time she arrived at the courthouse, the sky outside had begun to shift toward evening. She waited near the entrance, leaning lightly against the car, holding the flowers in one hand, the pastry box in the other.

When Sophia finally appeared, she looked tired in the way she always did after long days. Shoulders slightly lowered, expression less guarded than usual. The moment she saw Mikha, that changed.

“Hi, babe. You came early,” Sophia said.

“I was nearby,” Mikha replied.

Sophia approached, taking in the flowers first. “These are new.”

“Thought you might like them.”

A faint smile formed. “I do.”

Sophia reached for the box next, lifting it slightly. “You got this too?”

“Figured my girl hadn’t eaten properly.”

Sophia exhaled softly. “You’re predictable.”

“Is that bad?”

“No,” Sophia said again, echoing the morning. “It’s just… comforting.”

That word settled between them longer than the others. They drove home together in a quieter rhythm than the morning. Sophia rested her head briefly against the window, exhaustion softening her usually precise posture.

Mikha glanced at her once, then focused back on the road. “You should rest more,” she said.

“I will,” Sophia murmured.

“You always say that.”

Sophia smiled faintly without opening her eyes. “And, you always notice.”

Night arrived slowly once they were inside.

Dinner was less structured than breakfast, more relaxed in its familiarity. Sophia ate with one hand occasionally resting near Mikha’s, their fingers brushing between conversations. There was comfort in the repetition of it. A shared life built from small, consistent rituals.

Afterward, they moved into the bedroom.

The city lights outside cast faint reflections across the walls. Sophia stood near the window for a moment, loosening her hair, letting the day fall away in pieces.

Mikha watched her from the bed. “You’re exhausted. You should rest na babe,” Mikha said.

Sophia turned slightly. “I’m fine.”

“You say that a lot too.”

Sophia walked over, sitting beside her. “Because it’s usually true.”

Mikha didn’t respond immediately.

Sophia reached for her hand instead, pulling it gently into her lap. The touch lingered, steady and familiar. “You did well today,” Sophia said softly.

Mikha let out a quiet breath. “So did you.”

Sophia studied her for a moment. “You always say the right thing.”

“I’m just trying.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

Silence settled again, softer this time.

Sophia leaned closer, resting her forehead briefly against Mikha’s. “Thank you,” she said.

“For what?”

“For being here.”

Mikha closed her eyes for a moment. “Always.”

The kiss this time wasn’t brief.

It wasn’t rushed either.

It carried the weight of everything unspoken, everything carefully maintained, and everything they both understood without needing to define. When they finally pulled apart, the room felt warmer and quieter in a way that had nothing to do with sound.

Sophia’s fingers lingered at the edge of Mikha’s sleeve. “We really should think about moving forward soon,” she said softly.

Mikha opened her eyes. “Forward how?”

Sophia smiled faintly. “You know what I mean.”

Mikha did.

It means marriage, future, and stability. Continuation of something already carefully built.

She nodded slowly. “Yeah, yes of course.”

Sophia’s expression softened. “Good.”

Later, when the lights were off and the world outside had faded into distance, Mikha lay awake beside her. Sophia’s breathing was steady, close enough that Mikha could feel it in the quiet. Mikha turned her head slightly, watching her.

Everything was perfect.

Everything had always been perfect.

That was what she told herself.

Her phone rested on the bedside table, screen dark. Somewhere in the quiet, it remained unread.

Eight years.

Eight years felt like both a long time and no time at all.

Mikha didn't measure the years in anniversaries or grand milestones. She looked for smaller, quieter things like mornings that blurred together and evenings that followed a familiar rhythm. 

Sophia remained a steady presence beside her, constant in a way that made everything else feel secondary. 

They'd met in college years back when everything still felt like it was supposed to be decided. 

Mikha could still remember that first day clearly. The lecture hall had been too cold and too bright, filled with people who looked like they already knew where they were going. 

A weight hung over the room as if everyone understood they were stepping into something that demanded more than effort. It demanded certainty.

Mikha hadn't had that. She'd walked in with borrowed confidence and squared shoulders, scanning for a place that felt less suffocating. 

That was when she saw Sophia. 

Sophia Laforteza didn't look uncertain at all. She sat near the front with a straight posture and fixed attention. There was a quiet composure about her that made her stand out without trying. It wasn't loud or showy, but it was simply there. 

Mikha had stared a second too long before looking away quickly to pretend she was checking her notes.

The crush came fast and without warning.

It was in the way Sophia spoke with clear, measured words. It was in the way she answered questions with a confidence that didn't feel forced. People listened when she spoke because they wanted to, not because they had to.

Sophia was everything Mikha thought she should be, so Mikha tried to match her. She sat a little straighter and spoke more carefully. She rehearsed answers in her head even if she rarely followed through. She chose her clothes with more intention to mirror Sophia’s quiet precision.

None of it worked the way she wanted, but Sophia noticed her anyway.

"You're thinking too hard," Sophia had said after class one day.

Mikha had blinked, caught off guard. "Huh? What?"

"You look like you’re trying to solve something that hasn’t been asked yet."

Mikha laughed awkwardly and tightened her grip on her notebook. "Well… maybe I am."

Sophia studied her for a moment, then smiled. "Cute. You don’t have to."

That was all it took for Mikha to fold.

Every small interaction felt like something she had to hold onto and replay later. A glance, a shared note, or a long conversation meant everything. 

Sophia never seemed affected in the same way at first. She treated Mikha with calm attention and a quiet acknowledgment that she was worth responding to. It should've felt ordinary, but it felt like being seen.

Somewhere between study sessions and passing conversations, something shifted. Sophia started seeking her out too. It was subtle at first, like sitting beside her or waiting for her after class. Mikha noticed everything, though she didn't know what to do with it.

"You know? You’re really cute when you’re nervous," Sophia had said once, completely unprompted.

Mikha nearly dropped her pen. "I’m not cute and definitely not nervous."

Sophia tilted her head slightly, clearly unconvinced. "You are. It’s fine."

"It’s not fine."

"It is," Sophia said, almost amused. "You just haven’t realized it yet."

Mikha hadn't known how to respond then, and she still didn't. Back then, it felt like Sophia existed on a level Mikha couldn't reach. 

That never really changed, but everything else did. 

The first year of law school passed in a blur of readings and quiet doubt. Mikha really tried. She stayed up late and pushed her mind into a shape that never felt natural. There was a constant tension in her chest as if she was always a step behind.

Sophia thrived. She moved through the material with ease. Professors called on her with expectation, and her answers were always sharp. 

Mikha admired her, but she also felt herself shrinking. By the end of the year, the decision was already made in her heart. She just needed to say it out loud.

"I don't think this is for me."

They'd been sitting in a quiet café near campus when she said it. Her hands were wrapped around a cup of coffee she hadn't touched.

Sophia didn't react immediately. "What do you mean?"

Mikha exhaled slowly. "Law school. I don’t think I belong here."

Sophia studied her, gaze steady. "You’re just adjusting."

"It’s been a year."

"That’s not long enough to decide something like this."

"It is… for me," Mikha said quietly.

Silence stretched between them. Sophia leaned back slightly, considering. "What would you do instead?"

"I don’t know yet," Mikha admitted. "Something creative. Something that actually feels like me."

Sophia's posture shifted. "You’re making an impulsive decision."

Mikha shook her head. "It doesn’t feel impulsive."

"It is," Sophia replied. "You’re reacting to difficulty instead of pushing through it."

Mikha held her gaze. "Or maybe I’m choosing something I actually want."

Sophia didn't answer right away. When she finally did, her voice was softer. "Alright, I’ll support you. But you need to think this through properly."

Mikha just nodded. Leaving law school felt like stepping off a path, but it also felt like breathing.

The Lafortezas didn't take it the same way. 

At first, they'd welcomed Mikha because she was polite and easy to like. That changed slowly. No one said anything outright, but the difference lived in the way conversations shifted when Mikha spoke.

"So, you left law school," one of Sophia’s relatives said once over dinner, voice light but pointed. "That must have been a difficult decision."

"It was po," Mikha replied.

"What are you doing now?"

"I’m studying design."

A pause. "I see."

It was enough. 

Mikha told herself it didn't matter. She was building something for herself that felt right. She started from the bottom with graphic design and late nights. It was messy and unpredictable, but she loved it. Time passed and she moved from designer to art director, then finally to creative director. 

Each step felt earned.

Still, it never translated the same way in the Laforteza household. Creative work didn't carry intellectual prestige there. It was seen as something less. Mikha compensated by becoming better at everything else. She became the ideal partner who was attentive, reliable, and present.

Sophia noticed. "Babe, you don’t have to prove anything," she said once, brushing her fingers against Mikha’s hand.

Mikha smiled. "I know and I’m not."

Sophia tilted her head. "Yes, you are."

Mikha didn't argue. Maybe she was. Her own family saw it too. They came from a legacy of architects and engineers who understood her path more easily. They didn't push her back toward law, but they worried about the tension in her shoulders.

"You looked alive with what you do, anak," her mother said once.

"I am po," Mikha replied.

Her mother didn't look convinced. "You don’t have to change for anyone, okay?"

Mikha smiled faintly. "I’m not changing po."

That wasn't entirely true. 

Sophia had been raised in a world that demanded excellence. Everything in her life aligned with precision. Mikha admired that, but she also felt the pressure of it. 

Being with Sophia meant stepping into that world and being measured against invisible standards. Sophia never forced her to change directly. She guided and corrected instead.

"Mikha, babe. You need to think long term," Sophia would say. "You need to be realistic. You can’t just go with what feels right."

Mikha listened and adapted. Eight years later, she'd become someone who could stand beside Sophia without hesitation. She was someone who almost felt like she belonged. 

Beneath the structure and the quiet adjustments, a part of her still remembered what it felt like to choose something without thinking about how it looked. She'd learned to quiet that part of herself. 

When she looked at Sophia, none of that seemed to matter as much. Sophia was there and Sophia chose her. 

That was enough.

It had always been enough, or at least that's what Mikha told herself.

· · ─ ᨒ ོ ☼ ─ · ·

Mikha exhaled as another client approved the design her entire team had been working on for a month, and she allowed herself to lean back into her chair. Relief spread slowly through her shoulders, unwinding the tension she had carried for weeks. 

The glow of her laptop screen reflected faintly in her eyes, while the muted hum of the office continued around her. Conversations murmured in low tones beyond the glass walls, keyboards clicked in uneven rhythms, and somewhere a printer whirred to life.

Now she could breathe.

For a moment, she let the quiet satisfaction settle in her chest. She had pushed her team hard. Long nights, constant revisions, disagreements that turned into breakthroughs. Every detail had been fought for, refined, and defended. 

That approval meant something. 

It meant validation. 

It meant they were still ahead.

Still, the first person she thought of wasn’t her team. Her fingers moved almost instinctively as she reached for her phone. The familiar thread was already pinned at the top. 

Sophia.

Mikha typed slowly this time, allowing herself to feel each word instead of rushing through them like she usually did.

I miss you.

She paused, staring at the blinking cursor. A faint smile tugged at her lips before she continued.

The campaign got approved. Finally! You’d be proud.

Another pause followed. Her thumb hovered over the screen, hesitant, as if the last words carried more weight than the rest.

I love you.

She read it twice. Then once more, as if checking for flaws the way she would review a design draft. There were none. It was simple, honest, and enough.

She hit send.

The message was delivered instantly, yet she knew it would sit unread for hours. 

Sophia was likely in court, standing firm with that quiet confidence that had first drawn Mikha in. If not in court, then buried in case files, reading through details that demanded precision and focus. There were no half measures in Sophia’s world. Every word mattered.

Mikha set her phone down gently on the desk. Her gaze lingered on it for a second longer than necessary before she forced herself back to work. Discipline had always been her strength. Feelings could wait. Deadlines could not.

She turned back to her laptop, intending to review the next project in line. However, a familiar notification in her inbox caught her attention. It was an email from an unknown sender.

Your package has been delivered.

Her brows knit together slightly. She didn’t recall ordering anything recently, especially not from overseas. Curiosity nudged her to open the message. The details were brief. A delivery confirmation. The address listed was the company mailbox. The origin was from the United States.

Strange, really strange.

Mikha leaned back again, considering it. It could be documents from an international client. That wouldn’t be unusual given the scope of their work. Still, something about it felt off. The sender’s origin was unfamiliar, and the message lacked the usual formalities she had grown accustomed to.

After a moment, she stood up.

The hallway felt cooler than her office. Fluorescent lights stretched overhead, casting a steady, almost clinical brightness. Each step echoed faintly against the polished floor as she made her way to the mailroom. Her heels clicked in a measured rhythm, steady and controlled.

The mailroom was quiet. 

A few packages sat neatly arranged on the counter, sorted by department. Mikha scanned the labels until she found one addressed to her. It was a medium-sized envelope, rigid and sealed carefully. The return address made her pause.

Los Angeles.

More specifically, it bore the name of a city mayor.

Her frown deepened. That wasn’t something one received casually. She picked it up, feeling its weight. It wasn’t heavy, yet it carried a certain significance that she couldn’t quite explain. A strange unease began to settle in her stomach, subtle but persistent.

Mikha returned to her office, closing the door behind her with a soft click. The familiar space felt different now, as though something unseen had shifted. She placed the envelope on her desk and stared at it for a moment.

Perhaps it was nothing.

Perhaps it was everything.

The moment she slid the contents out, her heart began to beat with a frantic, uneven rhythm. She wasn't looking at a contract or a design brief. Instead, she found herself staring at an officially sealed document. 

Marriage certificate.

It looked terrifyingly legitimate, complete with embossed stamps and signatures that made her stomach drop. Her name was printed clearly in black ink, but the name beside hers belonged to a woman she didn't recognize. 

Maraiah Queen Arceta.

The marriage date on the document was April 1.

Mikha stared at the paper, waiting for the punchline to appear or for the ink to fade away like a cheap magic trick. 

It was the perfect timing for an April Fools’ prank, yet the weight of the paper and the official seal told a different story. 

This wasn't a joke. 

It was a legal reality that had been mailed across an ocean to land squarely in the middle of her carefully constructed life. She tried to force her mind back to that specific date from the previous year, desperate to find a single thread of memory she could pull.

April 1 arrived in her mind as a disjointed blur of neon lights and muffled music. She'd been in Los Angeles for a high-profile business gala. It was supposed to be one of those standard corporate events focused on profit margins, strategic planning, and leadership workshops. 

She remembered the networking and the polished speeches, but the memories became hazy after the formal dinner ended.

She closed her eyes and tried to focus, hoping to sharpen the edges of the fog. A series of disjointed images began to surface. She recalled the taste of expensive alcohol being passed around in a crowded lounge. 

She remembered the sound of a woman laughing, a bright and melodic sound that had cut through the thumping bass of the music.

Then came a blurred smile, followed by the sensation of warm air and the smell of jasmine. It was all chaos, a whirlwind of impulsive choices made in a city where nobody knew her name.

Panic began to rise in her throat as the weight of the situation settled in. She looked at the certificate again, her eyes stinging as she realized the sheer magnitude of her mistake. 

Who was she?

More importantly, how did this happen?

For eight years, she'd worked tirelessly to become the woman who fit perfectly beside Sophia Elizabeth Laforteza. She'd pruned her personality and adjusted her life to meet the standards of a world that valued prestige and order. 

Now, in a single moment of forgotten madness, she'd tied herself to a stranger. Everything she had built with Sophia felt like it was teetering on a precipice. 

She was legally married to a woman named Maraiah Queen Arceta, yet all she could think about was the woman who was currently fighting cases in a courtroom across town.

The irony was a bitter pill to swallow.

She'd spent her life trying to escape the rigid expectations of the law, only to find herself trapped by a legal document she didn't even remember signing. She wondered how she could possibly explain this to Sophia. 

How could she tell the woman who valued logic and foresight above all else that her partner had accidentally married someone else during a business trip? 

The thought of Sophia’s calm, analytical gaze turning cold was enough to make Mikha want to disappear. She'd spent nearly a decade trying to prove she belonged in Sophia’s world, but this certificate was proof that she was still the impulsive, messy person she had tried so hard to hide.

Mikha stood up and paced the length of her office, her hands trembling as she clutched the document. The silence of the room felt oppressive. 

She looked at her phone again, seeing no new notifications from Sophia. The "I love you" she'd sent just minutes ago now felt like a lie, or at least a truth that had been complicated by a ghost from her past. She felt like an intruder in her own life.

She tried to rationalize the situation, telling herself there had to be a way to annul it quietly. Surely a marriage between two people who were intoxicated and practically strangers couldn't be that difficult to dissolve. 

However, the seal on the paper looked dauntingly permanent. It represented a connection she couldn't simply design her way out of. She thought of Maraiah, wondering if the other woman even remembered her face or if she was currently staring at a similar piece of paper in a different part of the world.

The contrast between her two lives was staggering.

On one hand, she had the quiet, structured, and beautiful life she shared with Sophia. It was a life of shared goals and mutual respect, even if it required constant effort and self-correction. 

On the other hand, there was this chaotic, wild version of herself that had apparently surfaced in Los Angeles. 

That version of Mikha didn't care about milestones or prestige. That version of Mikha had walked into a mess with a stranger and changed her life forever.

She sat back down, feeling a strange sense of exhaustion. The victory of the approved campaign felt hollow now. She realized that no matter how many milestones she reached or how much success she achieved, she couldn't outrun herself. 

The past always found a way to catch up, usually in the form of an envelope from an unknown sender.

Mikha tucked the marriage certificate back into the envelope and hid it in the bottom drawer of her desk. 

She couldn't deal with it yet. 

She needed to find a way to maintain her composure, to be the person Sophia expected her to be for just a little while longer. But as she stared at the blank screen of her laptop, she knew that the rhythm of her life had been permanently disrupted. The steady presence of Sophia beside her was no longer the only constant. 

Now, there was a name and a date, a legal tie to a woman she didn't know, and a secret that threatened to burn down everything she loved.

· · ─ ᨒ ོ ☼ ─ · ·

The atmosphere inside the Laforteza dining room felt heavy with the scent of expensive roast beef and the stifling weight of expectation. 

Mikha sat at the long table, her fingers tracing the rim of her water glass while she tried to maintain a neutral expression. It was a scene she’d rehearsed a dozen times before, yet it never grew easier. 

Across from her, Sophia’s uncle leaned forward, his eyes sharp with a condescending kind of curiosity that usually preceded a lecture.

"The firm is expanding its corporate litigation wing," he said, his voice carrying a resonant authority that demanded the attention of the entire table. "It really is a shame to see such potential go to waste, Mikha. You have the mind for it. Why settle for drawing pictures when you could be arguing cases that actually shape the industry?"

Mikha felt the familiar sting of irritation, but she kept her voice level. "I appreciate the concern po, but I’ve built a career I’m proud of in creatives. It isn't just drawing pictures. It’s strategy and communication."

Sophia’s mother sighed softly, a sound that carried more weight than a scream. "We just want the best for you both. Design is so volatile, dear. It isn't exactly the kind of legacy a Laforteza partner usually looks for in a life companion. Law school is always there if you decide to be serious about your future."

Mikha glanced at Sophia, hoping for a reprieve. She was already drowning in the secret hidden in her office drawer, and being told she wasn't enough for the tenth time that evening felt like a physical blow. 

The marriage certificate from Los Angeles seemed to vibrate in the back of her mind, a mocking reminder that she was already legally bound to a woman named Maraiah while she sat here being judged for her worthiness to Sophia.

Sophia must have sensed the breaking point, since she suddenly set her silver fork down with a sharp, decisive click. 

"Actually," Sophia said, her voice clear and commanding enough to silence the room. "You don’t need to worry about Mikha’s career path. We’ve decided to move forward with our own lives. We’re going to be married soon."

The silence that followed was absolute. 

Every member of the family paused mid-motion, their expressions shifting from condescension to genuine shock. 

Mikha felt her heart stop. 

This wasn't the plan. 

They’d talked about the future in vague terms, but they’d never agreed to an announcement, especially not tonight. Her mind raced back to the document in her desk. 

I’m already married, she screamed internally. I’m already a wife to a stranger and now she told them this?

"Marriage?" Sophia’s father asked, his brow furrowing as he looked between them. "That seems like a very sudden development, Sophia. Are you quite sure about this? It’s a significant commitment to make when there is still so much professional uncertainty."

"I’m very sure," Sophia replied, her tone brooking no argument. She reached under the table and squeezed Mikha’s hand, a gesture meant to be supportive that only made Mikha feel more like a fraud.

"Has there even been a proposal?" her aunt asked, her eyes narrowing as she looked at Mikha’s bare hand. "I don't see a ring. One would think a formal engagement would involve a bit more traditional preparation if you were truly serious."

The table turned into a firing squad of questions. 

They weren't delighted by the news. Instead, they were skeptical, clocking Sophia’s every word to see if she was making a mistake. They pressed for details on the timeline and the venue, their voices rising in a synchronized interrogation.

"Did you propose already, Mikha?" Sophia’s mother asked, her tone sharp and doubting. "Or was this another impulsive decision made without a long-term plan?"

Mikha felt the heat rising in her neck. She was on the ultimate hot seat, trapped between the crushing expectations of the Lafortezas and the terrifying reality of her secret marriage. 

The words felt stuck in her throat.

She looked at Sophia, who was watching her with an expectant, encouraging smile.

"We really haven't had a proper, formal proposal yet," Sophia told the table, her hand still gripping Mikha’s. "But it’s coming soon. Isn't that right, babe? We’ve discussed this."

Sophia’s eyes were pleading for backup, asking her to play the part of the devoted, aspiring fiancé. 

Usually, Mikha would have folded. 

She would have smiled, nodded, and said exactly what the Lafortezas wanted to hear just to keep the peace. However, the combination of the belittling comments about her work and the suffocating weight of the certificate in her office drawer finally snapped something inside her. 

She couldn't do it.

She couldn't sit there and lie about a future marriage when she was currently a criminal in the eyes of the law, or at least a very messy liar.

"I think… I need some air," Mikha said, her voice sounding foreign even to her own ears.

"Mikha?" Sophia whispered, her confusion evident as her grip tightened.

"Excuse me lang po," Mikha said more firmly, standing up so abruptly that her chair scraped loudly against the hardwood floor.

She didn't look back at the stunned faces of the Laforteza family. She couldn't stand the sight of their judgment or the hope in Sophia’s eyes. She walked out of the dining room with her head down, her steps quick and desperate as she moved through the foyer. 

The house felt like it was closing in on her, the walls lined with the portraits of successful lawyers and judges who would never understand a mistake as massive as hers.

She pushed through the heavy front doors and stepped out onto the wide, stone porch. The night air was cool, but it wasn't enough to stop the frantic spinning in her head. 

Her lungs felt tight, as if they were still filled with the gray dust of that lecture hall from years ago. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her vape, her fingers trembling as she brought it to her lips.

A thick cloud of vapor drifted into the dark air, momentarily obscuring the manicured lawn of the Laforteza estate. 

What have I done? she wondered, her internal monologue spiraling into a dark, unravelling mess. 

I just let her tell them we’re getting married. I let her lie for me while I have a legal document in my desk that says I belong to someone else. I’m a mess! I’m exactly what they think I am.

She took another long drag, the artificial flavor of the vapor coating her tongue. She knew Sophia would come out any second to check on her. She knew she would have to explain why she walked out, but the truth felt like an impossible mountain to climb. 

How could she tell the woman who valued precision and law that her "ideal" partner was technically a bigamist in the making?

"You okay?" a voice asked from the doorway.

Mikha didn't turn around. She didn't need to see the silhouette to know it was Sophia. She just stared out into the darkness, watching the vapor disappear into the wind. 

"I just couldn't stay in there," she said quietly. "I’m tired of being the project that everyone wants to fix."

"They’re just being protective and practical," Sophia said, walking over to stand beside her. "I thought the news would make them stop. I thought it would show them we’re serious."

Mikha laughed, a bitter, hollow sound that startled the crickets in the bushes. "Serious… yeah, of course. We’re definitely something, Sophia."

"What does that mean?" Sophia asked, her voice dropping into that measured, analytical tone she used when she was trying to solve a problem.

"It means I can't breathe in there," Mikha replied, finally turning to look at her. "And it means you shouldn't have said that. Not tonight. Not ever, maybe."

Sophia looked like she’d been slapped, but she didn't move. She just studied Mikha with those sharp, observant eyes that always seemed to see too much. "You're thinking too hard again, Mikha. Just tell me what's wrong."

Mikha wanted to scream the truth. She wanted to tell her about the envelope, about the city of Los Angeles, and about a woman named Maraiah who held a claim to her life that she didn't remember giving. Instead, she just took another drag of her vape and looked away. 

The silence between them felt different now. 

It wasn't the comfortable silence of two people who knew each other perfectly. 

It was the silence of a structure that was starting to crumble, one secret at a time.

The cool night air didn't do much to dampen the heat radiating from Sophia as she stepped closer. She watched Mikha for a long moment, her eyes tracking the rhythmic movement of the vape to Mikha’s lips. 

The silence between them grew heavy and jagged, stretching until it felt like a physical barrier. 

Sophia clearly didn't appreciate being ignored, especially after the spectacle in the dining room.

"You need to talk to me, Mikha," Sophia said, her voice dropping into that low, dangerous register she used when her patience was wearing thin. "You can't just walk out of a dinner with my parents and expect me to act like it didn't happen. What exactly was that back there?"

Mikha didn't answer right away. She just took another long, slow drag, letting the thick vapor cloud her vision for a few seconds. The quiet hiss of the device was the only sound in the darkness. 

She felt the secret in her office drawer like a physical weight, pressing against her chest until she could barely draw a full breath. She knew that if she opened her mouth, she might either scream or confess everything, so she chose the safety of the smoke instead.

The lack of a response was the final straw for Sophia. With a sudden, frustrated movement, she reached out and snatched the vape right out of Mikha’s hand.

"Stop doing that," Sophia snapped, her eyes flashing with a rare spark of genuine anger. "I’m trying to have a serious conversation here, and you’re standing there hiding behind a strawberry-scented cloud. It’s so immature, Mikha. It’s a distraction you don't need."

Mikha’s hand remained frozen in mid-air, her fingers still curled as if she were holding the device. A sharp spike of irritation flared in her gut at the condescending tone. She hated being treated like a child who needed her toys confiscated. She stayed silent, though her jaw tightened so hard it ached. 

She watched Sophia pace a small circle on the stone porch, the vape clutched in her hand like a piece of evidence in a trial.

"You know they only say those things because they care about where we’re going," Sophia continued, her lecture shifting into a familiar gear. "My family is traditional, yes, but they aren't wrong about stability. If you would just listen to them and consider going back to law school, all of this friction would disappear. They wouldn't have anything left to say. We could be on equal footing, and we could build a life that actually makes sense to people in our circle. Is it really such a sacrifice to secure a future that isn't so... uncertain?"

The word "uncertain" felt like a match dropped into a pool of gasoline. Mikha finally snapped. She turned fully toward Sophia, her eyes narrow and dark.

"Pati ba naman ikaw? Ganon din tingin mo sa’kin?" Mikha asked, her voice trembling with a mix of hurt and fury. "Like I’m some unfinished project that needs to be polished until I’m a lawyer just like you all?"

Sophia blinked, her posture faltering for a split second as she failed to form a proper response. She opened her mouth, closed it, and then straightened her shoulders as she retreated into the safety of logic. 

Mikha’s head bowed, her eyes blazing as the silence finally broke. “So that’s it?” she said, her voice low but cutting. “You’re siding with them now?”

Sophia blinked, taken aback. “What? No, I’m just saying—”

“Are you also looking at me like I’m some kind of disappointment?” Mikha cut in, her words sharper now. She leaned forward, her hands braced on her knees. “Like I’m not enough unless I do what you all want?”

Sophia opened her mouth, then hesitated. The words didn’t come as easily as she expected. “That’s not what I meant,” she said finally, though her voice lacked certainty. “I’m just thinking about what’s best for you. For us.”

“For us?” Mikha let out a humorless laugh. “You really think this is about us?”

Sophia straightened, her defensiveness rising. “Yes. It is. Stability matters. Having something secure matters. We could even end up working on the same cases one day. Imagine that. We’d actually be building something together instead of…” She gestured vaguely at Mikha. “This.”

Mikha’s expression hardened. “Are we really on the same case?” she asked quietly.

Sophia frowned. “What does that even mean?”

“It means,” Mikha said, her voice tightening, “that I don’t feel like we’re on the same side at all. You’re talking about this future like it’s already decided. Like I’m just supposed to follow along. Meanwhile, I feel like I’m fighting a completely different case on my own.”

The words hung heavy between them.

Sophia’s patience snapped. “Are we really?” she shot back, her voice rising now. “Are we really on different sides, Mikha? From where I’m standing, I’m not the one who walks out every time marriage comes up.”

Mikha froze. That hit deeper than anything else. For a moment, she looked like she wanted to respond, like something sharp and defensive sat right at the edge of her lips. Then it faded. Her gaze dropped, and the silence returned, heavier this time.

Sophia stepped closer, her emotions spilling over. “What am I supposed to think?” she demanded. “Every time I try to talk about our future, you shut down. You leave. You act like it’s some kind of trap.”

Mikha said nothing.

“Do you not want to marry me?” Sophia pressed, her voice cracking despite her effort to stay composed. “Do you not want to spend your life with me?”

Still silence.

“Do you even have a plan?” Sophia continued, her questions coming faster now, sharper, each one fueled by the last. “Or are you just… drifting? Waiting for something to happen while everything stays exactly the same?”

Mikha’s hands clenched, though she kept her head down.

“Sometimes it feels like you don’t have any plan at all,” Sophia said, her voice softer now yet more painful. “Like I’m the only one thinking about what comes next.”

The air felt suffocating.

Sophia swallowed, trying to steady herself. “My family isn’t treating you like a project,” she added, though her tone carried a defensive edge. “They care about you. We all do. We want what’s best for you.”

That finally made Mikha look up.

“I am the best at what I do,” she said firmly, her voice steady despite the storm behind it. “I’ve built everything I have right now on my own terms. Isn’t that enough?”

Sophia shook her head, frustration flaring again. “You could do more,” she insisted. “You could be more. You don’t have to stay stuck like this.”

“Stuck?” Mikha repeated, disbelief flashing across her face. “You think I’m stuck?”

“I think you’re not getting the point,” Sophia shot back.

Mikha stood abruptly, the movement sharp and sudden. “No,” she said, her voice rising. “I think I get to decide what more means for me. Not you. Not your family. Not anyone else. I like where I am. I like what I do. Why is that so hard for you to accept?”

Sophia’s expression hardened, her own anger now impossible to contain. “You’re being immature,” she snapped. “You’re being completely irrational.”

Mikha let out a bitter laugh. “Right. Of course, I am.”

“You are,” Sophia insisted, stepping closer, her voice cutting through the tension. “You keep pushing everything away instead of facing it. You act like you’ve got it all figured out, but you won’t even talk about the things that actually matter.”

Mikha’s chest rose and fell rapidly, her composure slipping. “You don’t get it,” she said, her voice quieter now but no less intense. “You don’t get how suffocating it feels when everyone’s trying to decide your life for you.”

“I’m not trying to decide your life,” Sophia argued. “I’m trying to be part of it.”

“Then act like it,” Mikha shot back. “Stop trying to fix me.”

“I’m not fixing you,” Sophia said, though her voice wavered. “I’m asking you to grow up.”

The words landed hard.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then Sophia exhaled sharply, her patience finally breaking. She shoved the vape back into Mikha’s hand with a look of pure disdain. 

"Grow the fuck up, Mikha. Life isn't a design project where you can just undo your mistakes. You need to start thinking like an adult and not some kid playing shapes and colors."

With that, Sophia turned on her heel and marched back into the house, leaving the door standing open behind her. 

Mikha stood alone on the porch, the silence of the night rushing back in to fill the space where their voices had been. She looked down at the vape in her hand, then at the open door. The unravelling feeling in her mind was complete now. 

She had never felt further away from Sophia, and yet, she had never been more tied to a disaster she couldn't fix. She was a wife to a stranger and a disappointment to her lover, and for the first time in eight years, she didn't know if she even wanted to find the path back.

· · ─ ᨒ ོ ☼ ─ · ·

The fluorescent lights of the creative department hummed with a low, rhythmic vibration that usually helped Mikha focus. 

Today, however, the silence felt heavy. 

Since the team had cleared the final revisions for the summer campaign ahead of schedule, the usual chaos of clicking mice and hushed brainstorming sessions had vanished. 

Her subordinates had either slipped out for an early lunch or were buried in their headphones. Mikha sat alone in her glass walled office, staring at the dust motes dancing in a stray beam of sunlight. She tried to appreciate the peace, yet her mind refused to stay still.

Another day, another spiral.

It started as a small, nagging itch in the back of her brain. She fought the urge to open the bottom drawer of her mahogany desk, but the curiosity was a physical weight. Her hand moved almost of its own accord, tugging the heavy wood until it glided open. Beneath a stack of forgotten pitch decks and leather bound planners lay a single, crisp envelope. 

She pulled it out with trembling fingers. 

The paper felt too official for the absurdity it contained. She unfolded it slowly, her eyes immediately darting to the bold lettering at the top.

Marriage Certificate.

She’d read it a hundred times, yet she checked it again. She traced the letters of her own name, Mikhaela Janna Lim, etched right next to the name Maraiah Queen Arceta. 

It looked like a prank. 

It looked like a prop from a low budget romantic comedy. 

Despite the visual evidence, the reality of being legally bound to a stranger felt like a fever dream she couldn't wake up from.

The details on the document were a mess of ambiguity. Where the address should have been specific, the woman had simply written "Philippines" in a loopy, careless script. 

No city. No street. No clue.

A short laugh escaped her, sharper this time. “Great. That narrows it down,” she said to herself, leaning forward and resting her elbows on the desk. “Could’ve at least picked a city or barangay.”

Mikha leaned back in her chair, letting out a sharp, dry laugh that sounded foreign in her quiet office. The headache behind her eyes throbbed in time with her heartbeat. 

How could a government document be this vague? 

It was as if the universe were playing a cruel joke on her organized, meticulous life.

"You've got to be kidding me," she whispered to the empty room.

She'd tried to do the logical thing. She’d tracked down the mailing address on the return envelope, hoping to find a clerk or a witness who could explain how a drunken night of dares and blurred memories had resulted in a legal union. 

However, her investigation hit a wall that was as grim as it was frustrating. The specific mayor who’d supposedly officiated or orchestrated this marriage had passed away from a sudden cardiac arrest just days after the date on the certificate.

"Dead men tell no tales," she muttered, her voice cracking.

She found herself talking to the walls, debating the sheer foolishness of her situation. She was restless. Her lungs felt tight, as if the air in the room had suddenly become too thin to support her. 

Every time she looked at the gold seal on the paper, the weight of the commitment pressed down on her chest. 

She was married. 

She, the woman who didn’t plan her life in five year intervals but never missed a deadline, was legally tethered to a woman she could barely remember.

Driven by a sudden burst of frantic energy, she shoved her keyboard forward. If the government wouldn't help her, the internet would. 

She began her search with the intensity of a private investigator. She scoured X, Facebook, and LinkedIn, but the name Maraiah Queen Arceta didn't yield much at first. It was a unique name, yet the profiles she found were either abandoned or clearly fake.

"Come on, Maraiah," she hissed, her eyes darting across the monitor. "Don't be a ghost."

She moved to Instagram and Google, refining her search parameters. Finally, a series of images began to populate the screen. A common result kept popping up, showcasing the same face in every thumbnail. Mikha froze. Her hand hovered over the mouse as she clicked on the most recent photo.

The woman’s face was striking. 

It felt familiar in a way that made Mikha’s skin prickle, though she couldn't place why. She pulled up the woman’s primary Instagram account and felt a strange jolt of electricity. The bio was short and punchy, listing no professional titles or corporate accolades.

"A wanderer. Chasing horizons, not deadlines."

Mikha scrolled through the feed, her breath hitching. The woman was a chaser for fun, appearing in photos on the edges of cliffs, in the middle of crowded night markets, and diving into turquoise waters. 

She looked carefree. She looked so incredibly alive that it made Mikha’s own structured existence feel gray by comparison.

In every photo, Maraiah Queen Arceta had a lopsided, infectious grin. She seemed completely unbothered by the world. 

While Mikha was spiraling in a high rise office, worrying about legalities and reputations, this woman was likely boarding a plane to another nameless destination. She appeared to be the type who would rather chase a flight than catch feelings.

"So this is the wife," Mikha said, her eyes fixed on a photo of Maraiah laughing under a waterfall.

She couldn't take her eyes off the screen. She studied the curve of the woman's jaw and the way her eyes crinkled at the corners. There was an ease in her posture that felt like a direct insult to Mikha’s constant state of tension. 

Maraiah looked like someone who never checked her mail, let alone worried about a marriage certificate she’d probably forgotten signing.

The more Mikha scrolled, the more she felt a strange mix of resentment and fascination. She wanted to be angry. She wanted to find this woman and demand an annulment immediately, yet she found herself lingering on a video of Maraiah dancing at a beach bonfire. The woman’s movements were fluid and unselfconscious.

"How can you be so calm?" Mikha whispered, her finger hovering over the 'Follow' button before she quickly jerked it away.

She didn't want to be a stalker, but she needed answers. The contrast between them was staggering. Mikha was a creature of habit and consequence, while Maraiah seemed to exist entirely in the present tense. 

It was clear that Maraiah wasn't looking to be found. She was a nomad, a digital ghost who left only a trail of beautiful, vibrant images behind.

Mikha leaned back, rubbing her temples. 

The silence of the office was now broken by the distant sound of a ringing phone in the hallway, but she didn't move. She stayed there, trapped in the glow of the monitor, staring at the woman who was technically her wife. The absurdity of it all should have made her cry, but instead, she felt a spark of something else. 

It was a dangerous, flickering curiosity.

She looked at the marriage certificate one last time before tucking it back into the drawer. The document was a tether, a heavy chain connecting her to a whirlwind. She knew she had to find a way to break it, but as she looked back at the screen, a small part of her wondered what it would be like to live with that much freedom.

"I'm going to find you, Maraiah," Mikha promised, her voice steadying. "I don't care how many flights you're chasing. You're going to help me fix this mess."

She closed the browser tabs one by one, yet the image of that carefree smile remained burned into her mind. The spiral hadn't ended; it had simply changed direction. 

Mikha grabbed her bag and stood up, her movements fueled by a new, frantic purpose. The quiet of the office no longer bothered her, for the noise inside her head was loud enough to fill the entire building. 

She walked out of the glass doors, her mind already mapping out the next steps of a journey she never planned to take.

· · ─ ᨒ ོ ☼ ─ · ·

The world narrowed down to the sound of her own breathing. 

In. Out. 

In. Out. 

Her lungs burned the way they only do when the body has long passed the point of polite protest and moved into something closer to revolt. 

Her feet hit the ground in a frantic, uneven rhythm, and she couldn't tell anymore if the roaring in her ears was the blood rushing through her head or the ambient noise of everything around her collapsing into one indistinct wall of chaos.

Mikha was running for her life. 

Her hair whipped across her face, half blinding her with every turn, but she didn't stop to fix it. She couldn't. She pressed her palm flat against her phone, keeping it locked in her grip the way someone holds onto the last solid thing in a tilting world, knuckles pale and fingers stiff. Her bag swung violently at her side, knocking against her hip with every stride, threatening to throw her off balance entirely.

She turned her head left. 

Then right. Then left again. 

She was looking for something, scanning the space around her with wide, urgent eyes, though anyone watching her might've been forgiven for thinking she simply looked lost. 

Terrified, maybe. 

The kind of terrified that doesn't sit still.

She ran harder.

The floor beneath her was polished to a mirror shine, and twice her shoes nearly slid out from under her at the turns. She caught herself both times, barely, throwing one arm out for balance and hissing under her breath as her shoulder grazed a pillar.

She didn't stop. 

Stopping wasn't a language her body was speaking right now.

Around her, the world moved at its own unhurried pace. Travelers dragged rolling luggage in leisurely pulls. A child sat cross legged on a row of seats, watching something on a tablet with headphones clamped over his ears. A couple stood near a coffee kiosk, laughing at something on one of their phones, completely unbothered by the woman who blew past them like a gust of wind through an open door.

Mikha muttered an apology she wasn't sure anyone heard as she clipped the shoulder of a man who was not, apparently, paying attention to the space directly in front of him. 

He turned, startled, his paper cup wobbling in his hand. She was already ten steps gone before he could form a reaction.

She pressed the dial. 

The phone rang. 

Once. 

Twice. 

Three times.

"Come on," she breathed. "Come on, pick up."

It only kept ringing.

She didn't hang up. She held the phone against her ear with her shoulder, craning her neck awkwardly to keep it in place while her arms pumped at her sides, and she kept running, weaving through clusters of people with the desperation of someone who knows exactly how many seconds they have left and doesn't have enough of them.

The call dropped to voicemail.

"No, no, no." 

She pulled the phone back, squinted at the screen, and dialed again immediately. Her fingers fumbled once, twice, fat and clumsy from the adrenaline flooding her system.

It rang again. 

Nobody answered.

A woman pushing a stroller stepped directly into her path, and Mikha swerved so hard she nearly went sideways, her free hand slapping against a nearby trash bin for support. 

The metallic clang rang out sharp and ugly, and a few heads turned her way with mild irritation, but she was already moving again, already breathing through her teeth in short, ragged pulls that weren't doing nearly enough.

She checked the screen again while she ran. The number she was calling wasn't saved under a name. It was just a string of digits she'd memorized out of sheer necessity, painstakingly acquired through a chain of connections and favors and phone calls that'd taken her the better part of three days to piece together. 

She'd called in things she wasn't proud of calling in. She'd asked for help from people she hadn't spoken to in years. She'd followed the thread all the way to this number, this single fragile thread, and now the thread was just ringing into a void.

Still ringing. 

Still nothing.

She hung up. 

Redialed. 

Started running faster.

Her lungs were filing their formal complaint now, loud and insistent, the kind of deep, searing ache that settles in just below the sternum and radiates outward. 

She was not, by any reasonable definition, a runner. She was the kind of person who told herself she'd start going to the gym regularly and then didn't, and her body was making very sure she understood the consequences of that particular pattern of behavior right now, in real time, at the absolute worst possible moment.

But Mikha didn't stop. 

She rounded a corner, skidded slightly on the slick floor, and spotted the signs overhead. 

Gate numbers.

Arrows. 

She followed the one she needed with her eyes, then redirected her feet, cutting left through a narrow corridor where the ceiling dropped slightly and the lighting shifted to something colder and more fluorescent.

By sheer miracle the call connected.

Static. 

A breath. 

Then nothing for a half second that felt enormous.

"Hello?" Mikha gasped, pressing the phone so hard against her ear it hurt. "Hi, are you there? Don't hang up, please don't hang up, I need you to listen to me."

She didn't wait for a full response. She was already talking, already explaining in breathless, half formed sentences, her voice cracking at the edges from exertion and something rawer than that, something she didn't have the spare capacity to name right now.

Mikha was chasing a flight.

But not her flight. 

She didn't have a ticket either. 

She hadn't booked a seat or checked in or done any of the things a person is supposed to do before showing up at a departure gate in a full sprint with sweat on her temples and a phone pressed to her ear.

The flight didn’t belong to her. 

It belonged to someone else entirely.

That was exactly why she was running.

"Who's this?"

Mikha opened her mouth to answer.

Then she saw her.

Whatever response she'd been assembling in her head dissolved completely. Her feet made the decision before her brain caught up. She was already accelerating, weaving hard through the foot traffic, eyes locked onto the figure roughly thirty meters ahead of her like a heat-seeking missile that'd just acquired its target. She didn't answer the question, but she ran.

"Hello?" the voice asked again, patient but edging toward skeptical.

A man stepped into Mikha’s path at precisely the wrong moment. She hit him at enough speed that it jostled them both. She spun halfway around from the impact, nearly losing her phone in the process.

"Sorry!" she shouted, not stopping, not even slowing down. "I’m so sorry!" She doubted he accepted the apology. She didn't have the bandwidth to care.

The woman she was chasing hadn't noticed her yet. She was standing near the mouth of the boarding corridor, one hand wrapped around the handle of her carry-on luggage, the other holding her phone loosely at her side. 

She'd just ended a call, it seemed. 

She looked calm and composed. The kind of composure that made Mikha acutely aware of her own current state, which was, by any objective measure, the exact opposite.

Mikha closed the distance.

The woman noticed her approximately one second before Mikha came to a lurching, graceless stop directly in front of her. She flinched slightly at the sight. 

That was understandable. 

Mikha was breathing like she'd just outrun something feral. Her knees were doing an unsettling trembling thing that she had absolutely no control over. 

Her lungs had formally submitted their resignation and were now operating purely out of spite. Then she tried to speak. Nothing came out except a series of ragged, open-mouthed exhales.

The woman only stared at her.

Mikha bent forward, both hands braced on her own knees, and focused very hard on the task of not collapsing onto the polished airport floor. Her shoulders heaved. Her vision swam slightly at the edges.

The woman, to her credit or her detriment, ignored all of this and began to turn away.

"Waaiiee..." Mikha wheezed. Her voice came out somewhere between a whisper and a groan. "Waiitt..."

The woman paused, but only technically. Her weight shifted toward departure.

"Wait," Mikha managed again, louder this time, forcing herself upright with what little dignity she had left, which wasn’t a lot. She straightened her back, pushed her hair out of her face with one shaking hand, and looked up.

Their eyes met.

The world did something strange for a moment. It didn't stop, exactly. It just slowed, the way things do when something important's happening and your brain wants to make absolutely sure you're paying attention. The ambient noise of the airport receded slightly. The movement of people around them softened into blur.

Mikha had only read about moments like this in books she'd pretended not to enjoy. She'd always found them a little dramatic. Standing here now, she was reconsidering that position.

The woman in front of her was looking at her with both eyebrows raised in a patient, slightly bemused arc, clearly waiting for whatever explanation could possibly justify this encounter. 

She glanced briefly at her watch, then returned her gaze to Mikha, unhurried but not exactly willing to wait forever either.

Mikha didn't bother wiping the sweat from her temple. There wasn't a version of this interaction where she was going to look put-together, so she'd made her peace with that. 

"Hello," Mikha started.

"Hi…?" the woman responded. The question mark was audible and completely warranted.

Mikha looked at her. Really looked at her, for just a second longer than she probably should've, taking in the sharp jaw and the easy, unreadable expression and the very unfair reality that this woman looked like she'd stepped out of something that didn't belong in an airport terminal. She filed that observation away somewhere she couldn't afford to access right now.

"I…uhmm. My name is Mikha Lim," she said, and she had absolutely no explanation for why her voice dropped into something approaching nervousness when she said it.

The woman repeated the name quietly, almost to herself, tasting it. "Mikha Lim." She tilted her head. "Do I know you? Do you need something?"

"Oh, yes. I’m actually..." Mikha paused. 

The sentence was right there. She could see it. She just couldn't quite reach it. 

"The thing is, I, uhmm..."

She swallowed.

"I... uhh..." 

Another attempt. 

Another failure.

The woman’s expression shifted from bemused to gently impatient. "Look, I have a flight to catch. I really don't have the time for this right now." She glanced at her watch again and took a small, preparatory step to the side.

"Wait! Wait!" Mikha’s hand shot out, not grabbing, just reaching, a gesture of pure desperation. "Wait, no. Maraiah, please."

The woman’s head snapped back. The composure didn't crack exactly, but it recalibrated. Her eyes narrowed just slightly, not with hostility, but with something sharper than curiosity. 

"How do you know my name?"

Mikha pulled in a breath. One real, steadying breath. She straightened fully, looked Maraiah directly in the eye, and said it the way someone states a fact they've known for a long time and've simply been waiting for the right moment to say out loud.

"I'm actually your wife."

Silence.

Then Maraiah laughed.

It wasn't a polite laugh or a confused laugh. It was a full, unguarded laugh that started somewhere in her chest and escaped before she could do anything about it, her head tipping back slightly, her free hand coming up to cover her mouth a half-second too late. 

It echoed through the terminal, bright and unrestrained. A few nearby travelers glanced over with the mild interest of people who weren't sure if they were witnessing a comedy or a crisis but were quietly entertained either way.

Maraiah pressed her fingers against the corner of her eye, catching the tears that'd formed there purely from the absurdity of it all. "That’s a good one," she managed, still recovering. She pointed at Mikha with a composed, theatrical elegance. "In that case, I'm Aphrodite."

Mikha felt the heat crawl up to her ears before she could stop it, spreading to her cheeks in a way that she was profoundly grateful was easy to attribute to the running. It wasn't running.

The worst part was that the comparison wasn't entirely inaccurate, which was deeply inconvenient information to be processing at this particular moment.

She cleared her throat.

"No, I'm serious," Mikha said, and she stepped forward slightly, keeping her voice steady. "We're actually… married. It's real. We got married last April, April 1st, in LA." 

She watched Maraiah's expression for any flicker of recognition. 

"I know I may sound crazy, but I am not. It really happened and I've documentation to prove everything." 

She was aware she was starting to ramble. She pushed through it. 

"Can you remember? Do you remember anything at all?"

Maraiah listened. She didn't interrupt, which was either a good sign or the sign of someone too entertained to stop the show.

When Mikha finally ran out of momentum and fell quiet, a beat passed.

"Aiah," the woman said.

Mikha blinked. "Hmm?"

"Aiah," She said it again, simply, like a small correction to something that'd been slightly off. 

"Just call me Aiah… Misis ko." 

She winked casually and effortlessly. Like she hadn't just detonated something small and inconvenient inside Mikha’s chest.

Mikha’s stomach did something she refused to name. She swallowed it down firmly and lifted her chin. 

"This is serious, Aiah. Whatever's happening between us right now, we need to fix it. There are things we need to talk about, things that can't wait."

Aiah considered this. Then she leaned down, closing the distance between their heights with a slow, deliberate tilt, her face dropping to somewhere uncomfortably close to Mikha’s eye level. Her expression was thoughtful, almost clinical. 

"Bakit, Misis ko? Nabuntis ba kita?"

Mikha took a full step backward. Her ears went red. "What? No! That's not even… that's ridiculous, you can't just… that's not how any of this," she sputtered, gesturing vaguely at the air between them like it'd personally offended her. "You're insane."

Aiah straightened up, looking deeply satisfied with herself and entertained with Mikha’s reactions.

Then the airline announcement came through overhead, calm and efficient, calling final boarding for her flight, calling her gate by number, and calling the end of this conversation whether Mikha was ready for it or not.

Aiah rolled her shoulders, adjusted her grip on her luggage handle, and turned to face the corridor. She glanced back at Mikha with the expression of someone who was genuinely unbothered by the situation in a way that should've been infuriating and somehow wasn't. She stood up properly, smoothing out her clothes. 

"Look, whatever you need from me could be talked about via email or text or FaceTime. We can even do a sleep-on-call if you miss me that much. I'm pretty sure you already have my contacts since you managed to hunt me down in a crowded airport."

She picked up her bag, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

"But right now, I really do have a flight to catch," she said, flashing one last, dazzling grin. "Goodbye, Misis ko. See you when you want to see me."

Before Mikha could utter another word, Aiah blew her a playful kiss and disappeared into the boarding tunnel with a wave of her hand.

Mikha was left standing there, stunned and completely motionless. She watched the spot where Aiah had vanished, her breath still coming in short, uneven gasps. 

The scent of the woman’s perfume lingered in the air, a faint trail of vanilla and sea salt that seemed to mock Mikha’s desire for adventures and freedom.

She was still married. 

She was still in a legal nightmare, and somehow, she felt significantly more breathless than she had when she was actually running.

“Misis ko.”

That endearment echoed in Mikha's head as if it were the most natural and normal thing she'd heard in her entire life, yet she tried to tune it out the moment it grew louder.

Well, that was actually the truth.

She was indeed Aiah's wife, and as she absorbed that reality into her veins and senses, she felt a weird sensation.

It was definitely something new.

It was definitely weird.

Yes, or maybe.

"See you when you want to see me."

Those words now occupied her mind, followed by the blowing of the kiss and Aiah's smile, as if they were already tattooed on the back of her brain and kept replaying like a broken record.

What did that even mean?

Should she see Aiah again?

However, the answer didn't come from her annoyed self finding it an inconvenience, but rather from another question.

Where and when?

· · ─ ᨒ ོ ☼ ─ · 

"Babe, please?" Sophia pouted. "Can we talk and stop this argument? I really miss you," she added as she circled her arms around Mikha’s waist.

Mikha only looked at her, but she couldn’t help the fact that she loved the woman in front of her, especially when she pouted like she wasn’t a lawyer at all. She sighed, resigning to the situation. "Fine," she said, leaning in to hug Sophia.

"I love you," Sophia said, burying her face in Mikha’s neck.

Something in those words hit Mikha deeply in a way she didn’t even know how to explain.

"Mhm," Mikha hummed in response, tightening her hold on the woman.

"What? You don’t love me anymore?" Sophia asked as she pulled away quickly.

Mikha’s brows furrowed. "No, of course I do! Why would you even ask that?" she defended herself. She felt like she was on trial in court with Sophia acting as the judge.

"Say it, please? I want to hear it, babe," Sophia said, cupping Mikha’s cheeks.

Mikha exhaled quietly. Saying those words felt like a stone in her throat that was hard to swallow, but she managed to.

"I love you."

Three words held profound meaning, yet there was an unmistakable truth that the feeling was starting to get shallow. It was already obvious from which point of view.

Sophia leaned in to capture her girlfriend’s lips.

It was the weekend and she was at Mikha’s place. This was one of their usual setups where they spent time at either Sophia’s or Mikha’s. 

They’d do nothing but cuddle as they were trying to make up for missed moments during the weekdays since they were both working.

Sophia’s kiss turned hungry and deep. She snaked her arm around Mikha’s neck while Mikha’s hands moved from Sophia’s waist up to her back to deepen her response.

Mikha ended up on the couch of her own living room. Sophia was straddling her, already naked on top, while Mikha kissed her girlfriend’s neck, collarbones, and shoulders.

When Sophia’s hand moved to Mikha’s hair to pull her closer and guide her kisses down to her chest, Mikha’s phone rang.

It was persistent. 

It was undying. 

It was destroying the intimate moment they were having.

"Babe, your phone," Sophia whispered in frustration even though Mikha’s lips were already on her chest.

"Later," Mikha responded as she licked the skin and latched on.

The ringing echoed loudly, disturbing the heat between them.

"Answer it. Let’s just do this later," Sophia said. She kissed Mikha on the lips and stood to pick up her shirt from the floor where Mikha had tossed it earlier.

Mikha stood to answer her phone on the kitchen aisle. Her brows knitted when she noticed it was just an unknown number.

8 missed calls. 

11 text messages.

What the hell?

Mikha opened the messages, which was a mistake since the app showed that she’d read them.

A few messages said:

Hello, Misis ko. 

Is this your number? 

Or not? 

Hi. 

Do you not miss me? 

I thought you were going to miss me. 

After you run like that, you don't miss me? Ouch. 

Are you busy, Misis ko? 

Nambababae ka ‘no? Hmp! 

Answer my call, please? 

Let's talk?

As she finished reading, Mikha was certain those were from Aiah. 

Her wife. 

She jolted when her phone rang again with the same number.

"Hello?" Mikha answered. Her heart beat so hard she could hear the thumping in her ears.

There was no response.

"Hello?" Mikha asked again. The other line remained silent, so she pressed the end button.

Her notification dinged immediately with a new message.

Ang sexy pala ng boses ng Misis ko sa phone call.

Mikha felt her cheeks and ears burn the moment she read it. She swallowed hard, suddenly hyper-aware that her girlfriend was in the room with her. 

But her wife was a complete tease. 

It felt wrong to feel anything at all for Aiah, yet it was equally strange and unsettling that she felt so little for Sophia in that moment.

"Who’s that?" Sophia asked.

Mikha jolted, startled out of her thoughts. She had to think fast. "Nothing, just a... scammer," she said. She subtly turned off her phone, trying her best not to look like she was hiding something.

Sophia seemed to buy the excuse, or perhaps she just accepted the logic Mikha offered to cover her tracks. She nodded, but the look in her eyes wasn't subtle. Mikha knew her too well to miss the flicker of doubt.

"I’m sorry about earlier, babe," Mikha started, pulling Sophia back by the waist. "Do you want to continue?"

She asked the question, but her mind had already drifted far away. She wasn't truly in the room anymore, and the intimacy they'd missed felt like a distant memory.

Sophia kissed her again, but the energy had shifted. Her kisses felt like an apology. When she finally pulled away, she looked at Mikha with a heavy expression.

"I actually can't," Sophia admitted softly. "I’m going to be away for almost a month. There’s a case in the US I need to handle, and my father’s insisted that I take a quick certification class while I’m there. I have to start preparing tonight, my flight’s in the morning. I'm sorry, babe. I should've told you sooner, but the timing never felt right tonight."

"A month?" Mikha asked, her voice tight as she tried to process the news.

Sophia’s eyes turned deeply apologetic. She reached out to caress Mikha’s cheeks, offering a slow, silent nod.

"And you’re telling me this now?" Mikha’s tone sharpened.

"I’m sorry, babe. I really am," Sophia pleaded, her hands trembling slightly against Mikha’s skin. "The firm only finalized the paperwork yesterday, and with everything going on between us tonight, I just didn't want to ruin the mood."

"Ruin the mood?" Mikha pulled back, breaking the contact. "You’re leaving the country for weeks, and I’m the last to know. Again. It’s always like this, Sophia. I’m always the last person to find out about your life."

"That’s not fair!" Sophia countered, her voice rising as she tried to defend herself. "It just completely slipped my mind because of stress. I’ve been buried in case files and prep work. I really wanted to tell you. It wasn’t intentional."

"It’s always a mistake or an oversight with you," Mikha snapped back. "You keep talking about us being a team. You say you want to settle down, that you want us to get married, but how can we even think about a wedding when I’m not even part of your daily reality? We aren't even on the same page, Sophia. We aren't even in the same book."

Sophia’s expression crumbled, and she reached out again with her voice thick with desperation. "Please, babe. Let’s not do this right now. I have a flight in a few hours. The only baggage I want to take with me is my luggage, not a heavy heart or another misunderstanding."

Mikha stared at her, the silence in the kitchen suddenly feeling deafening. "Am I even part of your future anymore?" she asked, her voice dropping to a cold, hollow whisper. "Or… all this talk about marriage is just an excuse to keep me around while you live a life that doesn’t actually include me?"

"Of course! Babe, you’re my future!" Sophia cried out, hurt flashing across her features. "How can you even doubt that after everything?"

"Then include me!" Mikha snapped, her composure finally breaking. "If you want a life with me, act like it!"

"I want to be included too!" Sophia yelled back, her voice cracking as tears finally spilled over.

Both women stood there, the only sound between them the ragged, heavy breathing of a fight that had been brewing for months.

Sophia wiped her eyes aggressively, her chest heaving. "Bold of you to say those things to me, Mikha," she said, her voice shaking with a mix of exhaustion and pain. "I always include you in every single thought and every plan I make. I’m forgetful, yes. Maybe I am. But it feels unfair that I’m the one constantly reaching out and constantly trying to bridge the gap, while you're the one who feels like you’re slipping away from me."

Mikha stood silent, her gaze fixed on Sophia. The weight of the accusation hung between them, thick and suffocating.

Sophia exhaled sharply and looked away, bracing herself against the kitchen aisle to steady her breathing. "You know? I'm always trying my best to be the mature one in this relationship," she whispered, her voice trembling but firm.

"I've spent so much time holding us together since you’ve been acting like a child, Mikha. You always push me away and then get angry when I can't find a way back in."

Mikha looked down, those words cutting deeper than any yell ever could. Sophia was many things, but her honesty had always been her most lethal weapon. 

Hearing it out loud felt like a mirror being held up to a version of herself she didn't want to recognize.

Wiping her tears with the back of her hand, Sophia took a shaky breath. "Maybe this is a blessing in disguise," she said, her voice hollow.

"Maybe being on the other side of the world for a month is exactly what we need. We can reevaluate ourselves and think clearly without all this noise. We need to figure out if we’re still fighting for us or just fighting each other."

Sophia stepped closer, the scent of her perfume mixing with the salt of her tears. She leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to Mikha’s lips. It tasted like sorrow and unfinished business.

"Take care of yourself while I’m gone," Sophia murmured against Mikha’s skin. "Please, just don't forget to eat and try to get some rest."

Mikha let out a long, ragged exhale and finally pulled Sophia into a tight hug. She buried her face in the crook of Sophia’s neck, anchoring herself.

"You take care of yourself too," Mikha replied, her voice muffled. "Don’t overwork yourself. Just... be safe."

Sophia nodded, tightening her hold as if she were trying to memorize the feel of Mikha’s heartbeat. This was the woman she’d loved since college, the one who used to fold into her arms at the slightest hint of trouble. 

Now, Mikha was hissing back and barking like a stranger. 

As they held each other, the same haunting thought crossed both their minds: they knew each other better than anyone else, yet they’d never felt more like strangers.

· · ─ ᨒ ོ ☼ ─ · ·

“Huy!” Maloi smacked Mikha’s desk, the sudden crack of palm against wood jarring Mikha out of her trance.

“Sorry? What was that? Right... signatures,” Mikha stammered. She fumbled for her pen, realizing Maloi had been standing there waiting for the documents for several minutes.

“Tulala ‘yan teh? Babae ‘yan ‘no? Ilan sila?” Maloi asked, her tone playful and teasing.

Mikha let out a dry laugh that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Nahh. It’s not, I’m okay,” she muttered, focusing on the papers and scribbling her signature across the bottom lines.

“Miss na miss mo na ‘no?” Maloi continued, unfazed, as she slid into the chair across from Mikha’s desk. “Babalik din ‘yun or baka hindi na. What if makakita ‘yun ng mas maganda sa’yo? Or mas latina? Diba? Hanap ka na lang din ng iba. Pantay dapat,” Maloi capped the suggestion with a sharp, punctuating clap.

Mikha shot her a look so cold it could’ve frozen the air in the room. Maloi let out a nervous chuckle and immediately started biting her nails, realizing she’d stepped over the line.

Maloi was the creative team’s Art Director now, having stepped into the position Mikha once held. They’d been friends for a long time, starting back when Maloi was Mikha’s junior trainee. She was a loyal friend, but she had a habit of offering the most unsolicited, random commentary at the worst possible moments. 

Like right now.

“Ang ganda talaga ng girlfriend mo ‘no?” Maloi commented, her eyes drifting to the framed photo of Mikha and Sophia sitting on the corner of the desk.

Mikha glanced at the picture. It was an undeniable truth; Sophia was really stunning.

“But you know what they always say,” Maloi started.

Mikha exhaled heavily as she handed over the last of the signed papers, mentally bracing herself for whatever unhelpful proverb Maloi was about to drop.

“Don’t let your girlfriend stop you from finding your wife,” Maloi finished. She gathered the documents and stood up with a grin. “See you later, boss babe!”

Mikha didn’t even acknowledge the goodbye. Those words lingered in the air, echoing in her mind until they felt like a physical weight tightening around her chest.

Right.

The harsh reality she’d been trying to suppress came rushing back with a vengeance. She was married, yet she still had a girlfriend.

“Don’t let your girlfriend stop you from finding your wife.”

The phrase felt like a slap to the face. For the first time that day, the fog in her head cleared, replaced by a stinging, wide-awake sense of guilt.

Before Mikha's mind could drift any further, her phone rang. The sound pulled her back to reality as she stared at the screen, seeing the familiar number she'd already memorized by heart.

Aiah.

Mikha slid the icon to answer. "Hello?" she said, but the other line remained silent once more.

"Hello?" Mikha tried again. She let out a sharp exhale, her patience wearing thin. "Look, if you aren't going to say anything, I'm just going to hang up."

"No, no, no," a voice finally replied. Aiah’s tone was playful as she teased, "God, you’re so grumpy."

"What do you want?" Mikha asked, her voice tight.

Aiah scoffed on the other end, her confidence radiating through the speaker. "Correction and a reminder lang po, Misis ko. Ikaw ang may kailangan sa’kin."

Even without seeing Aiah's face or knowing her for more than a few minutes, Mikha could sense the woman was smirking. She swallowed hard and cleared her throat, choosing not to respond to the blatant banter.

"Don't tell me you didn't miss me at all," Aiah pressed further, her voice dropping to a lower, more intimate register.

Mikha kept her lips sealed, refusing to give her the satisfaction of an answer just yet.

"Fine, stay quiet," Aiah teased. "I'm actually available for a talk now. We can discuss whatever you want. Just let me know if you want to do it over dinner or… in bed."

Mikha froze, her ears burning as she instinctively scratched her eyebrow in frustration. This woman was definitely going to be a headache.

Mikha shook her head and muttered, “You’re crazy,”.

Aiah just laughed it off, her voice dropping into a playful, sultry hum. "Crazy for you, maybe," she teased, clearly enjoying the effect she was having.

Before the banter could spiral any further, an employee knocked on the door with an urgent report. 

Mikha didn't want to hang up just yet, so she told Aiah to hang on for a moment. She impulsively switched the voice call to FaceTime and propped the phone up on her desk so it faced her.

While the employee droned on about project briefs, Aiah stayed quiet. She just watched her wife work, leaning her chin on her hand with a fascinated smile. She seemed genuinely entertained by the sight of Mikha in boss mode.

Once the employee finished and left the room, Mikha got lost in her monitor, momentarily forgetting she had a live audience.

"You know, you look so sexy when you're focused like that," Aiah commented, breaking the silence.

Mikha felt a blush creep up her neck as she realized the call was still active. She tried to play it cool, keeping her eyes on her emails while she scrambled for a topic change. "Don't you have a flight to catch or something?" she asked, hoping to sound busy.

Aiah wasn't letting her off the hook that easily. "The only thing I'm catching is feelings for my wife while she's looking this hot," she countered with a grin.

"Stop it," Mikha groaned, her ears burning a bright shade of red.

Aiah finally shifted her tone to something more grounded. "I’m actually in Manila right now," she said. "For sure you're here too, maybe we can finally meet and talk properly. Flesh to flesh."

That made Mikha stop what she was doing. She looked at the phone screen, catching Aiah in a moment where she wasn't looking back. 

Aiah was busy fixing something off-camera, but her profile was perfectly framed. In that split second, Mikha’s heart did that same weird, fluttering somersault it had done back at the airport.

Aiah caught her staring and smirked at the camera. "I know I’m pretty, but let's actually plan this professionally. We need to talk about us."

Mikha quickly cleared her throat and looked away, trying to regain her composure. "Just tell me when and where," she said as casually as she could manage.

"Are you free tonight?" Aiah asked.

Mikha's heart skipped a beat, then seemed to stop altogether. She took a breath and gave a small nod. "I’m free. Just text me the location."

Aiah’s smile widened, looking victorious. "Alright. I’ve got to go, but I'll see you later, Misis ko. Oh, and don't spend too much time getting pretty for me. You already are," she teased, blowing a kiss toward the camera before the screen went black.

Mikha stared at it for a long moment with her heart beating too loud, before she released the breath she’d been holding and shook her head. 

The location was set and the text was sent. 

Mikha arrived first since she’d come straight from the office, still dressed in her sharp professional attire. It was still quite early, and she spent the extra minutes trying to convince herself she wasn't actually excited.

A presence suddenly appeared right behind her ear. A low whisper followed, warm and teasing. "I didn't think you’d be the type to arrive early for a date with your wife," Aiah greeted her.

When Mikha turned her head, she found Aiah's face just inches away. Her eyes couldn’t help but drink in the woman’s beauty, though she tried to tell herself it was just a simple observation. 

It was just appreciation and nothing more.

Mikha felt like she couldn't breathe, but she managed to stand up and gesture toward the empty chair across from her. Aiah clearly had another plan in mind.

"This isn't exactly a business meeting, is it?" Aiah said with a smirk. "I think I’ll sit right here beside you instead."

Mikha didn't understand why her brain was short-circuiting, but she could only nod in agreement. She even found herself pulling out the chair for Aiah, a gesture she couldn’t even explain to herself. Aiah didn't let the moment pass without a comment.

"Look at you, such a perfect gentlewoman," Aiah teased as she slid into the seat.

As Mikha sat back down, she caught a full glance of Aiah’s outfit. She was wearing a short black satin dress with a deep neckline and an open back that showed off plenty of glowing skin. Before any more appreciative thoughts could take root, Mikha quickly looked away.

While Mikha was trying so hard to be subtle, Aiah was doing the opposite. She eyed Mikha shamelessly with a teasing smile as if she’d just won the lottery.

"Did you come straight from work?" Aiah asked, even though it was obvious since Mikha was wearing the same outfit from their call.

Mikha only nodded, her eyes darted toward the document resting on the chair. It was the marriage certificate. She was about to reach for it when Aiah spoke up again.

"Have you even had dinner yet? You can't just work all day and then come here on an empty stomach," Aiah noted.

Mikha shook her head and tried to dismiss the concern. "I’m fine, really. I’m not that hungry."

Aiah wasn't listening. She was already raising her hand to call a waiter over to take their order. When the menu was handed to them, she looked over at Mikha expectantly.

"Come on, what would you like? Anong gusto ng Misis ko na ‘yan?" Aiah insisted.

"I’m really okay, Aiah. Let’s just get to the point," Mikha replied firmly.

Aiah sighed, resigning herself to the fact that a romantic dinner wasn't happening just yet. She ordered some water and thanked the waiter before turning back to her wife.

Mikha finally reached out to grab that damn document. Her heart was beating so loud she feared it might actually jump out of her chest as she handed the paper over to Aiah.

As the paper revealed itself in Aiah’s hand, she scanned the details with a lingering smile. Mikha couldn’t help but wonder what could possibly be so amusing about the situation. 

The prospect of being legally bound to a complete stranger didn’t seem to scare Aiah at all.

"Why do you look so happy about this?" Mikha eventually asked, unable to keep the curiosity out of her voice.

Aiah’s smile widened as she kept her eyes on the document. "I don’t know. I just honestly never believed I’d actually get married one day," she answered softly.

Witnessing the genuine softness in Aiah’s reaction and the way her tone suggested a dream come true made Mikha’s chest tighten with a strange emotion. She told herself it shouldn't feel that way, but she couldn't quite convince her heart to stop racing.

"Why?" Mikha pressed, her voice barely a whisper.

Aiah let out a long breath as she set the paper down and locked eyes with Mikha. In an instant, the teasing aura returned. "What’s this? Are you actually getting interested in me now, Misis ko?" she asked playfully while wiggling her eyebrows.

Mikha just shook her head and reached for her glass of water to hide her flustered expression. She looked back at Aiah who was once again staring at the certificate with a look of pride. Mikha knew she had to say it. It should’ve been easy, but the words felt heavy.

Using all the strength she could muster, Mikha finally spoke. "No. We need to end this. We should separate."

Aiah paused for a brief second. She scoffed and met Mikha’s gaze with that familiar, smug smirk. "What if… ayoko?" she challenged, leaning in closer. 

"What if I want to be your wife?"

Mikha was taken aback. She hadn't actually considered the possibility that Aiah would refuse to break off the marriage. She'd assumed they were both on the same page about this mistake.

"Aiah, listen to me," Mikha said, choosing her words with extreme care. "I have a girlfriend."

Aiah didn't even flinch. "So?" she asked simply. She reached over and picked up the very same glass Mikha had just used, taking a slow sip. "She’s just your girlfriend. I’m your wife."

At that moment, Mikha confirmed her initial suspicion. Aiah wasn't just a complication. She was a headache personified.

Mikha started to ramble, her words tumbling out as she explained, “Me and Sophia had been together for eight years. Sophia… she wanted us to get married soon and she already started discussing our future together.”

Aiah just listened with her eyes locked on Mikha. She nodded along, though she didn’t seem to care about the drama of the relationship at all. She had only one question, and she repeated the part that stuck out to her. "So your girlfriend wanted the marriage soon?" she asked, tilting her head.

Mikha nodded and hummed in confirmation.

Aiah glanced at the paper once again before looking back up. "But what about you? Don't you want to be married to her?" she asked, her voice surprisingly soft.

Mikha paused, her heart skipping a beat. "Yeah.. yes, of course I do! That’s what she wants. That’s why we need to fix this mess right now. If Sophia’s family ever finds out about this, they’re going to kill me," she added, her voice rising with anxiety.

Aiah noticed the turmoil in Mikha's expression, but she decided not to press that specific nerve. Instead, she offered a simple piece of advice. "You really should try living your life the way you actually want to, instead of just following an order," she said.

The words struck Mikha’s soul, making her exhale sharply.

Aiah spoke again, her hand out. "Alright then, give me the divorce papers."

Mikha was taken aback and looked at her with total confusion. "What?"

“Divorce papers,” Aiah smirked and held Mikha’s gaze, letting the teasing aura return. "So, you’re here telling me we need to break off this marriage so you can marry another woman, but you don't even have the papers ready? That’s not very professional of you," she teased.

Mikha tried to defend herself, feeling her face heat up. "That’s why we met today! I wanted to talk about this first and figure out what we should do together."

Aiah leaned in closer, her face just inches from Mikha’s. "Together, huh? You’re the only woman I’ve ever met who says she wants to be free but clearly just wanted an excuse to see her soon-to-be ex-wife," she bantered playfully.

"No, not that. I just didn't know what to do yet!" Mikha defended herself again. "Sophia’s family members are all high-profile lawyers. I know way too many lawyers, and I don't want Sophia or her family to find out about this until everything’s already fixed."

Aiah understood and nodded slowly, though she couldn't resist one last jab. "So you're just a stupid underdog when it comes to your girlfriend? That’s romantically pathetic," she teased.

Mikha felt a flash of genuine offense at the comment.

Aiah prepared to stand up and leave, but Mikha instinctively reached out and held her wrist to stop her. Aiah paused, her gaze dropping to the hand touching her skin.

Mikha quickly apologized and let go of Aiah’s wrist. "I'm sorry, I just... I'm really stressed," she muttered.

Aiah knitted her brows lightly. "Look, this isn't really my problem. I actually don't mind being legally tied to you at all. I don’t mind being a wife and having a wife. It’s fine by me. It’s kind of a fun story," she said.

Mikha finally snapped, her frustration boiling over as she knitted her brows. "I already told you that this is a huge problem! I need your help to fix this mess. What part of that don't you understand?" she demanded.

Aiah’s teasing aura vanished instantly. She held Mikha’s gaze with a cold intensity. "What I don't understand is why you seem to depend on everyone else for everything. This is your life, Mikha Lim. You’re the one who gets to decide how and where it goes, not your girlfriend’s family."

Mikha bit back, refusing to back down this time. "That’s easy for you to say," she whispered, her tone low and sharp.

Aiah jabbed back, keeping her voice down to avoid drawing attention from the other tables. "It’s only easy, especially the moment I learned not to live in someone else’s shadow. Doing that is just unworthy, stupid, and pathetic, and I think you’re better than that."

There was a long pause between them, the air thick with their heavy breathing.

Aiah gathered her things, preparing to leave for real this time. "You know? I feel like I'm just wasting my time here. Since you’re the only one so desperate for a divorce, go ahead and figure it out yourself. Just let me know when the papers are ready and I’ll sign them," she said.

Mikha let out a shaky sigh and whispered weakly, “Aiah…” Tears were starting to form in the corners of her eyes.

Aiah noticed the tears, but she wasn't in the mood to baby anyone's mindset tonight. She decided to end on a tease anyway. "If I didn't know any better, I’d think you were crying because you wanted me to stay. Or do you really want me in your bed and cuddling with you instead?" she asked with a smirk.

Mikha shot her a sharp, angry look, but she couldn't form any more words as Aiah stood up.

"See you when you have the divorce papers with you, Misis ko," Aiah said for her final words.

Then she turned and walked away.

Mikha watched Aiah’s retreating figure, the black satin of her dress shimmering under the restaurant lights until she disappeared through the entrance. 

The silence at the table felt heavy and mocking. 

Mikha let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, her shoulders finally slumping as the adrenaline faded.

She looked down at the marriage certificate still sitting there, a stark reminder of the mess she was in. Aiah’s words about living in shadows echoed in her head, stinging more than any of the playful insults. 

She felt small and exposed, caught between the life she had carefully built with Sophia and this whirlwind of a woman who seemed intent on tearing down her walls.

Mikha wiped the tears that fell from her eyes, feeling both pathetic and frustrated. Her gaze landed on the marriage certificate that mocked her reality. She couldn't even blame Aiah for the situation since the woman really didn't seem to care about any of it. 

Aiah had clearly mentioned earlier that she was fine with being legally tied together, leaving Mikha alone in her panic.

All she could do was blame herself for this tangled mess. She didn't know how to handle the weight of it or what she’d say if Sophia ever found out. She was lost on what to do or when and how she could even begin to resolve everything.

"I'm so stupid," she muttered to herself as she ran her hands through her hair.

Mikha's thoughts drifted to the comments the Lafortezas always made about her. They called her indecisive, immature, and careless. Then she remembered Sophia’s words reminding her to grow up. 

Somehow, Mikha really felt like a child who had made a huge mistake and had no idea how to take accountability for it.

· · ─ ᨒ ོ ☼ ─ · ·

The clock ran on its own as Mikha tried to contact lawyers from abroad to handle the divorce she'd gotten herself into. 

Every one of them questioned why she was reaching out to outsiders when she was surrounded by the best legal minds in the country. They knew she had access to the elite through her connections, so they found her inquiries suspicious.

Mikha failed to even voice her concerns since everyone's brows knitted the moment they saw her name on a request for legal help. 

That's how powerful the Lafortezas were in the legal industry. Their influence was inescapable.

Hours turned to days. 

Days turned to weeks.

She and Sophia still spent time together behind their screens. They updated each other on their days whenever they could find a moment, though their completely different time zones made it difficult. 

With every chance she got, Mikha wanted to open her mouth and confess everything. Sophia would look at her with such sincerity and high hopes that made Mikha would just swallow her words, keeping the secret to herself over and over again.

Sometimes she would drink at a club, and other times she’d just stay inside her place. Mikha didn't even bother to send Aiah a message, and the saddest part was that Aiah did the same.

Aiah was clearly uninterested. She was clearly unbothered and didn't care at all.

Self-centered.

That's how Mikha viewed Aiah most of the time. She found herself talking to her phone screen as Aiah posted about another trip or another adventure while looking completely unbothered by their situation. It was pathetic, but she had to admit it was almost cute.

Like right now.

Mikha was currently blabbering nonsense at Aiah's latest post from her trip to Kazakhstan. The photos showed her posing in the middle of nature with mesmerizing views, but Mikha was focused entirely on the woman in the center of the frame. She sat in her living room, drunk and rambling to the empty air.

"Look at you just having the best time of your life while I'm here dying of stress," Mikha muttered, gesturing wildly with her wine glass.

She slid to the next photo.

"Pshhh, she probably doesn't even remember how that marriage happened," she scoffed. "She's probably forgotten my name by now since she's too busy hugging trees in another country."

She slid to the next photo again.

Mikha rolled her eyes at a shot of Aiah standing under the bright sun. Aiah's smile was even more radiant than the sunshine itself. She babbled some silly insults, but her fingers were busy pinching the screen to zoom in on that specific expression. 

"Why do you have to look so happy? It's literally illegal to be this annoying," she whispered to the pixels.

She stared at the screen for a long time, getting frustrated when the photo accidentally zoomed back out. She was clearly going against her own common sense and acting like a total lunatic. 

"Great, now I'm fighting with a digital image and losing," she sighed, taking another deep swig of her drink.

This was how Mikha coped with the situation. She spent her nights camping in Aiah's profile and holding full conversations with her photos. 

Sometimes she lingered a little longer than necessary on Aiah's smile. She found herself zooming in on every detail of Aiah's face until the pixels blurred.

There were moments when she almost clicked the follow button. She even hovered over the message icon a few times. She often found herself just staring at Aiah's unsaved number in her contacts list.

"Misis ko," she whispered to herself. 

The memory of Aiah calling her that made her smirk, then she scoffed and drained the last of the alcohol in her glass. She slumped back onto the couch, completely drunk and feeling like her mind was split in two. 

One half was busy spinning logical reasons she could eventually give to Sophia. 

The other half was filled with a messy mix of remorse and resentment toward her so-called wife, who was clearly out enjoying her life while Mikha was left here as a drunken mess.

The next morning was nearly afternoon.

Mikha woke up with a head that throbbed painfully from all the drinking the night before. She reeked of alcohol, and the smell had completely taken over her living room. She sat up slowly with her eyes squeezed shut while the world spun around her. 

When she finally opened them, the color drained from her face instantly. Her pulse hammered so loudly she could hear it in her ears and her hands went cold.

"Babe..." she managed to whisper. Her throat was hoarse and dry.

Sophia didn't move. She just sat there with her eyes fixed on the messy coffee table. When Mikha followed her line of sight, she nearly choked. She’d never felt this terrified in her entire life.

There, resting on the coffee table, was the marriage certificate. 

It stared back at Sophia as if it were mocking her very existence. It forced her to question everything she knew about herself and every single thing between her and Mikha.

Pathetic or not, Mikha moved carefully despite her throbbing head and dropped to her knees in front of Sophia.

Already begging. 

"Babe, I'm so sorry, please. I.. I didn't know what I was doing. I was so drunk and it… it was all a terrible mistake," Mikha pleaded.

Sophia didn't respond. Her eyes remained glued to the paper.

Mikha’s voice trembled as she apologized over and over. Begging for a forgiveness she wasn't even sure Sophia could give. "Please… please just listen to me. I've been trying to find a way to fix this," she sobbed.

After a long minute, Sophia finally spoke. Her tone was laced with pure pain. "Is this the real reason why you always shut down when I talk about us settling down?" she asked.

Mikha shook her head frantically. She took Sophia’s hand and kissed it with shaky lips. "No, no, that's not it at all. I want to be with you. I was just scared that I wasn't enough to be the person you deserve," she cried.

Tears ran down and splashed onto Sophia’s hand.

Sophia asked another question without looking up. "How could you be this reckless? How could you do something so impulsive and indecisive with a total stranger?"

Mikha could only nod. She accepted and acknowledged every word. It was her fault, and there was no way to hide from that truth anymore.

Sophia didn't give her a single glance. She spoke again, her voice tight with a cold, controlled hurt. "My family and I started receiving calls from colleagues asking if you were okay or if you needed legal representation for something private," she explained.

Mikha just listened while holding Sophia’s hand. Her lips trembled uncontrollably.

Sophia let out a heavy exhale. "That’s why I came home earlier than scheduled. I was worried sick and wanted to check on you. I flew across the world only to be welcomed by a drunk girlfriend who's legally married to another woman," she added.

Mikha whispered pathetic apologies while planting soft kisses on Sophia’s hand. "I’ll make it right, babe. I promise I’ll find a way to make everything right," she pleaded.

After a few moments of absolute stillness, Mikha noticed the tears slipping from Sophia’s eyes. This woman rarely cried, and the sight of it alarmed her entire system. The truth hit her like a truck, that she’d ripped a huge hole in her girlfriend’s heart.

"I’m really, really sorry," Mikha whispered in pain. She reached up to wipe Sophia’s tears and leaned in close. "I’m going to fix this. I’ll do everything… anything. Just give me a chance to make things right."

She offered multiple apologies and undying sobs. Her hands and lips wouldn't stop trembling. That was Mikha’s state right now, broken and desperate at the feet of the woman she’d betrayed.

Sophia wiped her tears and looked at Mikha with an unreadable expression. She didn't speak at all, simply staring at Mikha who looked like a criminal sentenced to a lifetime of imprisonment. 

Mikha remained there, trembling and begging for a mercy she wasn't sure Sophia would ever give again.

With a sharp breath, Sophia moved her hand away from Mikha's grip. She reached for the marriage certificate on the table and stared at it as if she intended to burn the paper down with her gaze alone.

"Stand up and fix yourself," Sophia told her. She kept her eyes on the document, refusing to look at Mikha even for a second. "You look like a mess and I can't even stand to see you like this right now."

Mikha followed the command immediately. She wiped her tears and fixed her hair as quickly as possible. She sat properly on the couch like a well-behaved child waiting for a verdict.

Sophia's tone was firm and icy when she spoke again. "I'm going to be the one to handle this divorce case of yours personally," she stated.

The words made Mikha's breathing stop. She shook her head frantically and tried to protest. "No, babe, please. I'll fix it on my own. I don't want you to have to deal with the details of my mistak—" she insisted.

Sophia halted her mid-sentence, cutting her off with a look of pure exhaustion. "If you were capable of doing things properly, then it wouldn't have reached this point in the first place," she said sharply.

Mikha was shut down right then and there.

Sophia continued talking, her voice gaining a professional edge that felt colder than any yell. "You're careless, impulsive, and completely irrational. It's better if I handle this case myself so I know it's done correctly and quietly," she added.

Mikha could only nod. She embraced defeat as Sophia’s hurtful words landed like blows. She couldn't blame Sophia for throwing sharp words at her right now. She knew exactly what she had done and she had no reasoning left to defend herself. Her own life was being reviewed and condemned by the very woman she never meant to betray.

Sophia released a long exhale and set the paper back down. She finally asked, “How in the world did this even happen?”

Mikha kept her head down and stared at her lap. "I don’t know. All I know is that it was in LA, and I know it was stupid," she answered, her voice cracking.

Sophia nodded slowly, her face a mask of disappointment. "Exactly. It was really stupid," she agreed quietly.

Mikha began to fidget with her fingers. She scratched at her cuticles until the skin felt like it was burning. She was on the verge of making herself bleed, a habit she only fell into when her anxiety was reaching a breaking point.

Sophia still didn't glance at her. "Do you even know who she is?" she asked.

Mikha gave a small, shaky nod.

Sophia finally turned her head and watched Mikha’s reaction closely. "Have you met her recently?" she asked, her eyes searching Mikha’s face for any sign of a lie.

Mikha nodded again. "We... we met recently to talk about the situation... but she doesn’t want anything to do with me. She just wants to be done with this mess too," she added quickly.

Sophia absorbed the answer, but she noticed a tiny detail that made her heart sink further. Mikha had stopped fidgeting with her fingers the moment she started talking about Aiah. 

It was a subtle shift, but it was unusual since Mikha usually couldn’t stop herself until she was bleeding.

Sophia looked away, her gaze landing on the wall where their framed pictures were displayed. Those photos were like trophies in Mikha’s unit, acting as a statement of their long history together.

It was so ironic to see her own face up there. 

When she had arrived quietly in the early morning, she had been greeted by the sight of Mikha’s phone screen glowing bright as the sun. 

It was still open to Aiah’s Instagram account.

Sophia hadn’t slept yet and hadn't eaten a single thing. The jet lag was catching up to her, but she couldn't even close her eyes. She just kept replaying the image of her girlfriend slumped on the couch, completely drunk with that marriage contract sitting in the room like it belonged there. 

The living room was a mess, and her girlfriend had been murmuring a name that wasn't hers.

Sophia could feel an unwelcome feeling embracing her system and she wasn't ready to give it a name just yet. Sitting in this room felt foreign as if she were the one who didn't belong there anymore.

Still, she wanted to fight for eight damn years of history.

· · ─ ᨒ ོ ☼ ─ · ·

Days passed by.

Mikha was extra with everything when it came to Sophia. She was extra sweet and extra clingy. She became extra touchy and extra gentle with every interaction. 

It was as if Sophia had ordered something that wasn't even on the menu. Mikha could have tried to go all out but she knew she had crashed a heart and stained a long relationship. She had broken Sophia's trust in every way possible.

Sophia grew distant and casual. She was sometimes cold and often unresponsive. Mikha understood her girlfriend's behavior perfectly well. She was the one who caused this mess. Sophia buried herself in work and focused all her attention on drafting those divorce papers herself.

Finally, it was done. 

The divorce papers were ready.

Sophia dropped the legal documents onto the kitchen island where Mikha was busy preparing dinner. The sound of paper hitting the surface was sharp.

"Let's meet her," Sophia said coldly. She didn't even look up as she repeated herself. "I want to meet her personally."

Mikha paused her movements. She really didn't know how to reach out to Aiah. She wasn't even sure how to talk to her after their heated argument last time. 

But then, Aiah had clearly stated they could meet once the papers were ready. She realized the time had finally come to face the reality of her mistakes.

· · ─ ᨒ ོ ☼ ─ · 

The most awaited face-off between the girlfriend and the wife had finally arrived.

Mikha wore her casual red burgundy suit since she had come straight from work. It was already six in the evening. She felt the heavy weight of the papers in her bag, a silent burden that seemed to grow heavier with every passing minute.

Sophia wore an extra sexy fitted white dress that hugged every curve. She had on her best makeup and her most expensive jewelry. She looked like the most sophisticated version of herself rather than the lawyer everyone knew her to be. 

Mikha noticed and understood the reason for all those extra efforts. All she could do was hold Sophia’s hand while they sat next to each other, waiting for the woman who held a legal claim to Mikha’s life.

The restaurant door’s bell rang but Mikha paid it no mind at first. Sophia was giving her the cold shoulder, her hand limp and unresponsive in Mikha's grip. 

Mikha just desperately hoped to end all this agony and misunderstanding once the divorce was finalized. She desperately wanted to return to the normal life she understood.

A life where she followed every rule like an obedient kid. 

A life where she was used to drowning in comments about fixing herself to fit into someone else's mold. 

A life where she had spent years letting everyone’s feedback dictate what she did and how she lived her own.

Yes, that life.

The bell chimed again, and Mikha felt the air in the room shift as a familiar presence stepped inside. Her heart began to ache with a strange, hollow rhythm. 

She realized that once she signed these papers, she would go back to being exactly who everyone else wanted her to be. She would go back to being a puppet instead of a person and she still believed that it wasn’t really a bad idea at all, is it?

After a long moment, a presence felt as if it shifted the entire weight of the room. A figure stopped right in front of them, and both Mikha and Sophia lifted their gazes to the woman standing there.

It was Aiah.

She was wearing a red satin dress that hugged her curves perfectly. The back was completely revealing and her chest was framed by a deep neckline. Her shoulder blades seemed to shine under the restaurant lights and her collarbones were on full display.

Even with her hand resting on Sophia’s waist as they stood up, Mikha let her eyes linger much longer than necessary on Aiah. 

The sight of her was almost overwhelming.

Sophia subtly glanced between the two of them. She noticed they were wearing the exact same shade of red, but she chose to ignore the uncomfortable feeling bubbling up in her mind.

Aiah’s aura tonight was far from the smug and teasing personality Mikha had first met. Her energy was completely different now. It was terrifying in a way that commanded the space around her.

No one was officially playing yet, but the games were about to begin.

Sophia was the first to attack, or rather, to reach out with a polished smile. She extended her hand with a sharp finality in her eyes. "Thank you so much for coming. I’m Atty. Sophia Elizabeth Laforteza, the girlfriend," she said, making sure the title sounded as official as a court ruling.

Aiah’s aura darkened even more as if she had just sensed a challenge worthy of her competitive nature. She took Sophia's hand with a firm grip before she spoke. "Nice to finally meet the girlfriend," she replied, her voice smooth and chilling. "I’m Maraiah Queen Arceta… the wife."

Sophia's confidence shattered slightly at that bold introduction but she quickly pushed the feeling aside. She reminded herself that she was a top tier lawyer and she could definitely win this case. She just had to remember that the case in question was actually her own girlfriend.

On the other side of her internal panic and whatever confusing thoughts were swirling in her brain, Mikha was completely taken aback. She couldn't believe Aiah had the nerve to introduce herself like that right to Sophia's face.

While still holding the handshake with Sophia, Aiah shifted her gaze to Mikha. She caught Mikha’s wide eyes and let a dangerous smirk play on her lips. 

"It’s nice to see you again, Misis ko," Aiah greeted with a wink that felt like a literal lightning strike.

Mikha's eyes widened and her peripheral vision frantically searched for Sophia's reaction. She could practically feel the physical heat radiating from the two women staring each other down. 

It felt less like a dinner and more like a high stakes standoff in a western movie.

As they sat down, the tension remained palpable enough to cut with a steak knife.

Sophia immediately gestured for the documents in Mikha's bag. Once she retrieved them, she slammed the divorce papers down on the table directly in front of Aiah. 

She was going straight to the point and clearly had no intention of wasting time with small talk or ordering appetizers.

Aiah smirked once again as she lifted the papers to read them. She took her time, scanning every single line as if she were a judge reviewing a capital murder case. She was nodding and scoffing at every other sentence just to be annoying. "Very thorough," she commented with a mockingly impressed tone.

Sophia watched her reactions closely, getting more pissed by the second while trying to keep her cool. 

Mikha kept a hand on Sophia's knee to ground her, but it wasn't really helping the situation at all.

Aiah placed the papers back down after reading the part about how she had no rights to Mikha's assets. "I'm perfectly fine with this since I didn't marry Mikha for her bank account. I've got a hundred times whatever is in there anyway," she said with a nonchalant shrug.

Mikha rubbed her temples in pure frustration and embarrassment while Aiah clearly enjoyed every bit of the chaos.

Sophia leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. "Mikha is a Creative Director and she's going back to Law school soon. We don't really care about your money, my family and I are quite wealthy ourselves," she countered sharply.

Mikha just sat there quietly, retreating her hand from Sophia's knee only to start fidgeting with her fingers again.

Aiah scoffed at Sophia's defensive response and leaned forward to banter back. "That's lovely, but I’d let Mikha Lim do whatever she actually wants with her life. I'd happily provide for my wife so she never has to work a day in her life if she doesn't want to," she challenged.

It was as if Aiah was intentionally testing Sophia's courtroom patience, and that patience was obviously wearing very thin.

Sophia squinted her eyes and stared directly into Aiah's gaze. "What exactly do you want from all this?" she asked, her voice tight with suspicion.

Aiah fixed her posture and leaned in slowly. "Well, I want..." she started, pausing to give Mikha a long, meaningful stare. "I want a hot... hot coffee," she finished in a low tone and still holding Mikha's gaze.

As Aiah finished her sentence, Mikha looked away immediately. Her ears were already burning and she could feel the heat creeping up her neck. She tried to inhale deeply and keep her composure, hoping Sophia wouldn't notice her reaction, even though Aiah clearly did.

Aiah raised a hand to catch the waiter's attention. She ordered a hot black coffee and a waffle, then let her eyes land on Mikha again. "What about you, Misis ko? What does my wife want?" she asked with a grin.

Sophia intervened instantly, her hand slamming lightly on the table. "Stop calling her that," she snapped.

Tension filled the air like thick smoke.

Aiah smirked once again and jabbed back without missing a beat. "Oh, I’m sorry. I really can't help it. The law says we're married, so technically and legally, she’s all mine until I sign those papers," she said, glancing at Mikha playfully.

Sophia couldn't help but roll her eyes in sheer annoyance. 

Aiah saw the reaction and counted it as a point for her side. She had no plans to stop pissing off the girlfriend as long as she still held the title of the wife.

It didn't take long for Aiah's order to arrive. The other two didn't really order anything at all, but then the waiter lost his balance. 

He accidentally spilled the coffee directly onto the divorce papers resting on that small table.

The waiter apologized profusely and insisted on replacing the order, but Aiah just gave him a sweet smile. She asked for water instead and told him the waffles were still perfectly fine.

Mikha was just watching the chaos, still fidgeting with her fingers and the skin felt like it was already burning.

Sophia's eyes were locked on the paper, which was completely hopeless in its soaked state. She was so focused on the ruined document that she didn't notice what was going on with the woman sitting right beside her.

Aiah noticed though. She saw those subtle movements and the anxious fidgeting. She reached out and grazed her fingertips against Mikha's skin, tapping it gently but with enough intent to stop Mikha from picking at herself.

Only then did Sophia notice the touch.

As the waiter cleaned the table, Aiah gestured toward the devastated divorce paper that was already starting to rip itself apart. "Kindly include that mess din po. Just throw it in the trash na lang po where it belongs. Thank you po," she said with a nonchalant but respectful wave of her hand.

Sophia was about to snap back with a protest.

Aiah just sat there coolly, slicing her waffle with graceful precision. "I'm sorry, but I have a very strict rule about not signing wet, soggy pieces of trash," she said simply.

It was clearly meant to tease Sophia even more. Aiah had actually planned to sign the papers tonight, but it seemed like the universe had decided to extend her legal rights to her wife's life just a little longer.

As Aiah successfully sliced a bite-sized piece of waffle, she held the fork up toward Mikha's mouth with a playful glint in her eyes.

Sophia was clearly pissed and leaned forward with a glare. "What exactly do you think you're doing right now?" she asked, her voice trembling with restraint.

Aiah didn't pull the fork back at all. "I'm just performing my basic wife duties. A girl's got to make sure her wife is well-fed," she answered simply.

Mikha chimed in quietly, trying to de-escalate the situation. "It's okay, really, I—" she started, but she was immediately cut off by Sophia’s building rage.

Sophia was done with the games and specifically with Aiah's attitude. "Listen here. You might have the legal rights to Mikha on a piece of paper and in the eyes of the law, but Mikha loves me. We have eight years of history and she loves me more than anything else," she snapped.

Aiah finally pulled her hand away and clasped her hands together on the table. "Do you really believe that?" she asked, her gaze shifting slowly toward Mikha.

Sophia looked completely confused. "What are you even talking about?"

Aiah leaned her chin onto her clasped hands and smiled thinly. "Well, I'm just wondering if you actually love her at all, considering you won't even let her finish a single sentence earlier," she said.

Sophia was taken aback by the observation. 

Mikha couldn't even process the overwhelming tension between the two of them anymore. It was too much for her to handle while her head was still fuzzy from the previous night.

Aiah tilted her head slightly, studying Sophia's shocked expression. "Is she always like this sa’yo, Misis ko? Does she ever actually listen to you, or is she just comfortable dictating your life, like you're one of her legal files?" she asked.

Then Aiah let out a long exhale. She grabbed her bag and stood up slowly, smoothing out her red satin dress.

"Well, I don't have a dry paper to sign, so I’d better leave," she said. She took her time looking at Mikha, who was staring right back at her with wide eyes. "Make sure to get some rest, Misis ko," she added with a soft smile.

Aiah then walked away. Mikha watched her retreat, but it didn't feel like a defeat for the wife at all. 

It was quite the opposite. 

She walked out of that restaurant looking like she’d won the entire world.

· · ─ ᨒ ོ ☼ ─ · ·

"Babe, please? Can we talk?" Mikha begged Sophia as she quietly followed every movement her girlfriend made. 

Sophia was walking back and forth inside the room like a caged animal.

"Talk to me, please?" Mikha begged again as she tried to reach out and hold Sophia. 

Sophia only moved away and gave her a glaring, sharp look that made Mikha flinch in place.

Sophia was already at her laptop, still wearing her dress. She completely understood the laws in the US and knew this divorce required the participation of both married individuals. She wouldn't stop working. She was still fuming from everything she had dealt with tonight.

Mikha quietly tried to explain and apologize for Aiah's behavior. "I'm so sorry, babe. I didn't know she would act like that or pull those stunts," she whispered.

Sophia was just listening, her fingers flying across the keyboard as she edited the divorce papers she had drafted. She added a specific line stating that Aiah shouldn't be seen anywhere near Mikha. 

She was ready to file a legal or civil case under Aiah's name if the woman didn't mind her own business and leave Mikha alone.

The printer roared to life as it spat out fresh pages that would hopefully end all of this mess.

Sophia stared at the new pages in her hand and finally asked the question that had been haunting her. "Why would you do this to me.. to us? After everything, why would you do this?"

Mikha lifted her gaze to meet Sophia’s red, tearful eyes.

Without waiting for a response, Sophia continued to speak. "Why would you hurt me like this? How could you do something so cruel to the person you claim to love?" she asked, her voice cracking with pain.

Mikha wanted to drop to her knees and apologize again, but Sophia gestured for her not to move. As the puppet she had become, Mikha obeyed instantly. This time, she truly realized what she’d turned into.

Sophia continued to point out the betrayal. "You let yourself be legally tied to another woman while we were supposed to be planning a life together. You’re a fucking cheater. That's exactly what you are," she spat.

Mikha swallowed hard at the label Sophia used. It was sharp and it stung worse than any physical blow.

Sophia wasn't finished. "I never imagined you’d break my heart like this. Do I even deserve this? How could you be so stupid to create such a mess and not even have the spine to clean it up yourself?" she asked.

Mikha couldn't even form a coherent response to all the words Sophia spat at her. She wanted to believe it all, that she really was exactly as Sophia described.

"Ang tanga-tanga lang," Sophia said in those crunchy mother tongue words. "Tangahan mo pa, Mikha. May itatanga ka pa," she sharply added.

Mikha swallowed the pain in her throat hearing those words. She started to fidget again as she bit her lower lip. Her body was already trembling with anxiety and she felt close to a full panic attack.

This wasn't the first time. 

It wasn't even the second.

This wasn't the first time Mikha heard sharp and painful words coming from Sophia's mouth. That intellectual sharpness Sophia used as a lawyer was sometimes, or most times like this, being turned against Mikha.

Don't get this wrong. 

Sophia was a kind and ideal girlfriend, but she was also human. She had flaws, she felt things, and she was imperfect. 

Those were the reasons Mikha fed her own mind every single time a situation like this came up. Sophia was intellectually bright and she sharpened her words too much, stabbing them unintentionally or sometimes intentionally into Mikha's heart, mind, and soul.

Sophia spat more painful words and accused Mikha of being a disgrace to their relationship. "How stupid can you be? It feels like a burden carrying this relationship alone. Nakakahiya ka," she added without looking up.

Mikha only nodded. She couldn't help but follow whatever Sophia wanted her to do next. She just wanted to end things. She wanted to end all this mess and clean up her life. 

She had to swallow her pride since right now, Sophia was the only one helping her clean up her own dirt. She was hiding all her dirty clothes so the Lafortezas wouldn't nag her to the core in a way that would be even more painful.

Sophia stood up and handed over the freshly printed document with a freezing glare. She coldly commanded, “Have her sign the papers immediately. "I don't care how or whatever, if you have to track her down in the middle of the night, just get her signature and don't come back until it's done," she added.

Even though her hands were trembling, Mikha took the papers carefully and gave a small nod.

Sophia wasn't finished and stared at her down with a look of pure disappointment. “This is your last chance and you better not blow it. For once in your life, try to avoid being so stupid and careless with something," she reminded her.

Mikha nodded again. She was used to hearing those reminders and those specific words. It felt as if she hadn't done a single thing right in her entire life.

Sophia wasn’t done, “Try to prove yourself that you’re still worthy of being in my life after all of this. Try harder. Go find a way to be useful for once and fix the mess you created," she said as she gestured for Mikha to get out of her room, shooing her away like a bothersome child.

Mikha followed the order, but she looked back at Sophia one last time before making her way to the exit. 

Her heart ached with so much pain as she truly believed she caused all of this with the stupidity everyone around her claimed she had.

· · ─ ᨒ ོ ☼ ─ · ·

So that began the search for Aiah. 

It turned into a chase that never seemed to rest. Mikha kept reaching out with all the effort she had left. 

In return, Aiah would answer with a single message, often nothing more than a photo taken at that exact moment.

Sometimes it was the view from an airplane window, clouds stretched like an endless road below her. Other times it was a mountain, quiet and distant, sent only when there was enough signal to reach her. 

There were days when snow covered everything in sight, cold and untouched. Then there were moments by the sea, where the water met the sky in a blue that felt too wide to hold.

Mikha kept chasing her with a kind of desperation that felt like her life depended on it. 

In a way, it did. 

She needed this to end. 

She needed everything to be clear again. It was no longer about freeing herself from that marriage she could barely remember in full details. It had become something heavier, something that pressed on her every waking moment.

She was chasing a woman for a signature on a piece of paper that could change the course of her life. Yet doubt followed her every step. 

Would it truly set her free, or would it pull her deeper into something even more suffocating than what she was already drowning in?

Mikha had already admitted to herself that she had been careless, even foolish, to end up in this situation. Still, knowing that did nothing to ease the weight. 

It was too much.

Everything felt too much.

All she wanted was a single moment. 

Just one. 

Enough time to pin Aiah down, to place the papers in front of her, to finally get the signature she carried everywhere. She brought them with her through every flight she chased, every schedule she tried to follow, every step taken after a woman who always slipped away too quickly, as if she alone decided when she would appear and when she would disappear.

Mikha continued to update Sophia about the chase, about a woman she needed to find for a single signature.

Sophia grew more distant and cold with every message. It was understandable after what had happened between them. Still, the distance settled in a way that hurt more each time.

Luckily, Mikha’s job could be done anywhere in the country. It no longer required her to stay in the office. That used to be a problem she worried about. Now, it was off her back.

One problem at a time. 

Everything would be okay. 

It should be. It needed to be.

Sometimes Mikha would find herself crying while hugging her knees in the darkest corner of her bedroom. At other times, she couldn’t stop the tears while standing under the shower. There were days when she couldn’t eat or sleep with the weight pressing down on her shoulders.

Ang bigat, sobrang bigat na.

It was that heavy. 

Most of the time, she forced herself to look up at the ceiling or at the sky just to stop the tears from falling. She even watched sad films just to cry properly, just to let everything out of her system so she could function again the next day.

The irony settled deep within her. She knew what she needed to do. However, she felt trapped and unable to move at all. 

Still, she chose to keep going.

Everyone has to, right? 

The world wouldn’t stop revolving when you couldn’t keep up with it, right?

Even then, Mikha held on to the belief that everything would be okay in the end. All she needed to do was get Aiah’s signature on those damn divorce papers before everything crumbled even more in broad daylight, with her eyes wide open.

A miracle.

A notification.

A message from Aiah.

It came early in the morning while Mikha moved through her routine, almost like a machine, making her coffee. She lazily checked her phone as she waited for it to brew. Even without caffeine in her system, her nerves spiked and her pulse grew too loud.

Mikha opened the message, expecting another rejection or misleading detail about Aiah’s location. Even if that was the case, she would still chase her.

However, today was different.

It was a domestic plane ticket for tomorrow, bound for Cebu.

Mikha frowned as she stared at it, confusion settling in her mind. Then another notification rang through, another message from Aiah.

“See you tomorrow, Misis ko.”

That was the text.

Only then did Mikha realize the ticket was meant for her. Then another truth followed, subtle yet clear. She wasn’t going to chase Aiah this time. 

Instead, Aiah made sure Mikha would reach her.

After finishing her coffee, she managed to send a quick message to Sophia. She said she was going to Cebu. She said she would finally meet Aiah for those damn signatures.

Sophia only read the message. 

That earned a long exhale from Mikha. She no longer knew where she stood in Sophia’s life. The distance was clear, especially when Sophia didn’t want to see her or be near her. 

Perhaps the Lafortezas already knew. They were probably celebrating how things were turning unclear between her and their golden child, Sophia.

Still, Mikha chose to handle what she could that day.

She packed her bags and suitcase, enough for a week. She didn’t know if Aiah would take everything seriously this time. If not, she would treat this as a needed vacation. A treat, not for what had happened, but for surviving and still holding on for dear life.

· · ─ ᨒ ོ ☼ ─ · ·

[ CEBU ]

Mikha landed in Cebu safe and sound. She looked from left to right as if searching for someone familiar in the crowded airport.

However, there was nothing.

She made her way outside to book a cab or anything she could ride to a hotel. But then, a black BMW X5 stopped in front of her. Mikha paid no mind to it at first. Then it beeped at her, and the driver stepped out.

Aiah.

She wore an all gray outfit, gray sweatpants, a gray zip lock pullover, and a gray cap with a brand Mikha had never seen before. Her hair was down, simple and effortless. The world seemed to slow down in the strangest and most uncomfortable way.

“Found you, finally,” Aiah said as she removed her shades and leaned down to Mikha’s eye level. “Hello again, Misis ko,” she added with a playful tone and that teasing grin. 

For reasons Mikha couldn’t explain, she felt like she missed all that.

“Let me help you,” Aiah said as she gently took the baggage from Mikha’s grip and placed it in the car. She moved with ease, as if the suitcase had no weight at all.

Aiah closed the trunk and faced Mikha, standing closer than before. “You didn’t tell me you were planning to stay here in Cebu with me,” she said, her tone still light, eyes holding onto Mikha’s.

Mikha shook her head. “I’m not staying. I just need your signature. That’s why I came,” she replied, her voice firm despite the tension in her chest.

Aiah nodded and slipped her hands into her pockets. She glanced around before speaking again. “I’m really surprised that I don’t see your tiger girlfriend with you,” she said, her lips curling slightly.

Mikha shook her head and looked down. “Sophia isn’t really talking to me,” she answered, her voice quieter this time.

Aiah nodded once more, then put her sunglasses back on as she opened the door for Mikha. “Maybe she decided to let you go already,” she said with a teasing edge. “If that’s the case, I’ll treat you right. Even better.”

Inside the car, it wasn’t really an awkward silence.

Aiah asked if she was hungry and if she wanted something to eat.

Mikha respectfully declined. She leaned back and tried to relax while watching the view of Cebu as Aiah drove them somewhere she didn’t know. 

She didn’t notice she was fidgeting, her mind drifting toward the unknown or left somewhere in Manila. Her system jolted when she felt a hand on hers, holding it gently to stop her from moving.

Aiah spoke softly while keeping one hand on the wheel. “If you can’t help it, I’ll hold it for you,” she said, her voice calm and steady.

Mikha only stared at Aiah as she spoke. Aiah didn’t look at her, her eyes fixed on the road ahead.

Whenever Aiah needed to shift the gear, she would let go of Mikha’s hand. Then she would reach for it again, brushing her thumb lightly against Mikha’s skin as if to soothe her and quiet her thoughts.

Mikha found herself staring at their hands. She noticed how she was slowly gripping Aiah’s hand in return. Their fingers were slightly interlocked, not fully, yet close enough to feel it. 

She didn’t mind it at all. 

For the first time in weeks, it felt comforting against the weight she had been carrying.

Then they reached a subdivision that made Mikha frown.

She looked around first before turning to Aiah. “Where are you taking me?” she asked, her voice careful.

Aiah giggled. “It’s a secret,” she said playfully as she continued driving through the subdivision.

It wasn’t the kind of exclusive place Mikha expected. It felt simpler, quieter, and almost lived in.

Somewhere along the short drive, their hands had found each other again. Their fingers slowly intertwined without either of them noticing. Still holding on, Aiah parked in front of a traditional house that looked alive even from the outside.

“Where are we?” Mikha asked, her head turning from side to side as she took everything in.

“Relax ka lang, Misis ko. You’re in good hands,” Aiah said.

Then without thinking too much, Aiah lifted Mikha’s hand closer to her lips and kissed it. It lasted only a moment. Still, it made them both freeze, as if they had just realized what happened.

Aiah recovered first. She stepped out of the car and walked over to Mikha’s side to open the door for her. Mikha’s heart kept pounding, loud enough to make her cheeks burn. Aiah held out her hand as she helped her down, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Mikha cleared her throat and took in the sight of the house in front of them.

“Bahay niyo?” Mikha asked.

“Bahay nila,” Aiah answered simply.

That answer made Mikha frown again. She followed Aiah’s slow steps as they approached the house. Before they could enter, Aiah turned back to face her.

“Permission to hold your hand, Misis ko?” Aiah asked, her hand already waiting.

Mikha took it, even with her heart beating louder.

“Permission to touch and hold you, please?” Aiah whispered softly, without her usual teasing tone.

Mikha held Aiah’s gaze, confusion still present. “Permission granted,” she said, offering a small smile.

It was a devastating smile that made Aiah’s world tilt off its axis for a moment too long, and she had no idea why.

With permission asked.

With permission granted.

Hand in hand, they walked inside. At times, Aiah’s hand rested on Mikha’s lower back as they moved, then returned to holding her hand again, as if their hands were meant to find and fit together.

“Everyone, I want you all to meet Mikha Lim,” Aiah introduced, her hand firm on Mikha’s waist. “…my wife,” she added with finality.

A breath seemed to leave everyone at once. Then the room shifted as the meaning of her words settled in, and they began to celebrate the moment.

“Asawa mo?” an older woman asked, stepping closer to get a better look at Mikha.

Aiah nodded, pride clear in her voice. “Opo, Lola. Misis ko po,” she repeated, pulling Mikha closer until her arm almost circled her waist.

Mikha made the mano gesture. “Hello po,” she greeted softly as people came closer, looking at her with curiosity. She felt like something unfamiliar placed in their space, yet their reactions turned into awe and quiet admiration.

Everyone seemed drawn to her presence inside the traditional house. Even the children gathered near her, liking her without effort.

The Arcetas had prepared a lot of food for her arrival. While they were in the kitchen, a few of them leaned closer to Aiah, unable to hold back their curiosity.

“Ang ganda naman ng asawa mo. Artista ba ’yan?” an aunt asked, nudging Aiah as they both looked toward Mikha in the living room.

Aiah smirked and let out a soft laugh at the comment. She chose not to answer, her gaze fixed on her wife, who smiled brightly while spending time with her family.

“Napakaganda mong bata. Paano ka nauto nito ni ’Yangyang? Ginayuma ka niya, 'no?” Aiah’s dad asked playfully.

Aiah watched as Mikha blushed at every compliment, thanking each person who called her beautiful.

“Anak, saan pala kayo nagkakilala nito ni Aiah?” Aiah’s mom asked.

Aiah answered quickly, “Secret po, Ma!”

When the table was ready, the children rushed to sit beside Mikha, eager to be near her.

“‘Wag na kayo riyan. Hayaan niyo na ang Tita Aiah niyo d’yan sa tabi ng asawa niya,” an aunt scolded gently.

Aiah spoke before anything else could continue. “Maghihiwalay na rin po kami, kaya kayo ah, bawal ma-attach,” she said playfully, although her eyes failed to hide what she truly felt.

Someone choked on their food. Everyone gasped at once, caught between panic and disbelief.

“Diba, Misis ko?” Aiah turned to Mikha, as if reminding her, while also reminding herself.

Mikha couldn’t answer. She had no idea how to soften what Aiah had just done.

“Aray, Mama naman!” Aiah said dramatically as she held her head when her mother smacked her, gentle yet firm.

“Tingnan mo, hindi makasagot ’yung asawa mo sa mga sinasabi mo. Ikaw talaga,” Aiah’s mom scolded through gritted teeth.

“Ngayon mo nga lamang siya ipinakilala sa amin, tapos ngayon mo rin sasabihin sa amin na maghihiwalay na rin kayo?” Aiah’s grandfather spoke with authority. “Ginagawa niyo bang biro ang kasal?” he added, and the table fell silent.

“Ang pag-aasawa ay hindi parang mainit na kanin,” the older man continued, “na kapag napaso ka, ay iluluwa mo. Hindi ganon,” he said as he shook his head, then went back to eating.

Aiah looked at Mikha, checking if she felt uncomfortable. Guilt settled in her chest. She reached out under the table and held Mikha’s wrist.

Mikha met her gaze. It held words left unspoken, a quiet longing for many things. If the situation had been different, if it had been less complicated, Aiah would have given everything. She would have stayed, healed, and held all of it. Still, there was one small detail she couldn’t ignore.

Aiah’s hand moved slowly from Mikha’s wrist to her palm. The touch was gentle, careful. 

Mikha welcomed it without hesitation.

They both let out a breath at the contact. Their eyes fell to their hands, then rose to meet each other again. In that moment, they shared a soft smile, quiet and knowing.

“Oh, tingnan mo nga. Paano naman kami maniniwala na maghihiwalay na kayo kung ganyan niyo tingnan ang isa’t-isa?” an uncle called out, breaking the tension.

Their grip on each other’s hands tightened.

“Tita Mikha, ’wag niyo na po hiwalayan ang Tita ‘Yangyang namin,” one kid spoke, then the others followed. Their small voices formed a cute and earnest rally.

“Maganda naman po ang Tita namin diba, tsaka marami po siyang pera,” another kid added, and the table erupted in laughter.

Aiah felt Mikha’s thumb respond to the movement of hers in their intertwined hands, as if telling her she was okay.

That lunch and the entire day went smoothly.

Mikha learned that Aiah was an only child. She rarely stayed in that house due to the noise. The Arcetas had even pushed her to buy a house of her own for future purposes, something Aiah never wanted. 

According to them, Aiah preferred living in the present rather than thinking too far ahead. Buying a house for a future family had always been a joke to her. 

However, recently, she finally bought one. It felt like a miracle to them. Even with billions in her bank account, Aiah still preferred sleeping in that traditional house with everyone despite the noise.

Mikha also learned that Aiah was a business owner and a CEO of a clothing brand she built from the ground up. It had grown into something successful and gave her financial freedom. 

Still, everyone in that household preferred staying together rather than being alone. Aiah never liked the idea of settling down alone in the future. She was deeply loved in that house, not because of her wealth, but simply for who she was.

The sun set, and evening came.

They waved their goodbyes to the Arcetas. Aiah fixed Mikha’s seatbelt as if she had done it many times before, even if she hadn’t.

“Where are we going?” Mikha asked quietly, her eyes locked on Aiah’s.

Aiah didn’t answer. She only gave a teasing smirk, close to a smile.

After a few minutes, still inside the subdivision, they stopped. Aiah stepped out first, then walked to Mikha’s side to open the door again. She took Mikha’s suitcases and other belongings.

“Let me,” Mikha said as she reached out for her things. 

Aiah had already started walking through the automated gate, carrying and pulling the luggage. Mikha could only follow since Aiah wouldn’t let her take them back.

They stepped inside a modern three storey house. The air smelled like fresh linens and new furniture. It was exactly that.

“Is this your house?” Mikha asked, already fascinated by the intricate details, the monochrome colors, and how everything was arranged. As someone with an eye for design, it pleased her.

Aiah didn’t answer the question. Instead, she asked, “Do you like it?” her eyes watching how Mikha’s gaze lit up under the lights.

Mikha nodded as she looked around. “It’s so beautiful…” she said with pure admiration. “Bahay mo?” she asked again, turning back to Aiah.

“Bahay natin,” Aiah said simply as she slid both hands into her pockets.

Bahay natin.

It sounded romantic and intimate, like a promise already lived in.

Mikha could only stare at her, waiting for Aiah to take it back or turn it into a joke. She didn’t.

Aiah sat on the nearby couch and let her eyes wander before she exhaled. “I bought this house on the same day I found out I was actually married and… that I have a wife,” she said.

Mikha stayed silent, listening, unable to fully believe what she was hearing.

Aiah continued, her voice lighter yet uncertain. “I had already purchased the whole house and everything else before I found out that… you had a girlfriend,” she added with a small laugh at herself. “I guess I was really that impulsive.”

Mikha still couldn’t understand the thought process of buying an entire modern house the moment she found out something like that.

Aiah exhaled as she stood. “I guess I’ll have this all to myself sooner or later, or I’ll just try to sell it again,” she said, glancing around the space.

Mikha couldn’t speak.

“I’m sorry, did I catch you off guard?” Aiah asked as she let out a small laugh that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just my weird personality sometimes. I tend to act impulsively like this.”

That night didn’t turn awkward. Instead, they found a quiet warmth in the simple way they said good night to each other.

One stepped into her own room.

The other went to the guest room.

Morning came.

Mikha woke up, freshened up, then went downstairs. She found Aiah in the kitchen, cooking. “Good morning,” she greeted softly.

“Good morning, Misis ko,” Aiah replied, glancing at her with a small smile.

Mikha, still sleepy, sat on one of the high chairs by the kitchen aisle. A voice came closer, and when she turned slightly, she was met with Aiah’s bare face. No makeup, yet somehow even more glowing.

“How do you like your coffee?” Aiah asked gently.

Mikha couldn’t answer right away. She just stared at Aiah.

Aiah smiled. “You look even better in the morning,” she said, her tone light.

It sounded strange to Mikha since Sophia would always say she looked like a panda with the dark circles under her eyes.

Aiah couldn’t help herself. Being this close to Mikha felt like a dangerous temptation she couldn’t explain. She lifted her hand and slowly tucked Mikha’s brown hair behind her ear.

Mikha knew she should stop her. Still, she didn’t. She couldn’t. Even if she tried, she wouldn’t.

The sound of the coffee maker pulled them out of their trance.

Aiah moved with ease, playing it cool as she prepared the coffee and the breakfast she had made. Bacon, pancakes, and omelette, all arranged with care, hoping Mikha would like them.

Mikha cleared her throat and tried to steady herself, swallowing the feeling that came with Aiah being so close.

Aiah spoke again, her teasing smirk returning. “If I didn’t know you have a girlfriend, I’d think you were waiting for a good morning kiss or maybe a cuddle,” she said.

Mikha scoffed at that. Then she instinctively reached for her phone, as the truth hit her all at once.

Shit! I have a girlfriend.

Mikha, with all the panic rising in her chest, quickly typed a message to Sophia. She updated her about everything that had happened. 

The message was seen, yet no reply came. 

The silence cut deeper than she expected. Her mind started to spiral, and she didn’t know what to do.

Aiah watched her.

She saw how something that was supposed to be love turned into panic. She saw how something gentle became filled with anxiety. 

She watched Mikha’s breathing grow heavier. She noticed the way Mikha bit her lower lip and fidgeted with her fingers while waiting for something to change on that small screen. She saw her blink once, then again, trying to stop the tears from forming.

Aiah saw all of it.

It made her uncomfortable in ways she couldn’t fully understand. The day had barely started, yet it already felt heavy.

So she stepped closer, crossing the space between them. She didn’t know what to say. 

Still, she could try to do something. 

Carefully, she took Mikha’s restless hand and placed it on her waist. Then she pulled her into a tight hug.

Their first hug. 

Their first morning. 

In their house.

Mikha stayed stiff at first. Aiah gently guided her hands, letting them rest properly on her waist, as if telling her it was alright to hold on. 

It didn’t have to mean anything. 

It was just a hug.

Slowly, Aiah felt Mikha ease into it. Her body softened, her weight leaning in. Mikha’s head rested against her neck. The closeness felt like a temptation, or maybe a curse, or even a quiet blessing.

Aiah tightened her hold around Mikha, as if she could shield her from anything that might hurt her.

When they slowly pulled away, Aiah noticed the tears in Mikha’s eyes. She lifted her hand and gently wiped them away with her thumb. 

“You’re such a crybaby,” Aiah teased softly, her voice light enough to ease the weight.

Mikha let out a small chuckle and wiped the rest of her tears with her hands.

Aiah spoke again, her tone still teasing yet filled with concern. “Tell me, sinong nagpapaiyak sa Misis ko na ‘yan? Sinong aawayin ko?” she teased, a quiet promise hidden beneath the playfulness.

It sounded corny and almost childish. Still, the way she said it, soft and careful, made something in Mikha’s chest loosen. 

For the first time, no one looked annoyed at her tears. 

For the first time, no one treated her emotions like something inconvenient. 

For the first time, she felt held in a way that felt gentle and safe, even if it settled in all the wrong places.

Mikha found herself staring at Aiah. Aiah stayed focused on wiping her tears, her gaze so soft it felt like it could melt anything it touched.

Aiah felt it, that quiet pull between them. “You want hug pa?” she asked, her voice low and careful.

Mikha couldn’t find the words. She nodded instead, a small and honest gesture, almost like a child asking for comfort.

Aiah smiled softly and pulled her close again. This time, there was no stiffness. No hesitation. Only warmth.

When they pulled away, Mikha felt better.

Aiah didn’t. 

She couldn’t explain what she was feeling or why it was there. Still, it felt right, as if she had done what she was supposed to do.

Aiah stepped back slightly and gently let go of Mikha’s hands. The warmth lingered, and she already missed it. “Go get those divorce papers. I’ll sign them na,” she said, her tone steady.

Mikha was taken aback by how sudden it was. She could only watch Aiah, waiting for her to take it back. She didn’t. She wasn’t going to.

Aiah pushed further, her voice light yet sharp. “Go get them na before I change my mind. I might think you don’t want us to be legally separated,” she said.

Yes, only legally.

As she felt tied with other factors.

The words didn’t sit right within Aiah. Something inside her stirred, something she wasn’t ready to name. She had no intention of bringing it to light.

Mikha went upstairs and searched through her things. The moment she found the document, she rushed back down. The weight on her chest felt lighter, as if everything would finally fall into place in the most predictable way.

“Here,” Mikha said as she placed the papers on the counter, catching her breath.

Aiah took them and glanced through the pages. A teasing smile formed on her lips. “You look too excited naman na makipaghiwalay,” she said as she took the pen from Mikha’s hand.

Mikha let out a small chuckle. “Of course. This will fix the mess. It’ll fix your life too,” she replied.

Aiah paused. “Wait, hold on. Why would my life need fixing again?” she asked.

Mikha shrugged. “Because… you can go back to your normal life. Your single and wife-free life. You can also marry the person you actually want to marry,” she said.

Aiah let out a soft laugh. “My life doesn’t need fixing. It’s my life, and I like it the way it is,” she said. “I don’t really want a normal life. It sounds boring. Lastly, I don’t have any plan on marrying again after this, Misis ko.”

Mikha frowned slightly. “Why?” she asked.

Aiah looked at her. “What do you mean why?” she replied.

Mikha continued, her voice quieter this time. “Why wouldn’t you want to marry again or settle down?” she asked.

The question felt like a slight insult to Aiah's ego. She drank in the sight of the entire house she had bought the moment she knew she had a wife. She looked at the furniture she had carefully picked, assuming her wife would like it. 

Consequently, she couldn't understand why it seemed like she wasn't ready to settle down. The real question was why people wouldn't choose to settle down with her.

Aiah didn't say any of that. Instead, she offered a simple reason. "I’d rather chase flights than people," she said. She took a sip of her coffee and looked away. "I prefer to live for today rather than being bothered by tomorrow."

She gave the words a double meaning that Mikha wouldn't ever have to know.

Then, Aiah picked up the pen again. She stared at the divorce papers that felt like they were mocking her to the core. She exhaled softly. As quickly as possible, she signed her name.

It was all done.

Just like that.

Aiah pushed the papers toward Mikha and handed her the pen. She assumed Mikha would want to sign right away since she was clearly too excited to get separated.

Mikha didn't sign the papers yet. Instead, she smoothly slid them back into their envelope while she typed a quick text to Sophia. She informed her that the divorce papers were officially signed.

"Congratulations on being free!" Aiah teased with a smirk. "Happy separation day to you, Misis ko."

Mikha set the document down as she breathed in lightly and laughed at the comments. She didn't want to admit it, but she'll definitely miss Aiah’s smug attitude and the way she used to call her Misis ko. She could only smile and offer a quiet reply.

"Thank you for this, Aiah."

Aiah smiled and took another sip of her coffee. "No problem at all," she said casually. "Now you can go ahead and marry that girlfriend of yours."

Mikha’s smile flattened at that. She looked at the divorce papers again until a sudden thought popped into her head. "I think… I’ll stay. I'm staying for a week," she announced.

Aiah’s brows furrowed in total confusion. "Huh? Why?"

Mikha faced her with a bright gummy smile. "I'm going to celebrate our separation!"

Aiah frowned even more as she leaned back. "Is that even a thing? How do you plan on celebrating a divorce?"

Mikha put her hands on her hips and looked at her expectantly. "You tell me! Let's treat it as our last moments together before we can't see each other anymore."

It was as if Mikha was already forming a full adventure itinerary in her head. Aiah was a total thrill seeker, so she couldn't really say no.

Honestly, how could she?

Mikha is still her wife.

· · ─ ᨒ ོ ☼ ─ · ·

From that moment on, they didn't waste a single second. They dove headfirst into adventures across the famous landmarks, hidden trails, and crystal blue seas of Cebu.

Aiah was more than happy to guide Mikha through every step of the journey. She gladly held Mikha's hand before every daring jump into the water.

"Don't let go!" Mikha squealed, her eyes wide as she looked down at the canyon.

"Never," Aiah teased, squeezing her fingers tight. "On three? One, two, three!"

When Mikha took a zip line across the canopy, Aiah cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled "Misis ko!" at the top of her lungs. 

Mikha’s laughter echoed through the trees, a sound Aiah wanted to bottle up and keep forever. She cheered whenever Mikha tried local food she'd never tasted before, and she always offered her arm or hand for Mikha to lean on.

"My legs are officially broken," Mikha groaned after a long hike, stopping in her tracks.

Aiah chuckled and turned around, patting her back. "Hop on, Misis ko. Your chauffeur is ready."

She gladly gave Mikha piggyback rides when the walking got too much. In crowded markets, she kept Mikha close by holding her firmly by the waist. She made sure to hold Mikha's hand every single time she got the chance. Aiah took care of her with a gentle heart since she wanted to make the most of every second before time ran out.

It was like a free trial that was about to expire. 

She wouldn't be able to see Mikha like this again. She wouldn't be able to hold her hand or witness those genuine smiles and loud laughs in person.

Aiah was maximizing every moment and squeezing a lifetime of memories into Mikha's tiny bit of time left here.

It felt pathetic and funny at the same time. It felt ridiculous in every possible way. 

That Aiah had somehow learned to love the very person she’d soon have to let go.

"You're staring again," Mikha said, poking Aiah’s cheek as they watched the sunset.

"Just memorizing the view," Aiah whispered, her voice thick with a truth she couldn't say out loud.

Aiah learned all of Mikha's love languages and offered even more than what was asked. She studied Mikha's behaviors, her tiny gestures, her expressions, and even her complex way of thinking. She learned every like and dislike just by observing, listening, and simply being present. She didn't plan for any of this to happen. She didn't want to give it a voice, but Aiah had fallen in love with every fiber of Mikha’s being.

This was her wife. 

Soon, she’d be her ex-wife.

Thinking about that signed divorce paper now felt like it was ripping Aiah's chest wide open. If she could undo her signature, she'd do it in a heartbeat. If she could ask Mikha to stay and choose her, she would. If she were selfish enough to keep Mikha all to herself, she'd take care of her forever.

But she couldn't.

Aiah didn't want to cause any more trouble for her wife. She wouldn't do that to her beloved, gorgeous wife.

As for Mikha, she maximized every single second. 

She finally found a space where she could truly be herself without any pretenses. She laughed loud, the kind that filled a room and didn’t ask for permission. She let herself be careless, letting small mistakes slip through her fingers without fear. She allowed herself to be soft, to be seen, to be vulnerable in ways she never dared before. There were times she acted childish, chasing silly thoughts, pouting over nothing, smiling over even less. 

Other times, she was impulsive, moving before thinking, choosing without weighing the cost. She could be unsure. She could be reckless. She could be foolish.

She could be everything.

Most of all, she could be herself.

It felt dangerous to give it a name. Still, somewhere deep inside, Mikha knew the truth. She was falling in love with herself again, and Aiah was right there beside her when it happened.

"You're doing that thing again, Misis ko," Aiah teased, watching Mikha stare at a menu for ten minutes straight.

"What thing?" Mikha pouted, her eyes darting between the mango shake and the avocado toast.

"The 'I can't choose because my brain is melting' thing," Aiah laughed. She didn't take over or order for her. Instead, she just leaned in. "Get both. I’ll finish whichever one you like less."

Unconsciously, Aiah knew exactly how to handle her without ever trying to control her. She knew how to listen to understand and not just to respond. 

Aiah was the calm in the middle of the chaos. 

It felt like Aiah knew everything about her in that short period of time. It felt wrong, yet it felt so incredibly right.

Mikha loved who she was when she was with Aiah. She didn't have to be afraid of being scolded or dictated to. She loved how Aiah held her protectively and touched her with so much respect. Aiah treated her in the gentlest, softest way that ever existed in a romance handbook.

It felt wrong, but Mikha couldn't shake the hard truths that were surfacing.

She loved seeing Aiah's beautiful bare face in the morning. She loved how Aiah held her hand while driving. She loved the feeling of their fingers intertwined. She liked being called Misis ko. She was addicted to Aiah’s laugh and the way those dimples appeared and with that eye smile. 

"Stop it, Misis ko," Aiah murmured one afternoon, her face turning pink. "If you keep looking at me like that, I might forget we're supposed to be sight-seeing."

"Like what?" Mikha asked, leaning her head on Aiah’s shoulder.

"Like you actually love me," Aiah joked, though her voice held a tiny bit of hope.

Mikha just leaned in closer, soaking up the warmth of the hug. She was starting to love Aiah’s entire personality, from the tiniest habits to the biggest facts of her existence.

At one point, Mikha tried to question it.

Maybe she only loved the idea of what Aiah could give.

Maybe it was the comfort. 

Maybe it was the attention.

Maybe it was the freedom she felt.

She tried to dig deeper, to separate feeling from truth. Still, every path led to the same place.

Aiah.

A life with Aiah.

A tomorrow with Aiah.

A future with Aiah.

There was no version of it that didn’t have her in it.

Sometimes, when Aiah wasn’t looking, Mikha would let her gaze linger. She would study her face, tracing every line, every expression, as if trying to understand something she couldn’t quite name.

She didn’t know how it started. 

She didn’t know when it changed. 

She didn’t even know why it felt so certain. All she knew was that she was falling in love with Aiah, and she didn’t know how to stop.

Even when Sophia crossed her mind, the feeling didn't fade. Even if it felt wrong or the world chose to condemn her for it, she grew a spine and decided she didn't care.

At the end of every thought, all she ever wanted was to end her day with her wife.

With Aiah. 

Then came the last night before Mikha’s flight back to Manila.

Mikha was busy packing her things inside her room. She couldn't lie about the sadness creeping in as she prepared to return to her old life. These past days had helped her realize so much about her situation and her heart.

"Are you really leaving me, Misis ko?" Aiah’s playful voice drifted from the doorway. She leaned against the frame with her arms crossed over her chest and a teasing smirk on her face.

Mikha chuckled as she zipped her suitcase shut. She set it on the floor, though she wasn't ready for tomorrow at all. She sat on the edge of the bed and scanned the room, memorizing every detail of the space.

"I'm going to miss this place," Mikha whispered.

"What about me, Misis ko?" Aiah asked. She stepped inside with her hands in her pockets and leaned down until they were eye to eye. "Aren't you going to miss me too?"

Mikha laughed lightly and cupped Aiah's cheeks. It was a touch they’d both grown used to over the week. "Alright, fine. I’ll miss you too," she said as they locked eyes.

They seemed to read each other’s thoughts through that silence.

Aiah’s eyes were full of yearning as she spoke. "Can't you just stay here with me?"

Mikha tucked a loose strand of hair behind Aiah’s ear. "You're the one who told everyone not to get attached, remember?" she teased, throwing Aiah's own words back at her.

Aiah only chuckled at the banter. She held Mikha’s hands against her cheeks, and neither of them backed down from the intense stare. 

Eventually, their gazes dropped to each other’s lips.

It was a temptation no one could ignore anymore.

They both wanted this.

They both needed this.

As if they both understood exactly what they were craving, they leaned in at the same time. They finally tasted each other's lips for the first time.

The moment was undeniable.

This part was inevitable.

There wasn't any alcohol involved this time and there were only raw feelings and deep emotions. It was their hearts doing all the talking.

When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads stayed touching. Their noses brushed while they caught their breath. It wasn't because the kiss was aggressive, but their hearts were beating so fast it felt like they were chasing them.

That was their first kiss.

When their lips met for the second time, the gentleness vanished. The kiss turned deep and hungry. It was a tangle of teeth and tongues and muffled sounds. They gasped for air in between the intense heat, and neither of them wanted to stop.

That bruising kiss escalated quickly.

Aiah ended up straddling Mikha's hips while they remained drowned in the addiction of each other's lips. The moment Mikha’s mouth descended to Aiah’s neck, the tension spiked even higher.

Soon, Mikha was laying completely flat on the bed with Aiah on top of her. They kept kissing as if they were trying to memorize every single taste.

Aiah’s lips moved to Mikha’s jaw while her own body betrayed her. She moved to chase a delicious friction and devoured her way back to Mikha’s neck.

The contact made Mikha moan.

God forbid, Aiah wanted to hear more of those sounds since they were perfect music to her ears.

Mikha clung to Aiah’s shoulders and threaded her fingers through Aiah’s hair to pull her closer while her body ground upward.

Out of frustration, Aiah kissed Mikha again. Her hands started to wander and graze over Mikha’s porcelain, sun-bathed skin.

Then, all of a sudden, Aiah slowed down. She eventually let go of Mikha’s swollen lips.

Reality crashed back in as she realized Mikha was going back to Manila tomorrow.

Aiah pulled away to look at Mikha’s face, then leaned down to kiss her one more time, very slowly. She pulled back again just to stare. She traced Mikha’s features with her fingertips as she tried to memorize the sight. She knew she couldn't get this same feeling from a thousand photos. She wouldn't be able to hold her like this ever again.

"Please take care of yourself," Aiah whispered through rising tears. "Always try to be safe, and—"

She failed to finish her sentence as Mikha pulled her head back down to kiss her deeply.

When they finally pulled away again, Aiah spoke softly. "You should get some rest so you can catch that flight tomorrow." She leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to Mikha’s forehead.

Aiah stood up and fixed Mikha’s blanket, draping it carefully over her. As she turned to exit the room, Mikha called out her name. Aiah’s head snapped back immediately as she hummed in question.

Mikha looked hesitant. She didn't know what tomorrow or the following days would bring. "You can sleep beside me," she invited softly. "Just for tonight."

Aiah wanted to decline. The longer she stayed close to Mikha, the harder it was to let her go. She was falling deeper all over again and she couldn't bear the thought of a life without her.

Despite the fear, Aiah exhaled and marched back to the bed. Mikha scooted over to give her room.

They ignored the earlier intense kissing. They swallowed down the heat that was still pulsing in their veins.

Once Aiah settled under the duvet, her breath hitched. Mikha moved closer and snuggled into her. She draped her arms over Aiah and buried her head in the crook of her neck like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Maybe it was natural, even if it was just for tonight.

Aiah exhaled and enveloped Mikha’s frame with her arms. She held her tightly and kissed her wife’s forehead. 

They remained tangled like that all night long, just like a usual married couple. The only problem was that they weren't a usual couple at all.

The airport felt like a graveyard for the life they'd just started to build.

Even though her heart was breaking, Aiah managed to drive Mikha to the terminal. Each kilometer felt like she was intentionally driving her beloved wife away from her.

As they waited for the boarding time, Aiah couldn't bring herself to let go of Mikha's hand. She kissed it softly as the seconds ticked away.

The only words they exchanged were small reminders to take care, to rest, to eat, and to sleep. They spoke only of care and never of goodbyes or thank yous.

Neither had the courage to express their gratitude since it felt too much like a final farewell. Even though this was the end, both of them wanted to believe it wasn't.

Then, Mikha's flight details were called out over the speakers. The announcement rang through Aiah's chest like a painful jab to her heart. Still gripping Mikha's hand, she walked her all the way to the boarding gate. The staff asked for a ticket she didn't have, but she just couldn't let go of Mikha's fingers.

Aiah's tears slipped the moment she met Mikha's gaze.

Mikha was smiling and nodding while gripping Aiah’s hand tightly. It was the only nonverbal cue she had left to finally say goodbye.

Shaking her head, Aiah forcefully pulled Mikha into her arms one last time. She embraced the woman even tighter as her heart shattered a little more. She pressed a final kiss to Mikha's forehead and tried to smile, though her hand still refused to let go.

Mikha was about to turn toward the gate when Aiah’s grip tightened. "Misis ko?" she called out softly.

Mikha turned back and met Aiah's yearning eyes.

"I love you."

Those three words were followed by one last kiss to Mikha's hand, then Aiah slowly let her fingers slide away. She turned her back quickly and walked toward the exit with a blurry vision. She refused to look back at Mikha. If she did, she knew she'd stop her. She'd beg her to stay, and she'd never let her go.

· · ─ ᨒ ོ ☼ ─ · ·

Back in Manila, the silence of the house was gone. Voices of accusations and hurtful words echoed through the hall, and every single one came from Sophia's family.

"I kept telling you that Mikha was a trouble magnet," Sophia's dad snapped, his voice booming. "She's reckless and always has been."

Sophia's mom joined in with a look of pure disgust. "This is just beyond stupid. How could you do something like this to Sophia after everything?"

There were more hurtful words. Every sentence felt like a jab that judged her entire character. She received an earful of what she should do and who she should be. Dictatorship lived in every corner of the room. 

Mikha couldn't do anything but nod. She swallowed her pride and her reasons as she fought to keep from crying. She was still wearing the clothes she wore in Cebu, and this was the welcome she received.

It wasn't a home anymore. 

It was an emotional courtroom where Mikha was the target, the victim, and the criminal all at once.

Sophia eventually called her into the home office. Mikha obeyed immediately. She clutched the signed documents to her chest like a bullied high school kid who knew she was the one about to get expelled. She sat in her chair like a queen while Mikha placed the document on the desk with trembling hands. A panic attack felt only seconds away.

Then Sophia pulled the document out to scan for the signature.

Mikha began to fidget in total anxiety. She forced herself to think of something calm to stay grounded. The only thing that came to her mind was the vivid image of Aiah.

That peace was halted the moment Sophia finally spoke.

"You forgot something," Sophia said. Her tone was ice cold and dangerously unpredictable.

Mikha stepped closer when Sophia gestured for her to move in. Sophia pulled out a pen and placed it firmly on top of the paper. She pointed to a blank line and showed Mikha exactly where she needed to sign.

Sophia just watched Mikha’s reaction. 

Mikha stared at the paper, but she wasn't looking at the blank space where her name should go. She was focused entirely on Aiah’s signature. 

Witnessing this sight broke every bit of composure Sophia had left. She watched Mikha play with the pen in her hand. The clicking sound was like a ticking bomb. 

Mikha didn't move an inch as her eyes stayed glued to Aiah’s name. Her own side of the document remained empty and waiting.

"I knew this would come," Sophia said suddenly. The words shocked Mikha out of her trance.

Mikha looked up and waited for a clarification that she already feared.

Sophia bit her lower lip to stop herself from crying. She took a shaky breath before she continued. "I knew you wouldn't be able to sign it," she whispered.

Mikha looked down as the truth slipped from Sophia’s mouth. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice trembling violently.

Sophia laughed painfully to herself. "What are you even saying sorry for?" she asked.

"For everything," Mikha answered.

Sophia wiped her tears away quickly. "Are you sorry for this accidental marriage of yours? Or is it for tainting our relationship? That’s fucking eight years!”

Eight years of their lives were now sitting on this desk.

Mikha swallowed hard as her own tears finally slipped free. It was all she could do.

Sophia wiped her eyes again with frustration. "Or are you sorry for falling in love with another woman?" she asked.

Those words made Mikha’s head snap upward. She met Sophia’s hurting eyes and felt the weight of her betrayal.

"Tell me, what does Aiah have that I don't?" Sophia asked painfully.

Mikha couldn't answer. She didn't know if there was a single word in the world that could answer that specific question. Sobs and sniffs filled the heavy silence of the room.

Mikha forced herself to find a response. "You are enough. You are more than eno—" she began. 

She failed to finish her sentence because Sophia suddenly yelled at her.

"Then why?!" Sophia screamed. She paused for a moment to try and compose herself, but her voice broke. "Please just fucking tell me what's wrong with me because I.. I need to understand why you would throw away our relationship like this."

This was the exact moment Mikha realized things were never going to work. Even her sentences weren't given a second to be heard. She was never given a chance to stand up or speak for herself. She realized then that it was her own mistake for letting everyone treat her this way for so long.

Mikha, with her lips trembling, looked at the woman she had loved for years. Her voice was close to begging as she spoke. "Can you just listen to me? Please, just for once."

Sophia noticed the tremors in Mikha's hands, but her rage won over any lingering sympathy. "As if you have anything left to say to justify your stupidity," she snapped. "Fine. Go ahead. Speak."

It was another painful emotional assault. 

Mikha had lost count of how many times she had taken these insults with a mix of pride and pity. She felt like a punching bag that was finally starting to tear.

Mikha still tried to reach her. She began to speak and slowly pointed out how she felt so small and insignificant in Sophia's life. "I feel like I don't even exist in your world sometimes," she whispered.

Sophia jabbed back instantly, refusing to hold any space for Mikha's pain. "That’s bullshit. That is all in your head. It was never intentional, so just grow up and stop being so sensitive."

Mikha bit her lower lip as she felt the sting of failing to be heard yet again. She was drowning in the middle of the room, but she decided she would try one more time.

Mikha took a deep breath as she tried to find the words to explain the hole in her chest. "I started to feel so small and useless the moment I dropped out of law school," she confessed.

Sophia didn't even blink as she shifted the blame back. "That was your choice in the first place, so don't act like I forced you out of your future."

Mikha shook her head while her eyes welled up with fresh tears. She tried again to reach a version of Sophia that might care. "I never once felt like you asked me what I actually wanted or validated any of my choices."

Sophia jabbed back with a cold and mocking laugh. "This isn't elementary school where you get a gold star just for showing up. Why are you talking about your wants when I let you work in such a useless industry anyway?"

Mikha felt the pain go even deeper as she tried to defend the one thing she had left. "I'm happy with my career. I actually love what I'm doing for a living."

"Oh, really?" Sophia countered. Her voice was sharp and dripping with sarcasm. "Law school would've been a much better option if you were so thirsty for the validation you keep nagging about."

Mikha finally snapped out of pure frustration. "Law school isn't for me! It wasn't even my dream to begin with!"

Sophia let out a pitying laugh at the mention of dreams. "That little dream of yours won't take you anywhere in the real world. You're going to regret choosing a hobby over a career when reality finally hits you."

The room was filled with the sound of sharp exchanges and heavy jabs. Every word Sophia threw was meant to cut, and every defense Mikha offered was tossed aside as if it meant nothing at all.

Mikha scoffed as a wave of pity for herself washed over her. She couldn't win a single argument against someone who lived to litigate. "You… you really are a lawyer, aren't you?" she whispered. "Everything is just a case to be won."

Sophia didn't miss a beat as she fired back. "And you're just an immature adult who doesn't want to grow the fuck up and face reality."

"Can you please stop telling me what to do!?" Mikha jabbed, her voice finally rising in volume.

Sophia stepped closer with a cold glare. "Why? Is it because you're getting offended by the truth? If only you stop acting like a child then maybe everyone around you wouldn't feel the need to try and parent you."

"Not everyone!" Mikha snapped, her yell echoing off the office walls.

Sophia fell silent and only looked at her. She crossed her arms and waited for Mikha to find the courage to complete that sentence.

Mikha inhaled sharply and met Sophia's eyes with a newfound strength. "You’re wrong. Not everyone treats me the way you and your family do," she stated clearly.

Sophia scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Let me guess. You're talking about Aiah, aren't you?"

Mikha didn't answer that. Instead, she pushed forward with the truth she’d been hiding for years. "Instead of asking what's wrong with you, maybe we should talk about what you've been doing. We should talk about how you always have to be right all the time."

Sophia was taken aback by the sudden fire in Mikha’s eyes. She actually took a small step back.

"It's suffocating to be around you sometimes," Mikha continued, her voice trembling but steady. "I can't move. I… I can't breathe. I can't even be myself without you judging every part of who I am."

This time, Sophia didn't have a rebuttal. She remained silent as she watched Mikha unravel.

"It feels like… I live under your strict commands and your constant demands," Mikha said through gritted teeth. "Like… I'm under your dictation every single day. It’s like I've been living under a fucking martial law."

Sophia's jaw tightened at the mention of martial law, but she still didn't speak.

"Even in bed," Mikha continued, her tears flowing freely now. "Everything always depends on your needs alone. My comfort never mattered as long as you were satisfied."

Sophia slowly met Mikha's eyes, her expression unreadable but clearly shaken.

"I would just.. lay there and… and cry sometimes," Mikha confessed painfully. "That even intimacy felt… wrong, yet I just took it because… that's what I trained myself to do."

"You could've said something," Sophia bit back, her voice finally returning.

Mikha didn't back down for a second. "For what? So I could get another earful of sermons about how I'm being too sensitive or how I'm doing everything wrong?"

Sophia went quiet again. 

She had no answer for that.

"You’re too focused on my lapses and my imperfections, that you failed to see the truth," Mikha said, her body shaking. "I… I've been so unhappy for the past few years. I felt like I had to be a certain standard. That I.. I had to be someone I'm not just to fit into your world."

The room was filled with the sound of Mikha's heavy sobs and ragged breathing.

"I felt like… like I wasn't enough," she trembled. "I felt small, useless, and unworthy. I... I felt dumb every time I was surrounded by your family and their expectations."

Sophia only listened now. The queen had lost her crown in the face of such raw pain.

"Sophia… I tried," Mikha whispered through her tears. "I loved you with everything that I was, and I… I'm completely empty now."

Sophia looked at Mikha, really looking at her for the first time in a long time.

"I really.. really tried so hard to fit in," Mikha concluded. "I tried to be enough and… and I tried to play an identity that wasn't mine. But I'm just human, Sophia. I'm just a human who got tired of everything."

Sophia sat back in her chair while the paper remained resting on her desk.

Mikha didn't stop there. She continued admitting everything she’d kept buried for years. "It was draining to be your partner, Sophia. I felt like I was constantly running a race I could never win."

Sophia leaned back and stared at her coldly. "So falling for Aiah was easy then, wasn't it?"

Mikha met her eyes and stepped closer to the table. She looked down at Aiah’s signature one more time before answering. "With Aiah, I learned to love myself more. That’s what made it easy."

Sophia paused and searched Mikha’s face for any sign of a lie. She found none. Mikha was telling the truth.

"With her, I felt at peace," Mikha continued, her voice gaining a strange sort of calm. "I felt secure. I felt human. Most importantly, I finally felt like myself again."

Sophia looked down at the desk then glanced back up as Mikha moved even closer to the table.

"Isn't that what a relationship is supposed to be?" Mikha asked softly.

Sophia held Mikha’s gaze but stayed silent.

"Those feelings have been gone from our relationship for a very long time," Mikha said with finality.

Sophia quickly wiped her tears away with the back of her hand. 

Mikha reached out and used her own hand to gently wipe the remaining dampness from Sophia’s cheek. "I have loved you with everything I had," she whispered. "I’m so sorry for everything."

Mikha pulled away slowly. She put the pen back down on the desk and left her own signature line completely empty. She turned and prepared to leave the room.

Sophia spoke once more, refusing to let her off the hook just yet. Even though that abandoned pen was a clear confirmation of her choice, she issued one last warning. 

"You’re about to make the biggest mistake of your life, Mikha."

Mikha faced her and gave her a flat, tired smile. "I already have."

Sophia waited for the next words, her breath caught in her throat.

"I already made the biggest mistake of my life by not loving myself," Mikha explained. "I was too busy emptying myself out just to keep you full."

Sophia nodded subtly. It was a massive punch to her ego. She looked down at the floor then lifted her eyes again. She finally accepted defeat for the first time in her life. 

"I already knew things would end up like this," Sophia admitted. "I knew it the moment you flew to Cebu for those damn signatures."

Mikha wiped her eyes and walked back to Sophia. She pulled her into one last hug and thanked her for the years they spent together. 

It was a final goodbye to a life she no longer recognized.

Sophia felt her knees weaken as she slowly sat back and cried. She watched Mikha walk out the door. She couldn't bear the crushing weight inside her chest. It felt like her heart might actually explode from the pure pain.

She already knew. 

No one had to tell her. 

She already knew since she could feel the shift in the air for a long time.

Maybe that's why she felt so threatened by Aiah's very presence from the start. 

Maybe that was the real reason Mikha married Aiah in the first place, even in a state of pure intoxication.

Sophia knew Mikha all too well. 

After all, they had spent eight years together. 

She knew Mikha was clingy and honest. Most importantly, she knew Mikha stayed level-headed even during her drunken moments. Sophia was pretty confident that Mikha might not remember every single detail of that accidental marriage, but her mind was likely as clear as day when she signed those certificates.

Sophia knew deep down that everything would end like this. She still fought for her chance anyway. It was eight years of her life, and she was finally ready to settle down.

Perhaps that's why Mikha would always shut down or distance herself whenever the topic of settling down came up. 

Perhaps those years together were just a useless number in the end.

Perhaps she only contributed to the person Mikha became, but Mikha was never really hers to hold on to for a lifetime.

This was really it.

Even with all the pain she was feeling right now, hearing Mikha's truths for the first time made her realize her own mistakes. 

Although, it was too late now. 

She wished she had heard those words years ago. Maybe they wouldn't have reached this point. Maybe they wouldn't have to hurt each other like this.

Mikha was completely drained and emptied out. 

Sophia's heart and soul were crushed into pieces.

Maybe they really got lost in translation, or maybe she asked for too much, and that greed caused her to lose Mikha forever.

Sophia exhaled a shaky breath as she took the divorce paper and stared at it painfully. She opened her desk drawer and was greeted by the future she had hoped to build with Mikha. 

There, resting in the velvet lining, was the engagement ring she had been keeping for months. 

It felt like the box was staring back at her. It mocked her for the first time in her life. She had finally lost a case, and it was the biggest one she would ever face.

· · ─ ᨒ ོ ☼ ─ · ·

Three months passed.

Aiah sat in front of her laptop and checked for upcoming flight details. She lost count of how many flights she'd caught gracefully since then. 

None of them ever truly reached the destination she hoped for, mostly since that destination was never a physical place.

During those three months, she deactivated all her social media accounts. She wanted to stop being so pathetic and desperate. She was tired of hurting herself by looking for something—anything—that might help her forget, though nothing ever did, since it all reminded her of everything.

She spent her time on the balcony of their traditional family house. She preferred this over her own home because she didn't want to drown in the quiet of a place where her wife’s presence occupied every corner. 

Every time she caught a glimpse of that house, she vividly imagined Mikha around every turn. The reality hit her too hard when she realized she could never have those moments back. Mikha’s short existence in her life felt like a beautiful dream. 

Now, all Aiah wanted was to go back to that time.

If only it were possible. 

But it wasn't an option.

It felt petty and pathetic to admit, but the house she bought the moment she learned she had a wife was already listed on the marketplace. 

She decided to sell everything. 

Every single piece of furniture had to go. This was her way of coping with the loss. She needed to let go of the physical things that reminded her of what she no longer had.

Aiah looked up at the clouds. She pretended to be interested in the sky, but she only tilted her head to stop the tears from spilling down. 

She didn't realize that her family was there, already worried about her. They noticed everything. They watched and observed in silence without pressing her for answers.

Aiah occupied herself with far too much work. She filled her days with flight schedules and travels. She was escaping as if she were chasing something… or someone, but that certain someone had already stopped running long ago. That person was likely spending the rest of her lifetime with somebody else.

A notification on her phone pulled her from the haze. It was a confirmation email stating the house had been sold and the buyer wanted to meet her tomorrow to finalize the deal.

Her eyes landed on the date displayed on her laptop and the date after. It felt like the universe was mocking her and making a cruel joke out of her pain.

Tomorrow is April 1.

Supposedly, tomorrow was their first wedding anniversary.

Aiah’s mind drifted freely to the events of that day last year. Her memories played back without her consent. 

It had started as a business venture in LA centered around a corporate gala with a short after-party. That event was a hub where business owners, investors, and politicians gathered to toast drinks and settle contracts. 

Aiah was there as her brand had finally taken off. She attended alone but made a lasting impression on everyone she met. She shook hands and handled business talks with grace. She managed to lure in investors without taking a single shot since she had a light alcohol intolerance. She stayed completely sober to ensure she didn't mess anything up in the business world.

Then, she saw her.

A woman was across the room trying her absolute best to handle business talks. She took every shot offered to her without a second thought even though her cheeks were already blushing and her eyes looked sleepy. Aiah found her incredibly adorable. 

That was the first time she ever laid eyes on Mikha.

Even intoxicated, Mikha seemed mostly level-headed. She was just slightly loud and fumbled with her words. She appeared to be alone as well, so Aiah kept a close eye on her without really intending to.

Eventually, a friendly and obviously drunk city mayor became entertained by Mikha's company. He happened to know Aiah too, which resulted in all three of them sharing a table. 

Mikha looked like a complete sweetheart with her red cheeks and neck. Aiah could tell she was still present despite the drinks.

The mayor brought up the infamous quote that “Whatever happens in LA, stays in LA.”

He shared stories about how he officiated civil weddings for couples and how much he admired those relationships. He even produced a blank sample of an official marriage license.

Driven by his own alcohol intake, he began officiating a mock civil wedding. He pushed his new friends—Mikha and Aiah—to fill out the pages as if the ceremony were real. With sluggish words and hooded eyes, he finally cheered for them. "I now pronounce you wife and wife! You may now kiss!" He clapped for himself happily while Mikha joined in the celebration.

Mikha was clearly drunk and purely charming at that moment. She looked at Aiah with a grin. "Come here, Misis ko," she called out. "He said you should kiss me."

Aiah was taken aback by that endearment. 

Misis ko.

As she had never imagined herself settling down since she was too busy surviving in the present. Still, she moved closer. She leaned down toward a pouting Mikha and kissed her. She didn't choose Mikha's lips. Instead, she kissed her forehead to seal whatever bond they had created that night.

Later that evening, Aiah brought her back to her hotel room. 

Mikha started mumbling about her heavy baggages and her hidden pains. She talked about feeling like a disappointment and a puppet. She confessed that she hadn't felt like herself for a very long time.

Aiah heard every word. 

Not once did Mikha mention having a girlfriend. 

As Aiah settled Mikha into her bed, she brushed a stray hair from her face. "I hope we get to meet again," she whispered into the quiet room. "and I hope if that time comes, you're in a happier state and definitely sober."

Aiah never imagined that a playful mock wedding would actually be valid and official. Even if it were real, she didn't expect to ever cross paths with Mikha again. It felt as if the constellations aligned perfectly. 

After that night in LA, Aiah couldn't get Mikha out of her head, and it was a miracle when Mikha eventually came to her voluntarily.

The moment she learned she actually had a wife, Aiah went out and bought a house. The purchase made her entire family question her sanity. They prayed she wasn't losing her mind since they knew she wasn't the type to settle down. 

Aiah was never static or stagnant. She wasn't the kind of person to slow down for anyone. She usually preferred the excitement of a new flight and a foreign country over a random date. She found more interest in hiking or jogging than in sharing a dinner with a partner. 

Every time she tried to take things seriously in the past, people would exit her life as quickly as possible. They always gave the same reason. 

They wanted someone who was ready to settle down.

That reason always felt like an insult to Aiah. She wanted that life and was more than capable of providing it. However, she viewed a relationship like an investment. You had to make sure the person was worthy of the risk. Based on her experiences, she truly believed marriage just wasn't meant for her.

That was all before she met Mikha.

She couldn't forget the image of Mikha signing those marriage certificates so happily. Even in her drunken state, Mikha acted as if she had just signed the biggest and best deal of her life and she looked like she truly wanted it, wanted Aiah more than anything. 

Aiah wasn't into the idea of slowing down or settling for a future before, but Mikha was a complete exception. But now, it was a harsh realization that she couldn't hold onto a future with Mikha since Mikha was already bound to another person.

Perhaps time is just a stupid measurement. 

It feels like typical numbers slapping us with the reality of our limits. That short period of time with Mikha was the best part and the absolute highlight of Aiah's life. It mattered more than the expensive travels or the business achievements. Those moments made reality feel like a beautiful dream.

Aiah could only reminisce about their time together. Hoping or praying for another chance felt forbidden since she knew the full weight of the truth.

The next day finally came.

If Aiah didn't have a long day ahead with the house, she'd be chasing another jetlag right now to forget what today is. She didn't want to move a single muscle, yet she forced herself to get up. She hoped her mind would stay occupied enough to get through the day. She drove to the house early. 

It was supposed to be her and Mikha's house.

She knew she shouldn't be thinking about this, but she couldn't help herself. All Aiah could do was stare at the corners where Mikha once stood. 

She touched the countertops where Mikha used to lean. She even found herself standing inside Mikha’s bedroom. It might seem crazy, but she could still smell Mikha’s scent lingering in the room.

Every glance and every image of Mikha's existence in this house was a deeper cut to Aiah’s soul. It felt like she was reopening the wound again and again only to rub salt in it.

Aiah wiped her tears and took a deep breath. She composed herself so she could face the buyer. She needed to endorse the house properly and stay professional.

As Aiah stepped outside after receiving a message that the buyer had already arrived, she spotted a red-haired woman with her back turned, wearing an off-shoulder long-sleeved top and flared jeans. Again, Aiah shook her head, steadied her breathing, cleared her mind, and set everything aside for a moment.

The woman was looking at Aiah’s BMW X5, an attention-grabber on its own, yet the red-haired woman seemed to be studying it with quiet familiarity. 

Still, Aiah chose not to dwell on it. 

All she wanted was to get this over with so she could catch her flight, or escape this day that kept reminding her of her wife.

As if sensing her presence, the red-haired woman turned and faced Aiah, and in that instant, Aiah forgot how to breathe.

Mikha.

With that vibrant burgundy hair that suited her far too well, Aiah couldn’t help but stare.

God, I missed her so much.

Aiah couldn’t move, her body frozen as she tried to understand if this was real or just another cruel dream.

Mikha was the one to take the first step. She kept her eyes locked on Aiah as she spoke. "Hi, I'm actually the buyer," she introduced herself softly.

Aiah blinked in confusion since she'd been communicating with a completely different person. "I was talking to a woman named Maloi," she managed to say.

Mikha offered a small, shy smile. "Ahh, yeah. I actually asked my friend to help me with the inquiry. Maloi was just doing me a favor."

Aiah nodded, as if jolted back to her senses. She cleared her throat, then stepped aside and gestured to the entrance. Mikha followed, offering her a soft smile.

Once inside, Aiah fell silent. She didn’t know if she should even explain the details of the house to Mikha, since Mikha had practically lived here. She was the reason Aiah bought this house, and the same reason she was now selling it.

Mikha roamed around quietly, and Aiah followed at a distance, careful not to intrude or take up space too close to her. She felt like she might break if she got any closer. So she kept herself in check, not wanting to cause any more trouble, even as her chest ached.

Her thoughts spiraled. 

She wondered if Mikha had bought the house for herself and Sophia. Maybe they were already married and in that case, the divorce papers have been processed already. 

The idea tightened something in Aiah’s chest, made worse by the fact that she couldn’t see any ring on Mikha’s fingers. The long sleeves of her off-shoulder top hid her hands, while her bare shoulder caught Aiah’s gaze, making her swallow and silently pray.

Mikha broke the silence as she looked around the familiar space. "I haven't noticed any changes in the house since the last time I saw it," she remarked softly.

Aiah cleared her throat before she found the strength to answer. "I really didn't want to change a thing," she admitted.

Mikha could only nod as they reached the living room again. She continued to drink in the sight of the house and the details she loved the first time she saw it. She looked at the furniture and every small touch that made the place feel whole.

Aiah couldn't help herself anymore. The question escaped her lips before she could think better of it. "How are you?"

Mikha met her eyes. Aiah saw sparkles and a vibrant sense of life in them that hadn't been there before. 

"I'm great," Mikha answered as she stepped slowly into Aiah's personal space.

Aiah's emotions were at their peak. She felt like she was about to lose control. She wanted to grab the red-haired woman and pull her into a tight hug since she missed her so badly it felt like a physical weight.

"Bahay niyo?" Aiah asked, though the word she used was meant for a life Mikha would share with someone else.

Mikha didn't answer right away, instead she glanced around the room for a moment before her gaze returned to Aiah's yearning eyes and then she spoke.

"Bahay natin."

Those simple words made Aiah's heart race. It felt like she was reaching the peak of a beautiful dream, and she was terrified to wake up.

But before Aiah could form a response in her lagging brain, Mikha stepped closer and closer. She didn't stop until she was finally able to wrap Aiah in a deep embrace.

Mikha stood on her tiptoes to reach Aiah’s neck and wrapped her arms tightly around the taller woman. "I missed you," she whispered into Aiah's skin.

Aiah’s tears fell instantly as she pulled Mikha into her arms with a desperate strength. "I missed you too," she responded. "I missed you so bad."

They spent several minutes lost in that embrace before they finally pulled away. Even then, they stayed close enough to feel each other's breath.

Aiah searched Mikha's face while her mind tried to keep up. "I don't understand," she admitted. "I thought you were getting married. I thought the divorce was being processed."

Mikha chuckled softly to herself and shook her head. "I never signed those papers," she revealed.

Aiah felt those words hit her chest with a force that made her want to sob. She still couldn't let go of her fears though. "What about Sophia?" she asked. "I thought you two were going to get married."

Mikha didn't let her gaze waver from Aiah’s eyes for a single second. She reached down and took Aiah’s hand in hers. "There are things not worth fixing, and yes, I am getting married," she said firmly. "But only if that someone says yes to me first."

Aiah heard and understood, but she couldn't comprehend what was happening until Mikha reached for her own necklace. She pulled the chain out to reveal the pendants. Mikha unclasped it and carefully caught the pendants in her hand.

Two rings.

They were Cartier love rings.

Mikha offered a playful tease even as her voice trembled. "We didn't have a proper ring last time, so I thought it was about time we finally got one."

Aiah lifted her gaze from the rings in Mikha’s palm to the eyes she had missed every day for months. She couldn't help but mutter a single name. "Misis ko..." she whispered as the tears slipped down her cheeks.

Mikha used her free hand to wipe Aiah’s tears before she answered. "Po? Misis ko?" she asked softly, letting her own tears fall at last.

Aiah couldn't help but become even more emotional as she heard Mikha use that endearment. 

It made her knees weak.

The only reason she ever called Mikha that was that Mikha said it first in her adorable and drunken state.

Mikha exhaled and spoke with a nervous tremble in her voice. "Would you give me the honor of being your wife?" she asked. "I want to do this again for the second time, but I want to do it properly this time."

Aiah could hardly believe what was happening. She held Mikha’s gaze and nodded along with every single word. "Yes, of course," she spoke. "A million times yes. I wouldn't want anyone else but you."

Mikha nervously slid the gold ring onto Aiah’s finger. Aiah took the silver one and slid it onto Mikha’s finger in return. They both placed the bands where they belonged a long time ago. The rings proved they were truly married.

Mikha didn't wait another second. She reached out and pulled Aiah in by her waist to capture her lips in a deep, desperate kiss. She kissed the woman she loved and still loves. 

It was a seal on a promise that was no longer an accident.

The house was no longer for sale. The flights to escape a certain reality were no longer needed. The universe wasn't mocking her after all. It was just waiting for the right time to return what was always theirs. 

The heavy weight of the past three months finally evaporated as they stood in the center of the home they were no longer leaving. 

Aiah pulled back just enough to trace the line of Mikha’s jaw. She felt the warmth of the skin she thought she'd lost forever. She let a small, playful smirk tug at her lips. "You know," she whispered. Her voice was low and teasing. "We still haven't actually had our honeymoon, Misis ko."

The comment caught Mikha off guard. A deep, vibrant blush crept up her neck and flooded her cheeks, matching the burgundy of her hair. She looked down for a second, but she didn't pull away. She definitely wasn't ignoring the idea.

Aiah tilted her head and let her eyes wander toward the stairs. "So," she asked softly. "Kwarto mo or kwarto ko?"

Mikha didn't hesitate this time. She stepped closer into Aiah’s space and looked up with a gaze full of certainty. "Kwarto natin," she answered simply.

They leaned in again. Their lips met in a slow, lingering promise of everything the future held.

The certificates signed in a blur of LA lights were no longer a mistake or a burden to carry. They were the foundation of a life built on choosing each other when the world told them not to. 

Every doubt had been silenced and every tear had been worth the journey back to this moment. 

Aiah remained the wife, and she was home to stay now that Mikha was finally home.

── 𝓯𝓲𝓷. ᯓ ✈︎ ⋆°•* ੈ♡‧₊˚

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