32 GB - Mikhaiah Fanfiction

23 - Present

Cebu City - May 25, 2024

The sun was low, casting soft orange light over the yard. We were sitting on the porch, sipping on cold drinks after another long, uneventful day of searching for the unknown when suddenly Micah spoke.

"Do you ever wonder," she began, her tone thoughtful, "if there's a possibility that we could find... you? I mean, the present version of you?" Micah said, her face was lit with curiosity as she stared out into the horizon.

I blinked, taken aback by the question. The idea of seeing myself in this time—older, possibly different—had crossed my mind, but I hadn't given it serious thought. The possibility seemed unreal, too strange to contemplate fully. But as Micah asked, I could feel her genuine curiosity.

"At first, that idea sounded exciting," I said slowly, considering the weight of the question. "I mean, who wouldn't want to see themselves in the future? It's like having the answers to all the big questions. Do I live a full life? Am I happy?"

Micah nodded, clearly intrigued. "Exactly. What if we found you, the version of you that exists now? Wouldn't that be something?"

A part of me wanted to say yes. The thought of knowing what happened to me, if I ever found my way back to my time, or if I lived out my life here, was tempting. But a quiet unease settled in my chest. I shook my head lightly.

"I think... I don't want to know," I said softly. Micah looked at me, surprised.

"Why not?" she asked gently.

"Well," I sighed, trying to find the words. "What if I've already died? Or what if I never made it back? What if... there's no present version of me at all? I don't want to live my life knowing the ending before it's even written. I'm here now, and whatever happens, I want it to unfold naturally."

Micah's expression softened, understanding dawning in her eyes. "I hadn't thought of it like that."

"Besides," I added with a small smile, "this version of me—this is the one that matters. There's no guarantee that I'll make it back to 1959. Maybe I'm just meant to live here, in this time, without looking for answers about my future. Maybe this is my life now."

Micah nodded slowly. "You're right. I guess there's something special about not knowing. It keeps things... open, you know? Free."

"Exactly," I agreed. "I don't want to ruin the mystery by finding out too much. I want to see where this takes me, day by day. It's the only way to really live."

Micah smiled at that, but I could see a flicker of worry in her eyes. "What if... we don't find anything? About how you got here, I mean?"

I shrugged, feeling a strange calm settle over me. "Maybe that's okay. I have you, right?"

Her smile widened, and in that moment, I knew we both felt the same pull—a quiet, growing connection that didn't need answers or a plan. Just the present. Just us.

Micah shifted beside me, resting her elbows on her knees, her eyes distant for a moment as if imagining the situation for herself. Then she glanced at me with a thoughtful expression.

"If it were me," she began, her voice soft but steady, "I'd probably want to know. I mean, I get it, wanting to live without knowing the ending, but... I think I'd go looking for myself. I'd try to find out what happened—if I had a family, if I was happy. Just knowing would give me peace of mind, you know?"

I listened closely, the way her mind worked always was fascinating to me. Micah continued, "I don't think I could live with all that uncertainty. I'd feel like I needed closure, even if it wasn't the answer I wanted. And I'd want to know if I could change anything, if my future was already written or if I still had control."

She paused, a small, almost sad smile forming on her lips. "But I guess that's just me. I like to know where I'm going. Otherwise, I feel... lost."

I didn't need to ask why. I already understood—maybe more than she realized. There was a quiet parallel between us, both of us wandering through different times, both uncertain of what the future held. 

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Cebu City - May 28, 2024

The thought had been lingering in my mind for days—what if I could find Aida online? What if some trace of her existed in this time, some clue to her past, her future, something that would explain how she ended up here?

One night, after we'd both turned in—Aida on the couch, me in my bed—I found myself grabbing my laptop, unable to let the thought go. I typed "Aida" into the search bar, feeling a pang of guilt for trying to pry into her life, but I couldn't help it. I had to know.

I tried different combinations. Her name. "Aida 1959," then narrowing it down—local schools, teachers, anything. But nothing. Not a single clue.

Aida wasn't exactly a rare name, and the results that did come up were useless—artists, random people, none of them her.

After a while, frustration bubbled up inside me. Of course, she wouldn't be easy to find. It's like searching for a needle in a haystack, but part of me had hoped it wouldn't be this hard. Part of me had hoped that maybe I could stumble across something—anything—that would help her.

But no matter how many times I refreshed the page, no matter how many keywords I entered, there was no Aida. Not the one I was looking for, anyway.

I closed the laptop and sighed. Aida wasn't someone who would be remembered in the way I thought. She hadn't lived a life that left a trail in the world I could follow online. And I guess... that made her more real in a strange way. Just a person. No grand history or fame. Just Aida.

I sat back, staring at the dark ceiling, wondering if she'd want to know that I'd been searching, though I knew deep down she would not have liked what I've done.