Hookup ✓ [MikhAiah] [Book #3]

37

MIKI's POV

We've got two days left to practice for the album and a few of Yves's songs. I take a deep breath as I carefully place my electric guitar back in its case, feeling the weight of hours of rehearsal finally lift off my shoulders. We played smoothly today—no song needed a second take. Chase, Gale, and Johanne were focused and prepared, right down to the tiniest detail. At this point, the only thing we need to work on is coordinating our set with Yves.

"Good job, girls." Aira's voice carries over to us, confident and focused. "You may take your break and, before you go, take a quick look at tomorrow's schedule and the songs you need to practice for Yves." She closes the notebook in her hands with a satisfied snap and looks over at us with a small smile. "Two days left, guys. And if you get a chance later, check your outfits in the prep room."

I meet her gaze for a second, noting how her expression softens just slightly, but there's a tiredness underneath that smile that only someone who knows her well might notice.

"Thanks for today, Ai." Gale and Johanne say in unison, and I watch Chase walk up to her. A pang of jealousy stirs inside me, but I push it down, trying to remind myself that I don't have any right to feel this way. Aira is her own person.

Lost in my own thoughts, I'm caught off guard when I hear Aira's voice: "I'm sorry, Chase. Let's talk next time." Her tone is gentle but firm, and something in it tells me she really isn't ready to talk about what's weighing on her mind.

"Alright, sorry," Chase replies, but Aira just smiles softly, her expression kind and understanding.

"It's alright. I just... don't think I'm ready to discuss personal things right now," Aira says, and I find myself thinking about how that kindness was always a part of her, even when we were kids. It's easy to see why Chase grew to care about her so deeply. Aira hasn't changed at all... not in the ways that matter.

"I'll see you guys in the next practice session," Aira says, slinging her bag over her shoulder. I want to stop her, to tell her something—anything—but I can tell she needs some space right now. Sometimes the best thing I can do for her is let her have that.

AIRA's POV

I leave the studio, phone in hand as I walk down the hallway. My name feels strange, almost distant, like it doesn't quite fit. Hearing it from everyone, from him—

"Aira." His voice echoes in the hallway, and I stop, turning around. "Dad." I manage a small smile as he approaches me.

"How are you?" he asks, his eyes scanning my face. "Still feeling a little migraine?"

I shake my head gently. "No... not today, at least." I try to keep my tone light as we fall into step, walking side by side down the quiet hall.

"That's good to hear," he says, but there's a hint of something else in his voice—a kind of weariness. He places a gentle hand on my hair, ruffling it the way he did when I was a kid. "Ikaw? how about you, Dad?" I ask, glancing up at him.

"I'm fine," he says, but his tone is soft, as if he's carrying something heavy. "Just... a little tired and overwhelmed by everything that's happening."

He pauses as we reach his office door, and his expression darkens. "Yves has officially resigned. This concert will be her last one." He glances at me, "She's marrying the prince. It'll be a huge event here in the country."

We step into his office, and the cool air washes over us. "You still have the girls," I say, trying to reassure him, giving his shoulder a gentle pat.

He chuckles, nodding. "That's true. They're on the rise," he adds with a touch of pride.

As he walks over to his desk, he pulls a cola from his mini-fridge and tosses it to me. I catch it easily, the can cool against my hand. "How was practice pala?"

I crack open the can, the soft hiss breaking the silence. "They're doing well. Everything went smoothly today."

"Yeah, they're young, but they handle the pressure well." He sinks into his chair while I settle onto the couch in front of his desk, feeling the weight of the necklace around my neck. I trace a finger over the locket, feeling the familiar coolness of the metal against my skin.

"Dad," I start, my voice almost a whisper. "Can I ask you something?"

He straightens in his chair, looking at me attentively. "Of course. What is it?"

I pull the necklace from around my neck, letting it dangle between us, catching the faint glimmer of the light. He sighs, almost as if he's been waiting for this moment.

"It's about the necklace?" he asks, and I nod.

He moves over to sit beside me, taking the locket in his hand, studying it. "I got this for your mother," he says softly, the locket cradled in his palm. "And I had the key to it." He pauses, a faint smile crossing his lips. "We had this family picnic, just the three of us. Your mother gave it to you when you were young, and she gave you the key to it too."

I listen intently, trying to piece together these fragments of a memory that still feel unfamiliar.

"It was meant for you to give the key to someone you cared about, someone you wanted in your future." His voice trails off as he looks at the locket with a fondness that makes my chest ache.

I turn the thought over in my mind, feeling the weight of its meaning. "I was supposed to give the key to someone?"

He nods, chuckling softly. "Your mom said that day, you'd given the key to a little kid you met on the playground. But you always had good taste in people, Aira. I'm sure you'll meet that person." He smiles, patting my shoulder as he presses the locket back into my hand.

For a moment, we sit there in silence, both of us caught in our own memories.

"One of the doctors actually suggested that it might help if you visited familiar places," he adds after a pause. "Maybe something will spark in your memory—a face or a feeling."

I nod slowly, my mind racing with the possibilities but he speaks again, "Luckily, the concert's being held close to where we used to live. Yves is planning it there for her final concert since it's her hometown too."

"Where?" I ask, a hint of hope in my voice.

He glances over at me, a nostalgic glint in his eyes. "Batangas," he says, "Try paying the playground a visit after the concert."