Anthologies {MIKHAIAH AU}

june gloom pt 1

A/N: Incoming angst coming through!

Aiah wasn't sure if she was cursed, haunted, or just the butt of some cosmic joke. It had been six months since she and Mikha had broken up, and yet Mikha kept showing up. Not in ways that could be brushed off as coincidence, like an old photo resurfacing on her feed or a random mention from mutual friends. No, Mikha's presence was deliberate, inconvenient, and worst of all—impossible to ignore.

The first time it happened, it was a message.

It was one of those dreary mornings when the rain clung to the windows like regret. Aiah was on the train to work, staring at the gray smear of the city outside. She wasn't thinking of Mikha—not really. She was thinking about her deadline, about her rent, about how June felt more like a never-ending funeral march.

Then her phone buzzed.

She pulled it out absentmindedly, expecting spam or an email, but when she saw the name on the screen, her stomach dropped.

Mikha.

The message read: "Umuulan d'yan? Naalala ko lang, sabi mo dati, parang nalulungkot ka palagi pag gloomy."

For a long time, Aiah just stared at the text, her thumb hovering over the keyboard. Her first instinct was to delete it, but something in the familiarity of it stopped her. Mikha had always been good at that—saying something small that cracked Aiah open, making her feel like she was a puzzle only Mikha could solve.

She didn't reply. What could she even say? Instead, she shoved her phone into her pocket and pretended the words hadn't curled their way under her skin.

But then there was the second time.

It was a Saturday night, and Aiah had agreed to meet her friends at a cramped bar in Makati. The music was too loud, the air thick with sweat and alcohol, but it was better than staying home alone, spiraling into her own head. She was nursing a rum coke and pretending to laugh at a story she wasn't really listening to when she felt it—that electric static in her chest.

She turned, and there Mikha was.

Nakasandal sa bar, wearing that worn-out leather jacket Aiah used to tease her about, one hand resting on the counter, the other holding a glass of gin. Her dark curls framed her face, still messy in that effortlessly cool way that used to drive Aiah crazy. She wasn't even looking at Aiah, but somehow it felt like the room had tilted toward her anyway.

Mikha glanced up, and their eyes met. She smiled—soft, almost guilty. Aiah's heart tightened like a fist.

And then Mikha's hand shifted, just slightly, and Aiah saw it. The girl next to her, leaning in close, whispering something into Mikha's ear that made her laugh.

Of course. Of course Mikha was with someone else.

Aiah wanted to look away, to pretend she hadn't seen anything, but she couldn't. She was rooted to the spot, drowning in the memory of how easy it used to be, how effortless it had always felt between them—until it wasn't.

Mikha didn't approach her. She didn't wave or call out, didn't even give any indication she might come over. She just looked at Aiah, held her gaze for one more heartbeat, and then turned back to her date like nothing had happened.

That night, Aiah lay awake, staring at the ceiling of her apartment. The smile Mikha had given her wouldn't leave her mind. It wasn't cruel, exactly, but it wasn't kind either. It was... deliberate. Like she wanted Aiah to see her, to remember her, to feel her absence as much as her presence.

And now today.

Aiah had been walking home from the farmer's market, her canvas bag full of strawberries and pandesal, when she saw her.