Anthologies {MIKHAIAH AU}

we can't be friends pt 1

Mikha doesn't know what she'd ever done to offend Aiah. It seemed to be the default setting in the tall brunette's mood whenever they were in the same room as the people they both considered mutual friends.

She thought back to when they first met, a few years ago. Colet, one of her closest friends, had introduced them at a local café. "This is Aiah, from my running club," Colet had said, smiling warmly. Aiah had smiled too—a radiant, room-brightening smile, her soft features inviting and her presence magnetic. She was tall and elegant, with a quiet confidence that drew attention without arrogance.

At the time, Mikha had been impressed. She'd noticed the way Aiah's eyes sparkled when she spoke, the easy grace with which she carried herself. Mikha had even thought: No wonder Colet likes her. She's amazing.

But that awe had quickly given way to confusion. From the start, Aiah had been distant with her—aloof, almost dismissive. The warmth she gave to their other friends was unmistakable. She was playful with Maloi and Stacey, thoughtful with Gwen and Sheena. With Colet and Jhoanna, she seemed like the perfect confidante.

And yet, with Mikha? The temperature dropped. Aiah's smiles faded, her tone turned clipped, her attention fleeting. Mikha felt like an afterthought, a piece of scenery in the room rather than part of the group.

She never asked why. She wasn't sure she wanted to know.

/

But she couldn't deny how much it bothered her. Over time, Aiah's coldness became an itch Mikha couldn't scratch. It wasn't just the indifference—it was the contrast. Aiah treated everyone else like they were sunlight, like they belonged. Why was Mikha the exception? What invisible line had she crossed, or what unspoken rule had she broken?

She tried to let it roll off her back. She told herself not everyone had to like her. And it worked, mostly—until last week, when the universe decided to upend everything.

It had started as a typical Thursday night hangout at Colet's apartment. Wine bottles cluttered the counter, half-empty bags of chips sat scattered on the coffee table, and a Spotify playlist hummed low in the background. Mikha had been feeling unusually at ease that night. Stacey had roped her into a silly debate about the best bread for sandwiches, and for once, Mikha wasn't watching Aiah out of the corner of her eye.

And then Colet, ever the instigator, leaned forward with a sly grin. "Okay, we're playing a game," she announced. "Truth or Dare."

Mikha groaned inwardly. These games always led to confessions people weren't ready to make or dares designed to humiliate. But she stayed, because she didn't want to be the killjoy.

When it was Aiah's turn, Colet barely hesitated. "Truth," Aiah said, leaning back on the couch with her usual calm.

"Okay," Colet said, dragging out the word like she was savoring the moment. "Why don't you like Mikha?"

The room froze.

Mikha's heart dropped into her stomach. The wine in her glass suddenly tasted sour. She opened her mouth to protest, to laugh it off, but no words came out. Her eyes darted to Aiah, who didn't flinch.

Aiah set her glass down carefully, as if she hadn't just been handed a live grenade. "I don't dislike Mikha," she said, her tone even but her jaw tight.

Colet raised an eyebrow. "Okay, but you don't like her either. Don't think we haven't noticed."

Mikha wanted to disappear into the couch cushions. The whole room was watching now—Maloi's eyes wide, Stacey biting her lip, Gwen looking anywhere but at Mikha.

Aiah sighed. She ran a hand through her hair, the only sign of agitation breaking through her usually composed exterior. "It's complicated," she said finally, her voice quieter now.