Anthologies {MIKHAIAH AU}

the mayor and the firestarter pt 4

Mikha sat cross-legged on her bed, her phone clutched in one hand as she glared at the blank message screen like it had personally wronged her. Days of self-imposed radio silence had passed, and it was eating her alive. She'd sworn she wouldn't crack. She wouldn't. But here she was, feeling like some infatuated high schooler with a crush so potent it could melt her resolve like butter under the sun.

She groaned, dropping her phone onto the comforter as if the distance would stop her from doing something stupid. "Tang ina," she muttered under her breath. "Ano ba itong ginagawa mo sakin, Aiah?"

Her eyes drifted to the ceiling as she flopped onto her back, throwing an arm over her face dramatically. "This isn't me," she mumbled to the universe. "I don't pine. I don't wait."

She reached for her phone again, glaring at it like it held all the answers to her problems. The chat with Aiah sat there, taunting her. The last exchange was her own overly casual "Have fun with your friends, Firestarter" from the night of the café meeting.

And nothing. No response. No snarky comeback. Just... silence.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. Her pride was screaming at her to put the phone down, but her brain—no, her stupid heart—was chanting, Just text her already. She could practically see Aiah's calm, smug smirk as she typed, and that made it worse.

"What's she doing right now?" Mikha muttered, rolling onto her stomach and burying her face in the pillow. "Probably sitting there, waiting for me to crack. Freaking chessmaster."

Another groan escaped her as she grabbed the pillow and flung it across the room. She wanted to scream at herself for how much space Aiah had taken up in her head, how no one else she'd talked to in the last few days could even come close to holding her interest. Everyone else seemed dull in comparison, as if they were speaking in static while Aiah had been a broadcast in surround sound.

Finally, she sat up, grabbing her phone with more determination than she felt. "Okay, fine. You win," she muttered to herself. "But I'm not going down without a fight."

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard as she tried to think of something cool, something clever that wouldn't make her sound like she'd been agonizing over this for days. She started typing, then erased it. Typed again. Erased again.

"What would Aiah say if the roles were reversed?" Mikha muttered. Then she frowned. "Wait. She wouldn't even be in this position. She's too composed. Too perfect."

She exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair. Screw it. Just text her.

Mikha: "Okay, Firestarter. You win. I'm officially texting first. Must be your superpower or something."

She hit send before she could overthink it, then immediately regretted it, flopping back onto the bed. "God, I sound like an idiot," she groaned.

Her phone buzzed almost immediately. She stared at it for a second, her heart doing an annoying little leap, before forcing herself to pick it up.

Aiah: "I was wondering how long it would take."

Mikha stared at the message, her jaw tightening as she imagined Aiah's infuriatingly calm smirk on the other side of the screen. "Of course she'd say that," Mikha muttered, but despite herself, she couldn't stop the grin that tugged at her lips.

Mikha: "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

Aiah: "A little."

Mikha: "I knew it. You're a secret sadist."

Aiah: "You're the one who cracked first, Mayor."

Mikha laughed, shaking her head. Somehow, this infuriating dynamic made her like Aiah even more. She could feel her frustration softening, replaced by that familiar buzz of excitement she always got when they talked.