Anthologies {MIKHAIAH AU}

love in this club pt 2

For the first few days after the event, Mikha managed to keep herself busy enough to avoid thinking too much about Aiah. Or at least, that's what she told herself. Between post-event reviews, dealing with invoices, and brainstorming ideas for upcoming projects with Jho and Gwen, she had no time for distractions.

Except late at night, when the memory of Aiah's set lingered. The image of her in the DJ booth, confident and magnetic, would flash in her mind as she stared at her ceiling. And sometimes, it wasn't just Aiah's music Mikha thought about—it was the way she smiled, the way her dimples showed up at the worst (or best) possible times, and the teasing lilt in her voice when she'd said, "You like it smooth, ha?"

Mikha groaned to herself every time her brain wandered too far. It's work, she reminded herself. This is work.

By the time a week had passed, Mikha felt like it was safe to reach out. Professional, even. She told herself this was normal—just a routine follow-up with someone she'd hired for an event. It had nothing to do with Aiah's dimples.

Nothing at all.

Sitting at her desk, Mikha unlocked her phone, scrolling through her contacts until she found Aiah's number. She stared at it for a moment, her thumb hovering over the screen, before she typed:

Mikha: Hey, Aiah. It's Mikha. Just wanted to say thanks again for last week—you killed it.

She hit send before she could overthink it. Almost immediately, her phone buzzed with a response.

Aiah: Look who finally remembered I exist.

Mikha blinked, her lips twitching despite herself. Of course, she thought. She has to make it difficult.

Mikha: I've been busy. Unlike some people, I don't spend my time lounging around waiting for texts.

Aiah: Ouch. Is that your way of saying you missed me?

Mikha's stomach flipped, but she forced herself to stay cool.

Mikha: Definitely not. Just doing my job. Following up. Professional stuff.

Aiah: Oh, professional stuff. Got it. So this text is completely work-related?

Mikha: Completely.

Aiah: Hmm. Okay, boss. What can I do for you?

Mikha hesitated for a second, then typed:

Mikha: I was wondering if you'd be interested in doing the club nights on a monthly basis.

The typing bubbles appeared almost immediately.

Aiah: Monthly basis, huh? Sounds like you want me around more often.

Mikha rolled her eyes, even though no one could see her.

Mikha: Don't flatter yourself. You were just good at keeping the crowd happy.

Aiah: "Good," huh? Not great? I'm hurt, Mikha. Truly.

Mikha smirked, leaning back in her chair.

Mikha: Fine. You were great. Happy?

Aiah: Guess so. Although now I'm wondering—are all your DJs lucky enough to get texts like this? Or am I special?

Mikha frowned, her fingers hesitating over the keyboard. She typed, deleted, and retyped several responses before finally settling on:

Mikha: You're special in that you're the first one to make my job this difficult.

It took Aiah a little longer to reply this time, and Mikha found herself holding her breath as the typing bubbles appeared again.