The cafe was bustling with noise—the clinking of cups, the murmur of conversations, the hiss of the espresso machine. It was a sunny Saturday afternoon in Manila, and outside the window, life moved on as it always did. People passed by, some smiling, some rushing, some lost in their own thoughts. Mikha sat at the corner table, nursing a cold brew she hadn't touched in the past twenty minutes.
Her best friends, Colet, Jhoanna, and Gwen, sat around her, deep in conversation, but Mikha felt disconnected from it all. It wasn't that she didn't care about what they were saying—she always cared. It was just that lately, she felt like she was watching her life unfold from a distance, as if she were behind a glass wall, unable to fully engage.
"Okay, so spill," Colet said, dragging Mikha back into the moment. Colet was leaning forward, her elbow resting on the table, her dark eyes sharp with curiosity. "You've been back for two months, and yet, parang hindi ka namin ma-reach. Anong nangyayari sa'yo?"
"Parang mas tahimik ka than usual," Jhoanna added, stirring her iced latte as she studied Mikha with concern. "Which is saying something, considering you're already the quiet one."
"Super tahimik nga," Gwen chimed in, her voice teasing but her expression worried. "What happened to the sarcastic swag you have Mikha? Parang ikaw na ang pinaka-antisocial sa group."
Mikha offered them a faint smile, the kind that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Nothing happened," she said, her voice even. Too even. "I've just been... busy. Work's been insane."
Colet narrowed her eyes. "Mikha Lim, alam mo namang hindi kami naniniwala sa excuses mo, diba?" She crossed her arms over her chest. "Spill. Did something happen in Coron? Kasi ever since that trip, you've been weird. May nangyari ba doon?"
The mention of Coron made Mikha's chest tighten, but she kept her expression neutral. She shook her head, keeping her tone light. "Nothing happened. I went there, did my outreach work, had a little downtime, and then came back. That's it."
Her friends exchanged glances, clearly unconvinced, but they didn't press her further. Not yet, at least.
Two months. It had been two months since that night in Coron, and yet Mikha still felt the weight of it like an anchor tied to her chest.
That morning, she'd woken up to an empty bed, the sheets cold where Aiah's body had been. There hadn't been a note. No text. Nothing. Just the faint scent of her shampoo lingering in the room and the memory of her laugh echoing in Mikha's mind.
She'd gotten the message, loud and clear.
Aiah Arceta was gone, and she wasn't coming back.
And that was why Mikha Lim didn't do connections.
She had let her guard down for one reckless, fleeting night, and she had paid the price. It wasn't that she had expected anything more—she wasn't naïve enough to think Aiah would change her plans, her life, for someone she'd just met. But still, waking up alone, without even a goodbye... it had stung in a way Mikha hadn't been prepared for.
Since returning to Manila, Mikha had thrown herself into her work, burying the memory of Aiah under layers of routines, schedules, and distractions. Her friends had noticed, of course. They'd asked why she seemed quieter than usual, why she was even more withdrawn than her typical introverted self. But Mikha couldn't tell them.
She couldn't say it out loud, because if she did, the pain in her chest would feel sharper. It would make everything real. And Mikha wasn't ready to face that—not yet.
So she left it out, that detail about Aiah. About how they'd spent the night tangled in each other, how they'd kissed and laughed and touched as if nothing else mattered. About how, for one night, Mikha had let herself believe in something more, only to wake up and realize it had been nothing but a beautiful, fleeting illusion.
