Weeks passed in a blur of property viewings and sharp banter.
Mikha had seen more houses, lofts, and penthouses than she cared to count, and yet none of them felt right.
At least, that's what she told herself.
But if she was being honest—a rare thing for Mikha Lim—she was beginning to care less about the properties and more about the person showing them to her.
Aiah Arceta had become something of a puzzle she couldn't stop picking at.
It was everything—the way she spoke with calm certainty, the quiet strength in the way she carried herself. The subtle confidence that wasn't loud but undeniable. The way she'd stand by the floor-to-ceiling windows of some overpriced penthouse, hands tucked in her pockets, explaining the space like she wasn't just selling walls and floors but something more.
Mikha would catch herself watching her too long, focusing on the curve of her jaw when she was thinking, the slight crease in her brow when she was irritated.
It was like gravity.
A pull Mikha didn't want to acknowledge.
Of course, she wasn't going to say anything.
She wasn't stupid.
So instead, she found herself making excuses.
Like today.
It was well past 8 PM when they finished the last property viewing—a modern villa tucked in a quiet corner of Makati.
Aiah was locking up behind them, tired but composed.
"You've seen fifteen properties this week, Mikha," Aiah said, glancing at her. "None of them are good enough for you, apparently. So what's next? Another mansion in the middle of nowhere?"
Mikha smirked. "I'm thorough. You should appreciate that."
Aiah gave a small, tired laugh. "Thorough or indecisive?"
Mikha ignored the jab, adjusting the strap of her designer bag on her shoulder.
"Come have dinner with me."
Aiah paused, turning slowly to face her.
"What?"
Mikha shrugged, casual but too rehearsed. "To debrief. Go over the listings. Figure out what's working and what's not."
Aiah studied her, the hesitation clear on her face.
It wasn't an unreasonable suggestion—but it felt like something else.
Mikha raised an eyebrow, leaning slightly closer.
"Unless..." she drawled, voice smooth, "your boyfriend's waiting on you?"
The words slipped out before she could stop them, too pointed to pass as casual.
Aiah's expression didn't change, but Mikha didn't miss the slight tension in her shoulders.
There was a pause, thick and heavy between them.
"No," Aiah said simply, her tone even. "No one's waiting for me."
Mikha's smirk deepened, but she forced herself to look unaffected.
"Good. There's this place nearby. Quiet, but the food's decent."
Aiah's eyes didn't leave hers, as if she was trying to figure out what game Mikha was playing.
And maybe Mikha didn't know either.
After a beat, Aiah sighed.
"Fine. One hour."
Mikha turned on her heel, satisfied. "Try to keep up."
