Aiah stared at the apartment door, the polite bottle of white wine feeling heavier in her hand than it should.
She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, debating if she should just turn around and leave.
Why did I agree to this?
Dinner at Mikha's apartment of all places.
In hindsight, suggesting a neutral space—a restaurant, a café, literally anywhere else—would've made more sense.
But now, here she was.
Standing in front of the door of the ex.
If anyone had told her two months ago that she'd be here, she would've laughed in their face.
Dinner with Mikha Lim?
Yeah, right.
And yet, here she was.
Her grip on the wine bottle tightened.
Maybe it was the quiet collapse of her marriage, each fight with Juancho ending in silence, his absence stretching longer and longer into the night.
Maybe it was the way the walls of her house felt heavier now, the silence sharper.
Or maybe it was that this—this dinner—seemed like the lesser evil compared to sitting in her living room alone with another half-finished glass of wine, waiting for a husband who probably wouldn't come home until she was already asleep.
The doorknob rattled.
Aiah straightened instinctively, smoothing down her blouse.
The door swung open, and there stood Mikha, leaning slightly on the doorframe.
She wasn't trying to be cool or careless this time.
No teasing smirk.
Just a soft, uncertain smile.
"Hey."
Aiah exhaled slowly.
"Hey."
Mikha stepped aside.
"Come in."
Aiah hesitated for half a second before stepping through the doorway.
The scent of something warm and savory wrapped around her immediately.
"Smells good," she murmured, eyes scanning the space.
Mikha's apartment was clean but lived-in, cozy without being staged.
Art leaned casually against the walls, a few sketchbooks stacked on the coffee table.
Mikha followed her gaze.
"I tried. Thought I'd actually cook for once."
Aiah lifted the bottle of wine slightly.
"Here. Brought this."
Mikha accepted it with a small nod.
"Thanks. Good choice."
Their fingers brushed briefly.
Neither of them commented on it.
"I'll open this. Make yourself comfortable."
Aiah slipped off her shoes, unsure of where to stand, how to move in this familiar yet unfamiliar space.
By the time Mikha returned with two glasses of wine, the initial stiffness had dulled just a little.
They sat across from each other at the small dining table, the soft glow of the overhead light casting long shadows.
