Two weeks.
Fourteen days.
That's how long it had been since Mikha had last seen or heard from Aiah.
The fair. The kiss. The moment that neither of them wanted to admit happened.
Since then—nothing.
Radio silence.
Mikha slumped deeper into the worn-out couch in her apartment, staring blankly at her phone.
The last message she sent still sat there.
Mikha: Hey. Can we talk?
No reply.
Before that—
Mikha: Hope Kaela's okay. Ian said she wasn't at school today.
Still, nothing.
Mikha dropped her phone on the coffee table with a frustrated sigh, running a hand through her hair.
You really fucked this up, didn't you?
She hadn't seen Aiah at school either.
Not at drop-offs, not at pick-ups.
Not even in passing.
Mikha had even volunteered for more school runs, hoping to casually bump into her.
But every time, Kaela was either already on the school bus or being picked up by a family driver.
No sign of Aiah.
It was intentional.
And Mikha knew it.
The more she thought about it, the worse the pit in her stomach grew.
Maybe Aiah regretted it.
Regretted her.
And what scared Mikha most was that maybe Aiah was right to.
The guilt twisted in her chest.
She knew Aiah's marriage was falling apart, but that didn't justify what happened.
Aiah was still married.
And Mikha?
She wasn't supposed to be the person who made things worse.
But the kiss had happened.
And the way Aiah bolted afterward said more than words could.
Maybe it's better this way.
Mikha leaned back, staring at the ceiling.
But the quiet didn't sit right with her.
Because despite the guilt, despite the silence, she missed her.
Her phone buzzed suddenly.
Mikha's heart lurched.
She grabbed it, hope flickering in her chest.
But it wasn't Aiah.
It was Jho.
Jho: You still alive? Haven't heard from you in days.
Mikha let out a breath, forcing herself to reply.
Mikha: Yeah. Busy.
A pause.
Jho: Let me guess. This is about Aiah.
Mikha stared at the screen.
Mikha: She's not talking to me.
