It was Aiah who broke first.
Not in the emotional way—God no. She was too good at pretending everything was a joke—but in the karaoke queue way.
"Okay," she said, slamming her empty beer bottle on the table like she was laying down a challenge. "Nakaka-bored ka, Attorney. I'm putting in a song."
Mikha raised a brow, the tips of her ears already pink from the beer. "I don't sing."
"You don't do anything. Except brood and chain smoke like a mid-tier indie film character."
"Harsh."
"True."
She slid out of the booth and headed toward the touch-screen queue by the mic stand. Mikha watched her from behind, half-annoyed, half-enthralled.
How did she move like that? All limbs and sarcasm and soft power. Like she belonged in every room she walked into—even if it was covered in neon lighting and off-key ballads.
Mikha caught herself smiling and quickly wiped it off her face when Aiah returned.
"What tragedy have you chosen for us tonight?" Mikha asked dryly.
"'Torete,'" Aiah said, smug. "Because it's the anthem of women who fall for people they shouldn't."
Mikha snorted. "Subtle."
Aiah winked. "You like it. Aminin mo na."
And then she sang.
She wasn't perfect—her voice cracked a little on the chorus, and she couldn't resist dancing in place like she was half-mocking herself—but God, she was alive. Eyes bright, laugh real, like she didn't care that strangers were cheering her on or that Mikha was sitting there, trying to pretend her heart wasn't doing dumb things in her chest.
When she flopped back into the booth after the final note, Mikha offered her slow, sardonic applause.
"You're ridiculous."
"And you're uptight."
"I'm not uptight."
"You just clapped like someone at an opera recital."
Mikha rolled her eyes and took another sip of her beer. "Says the woman who just serenaded an entire room of drunk strangers like it was her farewell concert."
Aiah grinned. "Don't worry, I'm not asking for tips. Pero kung magbibigay ka, hindi ako magrereklamo."
Another beat of silence, softer this time. The music behind them faded into a familiar 2000s pop track, and a table nearby broke into another chorus of slurred shouting.
"So," Aiah said, tone playful but curious, "off the record... what's it like growing up as the heiress of Lim & Associates?"
Mikha groaned. "It's like growing up in a law textbook. But instead of chapters, it's expectations. And every chapter ends with, 'Don't disappoint your father.'"
"Yikes," Aiah winced. "Parang hindi ka lang pinanganak—pre-approved ka for pressure and legacy."
"Exactly."
Aiah leaned on her elbows, chin resting in her palm. "Law was your choice?"
Mikha hesitated, eyes fixed on her bottle. "I didn't hate it. And I was good at it. That was enough for everyone else."
"But not for you?"
Mikha shrugged. "I don't know what's for me. Yet."
Aiah was quiet for a moment, then grinned. "You ever think of running away? Like, screw this, magtayo na lang ako ng sari-sari store sa Bohol level of escape?"
