Mikha's condo looked like a magazine spread.
Sleek, neutral tones. Spotless kitchen counters.
Pristine plateware that gleamed under the soft pendant lights—clearly expensive, clearly barely used. The kind that said: I host dinner parties in theory, not in practice.
But tonight, the kitchen was alive. The scent of garlic and simmering sinigang curled through the air. Aiah moved around with a practiced ease, apron tied around her waist, hair pinned back, playlist bouncing between old OPM and bedroom pop.
The table had been set carefully by Mikha, of course, with matching linen napkins, minimalist cutlery, and place cards that she claimed were "ironic," though everyone knew she just liked order.
The doorbell rang.
Aiah glanced toward the door, hand still holding a ladle. "Ready ka na Attorney ?"
Mikha smirked, barefoot with a wine glass already in hand. "Let the circus begin."
/
First to arrive: Maloi, Sheena, and Jhoanna.
Loud. Loyal. Ready to stir chaos.
"Teh, grabe, ang bango dito!" Maloi declared the moment they stepped inside. "Is this sinigang or a soft launch into domestic life?"
"Excuse me, we brought contribution ha," Sheena said, holding up a foil tray. "She did the cooking, but hinalo ko for five seconds and offered moral support."
"Dessert!" Jhoanna chimed in, raising a tub of ice cream dramatically. "Don't worry, nilipat ko sa fancy Tupperware para mukhang made with love."
Aiah grinned as she ushered them inside. "That's love on a budget. Come in, mag-ikot kayo, just don't open the wine fridge, baka ma-summon ang tax bracket ni Mikha."
From the kitchen, Mikha rolled her eyes. "It's temperature controlled, okay? Not snobby."
"Snobby adjacent," Jhoanna said, already snooping near the glassware. "These wine glasses are worth more than my monthly salary."
/
A few minutes later: Colet, Stacey, and Gwen.
Late. Curated. Sourced energy in full force.
"We didn't cook," Stacey said as she stepped inside, sunglasses still perched on her head despite the setting sun. "But we curated a menu."
Gwen followed, holding a very aesthetic bag. "By 'curated' she means we ordered from a chef friend who has a pop-up in Salcedo. This is pork belly glazed in calamansi honey and validation."
Colet, naturally, carried a salad in a gorgeous ceramic bowl. "The bowl is edible."
"No, it's not," Gwen said, deadpan.
"I meant aesthetically edible."
Maloi, from the couch, leaned over to Sheena. "'Yung isa nagdala ng ulam, 'yung isa nagdala ng concept."
Sheena snorted. "Sige na nga, welcome na rin sila."
/
Soon, the apartment buzzed with energy. Shoes off, laughter ricocheting off the high windows, strangers turned seatmates as the friend groups collided, cautiously at first, then with more ease.
"So how do you all know Aiah?" Colet asked, perched on a stool with a glass of wine in hand.
"She's our work wife," Jhoanna replied. "Also our resident voice of reason. She once stopped Maloi from fighting a rude guest at Lumière."
"She deserved it!" Maloi insisted.
Aiah, from the kitchen: "She was eighty years old."
"Age is not immunity from sass," Sheena added.
