Present Day – Los Angeles, 7:14 AM
Aiah woke with a sharp inhale, like she'd been drowning in sleep and finally broke the surface.
The room was dim, blinds drawn halfway open, letting in slivers of Los Angeles morning light. Her hotel bed was still messy, covers twisted, pillows half on the floor.
She lay still for a moment, blinking at the ceiling.
Last night wasn't a dream.
She hadn't imagined it.
Hadn't conjured Mikha from thin air the way she sometimes did during those late, aching hours when guilt came in waves and Kieran was already asleep beside her.
No.
Mikha was real.
And angry.
And still just as magnetic. Just as sharp-edged and unreadable. Just as beautiful. That was the worst part—how time had done nothing but refine her.
Aiah closed her eyes and groaned, dragging a pillow over her face.
Why the hell did I go to her door?
She had told herself it was curiosity. Closure. Some twisted form of accountability.
But standing in front of Mikha again—face to face, heart to heart—it had undone her. Shaken something loose inside her she'd spent the last three years carefully boxing up and labeling: the past.
She rolled over, reaching for her phone.
Two texts from Kieran.
Kieran: Hope you slept okay, baby.
Kieran: Missing you already. FaceTime later?
Aiah stared at the screen, thumb hovering, then locked it without replying.
Not yet.
Not when her mind was still fogged with Mikha's voice.
Tell me, Aiah, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Mrs. Arceta-Lim?
A sharp breath escaped her lips. Her stomach twisted.
What the hell was she going to do?
Because last night wasn't just about showing up.
Last night was the beginning of something—a conversation that would have to happen. One she'd avoided for three years.
Aiah sat up slowly, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. Her bare feet touched the carpet and stayed there for a moment as she let herself feel everything.
The sting of Mikha's words.
The shame.
The ache.
But also—somehow, beneath it all—the quiet, dangerous flutter of something that had never really gone away.
/
Present Day – Los Angeles, 8:03 AM
(11:03 PM – Manila Time)
The bathroom was still warm with steam, mirrors fogged at the edges as the faint scent of lavender body wash clung to the air. Aiah stood in front of the sink, towel snug around her body, another turbaned atop her damp hair. The hum of the city beyond her hotel window was just beginning to stir—LA mornings always came in quiet waves, the calm before the rush.
She picked up her phone from the vanity and hesitated.
Then sighed and tapped Colet's name.
The FaceTime tone rang twice before the screen shifted—and there she was, her best friend in Manila, lying on her bed with fairy lights glowing faintly behind her and a scrunchie holding up a sloppy top knot. Her voice came out gravelly, thick with late-night exhaustion.
