A/N : Sorry guys for the slow updates! Here's the closing chapter of this universe. Oh Kalami, oh kalami! And happy Coachella week 1!
Epilogue
The next few weeks didn't unfold like a grand love story.
There were no sweeping declarations, no dramatic turning points, no single moment that defined everything that came after. Nothing cinematic.
Instead—
It was quieter than that.
Slower.
Made up of small, deliberate choices that didn't seem significant on their own, but together began to form something steady. Something real.
⸻
Some mornings started the same way.
Aiah waking up in her hotel room at the Marlowe, soft light slipping through the curtains, her phone already lighting up on the bedside table.
A name she had memorized long before.
Mikha:
Good luck sa meeting mo today.
Aiah would stare at it for a second longer than necessary, a small smile forming before she even realized it.
Her fingers would move without overthinking.
Aiah:
Thanks. Don't forget to eat lunch.
A pause.
Then—
Mikha:
Grabe ka, parang nanay.
Aiah would roll her eyes, already smiling.
Aiah:
Says the girl who meal preps now.
And just like that—
The day started with them.
Not heavy.
Not complicated.
Just... present.
⸻
Some days, they met halfway.
Literally.
Coffee shops tucked between streets where neither of them felt too exposed. Small tables by the window. Two drinks, sometimes untouched because they got too caught up talking.
Sometimes it was quick dinners after work—Aiah still in her office clothes, sleeves rolled up, Mikha already there, waving her over like it had always been that easy.
Sometimes Mikha picked her up.
Sometimes Aiah walked the few blocks.
No pressure.
No expectations.
Just—
"Kain tayo?"
"Free ka ba?"
"I miss you." (said casually, like it didn't carry weight—when it did)
⸻
Therapy became part of their rhythm.
Not a one-time fix.
Not a formality.
But something they showed up for.
Together.
The same couch. The same room. The same quiet presence of Dr. Perez guiding them without forcing them.
"And what do you do differently now," she asked one session, pen poised but not intrusive, "when something feels overwhelming?"
Aiah shifted slightly, her hands clasped together in her lap.
She glanced at Mikha—not for permission, but for grounding.
