Chapter 17 of 26
Permission Override
Mikha Cruz did not answer immediately.
Which, objectively, should have been impossible.
Mikha had an answer for everything. She had an answer for professors, for guards, for Diane, for Chesca, for strangers who accidentally made eye contact with her for more than three seconds. She had an answer for bad weather, difficult mathematical equations, cancelled training, cafeteria food, broken printers, and the existential burden of waking up before eight in the morning.
But now, with the chessboard between us and my words still suspended in the air, she only stared at me.
Be my girlfriend.
I had said it twice.
Once because I wanted to.
The second time because I was certain.
The first time had felt like stepping past a threshold.
The second had felt like locking the door behind me.
Mikha blinked again, slower this time, as if waiting for the world to correct itself. Her mouth opened slightly, then closed. Her fingers rested near the fallen black king, frozen there, close enough to touch the proof of her defeat.
I waited.
Waiting, I had learned, could be an act of discipline. It was measured. It was contained. It gave the other person space to process information and return a suitable response. In examinations, waiting meant confidence. In conversations, waiting meant control.
Except this was Mikha.
And waiting for Mikha Cruz to answer a question that could rearrange the entire architecture of my life felt less like control and more like standing barefoot in the middle of a storm and insisting I had remembered an umbrella.
Her eyes searched mine.
“Aiah,” she said again, softer.
“Yes.”
“You’re serious?”
“Yes.”
“As in…” She lifted a hand, fingers hovering uselessly in the space between us. “Serious serious?”
I kept my voice steady. “I am not aware of any other category.”
That seemed to break something in her.
Not the frightening kind of break. Not the kind that damaged.
The kind that let light through.
Her lips twitched. Once. Twice. Then the shock in her face began to rearrange itself into something dangerous. Familiar. Terrible.
Mikha Cruz started smiling.
I should have prepared for that.
I had prepared for several possible outcomes. She could say yes. She could say no. She could ask if I was certain. She could stare at me long enough to make the air unbearable. She could reach for my hand, or she could retreat, or she could do something gentle and sincere enough to terrify me.
I had not prepared for mischief.
“Oh,” she said slowly.
My spine straightened.
The smile grew.
“Oh no.”
“Mikha.”
She leaned back against the couch, one hand pressed dramatically over her chest. “Wait lang. Grabe naman.”
I narrowed my eyes. “What?”
“Wala, wala.” She shook her head, but her grin had already betrayed her. “I’m just processing.”
“You are smiling.”
“Processing can be happy.”
“You look like you are about to become difficult.”
She gasped. “Wow. Accused agad?”
“Mikha.”
She looked down at the chessboard, then back at me, then pressed her lips together like she was containing laughter with the seriousness of a government official protecting national secrets.
I should have been irritated.
I was irritated.
Mostly.
But beneath it was something else. Something warm and unsettled, spreading through me with no respect for boundaries. The room had not changed. The same chessboard sat between us, pieces scattered from the game she had insisted on making dramatic. The same couch pressed against the wall. The same evening light touched the edges of her face, softening every reckless line of her into something I knew I would remember with unnecessary precision.
But everything felt altered now.
Because I had asked.
Because I had chosen.
Because Mikha Cruz was looking at me like the answer was already yes, but she wanted to make me suffer first.
She tapped one finger against her chin.
I stared at her.
“Let me think muna.”
The sentence entered the air.
My entire system rejected it.
“What?”
She nodded solemnly, eyes too bright. “Big decision ‘to, Aiah.”
“You take that back.”
“Take what back?”
“Whatever you are doing.”
“I’m thinking.”
“No, you are enjoying this.”
“A little,” she admitted.
I inhaled once through my nose.
She grinned harder.
“I just feel like I should consider my options, you know?” she continued, voice airy, fraudulent, completely unserious. “Being Aiah Ledesma’s girlfriend sounds like a very demanding position.”
“It is not a position.”
“May requirements ba? GPA cut-off? Interview? Probationary period?”
“Mikha.”
“What about benefits?”
I stared at her. “Benefits?”
“Yes.” She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, eyes dancing. “For example, if I say yes, do I get unlimited forehead kisses?”
My face warmed.
Instantly.
Violently.
Mikha’s eyes widened with delight.
“Oh my God.”
I looked away. “You are impossible.”
“No, wait.” She pointed at me, laughing now. “You thought about it.”
“I did not.”
“You did. You computed it.”
“There is nothing to compute.”
“You’re red.”
“I am not.”
“You are.” She leaned closer, delighted in the cruelest way. “Aiah Ledesma, are you imagining kissing my forehead?”
I picked up one of the captured pawns and placed it back into the box with excessive care. “I am reconsidering my offer.”
“Hindi pwede. Verbal contract na ‘to.”
“You said you needed to think.”
“Because I deserve to be courted properly.”
“You have been courting me for 231 days.”
She paused.
Her grin softened for half a second.
Then, unfortunately, it came back worse.
“231 days?” she echoed. “Aiah, grabe. Ikaw ba nagbibilang?”
I froze.
The error registered too late.
Mikha’s entire face lit up.
“Wait lang.” She sat up straighter. “You’ve been keeping track?”
“That was a figure of speech.”
“You said 231 days.”
“It was arbitrary.”
“Ang specific ng arbitrary mo.”
“Mikha.”
She pressed both hands to her cheeks, eyes wide, voice dropping into theatrical disbelief. “Parang atat na atat ka naman maging jowa ako, Aiah.”
My mouth went dry.
She leaned closer, smiling like sin in sneakers.
“Ganyan ka ba kapatay na patay sa’kin?”
I should have denied it.
That would have been sensible. Clean. Familiar.
Instead, I looked at her.
Really looked.
At the girl who fell on the first day and laughed like the floor had flirted with her.
At the girl who waited for me every morning even when I told her not to.
At the girl who wrote down 231 days like persistence was a language.
At the girl who had seen the sharpest parts of me and kept stepping closer anyway, not carelessly, not blindly, but with a stubborn tenderness that made surrender feel less like losing and more like coming home.
And maybe it was the danger of the moment.
Maybe it was the high of finally choosing something for myself.
Maybe it was freedom, new and reckless in my bloodstream.
But I did not look away.
“Yes,” I said.
Mikha stopped smiling.
Just like that.
The mischief fell from her face so quickly the silence almost rang.
I heard her breath catch.
I felt mine answer.
“Yes?” she repeated, very quietly.
I folded my hands in my lap because I needed something to do with them. “Yes.”
Her eyes searched mine again, but this time there was no joke waiting behind them. No performance. No shield.
Only Mikha.
Only the part of her that always appeared after laughter, when the room thinned and she forgot to pretend she was invincible.
“You can tease me,” I said, each word deliberate. “You can make this difficult. You can be insufferable for the rest of the day if you want.”
Her throat moved.
“But do not ask me that unless you want the truth.”
She stared at me as though I had reached across the board and moved something inside her she had not known was still vulnerable.
Outside the window, Katipunan moved on without permission. Cars hissed over pavement still damp from an earlier drizzle. A tricycle horn cut through the street noise, distant and impatient. Somewhere below, someone laughed. Life continued in its usual disorderly rhythm, unaware that my own had just changed.
Mikha’s voice came smaller.
“Say it again.”
My pulse flickered.
“You heard me.”
“Please.”
The word did not sound like teasing.
So I gave her the truth again.
“Yes,” I said softly. “I am that taken with you.”
Her eyes glistened.
It was subtle. A shine quickly blinked away. But I saw it because I saw her. Because somewhere along the way, noticing Mikha had stopped being an accident and started becoming instinct.
Her lips trembled before she smiled.
“Ang unfair mo,” she whispered.
“I won the game fairly.”
“Not chess.” She exhaled, laughing once under her breath, but it broke at the edges. “This. You. Bigla ka na lang ganyan.”
“I thought you wanted me to be direct.”
“Hindi naman ako ready mamatay tonight.”
“You are not dying.”
“Emotionally, Aiah. Keep up.”
A laugh rose in my throat.
It startled me.
Not because I had never laughed before. I had, in controlled settings, at appropriate moments, usually when Diane said something absurd enough to override etiquette.
But this laugh came without permission. Soft. Small. Real.
Mikha heard it.
Of course she did.
Her eyes widened like she had discovered a new planet.
“Oh my God.”
I pressed my lips together immediately. “No.”
“You laughed.”
“I exhaled.”
“You laughed.”
“It was a respiratory irregularity.”
“Aiah.” She pointed at me with the reverence of someone witnessing a miracle. “You laughed because of me.”
“I regret it already.”
“No, no. This is historic.” She reached toward her bag, patting around for her notebook. “Mission Log update. Emergency entry.”
I caught her wrist before she could stand.
The movement was quick.
Instinctive.
Her skin was warm beneath my fingers.
Both of us went still.
The room narrowed.
Her gaze dropped to my hand around her wrist.
Then lifted to my face.
I released her slowly.
“Do not write that down.”
Her voice turned soft. “Why?”
Because it is mine, I almost said.
The thought arrived fully formed, alarming in its clarity.
Mine.
Not in the way of possession as control. Not in the way my family used the word, attached to legacy and obligation and appearances. Mine as in chosen. Mine as in precious. Mine as in something I wanted to keep from being reduced into a joke too quickly, because it had just opened inside me and still felt too tender to expose to air.
Instead, I said, “Because some things do not need documentation.”
Mikha’s expression shifted.
The playfulness faded again, but not into sadness. Into understanding.
She nodded once.
“Okay.”
The simplicity of it almost undid me.
She did that too often. Made space for my limits so easily that I had nowhere to place the fear I had built around them.
I looked down at the chessboard.
The black king still lay on its side.
“I asked you something,” I reminded her.
The corner of her mouth lifted. “Yes, you did.”
“You have not answered.”
“True.”
“Mikha.”
She leaned back again, but this time the tease was gentler. “I’m weighing my options.”
“You are not.”
“Option one,” she said, raising a finger. “I say yes immediately and look desperate.”
“You are desperate.”
She gasped. “Grabe. Girlfriend mo na nga soon, nilalait mo na ako agad.”
“Soon?”
Her eyes sparkled.
I narrowed mine.
“Option two,” she continued, raising another finger, “I say no and ruin both our lives.”
My chest tightened despite knowing she was joking.
She saw it.
The softness returned so quickly it made my throat ache.
“Hey,” she said. “I’m kidding.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.” She leaned closer, voice lower. “So let me be clear.”
The room seemed to hold its breath.
Mikha reached across the board slowly, giving me every opportunity to pull away. I did not. Her fingers touched mine, careful at first, then steadier when I let her.
Her hand was warm.
Always warm.
She looked at me like she was still surprised I was real.
“Aiah Ledesma,” she said, her words stripped down into something honest. “I have been trying to get your attention since the day I first saw you.”
“I noticed.”
“I know. You stared.”
“I observed.”
“You stared.”
“Mikha.”
She smiled, but her eyes stayed bright. “I waited for you every morning even when you told me not to. I logged each and every day because I didn’t know how else to tell you I was serious without scaring you away. I learned your coffee order. I learned your routes. I learned when to joke and when to shut up. Well, minsan late, pero I learned.”
My fingers tightened around hers.
“I fell for you before I knew what to do with it,” she continued. “And then I kept falling because every time I thought I’d reached the ground, may deeper pa pala.”
Something in my chest opened painfully.
She breathed out.
“So yes,” she said. “Of course yes.”
The world went silent.
Not truly.
The city was still outside. Somewhere in the hallway, a door closed. But in the narrow space between her hand and mine, everything went quiet.
Of course yes.
The words settled into me with terrifying gentleness.
I had expected relief.
I had not expected wonder.
Mikha smiled, small and shaky. “But…”
My eyes sharpened.
“But?”
The mischief returned in a flash. “I just want to say, for the record, na sobrang atat mo.”
I withdrew my hand.
She burst out laughing.
“You take that back.”
“No.”
“Mikha.”
“Hindi. This is my truth.” She clutched her chest dramatically. “Aiah Ledesma, Snob Queen of Block A, chess assassin, professional wall builder, asked me to be her girlfriend with the energy of someone claiming land.”
“That is not what happened.”
“That is exactly what happened.”
“I was concise.”
“You were intense.”
“I was clear.”
“You said be my girlfriend like you were about to acquire shares.”
I stood.
She looked up at me, still laughing.
The decision to stand had been instinctive, but once I was on my feet, I had no immediate strategy. This was a problem. Standing without purpose was inefficient. It created unnecessary dramatic framing.
Unfortunately, Mikha seemed to enjoy unnecessary dramatic framing.
Her grin widened. “Uy. Tatakutin mo ako?”
“No.”
“Then why are you standing?”
“Because if I remain seated, I may make a poor decision.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “Anong poor decision?”
I looked at her.
The room changed again.
The laughter thinned.
Her lips parted slightly.
I had never thought of myself as bold.
Controlled, yes. Disciplined. Precise. Capable of enduring uncomfortable rooms and difficult expectations. But boldness belonged to people like Mikha, people who ran toward life with untied shoelaces and a grin sharp enough to cut through fear.
Yet there was a version of me surfacing now that I did not entirely recognize.
Or maybe I did.
Maybe she had always been there, quiet beneath the rules.
Maybe Mikha had not created her.
Maybe Mikha had simply opened the door.
I stepped around the chessboard.
Mikha’s laughter disappeared completely.
“Aiah?”
I stopped in front of her.
She looked up at me from the couch, suddenly still. Her hands rested on her knees. The teasing had left her face in slow increments, replaced by anticipation, confusion, and something that looked dangerously like hope.
I bent slightly, bringing myself closer to her eye level.
“You can say whatever you want, Mikha Cruz,” I said.
Her breath caught.
I let the corner of my mouth lift.
Small.
Controlled.
Devastating, judging by the way she froze.
“You can tease me for the rest of our lives if you have to.”
“Aiah,” she whispered.
I reached for her lanyard, crooked even here somehow, even now, and straightened it with careful fingers. The gesture was simple. Familiar. Something I had done before without admitting how much I liked having an excuse to touch her.
This time, I let myself know.
“Because starting today,” I said, my voice calm, steady, certain, “you are mine.”
Her eyes went wide.
“And I don’t think even time itself is strong enough to change that.”
Mikha stared at me.
For one suspended second, she looked completely undone.
Then the org room door burst open hard enough to slam against the stopper.
“HOY, LOVE TEAM NG TAON!”
The spell shattered.
Mikha jerked violently on the couch and almost knocked over the chessboard. I straightened so quickly my knee hit the edge of the coffee table with a dull crack.
Pain registered.
Humiliation registered louder.
Diane stood at the doorway with two iced coffees in her hands and the expression of someone who had just walked into divine revelation.
Behind her, Chesca froze mid-step, one hand still gripping the strap of her tote bag.
Silence.
Absolute silence.
The chessboard sat abandoned between us. Mikha was still looking up at me from the couch, visibly flustered, her lanyard half twisted from where I had just fixed it. I was standing too close. Far too close. Close enough that no amount of logic could explain this away as a normal conversation about organizational budgeting or academic projections.
Diane’s eyes slowly widened.
Then widened further.
Then somehow widened again.
“No,” I said immediately.
Diane inhaled sharply.
“No,” I repeated, firmer.
“Aiah…” Chesca whispered weakly.
“No.”
Mikha suddenly covered her face with both hands. “Lagot.”
Diane pointed at us with the iced coffees shaking violently in her grip. “LAGOT TALAGA!”
The scream that followed should have violated campus safety regulations.
I closed my eyes briefly.
“MAY NAG AMINAN SA ORG ROOM!” Diane yelled into the hallway before I could stop her.
“DIANE.”
“CHESCA, NARINIG MO BA YUNG ‘YOU ARE MINE’?!”
Chesca clutched her chest. “I DID! MY GOSH!”
Mikha collapsed sideways onto the couch laughing into her hands.
Traitor.
Complete traitor.
I crossed my arms. “You were not supposed to hear that.”
“That sentence was not made to be private!” Diane shrieked, barging fully into the room now. “Aiah Ledesma? YOU are mine? Ano ‘to? Wattpad premium?”
“It was contextual.”
“CONTEXTUAL POSSESSIVENESS!” Chesca cried out.
Mikha pointed weakly at Chesca while still laughing. “See? She gets it.”
“You are enjoying this far too much,” I informed her.
“I just became your girlfriend. Let me live.”
Diane froze.
The room froze with her.
Very slowly, she turned toward Mikha.
“Girlfriend?”
Mikha’s laughter died instantly.
I looked away.
Chesca gasped so hard she nearly inhaled her own soul.
Diane dropped the iced coffees onto the nearest table and lunged forward, grabbing Mikha by the shoulders. “WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT.”
“Mabingi ka sa volume mo,” Mikha wheezed.
“Official kayo?!”
Mikha looked at me.
I looked at the chessboard.
This was not an answer.
Diane noticed immediately.
Her jaw dropped.
“Oh my God,” she whispered. “OH MY GOD.”
Chesca slapped both hands over her mouth. “Aiah confessed first.”
I straightened. “That information was not provided.”
“Nobody denies things that specifically unless they’re guilty,” Chesca shot back immediately.
Mikha burst out laughing again.
I narrowed my eyes at her. “You are supposed to be on my side.”
“I am on your side.” She grinned helplessly. “Pero sobrang funny mo kasi.”
Diane was pacing now.
Actually pacing.
“Aiah Ledesma.” She pointed accusingly at me. “You. Ikaw. Miss ‘Feelings are distractions.’ Miss ‘People complicate systems.’ Miss ‘I don’t have time for landi.’”
“I never said landi.”
“You IMPLIED landi negativity!”
“I did not.”
“You color-code your emotions!”
“That is not true.”
Mikha raised a hand. “Actually…”
I turned toward her slowly.
She grinned. “You kinda do.”
Et tu, Mikha Cruz.
Diane pressed both hands dramatically against her chest. “I can’t believe this. Snob Queen finally folded.”
“I did not fold.”
“She folded,” Chesca confirmed solemnly.
“I made a calculated decision.”
Mikha looked delighted. “See? Acquire shares energy.”
“You promised to stop saying that.”
“I promised nothing.”
Diane suddenly gasped again. “WAIT. WAIT. WAIT.”
No one liked that tone.
She pointed aggressively at the chessboard.
“Who won?”
Silence.
Mikha looked at me.
I looked at Mikha.
Chesca’s eyes widened with horrifying understanding. “OH MY GOD. WAS THIS A CONFESSION BET?”
“It was not a bet,” I said immediately.
Diane’s voice climbed an octave. “Aiah. Did you emotionally destroy this woman over chess?”
“She emotionally destroyed herself,” I replied calmly.
“Hoy!” Mikha protested.
“You sacrificed your queen in the opening.”
“I trusted the process.”
“You trusted vibes.”
“And yet…” Mikha leaned back against the couch smugly. “Girlfriend mo pa rin ako.”
My face warmed instantly.
Diane saw it.
Of course she saw it.
She pointed so violently I feared for her shoulder joints. “NAMULA!”
“I am not red.”
“Chesca!”
“Confirmed red.”
“This room has terrible lighting.”
“The fluorescent lights are literally white,” Chesca argued.
Mikha was staring at me again.
Not laughing this time.
Just staring with that unbearably soft expression that always made it feel like the rest of the room disappeared around the edges.
It was deeply inconvenient.
Diane noticed that too.
“Ay, wait.” Her voice dropped dramatically. “Titigan era na ba tayo?”
“Diane,” I warned.
“She called you hers.”
My pulse betrayed me instantly.
Mikha smiled slowly.
Chesca made a sound into her tote bag that resembled spiritual suffering.
Diane walked in a tight circle once before dramatically throwing herself into one of the bean bags near the wall. “I feel sick.”
“You are overreacting.”
“You said not even time itself is strong enough to change that!”
I froze.
Mikha froze.
Chesca screamed.
“YOU SAID THAT TOO?!”
Diane slapped the bean bag repeatedly. “OH MY GOD THIS IS CINEMA.”
“That line was private,” I said weakly.
“Mikha, bakit mo kasi kinwento?!” Chesca cried.
“I DIDN’T,” Mikha yelled back through laughter.
Everyone slowly turned toward Diane.
Diane blinked once.
Then grinned.
“Auditory excellence.”
“Eavesdropping,” I corrected.
“Love-driven surveillance.”
“You are impossible.”
Mikha suddenly sat up straighter, eyes sparkling with terrible ideas. “Wait. If she heard that part…”
“No.”
“Then she probably heard the part where—”
“Mikha Cruz.”
“—Aiah admitted she’s patay na patay sa’kin.”
The room exploded.
Chesca fell onto the floor laughing.
Diane SCREAMED into the bean bag.
I considered transferring universities.
Mikha doubled over beside me, shoulders shaking violently. “Sorry. Sorry. Hindi ko kaya.”
“You are enjoying my suffering.”
“Very much.”
I inhaled once through my nose.
Then exhaled slowly.
The problem was this: I should have hated this.
Objectively, this was my worst nightmare.
Public emotional exposure.
Loss of composure.
Witnesses.
Chesca already looked seconds away from posting my emotional downfall on BlueBoard
And yet, Mikha was laughing beside me.
Happy.
Not the loud performative happiness she gave the rest of the world sometimes.
This one was smaller. Realer. It softened her around the edges until she looked younger somehow, lighter, like something inside her had unclenched.
And realizing I was the reason for that feeling settled into me with dangerous warmth.
Diane pointed suddenly. “WAIT.”
We all looked at her.
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously at Mikha. “So technically… ikaw pa lang hinihintay namin.”
“Huh?”
“For months!” Diane threw both arms dramatically into the air. “Everyone knew already except kayong dalawa.”
“That is statistically unlikely,” I said automatically.
“Aiah.” Chesca stared at me. “You literally looked at her like she invented sunlight.”
My brain stopped functioning briefly.
Mikha turned toward me slowly. “Talaga?”
“That is an exaggeration.”
“You followed her around campus with your eyes,” Diane added helpfully.
“I observe my surroundings.”
“You memorized her coffee order.”
“That is basic pattern recognition.”
“You counted 231 days!”
“That was accidental disclosure.”
Mikha was smiling again.
Not smug this time.
Something softer.
Something worse.
She shifted slightly closer on the couch.
Not enough for anyone else to notice immediately.
Enough for me to notice everything.
Her shoulder brushed mine.
Lightly.
The contact was brief.
My pulse still lost structural integrity.
Chesca saw that too.
Her eyes widened. “OH MY GOD MAY TENSION KAHIT OFFICIAL NA.”
“There is no tension,” I said.
“There’s enough electricity here to power Ateneo.”
Mikha leaned toward me slightly, voice low enough that only I could hear.
“You okay?”
The question slipped beneath all the chaos immediately.
I turned toward her.
Her eyes had changed again. Softer now. Checking.
Always checking.
As if even in the middle of Diane’s public breakdown and Chesca’s investigative journalism, some part of her was still tuned specifically to me.
I nodded once.
“Yes.”
“Sure?”
I glanced around the org room.
The bean bags out of place.
The chessboard abandoned mid-battle.
The org posters peeling slightly at the corners.
Diane dramatically mourning in the background.
Chesca whispering “grabe” every thirty seconds like a broken audio file.
Chaos.
Absolute chaos.
Then I looked back at Mikha.
And for the first time in my life, chaos did not feel threatening.
It felt warm.
“Yes,” I said honestly this time.
Her smile softened immediately.
“Good.”
Diane suddenly shot upright again. “WAIT. KISS REVEAL BA NEXT?”
“No,” I said instantly.
Mikha burst out laughing so hard she nearly fell off the couch.
Chesca pointed at my face. “Why do you answer those questions like press statements?”
“Because someone here needs professionalism.”
“This stopped being professional when you said ‘you are mine,’” Diane informed me.
“That sentence continues to be taken out of context.”
Mikha looked delighted. “No no. Keep saying it.”
“I will not.”
“Please?”
“No.”
“Later?”
I looked at her.
Mistake.
Huge mistake.
Because she was looking at me like she had already memorized this moment for the future. Like she knew someday this would become one of those stories people tell softly when they want to revisit happiness.
And suddenly I understood the Mission Log completely.
Not counting.
Preserving.
Keeping proof that something beautiful happened.
Something real.
My chest tightened unexpectedly.
Mikha noticed instantly.
Always.
Her voice softened. “Hey.”
I exhaled slowly.
Then, before logic could stop me, I reached over and fixed her crooked lanyard again.
The room went silent.
Mikha stopped breathing.
Diane grabbed Chesca’s arm with terrifying force.
I adjusted the strap carefully.
Straightened the ID.
Smoothed the edge once with my thumb.
Then looked at her.
“You are still disorganized,” I said quietly.
Mikha stared at me like I had personally rewritten physics.
“Yeah,” she whispered.
My fingers lingered for one dangerous second longer than necessary before I pulled away.
Diane collapsed face-first back into the bean bag.
“I cannot survive this relationship,” she muffled into the fabric.
Chesca nodded solemnly. “Me neither.”
Mikha never stopped looking at me.
And somewhere between the chessboard, the screaming, the fluorescent lights, and the complete collapse of my formerly controlled existence…
I smiled first.
The next morning, I woke up before my alarm.
This was not unusual.
My body had been trained by years of discipline, expectation, and an unreasonable fear of losing control to rise before the world could demand anything from me. Six minutes before the alarm, usually. Sometimes seven. Today, eight.
Statistically insignificant.
Emotionally catastrophic.
Because the first thought in my head was not my schedule.
It was not my readings.
It was not the MSYS quiz I had already reviewed twice, nor the org deliverables Diane would inevitably forget to submit, nor the weather that might affect traffic along Katipunan.
It was Mikha Cruz.
Specifically, it was Mikha Cruz looking up at me from the org room couch, eyes wide, lips parted, completely undone after I told her she was mine.
My eyes opened.
The ceiling above my bed was white. Still. Familiar.
My pulse was not.
Girlfriend.
The word landed in my mind with no warning, then spread.
Girlfriend.
Mikha Cruz is my girlfriend.
I lay completely still beneath my blanket and stared at the ceiling as if it had personally caused this.
There were several classifications for what I was feeling. Happiness, obviously. Anticipation. Mild terror. A sense of structural imbalance. A strange, warm pressure beneath my ribs that did not fit into any category I trusted.
The closest term, unfortunately, was giddy.
I rejected it immediately.
I was not giddy.
I was experiencing an emotionally elevated post-confession adjustment period.
That was all.
My phone buzzed.
Once.
Then again.
Then three times in quick succession.
I turned my head slowly.
The screen lit up on my nightstand.
Mikha: good morning babe, my girlfriend. 🙂
Mikha: alive ka pa ba?
Mikha: or did you die from saying “you are mine” last night?
Mikha: kasi ako medyo patay pa rin
Mikha: emotionally
I stared at the messages.
My face warmed.
In my own room.
Alone.
Unacceptable.
I reached for the phone and typed with careful precision.
Me: Good morning.
I paused.
Then added:
Me: Please stop using my sincere statements as weapons.
Her reply came immediately.
Mikha: ay ang formal naman ng good morning ng jowa ko
Mikha: sige good morning din po Ms. Ledesma
Mikha: noted po sa weapons
Mikha: pero can i keep using “babe ko”
My thumb hovered over the keyboard.
No, I typed.
Then deleted it.
That answer was technically available. It would be clean, simple, consistent with previous behavior.
But yesterday, something had shifted.
Not everything. I was still myself. I still preferred order. I still believed in preparation. I still liked my pens aligned by color and my coffee unsweetened and my calendar planned at least two weeks ahead.
But a door had opened somewhere.
And Mikha was on the other side of it, grinning.
Me: In moderation.
The typing bubble appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Mikha: OH MY GOD
Mikha: IN MODERATION DAW
Mikha: so yes
Mikha: that is a yes
Mikha: good morning babe ko
I placed my phone face down on the mattress.
Then I pressed both hands over my face.
This was going to be a problem.
By the time I reached campus, I had restored most of my composure.
Externally.
My clothes were pressed. My hair was neat. My notes were organized. My bag contained the exact materials necessary for the day: two notebooks, three pens, one pencil, one highlighter, one folder, one water bottle, and the printed readings for MSYS.
Internally, however, the system remained unstable.
Because Mikha was waiting at the base of the steps.
Of course she was.
She had been waiting for me for 231 days.
But today, the sight struck differently.
The morning light caught on her hair, turning the edges warm. Her lanyard was, unsurprisingly, crooked. Her sneakers were, predictably, tied badly. One strap of her backpack hung loose from her shoulder. She was holding two plastic cups of coffee and swaying slightly on her heels like she had too much energy for the hour.
Then she saw me.
Her whole face changed.
Not the usual grin she gave the world.
This one started small, almost disbelieving, then opened all at once.
It was unfair.
It was deeply inefficient for a single smile to interrupt so many bodily functions.
“Good morning,” she called, bright enough to turn heads. Then, with unnecessary emphasis, “Girlfriend.”
Three students nearby looked over.
I kept walking.
My face stayed calm because I had trained it to.
My ears, unfortunately, grew warm.
“Mikha,” I said when I reached her.
She held out one cup. “Coffee.”
I looked at it. “I brought coffee.”
“I know.” She lifted the cup higher. “This is yours too.”
“That is excessive.”
“First official day benefits.”
“You do not know how benefits work.”
“I know how I want them to work.” She smiled. “Also, I guessed wrong last time so I corrected. Iced Americano. No sugar. Konting ice lang kasi ayaw mo kapag watered down.”
I looked at the cup.
Then at her.
She looked suddenly uncertain beneath the playful expression, as if waiting to see whether she had overstepped.
She had remembered.
Not just my order.
The detail.
The ice.
Something soft pulled at my chest.
“Thank you,” I said.
Her smile returned, gentle this time.
Then I reached for her backpack.
She blinked. “Uy, wait.”
I slid the loose strap off her shoulder and took the bag before thinking about it.
Mikha stared at me.
I stared at the bag.
The bag was now in my hand.
This had occurred without a formal decision-making process.
Concerning.
“Aiah,” Mikha said slowly.
“Yes?”
“Did you just take my bag?”
I looked down at it, as though the evidence might explain itself. “It was slipping.”
“So you’re carrying it?”
“You were holding coffee.”
“So were you.”
“I have better balance.”
She grinned.
I immediately recognized the danger.
“No,” I said.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
She leaned closer. “Girlfriend privileges?”
I handed her coffee back more forcefully than necessary. “Walk.”
She laughed, delighted, and fell into step beside me.
I intended to return the bag after twenty meters.
I did not.
At the covered walk, Diane appeared like an omen.
Actually, she leaned dramatically from behind one of the pillars, sunglasses on despite the lack of direct sunlight, a notebook held like a microphone.
“And here we see the newly confirmed couple entering campus for their first public appearance,” she announced. “Subject Aiah Ledesma appears composed, but note the significant behavioral anomaly: she is carrying Mikha Cruz’s bag.”
I stopped walking.
Mikha nearly collided with me.
“Diane,” I said.
Diane turned toward someone behind her. “Chesca, did you get that?”
Chesca stepped out from the other side of the pillar, holding her own notebook. “Recorded. Timestamp: approximately 7:42 a.m. Evidence of early-stage girlfriend behavior.”
“This is harassment,” I said.
“This is science,” Diane corrected.
Mikha raised her free hand. “For the record, I support science.”
“You support attention.”
“Also true.”
Chesca walked beside us, eyes narrowed at my hand gripping Mikha’s backpack. “Question for the subject. Did Mikha ask you to carry the bag?”
“No.”
Diane gasped. “Voluntary caretaking.”
“It was slipping.”
“Repeated justification,” Chesca noted. “Classic defensive response.”
“You are both impossible.”
Mikha sipped her coffee happily. “Ako, I’m possible.”
I looked at her.
She smiled.
I adjusted the strap of her bag on my shoulder.
Diane made a sound like a kettle boiling.
“Did you see that?” she whispered loudly to Chesca.
“I saw,” Chesca whispered back. “Possessive bag adjustment.”
“It is a backpack,” I said.
“And it doesn’t go with your aesthetics,” Chesca replied solemnly.
The rest of the walk to the classroom became an exercise in public endurance.
Mikha, newly empowered and apparently determined to test the limits of my affection before eight in the morning, began issuing what she called “minor requests.”
“Aiah,” she said as we passed the vending machines.
“Yes?”
“Tubig.”
I stopped.
She blinked innocently.
Diane inhaled.
Chesca lifted her pen.
“You have coffee,” I said.
“Coffee is not water.”
“That is correct.”
“So…”
I stared at her.
She smiled.
“Please?”
It was the please that did it.
Not because I was weak.
Because hydration was important.
I walked to the vending machine, bought a bottle of water, twisted the cap open, and handed it to her.
Mikha looked at the opened bottle.
Then at me.
Her expression softened before the grin could hide it.
“Thank you, babe.”
Diane made a strangled sound. “Opened cap. She opened the cap.”
Chesca nodded gravely. “Domestic.”
“It is not domestic,” I said.
“You removed the safety seal,” Diane argued.
“She has hands,” Chesca added.
“She asked for water.”
“And you obeyed.”
“I assisted.”
Mikha took a sip, eyes still on me over the rim of the bottle. “Assisted daw.”
I looked away first.
Mistake.
Diane saw.
“Point to Mikha Cruz,” she announced. “Aiah Ledesma avoids eye contact after direct girlfriend acknowledgment.”
“I am not competing.”
“You are losing anyway,” Chesca said.
The classroom did not improve matters.
Block A had apparently received news before we arrived.
This was unsurprising, considering Diane had the subtlety of a campus-wide announcement system and Chesca had the investigative discipline of someone trying to expose corruption in student council elections.
Still, I was unprepared for the silence that fell when we entered.
Not complete silence.
Worse.
The kind of silence that pretended not to be silence.
Heads turned. Conversations thinned. Someone coughed. Someone whispered, “Sila na ba?” with the volume control of a malfunctioning speaker.
Mikha walked in beside me, cheerful as always, though her hand brushed mine once near the doorway.
A question.
I answered by not moving away.
The whispering intensified.
Diane practically vibrated behind us.
Mikha leaned closer. “You okay?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
Then, automatically, I stepped toward her usual seat.
Second row.
Aisle side.
Left of me.
I had not consciously decided that arrangement. It had simply become the proper configuration over time.
I placed her backpack on the chair before she reached it.
The class saw.
The class reacted.
Not loudly.
But collectively.
A small ripple of sound moved through the room.
Mikha looked at the bag.
Then at me.
Then she bit her lower lip, clearly fighting a smile.
I sat down, opened my notebook, and aligned my pen.
“You always sit here,” I said, because explanation was necessary.
Her voice was soft. “Yeah.”
“Your bag was heavy.”
“It has two notebooks.”
“Poor weight distribution.”
“Sure.”
I looked at her.
She was still smiling.
“Stop.”
“Stop what?”
“Looking like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you are about to say something.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
She leaned in, whispering. “Ang cute mo.”
My pen slipped.
Only slightly.
Diane, from the seat behind us, whispered, “Pen displacement. Noted.”
I closed my eyes.
Chesca whispered back, “Small but significant.”
The professor entered before I could retaliate.
For forty three minutes, I was able to function.
Mostly.
The lecture covered decision support systems, structured processes, and the role of information flow in organizational behavior. It should have been ideal. Clean concepts. Useful frameworks. Predictable categories.
Unfortunately, Mikha Cruz existed within a one meter radius.
This affected concentration.
Not because she was doing anything particularly disruptive at first. She took notes. Actual notes. Her handwriting was still rushed and uneven, but I had learned to read it over time. She underlined important terms. She circled examples. She tapped her pen twice against the desk whenever she understood something and three times when she did not.
I knew that pattern.
I knew that when her brows pulled together and she tilted her head slightly to the right, she was following but needed one more example. I knew that when she stopped writing completely, she had either gotten lost or become distracted by a thought she did not want to forget. I knew that when she chewed the end of her pen, she was frustrated.
She did that now.
Without thinking, I slid my notebook slightly toward her and tapped the section where I had rewritten the professor’s diagram more cleanly.
Her eyes moved to it.
Then to me.
I kept facing forward.
She looked down and copied the diagram.
A minute later, a small folded note landed near my elbow.
I should have ignored it.
I unfolded it.
You’re hot when you tutor silently.
I stared at the sentence.
Then, slowly, I wrote beneath it:
Pay attention.
I slid it back.
Her shoulders shook once with silent laughter.
Thirty seconds later, it returned.
I am. To you.
I did not respond.
Externally.
Internally, several systems failed.
Behind me, I heard the faintest whisper.
“Note passing,” Chesca murmured.
“Academic flirting,” Diane whispered back.
I placed the note inside my folder.
Evidence containment.
By the time the class ended, I had restored approximately seventy percent of my composure.
Then Mikha stretched, raising both arms over her head, and said, “Aiah, init.”
I looked at her.
She blinked up at me.
Diane froze mid-pack.
Chesca stopped zipping her bag.
Several classmates pretended not to listen with embarrassing dedication.
“What do you want me to do about that?” I asked.
Mikha shrugged, clearly enjoying herself. “Wala. Sabi ko lang.”
“You do not announce temperature discomfort without expecting a response.”
“Grabe, jowa ko talaga ‘to. May analysis agad.”
“You are warm because you wore a jacket.”
“Style kasi.”
“Remove the jacket.”
She pouted.
Actually pouted.
In public.
“Ayaw ko.”
“Then remain warm.”
“Aiah.”
“No.”
“Aiah.”
“No.”
“Babe.”
The room went silent again.
I hated everyone.
I looked at her jacket.
Then at her face.
Then I reached over, tugged the sleeve gently, and helped slide it off her shoulder.
Mikha stopped smiling.
The class stopped breathing.
I folded the jacket once and placed it over the back of her chair.
“There,” I said.
Diane whispered, “She undressed her.”
“Diane.”
“Respectfully.”
Chesca clutched her chest. “This is worse than I expected.”
Mikha stared at me, eyes wide, cheeks pink.
I adjusted my bag. “You said you were warm.”
She swallowed. “Yeah.”
“Problem solved.”
“Uh-huh.”
I stood. “Next class.”
No one moved.
I looked around. “Is there a problem?”
Half the block suddenly became very interested in packing.
Mikha stood slowly, still looking at me like I had personally short-circuited her.
Good.
At least the destabilization was mutual.
The rest of the morning only got worse.
Or better.
I was still deciding.
Between classes, Mikha walked beside me with that ridiculous, glowing expression she seemed unable to control. I carried my own bag again, having returned hers under protest, but then we reached the crowded hallway and someone bumped into her from behind.
I reacted before she did.
My hand went to her elbow.
Steadying.
Quick.
Firm.
Unnecessary after the first second.
I did not let go after the first second.
Mikha looked down at my hand.
Then at me.
The hallway seemed to blur.
“Careful,” I said.
Her smile softened. “Okay.”
Behind us, Diane whispered, “Protective reflex.”
Chesca responded, “Automatic. No conscious processing.”
“I can hear you,” I said.
“That’s fine,” Diane replied. “This is for transparency.”
Mikha laughed.
I let go of her elbow.
Then immediately fixed her lanyard again because it had twisted.
The movement was becoming a problem.
Not because it was difficult.
Because it was easy.
Too easy.
My fingers found the strap before thought could intervene. Straighten. Smooth. Tap once near the ID case. Done.
Mikha stood very still every time.
Like she was afraid any sudden movement might make me stop.
That detail lodged somewhere tender.
So I did it more gently.
Chesca made a faint dying noise.
By lunch, the entire block had adopted an attitude of horrified fascination.
We sat at our usual table in the cafeteria. Diane and Chesca sat across from us, which was intentional. They claimed it provided “a better viewing angle.” Two other blockmates hovered nearby before Diane waved them over, announcing that the Public Beta Testing period had begun and all feedback should be directed to her.
I objected.
No one cared.
Mikha dropped into the seat beside me, opened her lunch, and immediately leaned closer.
“Aiah.”
“Yes?”
“Tubig.”
I stared at her.
Her water bottle was in front of her.
Full.
I looked at it.
Then at her.
She smiled sweetly.
“Open?”
Diane slapped the table.
Chesca whispered, “Power abuse.”
I took the bottle.
Opened it.
Handed it back.
The table erupted.
Mikha looked triumphant. “Thank you.”
“You are capable of opening bottles.”
“Yes.”
“You are choosing not to.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She took a sip. “Kasi kaya ko na.”
I frowned. “That is not an explanation.”
“It is. Dati I had to be makulit para mapansin mo. Now I can be makulit and you’ll still stay.”
The noise around us softened.
I looked at her.
She said it lightly. Carelessly, almost. But there was something under it. Something vulnerable enough that the table quieted for half a beat.
She could be playful because I was not leaving.
The realization moved through me slowly.
Then settled.
I took her lunch container, opened it properly because the lid was difficult, and pushed it back toward her.
“You should eat,” I said.
Mikha’s face softened completely.
Diane made a strangled sound. “I’m okay. I’m okay.”
Chesca put her head down on the table. “This is too domestic.”
“It is lunch,” I said.
“It is marriage-coded lunch,” Diane argued.
Mikha choked on her first bite.
I handed her a napkin immediately.
The table screamed.
Not literally.
Almost.
Mikha wiped her mouth, laughing. “Aiah, stop being perfect. Sasabog na yan sila.”
“I handed you a napkin.”
“Exactly.”
Diane pointed at me. “She anticipates needs.”
Chesca lifted her head. “She has always anticipated needs. We just didn’t know it was romantic.”
I took a slow breath.
“Could everyone please eat?”
“No,” Diane said. “We are witnessing history.”
Mikha leaned toward me, eyes bright with mischief again. “Aiah.”
I knew that tone.
“No.”
“Hindi mo pa alam sasabihin ko.”
“I know enough.”
She smiled wider. “Aiah, gusto ko lambing.”
The table went dead silent.
My brain, too.
For one clean second, there was nothing.
No cafeteria noise. No Diane. No Chesca. No clatter of utensils or scraping chairs or distant laughter from another table.
Only Mikha Cruz, sitting beside me, asking for affection like it was both a joke and not a joke at all.
Her eyes sparkled, but beneath the teasing, she was waiting.
Not demanding.
Waiting.
A warmth rose from my chest to my throat.
This was the part no one had taught me.
How to be soft where people could see.
How to choose tenderness without making it look accidental.
How to touch someone in public without feeling like I had surrendered privacy, dignity, and every defense I had spent years building.
Mikha’s smile faltered by a fraction.
Too small for anyone else.
Enough for me.
I reached under the table.
Found her hand.
And held it.
Her fingers froze.
Then slowly curled around mine.
The cafeteria resumed all at once.
Diane covered her face with both hands. “OH MY GOD.”
Chesca whispered, “Under-table handholding. Public but hidden. Very Aiah.”
Mikha was not looking at them.
She was looking at me.
Her cheeks had gone pink.
For once, she had no immediate joke.
So I gave her one.
Softly, without looking away, I said, “That is all you get for now.”
Her smile broke open.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Diane slammed both palms on the table. “I need air.”
“You said that yesterday,” I reminded her.
“And I still need it!”
Mikha squeezed my hand once beneath the table.
I squeezed back.
The act was small.
Invisible to most people.
But it changed something in me.
Because I had spent so long believing that being seen meant being exposed.
Now, with Mikha’s hand warm in mine and Diane dramatically spiraling across the table, I wondered if maybe being seen could also mean being held by the right witnesses.
Not understood perfectly.
Not left untouched.
Just accepted in the middle of the mess.
After lunch, Mikha had soccer training.
This should have created a natural separation point.
Instead, I found myself walking her to the field.
Again, not consciously.
It happened through a series of logical steps.
She had training. The field was on the way to the library if one took a less efficient route. I needed to study. She had eaten too quickly, which meant walking too fast was inadvisable. Her shoelace was also tied poorly.
Therefore, I accompanied her.
Diane, walking several steps behind with Chesca, said, “The excuses are getting creative.”
“I heard that.”
“Good.”
Mikha swung her gym bag at her side, cheerful. “Aiah, you don’t have to walk me.”
“I know.”
“You have readings.”
“I know.”
“You hate inefficient routes.”
“I do.”
She smiled. “But?”
“But your shoelace is about to come undone.”
One loop was larger than the other. The knot sat crooked near the side instead of centered properly. Functional enough for normal movement, but unstable during sharper footwork.
She looked down. “Ay.”
I stopped walking.
So did she.
So did Diane and Chesca behind us.
“No,” I said immediately, sensing the reaction before it happened.
Diane whispered, “Is she going to…”
“I said no.”
Mikha looked at her shoelace, then at me, then gave me a smile that should have been illegal. “Aiah…”
“No.”
“Please?”
“You are an athlete. Tie your shoe.”
“My hands are full.”
“You are holding one bag.”
“Still full.”
I stared at her.
She stared back.
A standoff.
Unfortunately, I lost.
I crouched.
The sound Diane made behind us was not human.
“Aiah!” Mikha squeaked, suddenly flustered. “Wait, joke lang!”
“Stay still,” I said.
“But—”
“Your laces are uneven.”
She went quiet.
Behind us, Diane made a small choking noise.
Mikha blinked up at me. “Ha?”
I crouched before logic could intervene.
The entire world stopped.
Not metaphorically.
Actually stopped.
Conversation from nearby students thinned. A passing sophomore physically slowed down mid-walk. Even the sound of the field seemed to fade beneath the sudden catastrophic realization unfolding on the pathway.
Because Aiah Ledesma was kneeling on the pavement.
For Mikha Cruz.
Diane grabbed Chesca’s arm so hard I heard fabric stretch.
“No,” Diane whispered weakly. “No, no, no…”
Chesca looked genuinely unwell.
“The Snob Queen,” she breathed dramatically, one hand pressed to her chest, “has descended from the heavens.”
“I can still hear you,” I informed them calmly while fixing the knot.
“GOOD,” Diane hissed. “YOU NEED TO HEAR THIS.”
Mikha stood completely frozen above me.
I untied the lace carefully, corrected the tension, looped it properly, tightened the structure, then repeated the process on the other shoe because symmetry mattered.
Firm.
Secure.
Functional.
The kind of knot that would survive actual movement instead of whatever reckless improvisation Mikha usually did.
When I stood, Mikha was staring at me like she had forgotten language.
“What?” I asked.
Her mouth opened slightly.
Then closed.
Then opened again.
“You…” She blinked rapidly. “You tied my shoes.”
“Yes.”
“In public.”
“They were uneven.”
Diane made a wounded sound behind us.
Chesca looked moments away from religious conversion.
“Aiah,” Chesca whispered, voice filled with the solemnity of someone witnessing prophecy unfold in real time, “do you understand what you’ve done?”
“I corrected a hazard.”
“No.” Diane pointed at me dramatically. “You bowed.”
I stared at her.
“That is not what happened.”
“That is EXACTLY what happened.”
“You knelt for her,” Chesca added, horrified and emotional all at once. “The Snob Queen of Block A. Miss ‘don’t touch my notes without permission.’ Miss ‘I work alone.’ Miss ‘people are inefficient.’”
Diane clutched her chest. “Aiah Ledesma, who once rejected group work because everyone else was ‘organizationally reckless,’ just tied Mikha Cruz’s shoelaces like she was handling a national treasure.”
My face warmed instantly.
“It was practical.”
“It was poetry,” Chesca corrected immediately.
I opened my mouth to object.
Nothing came out.
Because Mikha was still looking at me.
Not teasing now.
Not laughing.
Just staring with that soft, wrecked expression that always appeared whenever I did something she interpreted as love before I had the chance to disguise it as logic.
And maybe Chesca was right.
Because the truth was: I had not knelt because the laces were uneven.
I had knelt because it was Mikha.
Because somewhere along the way, loving her had stopped feeling like surrender and started feeling strangely close to devotion.
Mikha’s voice came out quiet.
“Aiah.”
“Yes?”
Her smile trembled slightly around the edges.
“You’re ruining my life.”
Diane pointed violently. “SEE? SEE?!”
Mikha pressed both hands to her face. “Aiah, you’re killing me.”
“You requested assistance.”
“I requested lambing, not assassination.”
I adjusted the strap of her gym bag on her shoulder. “Go to training.”
She looked at me.
The field stretched behind her, green and bright beneath the afternoon sun. Her teammates were already warming up, shouting her name, waving. She should have turned. Run. Entered her element.
Instead, she lingered.
“Aiah.”
“Yes?”
“Will you wait after?”
I had readings.
I had a quiz.
I had a schedule.
“Yes,” I said.
No hesitation.
Her face changed again.
That soft, startled happiness.
Diane whispered behind me, “Direct yes. No resistance. We are in advanced testing now.”
Chesca nodded. “Stable release soon.”
I ignored them.
Mikha smiled, then took a step backward toward the field.
Then another.
Then turned, jogged three steps, stopped, turned back.
“Babe!”
Several heads turned.
I closed my eyes.
“Yes, Mikha?”
She grinned, bright and shameless under the sun.
“Watch me ah!”
I opened my eyes.
She was bouncing on her heels now, all energy and sunlight and impossible life.
“I always do,” I said.
The words came out before I could stop them.
Mikha froze.
Behind me, Diane whispered, “Critical hit.”
Chesca whispered, “Player down.”
Mikha’s grin softened into something I could not look at for too long without losing all structural integrity.
Then she ran backward, pointing at me. “You admitted it!”
“I said go train!”
“You always watch me!”
“Mikha!”
She laughed and finally ran toward the field.
I stood there longer than necessary.
Watching.
Of course.
Diane came to stand beside me.
Chesca on the other side.
For once, neither of them spoke immediately.
Mikha joined the drills, slipping into motion like her body had been designed for it. Fast. Focused. Light on her feet. She laughed when someone bumped her, recovered quickly, stole the ball with a sharp pivot that made her teammates groan.
She was chaos.
But not careless.
Never careless where it mattered.
Diane sighed beside me. “You’re happy.”
I did not answer.
Because denial would have been insulting to both of us.
Chesca’s voice softened. “You look different.”
That, I did respond to.
“How?”
Diane looked at me, and for once, there was no teasing in her face.
“Like you’re not bracing for impact.”
The field blurred slightly.
Not because I was crying.
I was not.
I was simply looking into sunlight for too long.
Mikha scored during the drill.
Her teammates shouted.
She immediately turned toward me.
Not the team.
Not the coach.
Me.
She raised both arms triumphantly.
I should have offered a small nod.
Something dignified.
Controlled.
Instead, I smiled.
Fully.
Openly.
Where she could see.
Mikha stopped in the middle of the field.
Then clutched her chest dramatically and collapsed to one knee.
Her teammates exploded into laughter.
Diane screamed.
Chesca grabbed my arm. “Aiah, you weaponized a smile.”
I covered my face with one hand.
But I was laughing.
Quietly.
Helplessly.
And the worst part was that I did not want to stop.
That was how the first official day of being Mikha Cruz’s girlfriend proceeded.
Not with grace.
Not with subtlety.
Certainly not with order.
It unfolded in errors, interruptions, teasing commentary, and unexpected compliance. It unfolded through opened water bottles and carried bags, fixed lanyards, tied shoelaces, under-table handholding, and the unsettling realization that I had been memorizing Mikha long before I had given myself permission to love her out loud.
By late afternoon, when I waited outside her last class without realizing I had arrived ten minutes early, Diane and Chesca found me standing by the corridor.
Diane checked her watch.
Then looked at me.
Then at the classroom door.
“Aiah.”
“Yes?”
“Why are you here?”
I looked at the door.
Then at my notes.
Then back at her.
“I am waiting.”
“For?”
The door opened.
Mikha stepped out, hair slightly messy, lanyard crooked, notebook clutched to her chest.
Her face lit up when she saw me.
“Hi.”
My answer came easily.
Too easily.
“Hi.”
Diane sighed behind me. “Public Beta Testing complete.”
Chesca nodded. “System unstable but functional.”
Mikha walked toward me, smiling.
I took her notebook from her hands without asking.
She let me.
Diane groaned.
Chesca whispered, “God help Block A.”
Mikha leaned closer, voice low and amused.
“You don’t know how to act normal, no?”
I looked at her.
Then at the notebook in my hand.
Then at her crooked lanyard.
I fixed it.
Again.
Her smile softened.
“No,” I admitted.
Mikha’s eyes warmed.
“Good,” she said. “Normal is boring anyway.”
And when she slipped her hand into mine in the middle of the hallway, in front of Diane, Chesca, Block A, and anyone else who cared to look, I let her.
No flinching.
No pulling away.
No pretending it was accidental.
Because maybe this was the true test.
Not whether I could love Mikha Cruz in private, where the world was quiet and I could control the variables.
But whether I could love her in motion.
In noise.
In sunlight.
In public.
With everyone watching.
And as her fingers fit between mine, warm and certain, I realized the system had not failed.
It had simply updated.
Permission granted.
Override accepted.
Three days into the relationship, Ateneo had already adapted disturbingly fast.
Not adjusted.
Adapted.
As if the campus itself had collectively decided that Aiah Ledesma and Mikha Cruz becoming girlfriends was not shocking enough to remain gossip forever, so now everyone had simply incorporated it into the ecosystem.
Like weather.
Like tuition increases.
Like the fact that SOM students traveled in emotionally unstable packs during finals week.
It had become normal.
Or rather, it had become normal for everyone except me.
Because apparently, the longer Mikha stayed as my girlfriend, the worse my behavioral regulation became.
This was how I found myself standing outside her classroom building at 4:12 in the afternoon holding an extra bottled water and pretending I had not arrived twelve minutes early.
The corridor buzzed with late afternoon noise. Students drifted between classrooms carrying laptops and unfinished requirements. Somewhere downstairs, someone was singing off-key with alarming confidence. Sunlight stretched long across the tiled floors, warm and gold through the windows.
I checked my watch.
Again.
Diane appeared beside me without warning.
“You know,” she said conversationally, “stalking becomes less concerning when the target is already your girlfriend.”
“I am not stalking anyone.”
“Uhum.”
“I was passing through.”
“With water?”
“She forgets hydration after training.”
Diane looked at the unopened bottle in my hand, then at me.
“Aiah.”
“Yes?”
“You arrived before her class ended.”
“That is circumstantial.”
“You know her dismissal schedule.”
“That is public information.”
“You memorized it.”
“That is not illegal.”
She stared at me for three full seconds.
Then she sighed dramatically toward the heavens.
“The Snob Queen has fallen,” she whispered. “And not gracefully.”
“I am still standing.”
“Barely.”
Before I could respond, the classroom door opened.
And there she was.
Mikha stepped out laughing at something one of her classmates said, hair slightly messy from the humidity, sleeves rolled to her elbows, lanyard predictably crooked.
Then she saw me.
Everything else disappeared from her face instantly.
The laughter softened first.
Then her eyes warmed.
Then came the smile.
That smile.
The one that still struck me with unnecessary force every single time.
“Hi,” she said immediately, walking toward me.
Not toward Diane.
Not toward the hallway.
Toward me.
My entire body reacted before thought did.
I reached automatically for the strap of her bag where it had slipped halfway down her shoulder.
Adjusted it.
Straightened the weight.
Then fixed her lanyard.
Again.
Mikha went still beneath my hands.
Diane made a sound beside me that resembled physical suffering.
“Every day,” she whispered weakly. “Every single day may lanyard fixing.”
“It twists constantly,” I said.
“That’s not the point.”
Mikha smiled slowly at me. “You waited?”
“I was nearby.”
“You’re holding water.”
“You forget to drink after training.”
Her expression softened so fast it almost hurt to look at directly.
“You remembered.”
I frowned slightly. “Of course I remembered.”
Three days.
Three days into the relationship, and apparently my standards for normal behavior had already dissolved beyond recovery.
Mikha accepted the bottle with both hands like I had offered something precious.
“Thank you.”
“You are welcome.”
Diane stared at us.
Then at the sky.
Then at us again.
“I need compensation for emotional damages.”
“You involve yourself voluntarily,” I reminded her.
“That stopped mattering after you tied her shoelaces in public.”
Mikha burst out laughing.
Unfortunately, the laughter triggered another problem.
Because she leaned against me while laughing.
Casually.
Naturally.
Like this had already become instinct for her.
The side of her shoulder bumped mine lightly, warm even through the fabric of our clothes.
My entire nervous system noticed.
Mikha, the traitorous creature that she was, noticed me noticing.
Her grin widened.
“Aiah.”
“Yes?”
“Init.”
I narrowed my eyes immediately. “No.”
“I didn’t even ask yet.”
“You were about to.”
She leaned her head briefly against my shoulder. “Maybe I just wanted attention.”
Diane physically walked away.
“I cannot do this today,” she declared to nobody in particular.
Mikha laughed harder.
And because apparently the universe had decided humiliation built character, my hand rose automatically to the back of her head to steady her while she laughed.
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Diane turned slowly.
Saw my hand.
Then screamed directly into the corridor wall.
Mikha froze too.
Not because of Diane.
Because of me.
I removed my hand immediately.
Too late.
The damage had been done.
Mikha stared at me with that same wrecked expression again. Tthe one that always appeared whenever I loved her accidentally in public.
“You touched my hair,” she whispered.
“You nearly lost balance.”
“I leaned on you.”
“Yes.”
“So?”
“So you nearly lost balance.”
She smiled helplessly. “You’re so gone.”
“That is not a measurable statement.”
“You’re whipped.”
I inhaled slowly.
Diane pointed aggressively. “CONFIRMED.”
“This entire campus has become intolerable.”
“Correction,” Mikha said brightly. “Romantic.”
That should not have made my chest warm.
Unfortunately, it did.
By the time we reached the ISO cafeteria, the relationship had apparently evolved into a recognized public institution.
Students greeted us differently now.
Not disrespectfully.
Worse.
Fondly.
A group near the entrance whispered “Ay sila oh” when we walked past.
Someone from another table actually clapped when Mikha stole fries from my tray.
A first-year student physically moved aside near the drinks stall and said, “Excuse me po” with the solemnity usually reserved for faculty.
I did not understand what was happening to my life.
Mikha, meanwhile, appeared delighted by all of it.
“Babe,” she said casually while looking over the menu board, “sisig tayo?”
The word hit me directly in the spine.
Babe.
Again.
No hesitation this time.
Like she had already settled comfortably into calling me things that dismantled my structural integrity in public spaces.
I stared at the menu board because eye contact was no longer survivable.
“Yes,” I said carefully.
Behind us, Chesca whispered, “She answered to babe immediately.”
Diane clutched her chest. “Automatic response.”
“I heard that.”
“Wag mo na kasi kami pansinin. Nagnonotes kami dito.” Diane replied.
We approached the counter.
Aling Nena looked up.
Paused.
Then slowly placed down the serving spoon.
No greeting.
No hesitation.
Just immediate recognition.
“Aba mga anak.”
Mikha grinned instantly.
I felt impending doom.
“Kayo na.”
Not a question.
A conclusion.
Finalized.
Filed.
Official.
Mikha laughed. “Halata ba?”
“Anak,” Aling Nena said with deep disappointment, “wala kang matatago sakin.”
I closed my eyes briefly.
Aling Nena pointed at me next.
“At ikaw Aiah anak…”
I opened one eye cautiously. “Yes?”
“Hindi ka na scary.”
The betrayal I felt was immediate.
“I was never scary.”
“Ha!” Diane barked out a laugh loud enough to startle nearby tables.
“Minsan,” Chesca added helpfully, “parang gusto ka naming hingan ng permit bago ka lapitan.”
“That is unreasonable.”
“Yesterday,” Diane continued, “you smiled at Mikha while holding her hand and two freshmen literally moved out of your way like royalty dumaan.”
“That sounds efficient.”
“No,” Mikha said, smiling beside me. “That sounds whipped.”
I looked at her.
She smiled sweeter.
Dangerous.
Aling Nena leaned against the counter now, fully invested.
“So,” she said brightly, “sinong hindi nakatiis?”
“Mikha,” I answered immediately.
Mikha whipped toward me in shock. “Traitor!”
“You requested transparency.”
“Not witness testimony!”
Aling Nena slapped the counter laughing.
“Oooh. So ikaw pala.”
Mikha pointed accusingly at me. “Siya kaya yun!”
“I asked a direct question.”
“You looked at me like a Jane Austen adaptation!”
I froze.
Diane physically folded over the counter.
Chesca was laughing too hard to breathe properly.
“Ano anniversary niyo?” Aling Nena asked next.
“That remains under discussion,” I answered automatically.
“UNDER DISCUSSION?” Mikha repeated.
“There are multiple significant dates.”
“Oh my God,” Diane whispered. “She made categories.”
“I made distinctions.”
“You made emotional spreadsheets.”
“That is not true.”
Mikha leaned closer to Aling Nena conspiratorially. “May timeline pa ‘yan.”
“You counted 231 days,” Diane inserted immediately.
Aling Nena gasped.
Again.
“Bilang na bilang?”
“It was observational tracking.”
“Romantic tracking,” Chesca corrected.
Meanwhile, Mikha had already begun stealing food from my plate before we even sat down.
She reached over, took one of the pieces of liempo from my tray, and smiled innocently while chewing.
I watched her calmly.
“You did not ask.”
“You would have said yes.”
“That is not the point.”
“You still would’ve said yes.”
I opened my mouth.
Closed it again.
Because she was correct.
Mikha grinned triumphantly.
Then she reached for my iced tea too.
“Absolutely not.”
“Aiah.”
“No.”
“Please?”
I slid the drink toward her anyway.
Diane stood abruptly from the table behind us.
“She folded again.”
“I made a decision.”
“You made eye contact and surrendered.”
“That is inaccurate.”
Mikha drank from my straw.
Smiling the entire time.
My heart, unfortunately, had become deeply unserious where she was concerned.
And Aling Nena noticed everything.
Every glance.
Every instinctive adjustment.
Every unconscious softness.
Especially when Mikha reached for the sisig and accidentally got sauce on her thumb.
She frowned down at it.
I reacted before thought intervened.
I caught her wrist lightly with one hand.
Used the napkin with the other.
Wiped the sauce away carefully.
The entire canteen fell silent.
Mikha stared at me.
Her thumb still resting against the napkin between my fingers.
There was sauce near the corner of her mouth too.
Without thinking, I wiped that next.
Gentle.
Quick.
Automatic.
My thumb brushed lightly against her cheek.
Mikha stopped breathing.
Somewhere behind us, Diane whispered, “This is no longer Public Beta Testing.”
Chesca nodded solemnly. “This is full release.”
Then Mikha smiled. Soft, warm, entirely too fond.
“Thanks, babe.”
My soul left my body immediately.
Aling Nena slapped the counter loudly.
“Ay. Kayo na nga.”
The canteen erupted into cheers.
Actual cheers.
I covered my face with one hand.
Mikha laughed beside me, shoulders shaking.
Then Aling Nena placed an extra plate of turon on our table.
“Libre ko na.”
“That is unnecessary,” I protested weakly.
“Bagay kayo.”
And maybe it was ridiculous that those two words settled somewhere permanent inside me.
But they did.
Because people like Aling Nena had watched generations of students fall in love inside this canteen.
Temporary loves.
Chaotic loves.
Quiet loves.
First loves.
And she looked at us like we belonged naturally beside each other.
Like there was no universe where we did not fit.
Mikha picked up one of the turon pieces and held it toward me.
I sighed softly.
Then leaned forward and took the bite directly from her hand.
The canteen screamed again.
And for once, I laughed too.
Rizal Library at sunset felt like another country.
The noise of Ateneo softened there.
Outside, campus life continued in its usual rhythm with students crossing SEC Walk in clusters, org meetings spilling out into corridors, laughter carrying faintly through the trees as the sky shifted slowly from blue into gold.
But inside the library, everything slowed.
Pages turning.
Soft footsteps against carpet.
The low hum of air conditioning.
Whispers dissolving into silence almost immediately.
It felt suspended somehow.
Contained.
Like time moved differently there.
Mikha sat beside me at one of the long wooden tables near the windows, pretending to study.
Pretending very badly.
She had been staring at the same page in her notebook for at least seven minutes.
I knew this because I had counted accidentally.
Not intentionally.
Accidentally.
Mikha yawned beside me and I glanced over automatically.
Her hair was slightly messy from training earlier, softer now that it had mostly dried. She had changed into one of her Ateneo shirts, sleeves pushed up carelessly, lanyard abandoned beside her notebook because she claimed it was “strangling academic creativity.”
Her pencil rested loosely in her hand.
Her eyes looked heavy.
“You’re tired,” I said quietly.
“Mhm.”
“That is what happens when you wake up at six in the morning just to wait outside my building.”
She smiled without opening her eyes fully. “Worth it.”
I looked back down at my readings before my expression could betray me.
Beside me, Mikha shifted closer in her seat.
Not enough to interrupt.
Just enough that warmth brushed lightly against my arm.
The movement had become familiar over the last few days.
That was the dangerous part.
Not the dramatic moments.
Not the confessions or teasing or public humiliation.
The familiarity.
The quiet ease of her existing beside me now.
As though my body had already learned her shape in a room.
Mikha laughed softly under her breath, then dropped her head briefly against my shoulder.
Only for a second.
A small motion.
Careless.
Trusting.
My fingers tightened around my pen automatically.
Mikha noticed.
Of course she did.
Her smile turned sleepy.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
“You got quiet.”
“I am reading.”
“You’ve been on the same paragraph for five minutes.”
I looked down.
Unfortunately, she was correct.
The same sentence had been sitting untouched beneath my eyes because I had become distracted by the weight of her head against my shoulder.
That realization felt deeply unreasonable.
“You are disruptive,” I informed her softly.
“Girlfriend privilege.”
“That phrase is becoming dangerous.”
“Good.”
She closed her eyes again.
Outside the windows, sunlight stretched across the library tables in long golden lines. Dust drifted lazily through the light, slow and suspended. Somewhere deeper in the library, a book cart squeaked softly against the floor.
Mikha’s breathing began to even out beside me.
I looked over.
She had fallen asleep.
Not fully at first.
The gradual kind.
Her head slipping lower against my shoulder little by little. Her grip loosening around the pencil until it rolled softly across the table. Her brows relaxing completely in sleep, finally free from all the animation and teasing and laughter she carried around like armor against the world.
My chest tightened unexpectedly.
Because sleeping Mikha was different.
Quieter.
Younger somehow.
And trusting in a way that made something inside me ache gently.
Very carefully, I removed the pencil from Mikha’s loose grip before it fell.
Then adjusted the sleeve of her jacket where it had slipped awkwardly beneath her arm.
The library sunlight caught against the edges of her face softly.
Gold across warm skin.
Her hair brushing lightly against my neck whenever she breathed.
My shoulder was beginning to go numb.
I did not move.
Because the truth is I could have. Easily.
I could have shifted slightly. Adjusted posture. Woken her carefully and told her to sit properly before she developed neck pain.
That would have been reasonable.
Efficient.
Even practical.
But instead, I stayed perfectly still.
Even when my arm began tingling.
Even when the page in front of me stopped making sense entirely.
Because Mikha looked peaceful.
And I was beginning to understand that peace mattered more to me than comfort now.
The realization arrived quietly.
Not dramatic.
Not overwhelming.
Just certain.
Like most dangerous things in life.
Across from us, Diane was visibly emotional.
Chesca looked close behind.
Diane scribbled something onto a sheet of paper and slowly pushed it across the table toward me.
I stared at it.
Then unfolded it carefully.
THIS IS INSANE. YOU LOOK DOMESTIC.
I looked up at Diane flatly.
She pointed aggressively toward Mikha sleeping on my shoulder.
Then mimed crying.
I folded the note once.
Then wrote beneath it:
Be quiet. You will wake her.
I slid it back.
Diane stared at the sentence.
Then clutched her chest dramatically like I had personally attacked her emotionally.
Chesca leaned over to read it too.
Then both of them looked at me with identical expressions of horrified affection.
I ignored them.
Or tried to.
But the problem with Mikha was this: she made me visible in ways I had spent most of my life avoiding.
Before her, people only ever seemed to notice the easier version of me. The disciplined one. The composed one. The academically efficient machine who always had the right answer, the cleanest notes, the highest score, the sharpest timing. They saw someone difficult to approach and assumed difficulty meant indifference. They saw restraint and mistook it for emotional absence.
It was simpler that way.
People rarely asked what existed underneath control because control itself was convincing. And maybe I had spent so many years perfecting it that even I started believing composure was all there was to me.
Then Mikha Cruz arrived in my life like a system error nobody could patch.
Loud where I was careful. Warm where I was guarded. Reckless in all the places I had been taught to be afraid.
And somehow, through sheer persistence and unbearably sincere affection, she kept pulling softness out of me like it had belonged there from the very beginning.
Not forcefully.
Never forcefully.
Mikha had never demanded vulnerability from me. She simply created spaces where it became exhausting to keep hiding it.
I looked down at her again.
Still asleep beside me.
Still leaning against my shoulder without hesitation, like she trusted me instinctively even in unconsciousness. Her breathing was slow and even now, warm against the sleeve of my uniform. A few strands of hair had fallen across her forehead, softened gold by the late afternoon sunlight pouring through the library windows.
She looked peaceful.
That was the word for it.
Peaceful.
Not performing. Not teasing. Not trying to make everyone laugh. Just resting beside me like the world felt safe enough to sleep in.
Something inside my chest ached quietly at the sight.
One of her hands rested loosely near mine on the table, fingers slightly curled from sleep. I stared at it longer than necessary before realizing what I was doing.
Then, before logic could intervene, my hand moved toward hers.
I stopped halfway.
Hovered.
The old instinct returned immediately. The familiar caution. The careful voice inside me that had spent years measuring affection before expressing it, terrified that too much honesty would eventually become something another person could use against me.
But Mikha shifted slightly in her sleep, her head settling more comfortably against my shoulder, and the movement dissolved the hesitation almost instantly.
So I let my fingers touch hers.
Lightly.
Enough to feel warmth.
Enough to remind myself she was real.
The contact sent something soft and dangerous through me.
Mine.
The word still startled me every time it appeared in my thoughts.
Not because it felt possessive.
Because it felt impossible.
Mine, not in the way people like my family spoke about ownership and expectation and obligation. Not in the way relationships were often treated like negotiations between appearances and convenience.
Mine as in chosen.
Mine as in trusted.
Mine as in the first person who looked directly at every rigid, overcontrolled, emotionally restrained part of me and stayed anyway.
Stayed gently.
Stayed willingly.
Stayed long enough that I had started believing maybe I did not need to earn love by making myself smaller and quieter and easier to manage.
Outside the windows, the Ateneo campus slowly drifted toward evening. The sunlight had turned deeper now, softer at the edges, casting long gold shadows across the wooden library tables. Somewhere outside, students laughed as they crossed the walkways below. Inside, pages turned softly. Chairs shifted occasionally against the carpet. The air conditioning hummed low and steady above us.
But the world around me had narrowed into something frighteningly simple.
Mikha breathing beside me.
Her head against my shoulder.
Her fingers warm beneath mine.
And suddenly, terrifyingly, I realized I was happy.
Not entertained.
Not distracted from pressure for a few temporary hours.
Not relieved because exams were over or because expectations had briefly loosened their grip around my throat.
Happy.
The realization settled into me slowly, almost cautiously, like warmth returning to numb hands after being cold for too long. It spread through my chest in quiet increments until I could feel it everywhere. In the way my shoulders had relaxed without permission, in the way I no longer minded the growing numbness in my arm from sitting still too long, in the way I kept looking at Mikha like I was trying to memorize this exact version of her before time could touch it.
Because happiness had always felt conditional before.
Temporary.
Something fragile that only existed after achievement, after perfection, after usefulness. A reward that disappeared the moment you stopped earning it.
But this felt different.
This did not feel borrowed.
It did not feel fleeting.
It felt terrifyingly real.
For the first time in my life, happiness did not feel like something temporary.
It felt structural. Permanent.
Like a system I could finally trust.
