Chapter Text
Mikha leaned back in her seat, letting the low hum of jazz and the murmur of conversations swirl around her. The Back Room was as dim and opulent as she remembered it—a speakeasy with an old-world charm that tried too hard to feel authentic but somehow still worked. It had been months since she let her friends drag her out to a place like this. The drinks were overpriced, the crowd oozed with the kind of quiet affluence Mikha had distanced herself from, and yet, tonight, here she was.
Colet, Gwen, and Jhoanna were deep in conversation, talking about some client disaster that had dominated their workweek. Mikha half-listened, sipping on a whiskey sour, letting the sharp tang of citrus cut through the fuzz in her mind. This was their dynamic now—Mikha, the odd one out, quietly nodding along while her friends vented about the corporate grind she'd left behind.
She glanced around the room, her gaze drifting over the impeccably dressed patrons. A couple leaned into each other at a booth, sharing a private laugh. A cluster of men in suits gathered near the entrance, their conversation loud and confident. Then her eyes landed on the bar, and everything slowed.
There she was.
Aiah.
Mikha's breath hitched, and her hand froze mid-lift, the glass of whiskey hovering near her lips. Aiah stood at the bar, one elbow resting casually on the counter as she spoke to a man and a woman on either side of her. She was wearing a sleek, emerald green dress that hugged her figure just enough to be striking without being overt. Her dark hair was swept back, exposing her sharp collarbones, and her lips curled into a faint smile as she said something to the man beside her. But it wasn't just the sight of Aiah that made Mikha freeze—it was the look in her eyes.
Even from across the room, Mikha could see it. That same weight. That same exhaustion carefully hidden beneath layers of poise.
She felt her gaze linger too long, drawn in by something she couldn't quite name, and that's when Colet noticed.
"Uy, sino tinitingnan mo?" Colet asked, leaning closer, her eyebrows raised in curiosity.
Mikha snapped her head back, trying to play it cool. "Wala."
"'Wala,' my ass," Colet said, smirking. She followed Mikha's line of sight, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the bar. "Wait. Do you know her?"
Mikha hesitated, taking another sip of her drink to stall. "Not really. She's just... a Grab passenger. A couple of times."
Colet frowned, clearly not buying it. "You're staring at her like she's your long-lost love or something."
"Shut up, Col," Mikha muttered, though her cheeks flushed.
Gwen, now intrigued, leaned in as well. "Sino? Asan?"
Before Mikha could deflect, Jhoanna, who had been scrolling through her phone, looked up and followed the others' gazes. She squinted, her eyes locking on Aiah, and suddenly her jaw dropped.
"Oh my God!" Jhoanna gasped, clutching Colet's arm. "That's Aiah! That's my family friend!"
Mikha turned to her, startled. "What?"
"Yeah, her parents are friends with my parents. She's also friends with my cousin," Jhoanna said, her voice practically vibrating with excitement. "We've been to family gatherings together. I haven't seen her in years, though. Oh my God, small world!"
Mikha's stomach twisted. Of course, there was a connection. Manila was small like that, where everyone was only a few degrees removed from someone else. Still, hearing Jhoanna confirm her name, say it out loud like it was more than a fleeting thought in Mikha's mind, made it feel real in a way that unsettled her.
"She's a friend of your family?" Mikha asked, trying to keep her tone casual.
Jhoanna nodded, taking a sip of her cocktail. "Yeah. She's super nice, but kind of..." She trailed off, tilting her head thoughtfully. "I don't know. Parang palaging may bigat sa kanya, you know? Like she's got a lot going on, but she doesn't talk about it. It's hard to explain."
Mikha's chest tightened. That feeling of recognition tugged at her again, stronger now.
"Why, do you know her?" Jhoanna asked, turning to Mikha with wide eyes. "I mean, like, other than as a passenger?"
Mikha shook her head quickly. "No. I mean, not really. We've just exchanged a few words, that's all."
"Hala," Jhoanna said, smirking. "Crush mo ba siya?"
"Jesus Christ," Mikha muttered, burying her face in her hands as Colet and Gwen burst out laughing.
"Crush nga!" Gwen teased, nudging Mikha with her elbow.
"Tumigil nga kayo," Mikha said, glaring at them. But her irritation couldn't mask the warmth creeping up her neck.
"Wait," Jhoanna said, her eyes lighting up. "Gusto mo ba kong ipakilala? She's right there. I can—"
"No!" Mikha blurted out, far too loudly. Heads from nearby tables turned, and she shrank back in her seat. She lowered her voice, glaring at Jhoanna. "Seriously, no. Don't do that. That would be weird."
Jhoanna gave her an exaggerated pout. "Weird lang if you make it weird, girl."
Mikha shook her head, gripping her drink tighter. She knew how these things went—introductions, small talk, forced smiles. It would be painfully awkward. Besides, what would she even say? Hi, I've been thinking about you ever since you sat in my car and looked quietly heartbroken? No, thank you.
Still, her gaze drifted back to the bar, just for a second. Aiah was laughing now, throwing her head back at something one of her friends had said. The sound didn't carry across the room, but Mikha could imagine it—light, melodic. For a moment, Aiah looked completely at ease, and Mikha felt something strange twist in her chest.
She scolded herself, turning back to her drink. It didn't matter how curious she was, how much she wanted to piece together the story behind Aiah's tired eyes. The woman was a stranger, a blip in her life. That's all she would ever be.
But even as she thought it, Mikha knew she didn't fully believe it.
/
Mikha was halfway through her second whiskey sour when Jhoanna excused herself to go to the ladies' room. "Balik ako," she said, slipping out of the booth with a sly grin. "Try not to stare too hard while I'm gone, ha?"
"Whatever," Mikha muttered, taking a sip of her drink, refusing to rise to the bait.
Colet and Gwen immediately jumped in, their teasing relentless.
"Kita mo 'yung reaction niya?" Colet said, nudging Gwen. "She's so defensive. Mikha, bakit ganyan?"
"Leave me alone," Mikha said, glaring at the two of them.
"Baka kailangan niya ng third drink," Gwen said with a laugh. "Pang-relax. Mukhang tense eh."
Mikha threw them both a withering look but stayed quiet. She was determined not to give them any more ammunition, though her gaze couldn't help but flicker to the bar again. Aiah was still there, leaning on the counter, her attention fully on her friends. Mikha exhaled, shaking her head. Enough. She's just a stranger. A hot stranger. That's it.
But she couldn't deny the low thrum of anticipation humming beneath her skin. She didn't even know what she was waiting for—Aiah to glance her way? For Jhoanna to make good on her teasing threat to introduce them? The thought made her palms sweat, and she wiped them discreetly on her jeans.
Fifteen minutes passed, and Mikha assumed Jhoanna had gotten sidetracked in the way she always did—maybe chatting with someone in the restroom or getting caught in a group selfie. Mikha leaned back in her seat, letting her friends' chatter wash over her, her drink nearly empty.
Then she felt it—a light tap on her shoulder.
She turned, expecting a server or someone brushing by, but her breath caught in her throat.
It was Aiah.
Up close, she was even more striking. Her deep brown eyes, now framed by a faint smudge of eyeliner, locked onto Mikha's with an intensity that made her heart stutter. Her lips, painted a subtle shade of red, curved into a polite but curious smile.
"Hi," Aiah said, her voice soft but clear. "You're Mikha, right?"
For a moment, Mikha's brain short-circuited. Her name sounded different coming out of Aiah's mouth—like it meant more than it actually did. She tried to form a response, but all she could manage was a faint squeak.
"I—uh—yeah," Mikha finally stammered, her voice cracking embarrassingly.
Aiah's polite smile grew wider, amused now. "Jhoanna said you were here. Thought I'd come say hi."
It was then that Mikha noticed Jhoanna standing just behind Aiah, looking far too pleased with herself. "Surprise!" Jho said, practically bouncing on her heels. She looped her arm through Aiah's, dragging her closer to the table. "See? Hindi naman weird, di ba?"
Mikha could have killed her on the spot. "Jho," she hissed through gritted teeth, her cheeks burning.
But Jhoanna was already gesturing at the booth. "Mikha, Colet, Gwen, this is Aiah. Family friend ko, as I was saying. She's super nice, don't be awkward."
"Hi," Aiah said again, this time addressing the group. Her tone was easy, casual, but her eyes flicked back to Mikha, as though she were gauging her reaction.
"Hi!" Colet said, grinning like a devil. "We've heard so much about you!"
Mikha's eyes widened in horror. "Col!" she hissed, but her friend ignored her completely.
Gwen, ever the instigator, jumped in. "Oo nga. Mikha's mentioned you."
"Mentioned me?" Aiah asked, tilting her head slightly, her smile now touched with curiosity.
Mikha's mind raced. She wanted to melt into the leather booth, to dissolve into thin air, to anything but deal with this. "I—I just said we've, uh... we've crossed paths. You know, like, in passing."
Aiah arched an eyebrow, her amusement unmistakable now. "In passing?"
"Grab!" Mikha blurted, louder than she intended. She cleared her throat, feeling Colet and Gwen barely containing their laughter beside her. "I mean, uh, you were a passenger. Once. Or twice. That's all."
Aiah nodded slowly, as if piecing it together. "Ah, kaya pala you looked familiar. I knew I'd seen you somewhere before."
"Yep," Mikha said quickly. "That's it. Grab."
The silence stretched for a beat too long, and Mikha knew she wasn't the only one who felt it. Her friends were staring at her, clearly holding back laughter, while Aiah regarded her with that same calm, enigmatic expression that had been driving Mikha crazy for weeks.
"Well," Jhoanna said, clapping her hands together, "now that you're both officially introduced, you can stop pretending not to notice each other."
Mikha glared at her, but before she could retort, Aiah chuckled softly. "Thanks for the introduction, Jho," she said, patting her arm. "It's nice to meet all of you."
"You too!" Colet said eagerly. "Feel free to sit down! Mikha can scoot over."
Mikha's eyes widened. "She's probably busy—"
"I don't mind," Aiah said, surprising everyone.
Before Mikha could protest, Aiah slid into the booth beside her, her perfume—warm, floral, subtle—filling the air between them. Mikha tensed, hyper-aware of how close they suddenly were. Aiah turned to her, her expression curious but open. "So," she said, her voice low enough that only Mikha could hear. "Aside from Grab, what else should I know about you?"
Mikha stared at her, her brain scrambling to form coherent words. "I... uh..."
Gwen snorted, barely holding back a laugh. "This is amazing," she whispered to Colet, who was biting down on her straw to keep from cackling.
Mikha shot them both a glare before turning back to Aiah. "I—I'm not that interesting," she finally managed.
Aiah tilted her head, her gaze steady. "I don't believe that."
The words sent a jolt through Mikha's chest, and for a moment, the noise of the bar seemed to fade away. She felt her cheeks heat up again but forced herself to hold Aiah's gaze.
"Well," she said, her voice steadier this time, "I could say the same about you."
Aiah smiled, and for the first time, it felt entirely genuine. "Maybe you'll find out."
Mikha's heart thudded in her chest, and somewhere in the back of her mind, she cursed Jhoanna for orchestrating this. But she couldn't deny it—somehow, this was exactly where she wanted to be.
/
The night rolled on, and the drinks kept coming. Mikha felt the edge of her nerves soften with each sip of whiskey, the slight haze making it easier to talk to Aiah without tripping over her words. To her surprise, the conversation between them eased into a comfortable rhythm—nothing deep, just snippets of shared humor and the occasional sarcastic remark about the absurdly pretentious vibe of the bar.
Still, her friends didn't let up.
"Uy, Mikha," Colet whispered loudly enough for the entire table to hear. "Okay ka pa ba diyan? Parang kinakabahan ka!"
"Stop," Mikha hissed, her cheeks burning.
"Hindi siya kinakabahan," Gwen said, smirking as she leaned closer to Aiah. "In fairness kay Mikha, she's usually more talkative. Mas madaldal 'to kapag hindi siya starstruck."
"I'm not starstruck," Mikha said defensively, glaring at Gwen.
Aiah chuckled, her gaze flicking toward Mikha with a playful glint. "I'm making you nervous ba?"
"No," Mikha said too quickly, her voice slightly higher than normal.
Aiah's lips curved into a small, knowing smile, but she didn't push it. She took another sip of her drink, her eyes steady on Mikha for just a beat too long before turning back to the others.
The teasing continued, but Aiah handled it with the same composed charm Mikha had come to expect, occasionally tossing a sharp yet gentle comeback that left Colet and Gwen laughing. Mikha, on the other hand, was torn between mortification and a deepening sense of curiosity. There was something about Aiah's quiet confidence that was utterly disarming.
Eventually, Mikha couldn't take the heat anymore. She pushed her chair back and stood up, mumbling, "Magwiwi lang ako. Or something. Be right back."
She made her way toward the smoking area instead, the faint buzz in her head urging her to escape the intensity of the room. Once outside, the cool air hit her skin, a welcome reprieve from the low, heady hum of the bar.
Mikha leaned against the railing, pulling a cigarette out of her pocket and placing it between her lips. She didn't even smoke much anymore—only on nights like this, when her nerves begged for something to do. She reached into her pocket for her lighter, flicking it open, when suddenly, a hand darted in and snatched the cigarette away.
"Hoy!" Mikha snapped, looking up in surprise.
Standing in front of her, holding the stolen cigarette, was Aiah.
Aiah raised an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth curving into a faint smile. "Smoking? Really?"
Mikha stared at her, caught off guard. "What—why—"
Before she could finish her sentence, Aiah placed the cigarette between her own lips, her movements slow and deliberate. She stepped closer, close enough that Mikha could smell her faint floral perfume mingling with the sharp tang of the cigarette. Aiah tilted her head slightly, her gaze steady, her expression expectant.
Mikha blinked, realizing what she was asking for. Wordlessly, she flicked the lighter and held it up, her hands trembling ever so slightly. Aiah leaned in, the cigarette catching the flame as her lips curled around it. Mikha's breath hitched. Could she be even more attractive?
Aiah exhaled slowly, blowing smoke into the cool night air, and handed the lighter back to Mikha. "Thanks," she said casually, as if she hadn't just completely short-circuited Mikha's brain.
Mikha stared at her, half-annoyed, half-stunned. "You know, snatching a cigarette out of someone's mouth is kind of rude."
Aiah smirked, taking another drag. "Social smoker lang naman ako," she said, shrugging. "I couldn't resist."
Mikha let out a laugh, shaking her head. "Well, you picked the wrong person to judge. I'm barely a smoker myself. I think this pack is, like, five months old."
Aiah chuckled softly, her voice low and warm. "So we're both pretenders then."
"Something like that," Mikha said, smiling.
They stood there for a moment, leaning against the railing, the faint sounds of the bar filtering through the open doorway behind them. The conversation turned lighter—small talk about the city, random musings about BGC's nightlife. Mikha found herself relaxing, the initial tension between them dissolving into something easier, more natural.
But then Aiah said something that made Mikha's chest tighten all over again.
"I actually already spotted you earlier," Aiah admitted, flicking ash off the end of the cigarette.
Mikha frowned, confused. "What do you mean?"
"At the bar," Aiah said, glancing at her with a small, sheepish smile. "Before Jhoanna introduced us formally. I saw you sitting with your friends."
Mikha stared at her, her mind racing. "So... when she brought you over, you already knew who I was?"
Aiah nodded, exhaling a thin stream of smoke. "I did. But I pretended not to. Sorry if that came off rude."
Mikha blinked, trying to process this new information. "Wait... so you—you already recognized me from the Grab rides?"
"Yeah," Aiah said simply. She turned to face Mikha fully now, her expression calm but tinged with something hesitant. "I wasn't sure if I should say anything. It felt... awkward. Like, what would I even say? 'Hi, you drove me around twice'? That's weird, right?"
Mikha laughed, the sound surprising even herself. "Okay, fair. That is kind of weird."
Aiah smiled, her gaze softening. "But when Jhoanna said your name, I thought... okay, maybe this is a sign or something."
"A sign?" Mikha repeated, her heart thudding in her chest.
Aiah shrugged, looking almost shy for the first time that night. "I don't know. Maybe I just wanted to see what you were like. You're... interesting."
Mikha's breath caught. For a moment, she didn't know what to say. Her usual quick wit, her sarcastic defenses—they all seemed to desert her under Aiah's steady gaze.
"I'm not that interesting," Mikha finally said, her voice quieter than she intended.
Aiah's lips curved into a small, knowing smile. "You keep saying that. But I don't believe you."
They stood there, the silence between them charged but not uncomfortable. Mikha glanced at the cigarette still dangling between Aiah's fingers and let out a soft laugh. "You know, you still owe me for stealing my cigarette."
Aiah raised an eyebrow, her smile turning playful. "Fine. I'll buy you a drink."
Mikha grinned, the tension in her chest easing just slightly. "Deal."
As they walked back into the bar together, side by side, Mikha couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, this was a beginning she didn't see coming.
/
Back inside the bar, the low hum of conversations and the clinking of glasses enveloped them once again. Aiah led the way toward the booth where Mikha's friends were waiting, but instead of sliding into her previous spot beside Colet, she stopped at the bar.
"Wait," Aiah said, turning to Mikha. "I owe you a drink, di ba?"
Mikha blinked, still a little off-balance from their smoking area encounter. "Uh, you don't have to—"
"A deal's a deal," Aiah said with a smirk, cutting her off. She signaled the bartender, leaning casually against the counter, her green dress catching the dim light in all the right ways. "What's your poison?"
Mikha hesitated, her eyes flicking toward the booth where Colet and Gwen were already smirking at her like they'd witnessed the whole thing. Jhoanna, of course, looked positively gleeful, practically vibrating with the knowledge that her meddling had worked. Mikha groaned inwardly. They'll never let me live this down.
"Whiskey sour," Mikha finally said, meeting Aiah's amused gaze.
Aiah nodded. "Good choice. Same for me," she told the bartender, flashing him a polite smile.
While they waited for their drinks, Aiah turned to Mikha, propping her elbow on the counter and resting her chin lightly on her hand. "So... tell me something about yourself. Something not related to Grab."
Mikha felt her cheeks flush, though she tried to play it cool. "I don't know. I'm not exactly that interesting, remember?"
"There you go again," Aiah said, tilting her head with a mock frown. "I don't buy it. You're an enigma, Mikha. The mystery driver with good taste in music. There's gotta be more to you than that."
"Good taste in music?" Mikha said, raising an eyebrow. "You heard, like, two songs in my car."
"Two songs were enough," Aiah replied, her lips curling into a teasing smile.
Mikha couldn't help but laugh, shaking her head. "Fine. Let's see... I used to be a lawyer."
That caught Aiah's attention. Her eyebrows lifted slightly. "Really?"
"Yup. Corporate law, actually. High-pressure, cutthroat, soul-sucking. The whole cliché," Mikha said with a shrug.
"And now you drive a Grab," Aiah said, her voice laced with curiosity rather than judgment.
Mikha nodded. "Yup. Big fall from grace, huh?"
"I wouldn't say that," Aiah said, studying her. "More like... a change of pace."
Mikha looked at her, surprised by the lack of judgment in her tone. Most people either pitied her or questioned her life choices outright, but Aiah simply seemed intrigued. It was disarming in the best way.
Their drinks arrived, and Aiah handed one to Mikha with a small smile. "Cheers," she said, raising her glass.
"To what?" Mikha asked.
"To not judging," Aiah replied, her voice playful but her eyes holding something deeper.
Mikha clinked her glass against Aiah's, her heart skipping a beat. "Cheers."
They moved back toward the booth, where Mikha's friends pretended not to stare, though their grins were impossible to hide. Aiah didn't sit this time, though. She leaned casually against the edge of the table, her presence magnetic, effortlessly commanding the space around her.
"So," Colet said, her voice dripping with faux innocence. "How's it going over there?"
Mikha shot her a warning look, but Aiah, ever composed, just smiled. "I think I'm winning her over," she said, casting a sidelong glance at Mikha.
Colet and Gwen howled with laughter, and Mikha groaned, covering her face with her hands. "I hate all of you."
"You love us," Gwen said, grinning.
"Love's a strong word," Mikha muttered, though a smile tugged at her lips.
Aiah placed a hand lightly on Mikha's shoulder, her touch sending a jolt of warmth through her. "Come on, they're just having fun," she said, her voice soft enough that only Mikha could hear.
Mikha looked up at her, her heart thudding in her chest. "I know. It's just... you're giving them so much ammo right now."
Aiah laughed, her smile lighting up her face. "You think this is bad? You should meet my friends. They'd eat you alive."
Mikha smirked, taking a sip of her drink to hide the way her cheeks were heating up again. "I'll pass, thanks."
As the night wore on, Aiah stayed true to her word, buying Mikha not just one drink but two more after that. Each one seemed to ease the tension between them further, the conversation flowing freely, punctuated by shared laughs and the occasional teasing remark.
At some point, the rest of the group became background noise, their chatter blending into the hum of the bar. Mikha and Aiah had fallen into their own bubble, talking about everything and nothing at the same time—favorite movies, pet peeves, guilty pleasures.
"Wait, you seriously listen to Taylor Swift?" Aiah asked, her voice filled with mock disbelief.
Mikha laughed, raising her hands defensively. "Don't judge me! Folklore is a masterpiece, okay?"
Aiah shook her head, laughing softly. "I didn't say it wasn't. I'm just... surprised. You don't seem like the type."
"What type do I seem like, then?" Mikha asked, tilting her head.
Aiah paused, her gaze lingering on Mikha for a moment too long. "Mysterious," she said finally, her voice quieter now.
Mikha felt her breath catch. "Mysterious?" she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Yeah," Aiah said, her smile softening. "Like you've got layers. A story you don't tell just anyone."
Mikha didn't know how to respond to that. She wanted to brush it off, to make some sarcastic remark, but the way Aiah was looking at her made it impossible. There was no teasing in her expression now, no playful smirk. Just quiet curiosity, laced with something Mikha couldn't quite name.
"I could say the same about you," Mikha said finally, her voice steady despite the way her heart was racing.
Aiah's smile returned, small but genuine. "Maybe we're both mysteries, then."
As the bar began to thin out, Aiah leaned closer, her voice low. "You wanna step out for some air?"
Mikha nodded, her pulse quickening. "Yeah. Sure."
They slipped out into the cool night, the streets quieter now, the air crisp against their skin. Aiah turned to Mikha, a hint of amusement in her eyes. "So, are you always this awkward, or is it just me?"
Mikha let out a laugh, shaking her head. "Oh, it's definitely you."
"Good," Aiah said, her smile widening. "Because I think it's kind of cute."
Mikha froze, caught between disbelief and something dangerously close to giddy. For once, she didn't have a comeback.
"Come on," Aiah said, motioning toward the railing overlooking the street. "Tell me more about this Taylor Swift obsession of yours."
Mikha laughed, following her. The night stretched on, the conversation flowing as easily as it had inside, but now there was something else—a spark, an undeniable pull that neither of them seemed in a hurry to break.
/
Outside the bar, the city had settled into its late-night quiet. The streets were lit by a soft orange glow from the streetlights, and the cool air was a welcome reprieve from the buzz of the bar. Mikha leaned against the railing, her hands in her pockets, glancing at Aiah, who stood beside her.
Aiah was silent for a moment, her head tilted back slightly as she gazed at the empty street. The faint hum of distant traffic filled the gaps in their conversation. Mikha had no idea what to say, but somehow, the silence between them felt comfortable, like they didn't need to fill it with forced words.
"So," Aiah said finally, turning to Mikha. "Do you think Jho planned this?"
"Absolutely," Mikha said without hesitation, laughing softly.
Aiah smiled, her eyes warm. "She's a good friend."
"She's a menace," Mikha corrected, shaking her head. "But yeah, I guess she's not the worst."
Aiah laughed at that, a low, soft sound that made Mikha's chest tighten. "She's not subtle, though. I could tell from the way she kept staring at us all night."
Mikha groaned. "She's probably already writing a group chat essay about how this turned out. I'll be hearing about it for weeks."
"Worth it?" Aiah asked, one eyebrow raised, her smile teasing.
Mikha hesitated, caught off guard by the question. She met Aiah's gaze, her lips twitching into a small, self-conscious smile. "Yeah. Worth it."
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Aiah's smile softened, and her eyes lingered on Mikha in that same way they had earlier at the bar—steady, curious, and just a little disarming. Mikha's pulse quickened, and she tore her gaze away, staring down at the ground like a teenager caught in a moment too big for her.
"I like this side of you," Aiah said quietly.
Mikha glanced up. "What side?"
Aiah shrugged, her smile faint. "This side. Real. No walls."
Mikha let out a shaky laugh, rubbing the back of her neck. "You don't even know me."
"Not yet," Aiah said, her voice soft but certain.
The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning, and Mikha didn't know how to respond. She wanted to say something witty, something clever, but her brain was too busy replaying those two words: not yet.
"I should probably go," Aiah said finally, her tone reluctant.
"Yeah," Mikha said quickly, though she couldn't quite hide the disappointment in her voice. "It's late."
Aiah nodded, but neither of them moved.
Mikha forced herself to look away, running a hand through her hair. "I'll, uh, walk you to your car," she offered awkwardly.
Aiah laughed softly. "I didn't drive. I got dropped off."
"Oh," Mikha said, feeling like an idiot. "Right. Well, I can call you a Grab or—"
"I can manage," Aiah said, cutting her off gently.
They stood there for another beat, the moment stretching long and unspoken between them. Finally, Aiah took a step back, giving Mikha a small, almost shy smile.
"Thanks for tonight," she said.
Mikha nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Yeah. Same."
Aiah turned to leave, and Mikha watched her go, her heart pounding. She felt like she should say something, do something, but what? They barely knew each other. This wasn't a movie, this wasn't—
"Aiah!"
The word left her mouth before she could think it through, sharp and sudden, cutting through the quiet street.
Aiah stopped, turning around, her expression curious. "Yeah?"
Mikha hesitated for half a second, then steeled herself. She jogged forward, stopping just a foot away from her. "Your phone," she blurted out.
Aiah blinked, confused. "What?"
"Your phone," Mikha repeated, holding out her hand. "Can I see it?"
Aiah raised an eyebrow but pulled her phone from her bag and handed it to her. "Okay...?"
Mikha's fingers fumbled slightly as she unlocked the screen and pulled up the contacts. She hesitated for only a moment before typing in her name and number. Then, handing it back to Aiah, she grinned nervously.
"In case you're ever stuck finding a Grab driver," Mikha said, her voice laced with a playful edge, though her heart was pounding like crazy.
Aiah looked down at her phone, her lips twitching into a small smile. Her gaze flicked back up to Mikha, her eyes warm but unreadable. "Is that so?"
Mikha shrugged, trying to act casual. "Yeah. I'm very reliable. Five stars and all that."
Aiah let out a soft laugh, slipping her phone back into her bag. "Noted."
She took a step closer, just enough that Mikha could see the faint glint of mischief in her eyes. "You know," she said, her voice low, "you could've just asked for my number."
Mikha froze, her brain scrambling for a comeback. "I—I didn't want to be too forward," she stammered, feeling heat rise to her cheeks.
Aiah tilted her head, her smile widening slightly. "Oh, I think you managed just fine."
Mikha could only laugh, shaking her head. "Well, uh, goodnight. I guess."
"Goodnight, Mikha," Aiah said, her tone soft, almost teasing.
She lingered for a moment longer, her gaze holding Mikha's, before finally turning and walking away. Mikha stood there, rooted to the spot, watching her until she disappeared around the corner.
As the night settled into silence again, Mikha exhaled deeply, running a hand through her hair. She couldn't stop the grin that spread across her face, despite how ridiculous she felt.
Not yet.
The words echoed in her mind, and for the first time in a long time, she felt like maybe, just maybe, things were starting to fall into place.
— PART 2/6 —