Chapter Text
Ten years after the 0.5 mechanical pencil line had first divided their tables, the only thing separating Aiah and Mikha now was a pile of wooden building blocks in the middle of their living room.
"Janna, baby, the foundation of your tower is a bit... unstable," Aiah remarked, her voice shifting into her 'Senior Architect' tone as she adjusted a prism block.
"It needs more structural integrity."
"Soul, Aiah. It needs soul," Mikha countered, walking into the room with two mugs of coffee—white mocha for Aiah, black for herself. She set the mugs down and scooped up their three-year-old, who was currently wearing a miniature hard hat.
"Our daughter is a visionary. Right, Janna? We don't follow the rubrics in this house."
Janna giggled, her tiny hands reaching for Mikha’s glasses.
"Mama, look! Blue house!"
"It's beautiful, babi," Mikha whispered, kissing the toddler’s temple.
Life was a constant, high-stakes blueprint. Aiah was the Principal Architect of Arceta & Associates, known for her sleek, high-end residential skyscrapers. Mikha ran Lim Design Studio, the firm responsible for the city’s most soulful and experimental industrial spaces.
They were the industry’s power couple, but their biggest project was always 7:00 AM on a Monday.
"Did you remember the site visit for the BGC project?" Aiah asked, checking her tablet as she smoothed out her blazer.
"Done. And did you finalize the material specs for the museum?" Mikha replied, handing Janna a piece of toast.
"Calculated and sent," Aiah smirked, leaning in to steal a quick, lingering kiss from Mikha.
"I still work faster than you."
"In your dreams, Valedictorian."
Their days were a blur of boardrooms and blueprints, but their favorite alignment happened at night. They had a strict rule: no drafting after 8:00 PM. That time belonged to Janna and the life they had designed together.
As the sun set over the Makati skyline—the same one they had looked at from a cold rooftop years ago—they sat on their balcony. Janna was fast asleep between them, exhausted from building cities all afternoon.
Mikha reached out, interlacing her fingers with Aiah’s, just as she had done in the studio a decade earlier.
"You know," Aiah whispered, leaning her head on Mikha’s shoulder.
"I used to think being on top meant being alone. I’m glad my calculations were wrong."
Mikha squeezed her hand, looking at the city they had helped build, and the family they had built together.
"I told you, Arceta. You can’t have a strong foundation without a soul."
Aiah smiled, closing her eyes.
"Fine. You win this round, Lim."
"I always do," Mikha teased, but her voice was full of nothing but love.
The Arceta-Lim family vacation to a boutique eco-resort in Palawan was supposed to be about disconnecting, but for two principal architects, the lobby was basically a 3D model come to life.
"The cantilever on this deck is aggressive, Mikha," Aiah noted, her eyes tracing the timber beams of the resort's open-air lounge.
"The load-bearing points look stressed. I don’t think they accounted for the monsoon wind loads."
Mikha, who was trying to juggle two suitcases and a beach bag, squinted at the ceiling.
"It’s organic, Aiah. It’s supposed to move with the environment. It’s soulful. You’re just annoyed because it’s not a perfect right angle."
"I'm annoyed because it's a safety hazard," Aiah countered, crossing her arms.
"If we’re staying in the 'Bird’s Nest' suite, I need to check the structural joints myself."
"Babi, please. No inspecting the joints. We are on a break," Mikha groaned, though she was already subconsciously calculating the span of the bamboo rafters. "Besides, my firm did a study on this material—it’s more durable than your reinforced concrete."
"In what universe, Lim?"
They were so deep into their 'professional rebuttal'—the same energy they had back at Table 4 and Table 5—that they didn't notice the sudden silence at their hip.
Three-year-old Janna had stopped trying to chase a nearby butterfly. She was standing perfectly still, her head tilted back so far her tiny sun hat fell off, watching her moms trade rapid-fire technical terms like they were at a Capstone defense.
She looked from Aiah’s intense Senior Architect face to Mikha’s stoic expression. Slowly, Janna put her hands on her own tiny hips, mimicking Aiah’s stance, and let out a very loud, dramatic sigh.
"Moms," Janna said, her voice small but stern.
"No more 'tecture. Janna want pool."
Aiah and Mikha both froze. They looked down to see their daughter looking up at them with a look of pure, unadulterated judgment—the kind of look Professor Reyes used to give them when they’d argue in the middle of a lecture.
The tension snapped instantly.
"Caught by the boss," Mikha muttered, a flush of sheepishness creeping up her neck. She quickly scooped Janna up, settling the toddler on her hip.
"Sorry, babi. Janna’s right. No more architecture."
Aiah laughed, the perfectionist mask melting into a soft, apologetic smile. She reached out to fix Janna’s hat, then trailed her fingers across Mikha’s cheek.
"You're right, Janna. Mama Mikha and Mommy are being boring," Aiah admitted, leaning in to kiss Janna’s forehead—and then stealing a quick, apologetic one from Mikha’s lips.
"To the pool?"
"To the pool!" Janna cheered, pointing toward the water.
As they walked toward the villa, Mikha leaned closer to Aiah’s ear.
"For the record though? The bamboo is totally holding."
Aiah rolled her eyes, but she didn't let go of Mikha’s hand.
"I’ll check it while you’re napping."
The peaceful family beach day lasted exactly ten minutes before Aiah noticed the moisture content of the sand near the shoreline was optimal for load-bearing structures.
"Janna, baby, if we’re going to build a castle, we need a proper site plan," Aiah said, her voice dropping into that focused, professional hum. She began sketching a perfect 1:50 scale perimeter in the sand with a popsicle stick.
"We’ll do a minimalist fortress. Clean lines. High walls."
Mikha, sitting cross-legged with a plastic bucket, snorted.
"Minimalist? On a tropical beach? That’s boring, babi. We’re going Industrial-Organic. I’m thinking lookout towers made of driftwood and a moat with actual hydraulic bypass."
"Mikha, a moat in this tide? It’ll erode the foundation in seconds. You need a retaining wall."
"It’s not erosion, Aiah, it’s character."
Janna sat between them, her small lap filled with seashells. She watched her mothers—the two most respected architects in the country—getting onto their knees and treating a pile of wet sand like a multi-million peso commission.
Aiah was using a credit card to shave the sides of a sand block into a perfect 90-degree angle. Mikha was busy stabilizing a piece of coral to act as a center column.
"The structural integrity is failing on the west wing, Mikhaela," Aiah pointed out, her brow furrowed.
"I told you, the sand-to-water ratio is off."
"It’s a design choice! It’s leaning-chic," Mikha shot back, grinning as she tried to pat the sand into place.
Janna looked at the "castle." It was a mess of perfect geometric cubes from Aiah and weird, leaning sticks from Mikha. It didn't look like a castle; it looked like a thesis project.
Janna stood up, dusted her sandy hands on her swimsuit, and let out that familiar, heavy sigh. Without a word, she walked to the very center of the "site," lifted her foot, and—
CRUNCH.
She stomped right in the middle of Aiah’s perfect walls and Mikha’s soulful tower.
"Janna!" both moms gasped in unison, looking up in genuine shock.
Janna just looked at them, unfazed. She picked up a handful of the ruined sand and plopped it onto Aiah’s lap.
"It's a mountain now," she declared simply.
"More pretty. Now, ice cream?"
Mikha burst out laughing, falling back onto the sand.
"See? Total collapse of the project. The client has spoken, Arceta. She hates our vision."
Aiah looked at her ruined minimalist wall, then at her daughter's proud, messy face. She couldn't help it—she started laughing too, reaching out to pull Janna into a sandy hug.
"You're right, boss," Aiah conceded, kissing Janna’s nose.
"The mountain is much better. And ice cream is definitely in the budget."
The sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the Palawan sky in streaks of bruised purple and molten gold—a color palette Aiah had tried to replicate in her high-rise lobbies for years, though she now realized she’d never quite hit the mark.
They left the ruins of the "thesis sandcastle" behind, walking along the shoreline where the water was warm and the tide was gently retreating. Mikha carried Janna on her shoulders, the toddler’s small hands gripped tightly around Mikha’s forehead, her tiny legs kicking in rhythm with their steps.
For the first time all day, the bickering stopped. There were no comments about the resort's floor plan or the static of the wind loads.
"Look at her, babi," Mikha whispered, nodding up toward Janna, who was currently pointing at a seagull and shouting,
"Birdy! High five!"
Aiah smiled, interlacing her fingers with Mikha’s.
"She really has your eyes, you know. And that stubborn 'I’m-right-you’re-wrong' smirk you get when you’re winning an argument."
"Hey, she got the 'bossy supervisor' energy from you," Mikha teased, but her voice was thick with affection.
"She’s the perfect blend. The best thing we ever designed, for sure."
Aiah leaned her head against Mikha’s shoulder as they walked.
"I used to be so scared of losing focus, remember? Back in the studio? I thought if I let you in, I’d lose my edge. I’d lose the top spot."
"And now?"
Aiah looked at Mikha—the girl who used to be her greatest rival and was now her greatest foundation—and then at Janna, who was laughing at the sunset.
"Now I realize that being 'on top' doesn't mean anything if you don't have someone to share the view with," Aiah said softly.
"I’m glad I let you break my focus, Mikhaela."
Mikha stopped walking, pulling Aiah closer into her side. She kissed Aiah’s temple, the scent of sea salt and sun-warmed skin between them.
"I’m glad you let me stay."
Janna, feeling the shift in energy, leaned down from Mikha’s shoulders and patted both their heads.
"Moms happy? No more 'tecture?"
"No more 'tecture, baby," Mikha promised, grinning.
"Just us."
"And ice cream?" Janna reminded them, because a deal was a deal.
Aiah laughed, a bright, clear sound that carried over the waves.
"And ice cream. Let’s go."