Chapter Text
100,000 people.
A sea of faces, a wave of voices. The energy is almost overwhelming, and it's impossible to ignore the weight of the moment. A hundred thousand eyes, a hundred thousand hearts, all focused on you.
As I stand at the edge of the Melbourne Cricket Ground, I feel like I'm dissolving into the crowd, blending into the shadows where I’ve always belonged, far away from the spotlight, from the heat, from the stage. Nakakatawa, ‘noh? To be so close and yet so far, a mere specter in the place where you were always meant to be, where I once was meant to be. The voices roar, but I don’t hear them, not really. I can’t. The only sound is the pulsing echo of my own thoughts, relentless and unyielding.
Limang taon na, Tintin ko. Five years of absence, of silence. I can’t help but replay the moment I left, as though it was yesterday. The words I never said, the things I never explained. But I can’t go back. I can’t undo the past. I don’t know if I ever will be able to forgive myself for abandoning you, for walking away without a word. I knew I was doing the right thing that time, thinking I was saving you from something that needed saving. I was wrong, so damn wrong. It wasn’t until I disappeared from your life that I truly understood the cost of my selfishness. The cost of not being there when you needed someone the most.
Now, standing here in the corner of this vast arena, watching you up there, standing in the center of all this, I can feel a strange sense of peace mingled with the bitterest kind of regret. I have to admit—seeing you now, so unapologetically yourself, so successful, so free… it feels like an affirmation. Not just of what you’ve become, but of what I wasn’t meant to be. I held you back, didn’t I? I kept you tied down in the past, anchored in the idea of "us." For a while, I honestly believed we were inseparable, that we’d always be together in some way, but you were meant for so much more. I see that now. You were always meant to soar. The world is yours to take, and it never should have been mine to keep you from it.
Us, the Duo.
That’s what we were. A name, a brand, a story. Everyone loved us, adored what we had, and they didn’t even know the half of it. The endless nights in studios, the laughter, the arguments, the promises we made to each other in the quiet spaces between performances. The way we both clung to this dream, each of us so terrified of letting go, afraid that the moment we did, it would all fall apart. I was selfish, too afraid of being alone, too afraid of what would happen if you didn’t need me anymore, too afraid of totally losing myself.
But you’re doing just fine without me, aren’t you? Better than I ever could have imagined. I always knew, deep down, that you are the one who deserved it all. You are the one who had it in you to make it. You used to limit yourself, always making room for me, always thinking about us, even when I was too wrapped up in my own ego to see how much you sacrificed. You turned down countless opportunities, told producers no when they came asking for just you, passed on solo deals, movie roles, brand collaborations—just because they only wanted you. I couldn’t understand why you did that. I didn’t understand how much you were giving up, how much you were holding yourself back just to include me in your world.
And yet, you did it. For us. Because you thought that was the way. But I see now… I see the cost of that. And it was too high. For both of us.
Look at you now, Tintin.
Look at you, standing at the pinnacle of everything we dreamed of, and beyond. Selling out one of the biggest concert venues in the world. International brand deals that people like us only fantasize about. Hollywood movies, global recognition… You have everything. You are everything. And I can’t help but wonder if you could’ve had all this sooner, if I hadn’t held you back. If I hadn’t been so caught up in our past, so scared of being forgotten, of losing you. You’ve broken free from all of that now, and I have to admit—this is who you are always meant to be. You couldn’t have done any of this if I didn’t leave, if I didn’t take that step back and let you grow on your own.
I want to be proud of you, and I am. I truly am. But there’s a part of me, a raw, aching part, that wonders if I could have been there, watching you from the front row, cheering you on. I wish I could have been the one to help you get here. But maybe this is how it had to be. Maybe we were never meant to walk the same path, to share the same stage forever. Maybe it was always supposed to be you, rising higher and higher, while I stayed behind, out of sight, out of mind.
As I stand in the shadows, watching the encore of your concert unfold before me, I feel this strange, heavy pull. The music is still soaring, the crowd is still chanting your name, but my feet are already moving, as if my body knows something my mind hasn’t fully accepted yet. I’ve done this before, over and over again. I always leave before it ends. It’s like I can’t bear to stay until the very last note, until the final bow. I pull away, quietly, almost instinctively, retreating into the distance.
From your Asian tour, to Europe, to the Americas, I’ve always been there, but never truly there. I’ve watched from the edges, from the dark corners of arenas and stadiums, far enough to be unnoticed, but close enough to feel every beat of your success reverberate in my chest. I’ve been there in every city, in every country, in every place where your name was being cheered and your face was flashing on the big screens. Always in the crowd, always a part of the audience but never in the spotlight. Never with you, not in the way I once dreamed we’d be, side by side, together on this journey.
I was there, and I watched it all from a distance. I felt the rush of pride every time the crowd screamed your name, every time the lights hit you and you took that stage like you were born for it, like you were always meant to be the one they came to see. I cheered for you. I cried for you, too. The tears were never just for the show—it was the weight of what I lost, the weight of what we never got to finish together. But more than anything, those tears were for the joy I felt every time I saw you soar, saw you become the person I always knew you are meant to be.
Five years. It feels like a lifetime, but in another way, it feels like just yesterday that I was beside you, dreaming our shared dream. Five years of watching you from afar, silently rooting for you in every performance, every accolade, every victory, as if cheering louder from the shadows would somehow make up for the fact that I wasn’t there in the way I once promised I would be. I’ve watched you grow into this larger-than-life figure, this star shining so brightly that it’s almost impossible to remember the quiet, uncertain person I once knew, the one who once needed me just as much as I needed you.
And yet, even now, as I stand here—watching the crowd scream your name one last time, watching the lights flicker and fade as the curtain falls—I’m overwhelmed with pride, but also with a deep, aching sorrow. I am so proud of you. I’ve always been proud of you. But the pride is bittersweet. It cuts deeper with every applause you receive, with every cheer that echoes through the arena. Because I know that you did this without me. You reached this point without me by your side. And part of me wants to believe that maybe, just maybe, I was the one who held you back. That if I’d stayed, if I hadn’t walked away, maybe we could have done it together.
But then I remember—you didn’t need me. You never did. You were always capable of this, of everything you’ve become. And as much as it hurts to admit it, I’m beginning to realize that maybe it’s better this way. Maybe it was always meant to be you, shining in the spotlight while I lingered in the shadows, clapping for you from the distance, loving you in ways I couldn’t even articulate.
So as the final notes of the encore echo and the lights dim, I feel myself slipping away, not physically but in a way that goes deeper. I leave before the last song is over because, somehow, I need to protect myself from the weight of this moment. I need to leave before it gets too much to bear. And though I’m so happy for you, so proud of everything you’ve achieved, I know that this will always be my place now—the place where I watch from afar, where I cheer quietly and weep silently for all that could have been and all that was.
My mind, spiraling in a haze of thoughts, was suddenly interrupted by the soft touch of a hand tugging gently at mine. The familiar voice of Colet, always so grounded, broke through the whirlwind of emotions that had been consuming me.
“Maloi, are you okay? Ito na ‘yung last stop abroad. The last one is her homecoming concert sa Philippine Arena. Punta ba tayo?”
I froze at her words, unable to move, unable to speak. Homecoming. The word echoed in my head, a bitter reminder of everything I had lost, everything I had let slip through my fingers. Homecoming. She was coming home, not to me, but to a crowd of adoring fans, to a life that I had no part in anymore. To a future that didn’t have me in it. My throat tightened, and the weight of those four years—the pain of walking away, of choosing distance over love, over connection—pressed on me like an anchor.
“H-Hindi na, Col. Okay na ‘to. I am not coming back. Okay na siya. Tama na ang apat na taon. She looks happy, she’s successful.” I said the words, but they felt hollow, like I was trying to convince someone else. Was I talking to Colet? Or was I just trying to convince myself that I had made the right choice? That I had done the right thing, even though everything inside me screamed that I had let go of something that could have been everything.
Colet didn’t say anything at first, just kept her hand resting lightly over mine, as if giving me space to breathe, to process. She always knew how to do that, how to give me the quiet I needed without judgment, without pushing too much. But I could hear the concern in her voice when she finally spoke again.
“Pero ikaw, Loi? Okay ka na ba? Hanggang kailan mo ba paparusahan ang sarili mo sa mga bagay na hindi mo naman kontrolado?” Her voice was soft, but it felt like a punch to my chest.
There it was again. Colet, always able to cut through my walls, to get to the rawest parts of me. "Hanggang kailan mo ba paparusahan ang sarili mo?" How long was I going to keep punishing myself? How long was I going to stay stuck in the past, trapped in the mistakes I had made, in the choices that I couldn’t undo? It was like a constant ache in my chest, this nagging feeling that I had failed her—failed us. And no matter how much time passed, no matter how much success she had, I couldn’t let go of the fact that I hadn’t been there when it mattered most.
I looked at Colet, the one person who had seen me at my worst and never walked away. I met her eyes—those eyes that saw through the layers of my defense and straight into my heart—and felt a lump form in my throat. I had met her five years ago, in a tiny ramen shop that doubled as a bar at night. Funny how life worked—two lost souls bumping into each other at a place like that. Back then, I had this image of myself: always happy, always cheerful, the life of the party. But Colet was different. The first thing she asked me was if I was really okay. She saw through my façade, recognized the quiet pain in my smile, and since then, she had been my anchor.
She had been the one to pull me out of the darkness, to guide me through healing when I had no idea how to move forward. The kind of friend who never let me hide behind my excuses, who made me face the things I didn’t want to face. Whoever said that platonic soulmates are not real have not met their own Colet yet.
I turned away from her gaze, looking out at the lights outside the arena, trying to find something to hold onto, something to steady myself.
“I’m fine, Col. What matters is that she’s happy, they’re happy. I can finally move forward. Sasama ako sa’yo pabalik ng Los Angeles. Is your offer still up?” I deflected, trying to mask the ache in my voice with a forced sense of finality. I couldn’t face the idea of going back home to the Philippines, to face that reality. The one where she was thriving, and I was… still stuck. Still healing. Still grieving what never was.
Colet was quiet for a moment, processing my words, the weight of everything unsaid hanging between us. “Are you sure you’re ready to perform again? Makakapaghintay naman ‘to, Loi.” She sounded concerned, and it broke me in a way I hadn’t expected. Her concern was the last thing I wanted to face right now. I didn’t want to admit that I wasn’t sure, that I wasn’t fine, that I had been running for so long from what was eating me up inside.
“Oo, okay na, Col. Paubos na rin kasi ang savings ko at ayoko nang maging freeloader sa’yo,” I said, the words coming out almost too quickly, like I was trying to convince her, or maybe convince myself. “Wait here, I’ll just go to the bathroom then we can leave.” I didn’t even wait for her response before I stood up. It was a lame excuse, I knew that. I just needed a moment. A second to collect myself before I faced the rest of the world. A second to breathe without all of this weighing down on me.
I walked away, but even as my feet carried me toward the bathroom, I knew there was no escaping what I was feeling. There was no running away from the truth. I wasn’t okay. And as much as I wanted to believe I was finally ready to move on, a part of me—the part that still loved her, that still remembered the way she looked at me, the way we were once inseparable—couldn’t let go.
I wasn’t sure if I was ready. But what I was sure of was that I couldn’t stay here anymore. I couldn’t keep pretending that everything was fine when nothing felt fine at all. So I kept walking, away from Colet, away from my own pain, hoping that somehow, one day, I’d find the peace I was so desperately searching for.
As I entered the bathroom, my eyes instinctively scanned the space for a moment of solitude, but the sight of my best friend, Aiah, standing in front of the mirror froze me in place. Her back was to me, but the moment she heard the door creak, she spun around, her face darkened with something that felt like anger, but it was more than that—disappointment, betrayal. “Maloi.” Her voice was low but cold, each syllable heavy with fury. “Putangina. Limang taon. Naglaho ka nang parang bula.”
I froze, my heart pounding in my chest. Her words cut through the air like a blade, and for a moment, I couldn't breathe. Her eyes were burning with an emotion that made me want to disappear right there. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I couldn’t form a single word to explain, to apologize, to fix anything.
“You just left,” Aiah repeated, her voice rising now. “Do you even realize what you did to Jho? What you did to us?” Her hands were shaking as she gripped the edge of the sink, the muscles in her neck taut with anger.
I opened my mouth again, trying to speak, but the words lodged in my throat, as though my own guilt was choking me. I had no answer, not a good one, anyway. How could I possibly explain why I walked away when I didn’t even understand it myself?
She took a step forward, eyes flashing, her voice growing louder, more venomous. “You think I didn’t wonder? Every damn day? What happened to us? What happened to you? Why the hell did you leave me in the dark? I waited, Maloi. We waited. But no, you didn’t give a damn. You didn’t even think to say goodbye—” Her voice cracked with a bitterness that felt like it could break her.
I could feel my hands trembling, and I finally found my voice, but it was weak, so damn weak. “Aiah… I thought it was the right thing to do. I thought—”
“Right thing?!” Aiah cut me off, her face twisted with anger and disbelief. “You thought it was right to just disappear without a word? You think that’s right? After everything we went through together? After all the years? You think that’s how you protect someone?” She stepped forward, getting in my face now, so close I could feel the heat of her breath. “You think that’s how you love someone?”
I recoiled at the force of her words, my chest tightening as she continued. “You could’ve told me, Maloi. You could’ve trusted me. But no—you decided that we—I didn’t need to know, that it was better for Jho if you just left. You didn’t give a damn about how we felt. You didn’t give a damn about what it would do to us.”
Her eyes were wild with emotion, the pain so raw that it hurt to look at her. "Do you even know what we went through? All those nights wondering why you didn’t call, why you didn’t come back? And now you’re here?!”
My throat tightened, tears stinging my eyes, but I couldn’t cry—not in front of her, not when I had caused all this.
“You know what? I get it now.” Aiah’s voice was a harsh whisper, laced with fury and pain. “I get it. It wasn’t about Jho at all, was it? It was always about you, always about your damn ego, about your insecurities—you couldn’t stand the thought of you two growing apart. So you just ran, without a single word, and now you came back like nothing happened?”
“I didn’t mean to—” My voice cracked, my words strangled by the shame I could barely contain.
“Stop it!” Aiah screamed, her fists clenching. “Just stop! Don’t tell me you didn’t mean it, because you did—you meant to leave. You meant to break Jho. She was broken, Maloi. We were broken. And you’re standing here now, telling me you didn’t mean it? Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you let me in? Huh? Why did you let me sit here for five years, waiting, thinking I was not able to save my bestfriend!?”
She was shaking now, her breath uneven, but her anger was still there, a raw, uncontrollable force. “We waited for you. Jho needed you, and you left her. You left us. And for what? Because you thought you were protecting her? What, by running away from the people who loved you? By abandoning us when we needed you the most?”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. My guilt, my regret, everything I had been carrying for years, was suffocating me. I couldn’t fix this. There was nothing I could say to make this right.
Aiah took another step forward, her eyes narrowed, and she grabbed my arm roughly, forcing me to face her. “Do you even hear yourself, Maloi? Do you even hear how selfish that sounds? You left us. Do you know how much that fucking hurt?” Her voice cracked, the raw pain finally breaking through her anger. “I don’t care if you’re sorry now. I don’t care if you feel guilty. You don’t get to just walk back into our lives like nothing happened, like you didn’t tear our worlds apart.”
I was frozen, completely paralyzed, unable to say anything, because I knew, deep down, there was no excuse for what I’d done.
Just as the tension reached a breaking point, the door to the bathroom opened with a sharp click, and Colet stepped in, her eyes darting quickly between us. Her presence was a sudden, unexpected calm in the storm.
“Miss, Maloi—this isn’t the time.” Colet’s voice was steady, a soft but firm authority that instantly made Aiah freeze. Her hand rested on Aiah’s shoulder, guiding her away, the other hand outstretched towards me. “You need to talk, but not like this. You both need to calm down.”
Aiah’s chest was still rising and falling rapidly with anger, her face flushed, but Colet was right—this wasn’t the place, not the time.
“No,” Aiah spat, her voice hoarse. “I’ve been waiting for five years to get an answer. I’m not leaving here until she tells me why.”
Colet’s gaze softened, though she held firm. “I know, Miss. But we need to do this in a way that makes sense. You both need to think straight.”
Aiah glared at me, her breath still shaky, but she seemed to be fighting to regain some control. “Fine,” she said through gritted teeth. “But we’re talking at the hotel. No more hiding, Maloi. No more running away.”
I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. The silence between us was suffocating, but I knew we had to leave this moment.
With a final glance, Aiah turned and walked out, Colet following behind, casting a glance at me, her expression softening just a little. She didn’t speak as she led the way, but her silence said more than enough.
I stood there, numb, unable to shake the weight of Aiah’s words. I couldn’t run anymore. The truth would come out, whether I was ready or not.
The dim glow of the hotel lights cast long shadows across the room. The city outside buzzed with life, but in here, there was only silence. Aiah sat at the edge of the bed, her posture still tense, but no longer angry. The storm had passed, but its aftermath lingered in the air between us. I stood by the window, my back turned to her, staring out at the city below, though my thoughts were nowhere near it. My heart was miles away, tangled up in everything I had said, everything I had done.
I had hurt her. I knew that. And I had no idea if it could ever be fixed.
The silence in the room was suffocating, broken only by the heavy rhythm of our breathing. Aiah stood, her posture rigid, her face set in an expression that was a mix of anger and heartbreak. I could feel her frustration like a physical weight, pressing down on me. It felt like I was trapped in a room with no escape, no way to hide from the truth she was throwing at me.
“How long will you keep this up, Loi?” Aiah’s voice cracked with emotion, and I could see the fire in her eyes. “You left her, yet you’re here! You’re at every event! Yes, I know! Gian told me! But you said you wanted to disappear, diba?”
She knows… does Jho know? The words stung, and I flinched, but I wasn’t ready to break. “Aiah—” I started, but she interrupted me, her voice rising, pushing me, forcing me to face what I’d been running from for so long.
“No!” She shook her head, her voice trembling with frustration. “You need to choose. You choose this life hiding from the shadows, or you choose what you left and try to fix it. You can’t do both, Maloi. You can’t keep hiding behind this fake life and pretending everything is fine.” She took a step forward, her hands clenched at her sides, trembling with the raw emotion that radiated from her. “You keep coming to Jho’s shows like everything is fine, like you didn’t abandon everything you ever loved. You need to choose.”
I felt my throat tighten, the words getting caught in my chest. I didn’t want to hear this. Not now, not from her. But she wasn’t done.
“Hindi niya naman ako nakikita, what’s the big deal?!” I snapped back, my voice defensive, bitter. I needed to push her away, needed her to stop. But she wasn’t going to let me hide.
“Aren’t you hearing yourself?!” Aiah’s eyes burned with a mix of disbelief and pain. “Maloi, this isn’t just about Jho. This is about you! Gusto mo bang bumalik or hindi? Kasi pati pamilya mo iniwan mo.” Her words hit me like a slap, and I could feel the anger starting to twist inside me, but the weight of what she said anchored me to the ground. “Do you know that Micky doesn’t even accept your gifts anymore?” Aiah’s voice wavered with the weight of the truth she was laying out.
I wanted to defend myself, to tell her that I was trying, that it wasn’t that simple. But the words wouldn’t come. The guilt was too much. And she kept going, tearing down the walls I’d built around myself.
“Sila Tito at Tita, they’re always torn if they’d take phone calls from unknown numbers, hoping it’s you calling or hoping to hell it’s not bad news about you.” Aiah’s voice cracked, raw with emotion. I could hear the pain in her words, the years of worry that had built up in her heart. “Do you know how they look when they hear your voice through your songs alone? Si Tita, palaging nasa tapat ng altar and pray for your wellness. Loi, you need to choose. You need to come home. You can’t keep doing this to them.”
Her words landed hard, each one driving a nail into my chest. I had known they missed me. I had known they were hurting. But hearing it from Aiah, hearing it so brutally, made everything I’d been avoiding feel impossible to ignore. I wanted to close my eyes, to shut it all out. But Aiah wasn’t done.
“Sila Nyceen,” Aiah’s voice trembled as she spoke, the pain almost unbearable. My heart shattered again and again as she mentioned my younger sister. “Hindi na nila alam kung paano aayusin yung pamilyang pinaghirapan niyong lahat na pasayahin, because any attempt to bring laughter back feels like a betrayal to you. And yet, they can’t live like this. Not knowing if they should miss you or mourn for you.”
I felt my chest tighten as her words sank in. I thought about Nyceen and Ate Vane—how they tried so hard to keep things together, to keep the family from falling apart. But everything felt broken now. Every day that passed, it felt like the pieces were slipping further and further away from me.
But Aiah’s words didn’t stop there. Her voice grew more intense, the pain in her eyes unbearable. “Hindi nila alam kung paano at saan ka hahanapin. Kung sino pang lalapitan nila. Every single day, I see Tita praying in church, hoping that you’re still alive at umuwi ka na. She cries just looking at your photo.”
I could see Mama in my mind, kneeling at the altar, her hands clasped in prayer. I could hear her voice calling out to me, even now, though it was nothing more than a memory. I had pushed them away, ignored their pain, and now Aiah was making me face it all. I didn’t know how to handle it, how to carry the weight of everything that had been left unsaid for so long.
And then Aiah hit me with the one thing I wasn’t prepared for. Her voice dropped to a whisper, but it held the kind of heartbreak that could break a person in two.
“Si Tito,” she said softly, but the pain in her voice made it feel like a sharp edge against my skin, “hindi lang siya masyado nagsasalita, pero miss na miss ka na. Alam mo bang minsan nahuli ko siyang nanonood ng old movies and concerts mo sa sala? Ultimo video recordings mo nung bata ka. He did that when everyone’s asleep.”
I stood there, rooted to the spot, my heart pounding in my chest. Papa. The man who had always been strong, silent, holding everything together when the rest of us couldn’t. To hear that he had been watching old videos of me in the quiet of the night, when no one else was around—something inside me snapped. The guilt, the pain, the realization that I had allowed them all to suffer because I couldn’t face my own mess. I didn’t know how to handle it.
“I didn’t mean to…” I started, but Aiah wasn’t finished. She stepped closer, her eyes pleading, her voice desperate. She didn’t need me to apologize. She needed me to do something.
“You don’t get it, do you, Loi?” Aiah’s voice broke through the haze of my thoughts, her words filled with such raw emotion. “They’ve been waiting for you. Hoping, praying, living in this never-ending cycle of fear and hope. Your family—your parents, they’re losing themselves trying to hold onto the memories of you. But they don’t know how much longer they can keep going like this.”
I felt my throat tighten, the weight of her words almost suffocating. I had been running, and I had convinced myself it was for the best. But hearing Aiah speak, seeing the pain in her eyes, it made me realize that I had been so selfish.
“You can’t keep running forever,” Aiah continued, her voice steady now, but the hurt was still there. “You’ve been gone too long, and they can’t keep pretending like everything’s fine. You have a family that needs you, Loi. A family that’s still waiting for you to come home. You need to make a choice. You can’t just leave everyone behind and think it doesn’t matter. It does.”
I stared at her, my mind a mess of conflicting emotions, but one thing was clear: Aiah was right. I had to make a choice. I couldn’t keep living like this. I couldn’t keep pretending I wasn’t breaking everyone around me. Slowly, I let out a shaky breath, my voice quiet but filled with something I hadn’t allowed myself to feel in a long time.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion.
After a long silence, Aiah’s voice broke through the quiet, softer now, but still laced with the weight of years of frustration and pain. “I don’t get it, Maloi. All this time, and you never even thought to tell me what was really going on? You never even gave me the chance to help you.”
I swallowed hard, my throat tight. There was so much to say, but the words stuck in my chest, like I’d been holding my breath for too long.
“I know,” I finally whispered. “I know. I should’ve told you. I should’ve trusted you. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t even trust myself.”
Aiah was silent, but I could feel her eyes on me, searching for something in my words. I turned slowly, my heart heavy.
“I—I wasn’t the same person anymore,” I said, my voice cracking with the weight of everything I had been carrying alone for so long. “I didn’t recognize myself. I didn’t know how to fix it. And every day, it just got worse. I thought... I thought maybe if I kept running, I could outrun the person I was becoming. But I was wrong. I thought if I left... if I just walked away, maybe I could heal. I thought maybe if I got far enough away, I’d come back to myself. But the truth is, I never even gave myself the chance to heal. I just kept running, and I ended up... losing myself instead.”
Aiah’s expression softened, but there was a sadness in her eyes, a sorrow that cut deeper than anything I could’ve imagined. She stood up, slow and deliberate, her gaze never leaving mine. “I get that, Maloi,” she said quietly, her voice full of compassion that made my chest ache. “I really do. But what I don’t understand is why you thought you had to go through all of this alone. You could’ve come to me. You could’ve let me help you. I was right here, waiting. Always waiting.”
I closed my eyes, trying to push down the pain, the guilt. “I couldn’t,” I whispered, my voice barely audible now. “I didn’t want you to see me like that. I didn’t want you to see how broken I had become. I thought... I thought if I stayed, I would only drag Jho and everyone down with me. I thought you’d hate me for... for what I was turning into. I thought leaving would be the only way to protect you, Aiah. I thought maybe you’d be better off without me, without the mess that I was.”
Aiah’s expression faltered for a moment, and she took a step toward me, her eyes locked onto mine. “You think I would’ve hated you? You think I would’ve hated you for needing help?” Her voice wavered, and she reached out, her hand trembling slightly as it hovered over mine. “Maloi, I loved you. I still love you—you are my soul sister. I would’ve fought through every piece of that darkness with you. But you didn’t let me. You just left me standing here, wondering what the hell happened to the woman I loved, the woman I thought I knew.”
My chest tightened, and the tears I had been holding back for so long finally broke free. I couldn’t stop them. I couldn’t stop the overwhelming rush of guilt, of regret, of everything I had buried for so long. “I’m so sorry, Aiah,” I choked out, my voice breaking. “I never wanted to hurt you, Jho—everyone. I never wanted to leave you. I thought I was protecting you by running away, but all I did was hurt you more. And now I don’t even know how to make it right. I don’t know if I can fix it. I don’t know if I can ever make up for the years I wasted, for all the pain I caused. I just—I just don’t know.”
Aiah’s face softened, and she stepped even closer, until she was right in front of me. Her eyes, red from the years of unshed tears, locked with mine, and for a moment, the world outside of this room didn’t exist. It was just the two of us. She reached up slowly, her hand cupping my cheek gently, like she was afraid I might shatter if she touched me too hard.
“You don’t have to make everything right, Maloi,” she said softly, her voice full of tenderness that felt like a balm to my aching heart. “You don’t have to fix everything in one go. All I need from you... all I ever needed from you... was for you to come back. I needed you to come back to us. And I know it’s not going to be easy. I know there’s so much to heal, so much to work through. But we’ll do it together. We always have, right?”
The tears flowed freely now, and I let them, because for the first time in years, it felt like I could. It felt like I could finally breathe again. Aiah was here, standing in front of me, not angry anymore but... waiting. Waiting for me to come home.
“I’m so sorry,” I repeated, my voice trembling. “I don’t deserve you, Aiah. I don’t deserve your forgiveness. I don’t deserve your patience. I don’t deserve you... but I want to try. I want to come home. I want to come back to you, to us. I just... I need you. I need you to help me find my way back.”
Aiah’s eyes glistened, the raw emotion there enough to break what was left of my heart. She smiled, but it was small, sad, yet full of so much hope. “You’ve always had a place here, Maloi,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Jho never stopped loving you. I never stopped believing in you. And I’m not asking for you to be perfect. I’m asking for you. The real you. That’s all I need. That’s all we need.”
I reached out then, my hands trembling as I pulled her into me. She didn’t hesitate for a second, her arms wrapping around me tightly, as if she had been waiting for this moment just as long as I had. Her warmth, her presence, it was the anchor I had been searching for.
“I’m here,” I whispered into her hair, my voice muffled. “I’m here. I’m coming home, Aiah. I’m coming home.”
And for the first time in years, I believed it.