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The soft hum of conversations filled the gallery as guests wandered through the halls, admiring Maloi Ricalde’s latest exhibit. Time as Tangible—the title alone hinted at her mastery in transforming the intangible into something visceral, something that lingered. Colet Vergara wasn’t particularly an art enthusiast, but tonight, she was determined to be Maloi’s most devoted audience.
“Gais,” Colet whispered urgently to her friends, Aiah, Sheena, and Jhoanna, who stood with her by the hors d’oeuvres table. “She liked one of my Instagram photos last week. Mahal niya pa ako, confirmed.”
Sheena snorted, biting into a canapé. “Grabe, Colet. Like lang ‘yon. Baka nadulas.”
“Delulu ka nanaman,” Aiah added, shaking her head but smirking.
Colet glared at them both before crossing her arms. “Pake niyo ba? Nakita niyo ba ‘yung smile niya nung dumating ako kanina? That wasn’t a ‘moved-on’ smile. That was an ‘oh-my-god-it’s-my-ex’ smile.”
“Mas delulu pa sa telenovela ‘to,” Jhoanna muttered, sipping her wine. “Pero sige, Colet. Go fight for love or whatever.”
Colet sighed dramatically. “I’m telling you, she’s just pretending. The way she keeps ignoring me? Classic move. Maloi always does this when she’s trying to act like she’s over something.”
In truth, Colet wasn’t entirely wrong. Across the room, Maloi stood poised in her all-black ensemble, discussing the symbolism behind one of her installations with a small group of guests. Her calm expression belied the storm Colet’s presence had stirred within her.
Why was Colet even here? Of course, she’d invited her, but only out of courtesy. Maloi hadn’t expected her ex to show up—and definitely not looking like that. Colet’s crisp blazer and effortless charm made it hard to focus, but Maloi reminded herself why they had broken up in the first place. It was better this way. She’d moved on. She had to.
Colet, however, wasn’t one to give up easily. She waited until the crowd around Maloi had thinned before casually strolling over, wine glass in hand. “Maloi,” she greeted, her voice warm and confident. “Congrats on the exhibit. The pieces are incredible.”
Maloi glanced at her briefly, her expression unreadable. “Thanks, Colet. Glad you could make it.”
“Of course,” Colet said, lingering. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Maloi nodded politely but made no effort to continue the conversation. Instead, she turned her attention back to the next guest who had approached her. Colet stood there for a moment, a slight frown tugging at her lips before retreating to her friends.
“Deadma,” Colet reported, slumping into a chair. “Walang ka-effort-effort. Parang hindi niya man lang ako na-miss.”
Jhoanna rolled her eyes. “Girl, anong akala mo? Na yayakapin ka niya habang umiiyak sa gitna ng exhibit?”
“Honestly,” Aiah added, “parang ikaw lang ang hindi over, Colet.”
Colet groaned, running a hand through her hair. “Hindi niyo gets. This isn’t just about moving on. This is about… proving something.”
“To who? Yourself or her?” Sheena asked pointedly.
The question caught Colet off guard. She stared at her wine glass, her bravado faltering for a moment. “Both,” she admitted quietly.
The night dragged on, and Colet found herself oscillating between bold attempts to grab Maloi’s attention and quiet moments of reflection. She laughed too loudly at jokes, positioned herself strategically near Maloi, and even made a show of chatting with an attractive woman at the bar.
Maloi noticed everything, of course. She saw the way Colet’s eyes flicked toward her whenever she thought no one was looking. She saw through the forced laughter and the deliberate posturing. And yet, she remained steadfast in her resolve.
“Mukhang ang saya niya, ah,” Mikha remarked as she sidled up to Maloi, holding a glass of champagne.
“Hayaan mo siya,” Maloi replied, her tone neutral.
Mikha raised an eyebrow. “Talaga? Kasi parang ikaw ang hindi okay.”
Maloi shot her a warning look. “I’m fine, Mikha. This is what I wanted. We’re better off apart.”
“Hmm,” Mikha said, unconvinced. “Kung okay ka na talaga, bakit mo siya sinusulyapan kada limang minuto?”
Caught, Maloi sighed and sipped her drink. “I don’t know, Mikha. She just… has this way of getting under my skin.”
By the end of the night, Colet found herself alone on the museum’s rooftop terrace, the cool Manila air doing little to ease the frustration knotting her chest. She leaned against the railing, staring at the city lights, when she heard a familiar voice behind her.
“Hindi ka na nagpaalam sa mga kaibigan mo?”
Colet turned to see Maloi standing there, arms crossed. Her heart skipped a beat. “Ayoko lang guluhin ka,” Colet replied, attempting a casual tone.
“Kung ganon, bakit ka nandito?”
Colet hesitated, the weight of the question hanging between them. She could lie, make a joke, brush it off. But something about the way Maloi was looking at her made her want to tell the truth.
“Because I miss you,” Colet admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
Maloi’s expression softened, but she didn’t respond right away. She stepped closer, her gaze steady. “Colet, we broke up for a reason.”
“I know,” Colet said quickly. “And I know I wasn’t perfect. But… I can’t just let you go without trying. Hindi ko kaya, Maloi.”
Maloi looked away, her composure slipping for the first time that evening. “You hurt me, Colet. I don’t know if I can go through that again.”
“I’m not asking you to forget everything,” Colet said, stepping closer. “I’m just asking for a chance to prove that I’ve changed. That we can be better this time.”
Maloi met her eyes, the vulnerability in Colet’s voice striking a chord. For a moment, it felt like the rest of the world had fallen away, leaving only the two of them under the Manila skyline.
Their conversation didn’t resolve everything. There were still wounds to heal, trust to rebuild, and fears to overcome. But for the first time in years, they were honest with each other.
As they stood there, side by side, Colet felt a flicker of hope. She wasn’t sure what the future held, but she knew one thing: she wasn’t ready to give up. And, judging by the way Maloi’s hand lingered near hers, neither was she.
Colet Vergara stared at her phone, meticulously editing a photo of herself at a beach resort in La Union. The caption was already typed out: Healing era 💕. Thriving, not surviving. She tilted her head, debating whether the heart emoji was too much, before finally hitting “post.”
Her phone buzzed almost immediately as likes and comments began pouring in. She smirked, satisfied. Let her see this, Colet thought. Let her think about what she lost.
Across town, Maloi Ricalde’s phone pinged with a notification. She glanced at it briefly—Colet’s post glared back at her, all sunlight and smiles. Maloi rolled her eyes, locking her phone and returning to her work.
“Gimmick nanaman ng ex mo?” Mikha asked, leaning over Maloi’s shoulder as they prepared for the next museum event.
“Hayaan mo siya,” Maloi replied nonchalantly, though her lips twitched ever so slightly. “Kung gusto niyang magpapansin, problema niya ‘yon.”
Mikha chuckled. “Sigurado ka ba? Kasi parang ang dami mong oras para tignan.”
Maloi shot her friend a look, but deep down, she felt the sting. Colet had always known how to command attention—even now, two years after their breakup, she still had a knack for it.
Colet’s “healing era” posts became more frequent—and more pointed. Pictures of cocktails at rooftop bars, selfies with new friends, and shots of her thriving psychology practice dominated her feed.
“Grabe, Colet,” Jhoanna remarked one afternoon over coffee. “Parang ikaw yung influencer sa group natin.”
“Marketing lang, gais,” Colet said, waving her hand dismissively. But the truth was, every post was carefully curated with one person in mind: Maloi.
Meanwhile, Maloi stayed cool and collected—or at least appeared to. Her own Instagram feed remained sparse, consisting mostly of her professional work and an occasional photo with her friends. But Colet wasn’t blind to the moments Maloi watched her stories.
“She saw it!” Colet declared to her friends during one of their regular hangouts. “She watched my La Union story three times. Tatlo!”
Sheena raised an eyebrow. “Baka nadoble lang ‘yung pindot. Wag kang delulu.”
“Delulu ka nanaman, Colet,” Aiah added with a sigh.
“Pake niyo ba?” Colet snapped, clutching her phone dramatically. “Hindi ako papayag na mapunta sa iba yung uyab ko!”
“Uy, past tense na, ah,” Jhoanna teased, grinning.
“Shut up.” Colet buried her face in her hands, groaning.
It was a Friday night, and Colet found herself at a bar with Aiah and Sheena, two tequila shots deep and dangerously close to making bad decisions. She clutched her drink, her emotions unraveling with every sip.
“She’s so… ugh!” Colet exclaimed, slamming her glass onto the table. “Parang hindi man lang siya nasasaktan!”
“Colet,” Aiah began carefully, “alam mo namang hindi lahat ng tao expressive. Baka—”
“Baka ano?” Colet interrupted, her voice rising. “Baka tahimik siyang umiiyak sa kwarto niya? Baka nagpapanggap lang siyang okay? Ano’ng akala mo, teleserye?”
Sheena snorted, but Colet ignored her, grabbing her phone. “You know what? I’ll show her. Watch me.”
Before anyone could stop her, Colet opened her Instagram and started typing a caption for a photo she hadn’t even chosen yet. “New chapter, new me,” she muttered under her breath, her fingers flying across the keyboard.
“Colet, tama na,” Sheena said, trying to snatch the phone from her.
“Hindi ako papayag na mapunta sa iba yung uyab ko!” Colet declared, earning a few amused glances from nearby tables.
“Colet, ex na siya, okay?” Aiah said firmly, pulling the phone out of her hands.
“Pero mahal ko pa siya!” Colet blurted out, her voice cracking.
The table fell silent. Aiah and Sheena exchanged a glance, unsure of how to respond.
Meanwhile, Maloi sat alone in her apartment, scrolling through her phone. She came across yet another post from Colet—this time a photo of her laughing with a group of friends at a restaurant. The caption read: To better days 🥂.
Maloi frowned, setting her phone down. She wanted to believe that she didn’t care, that Colet’s antics didn’t affect her. But the truth was more complicated.
“Bakit ka pa rin nagpapadala?” Maloi muttered to herself, rubbing her temples.
She thought about their breakup—the fights, the silences, the eventual decision to part ways. She’d told herself it was for the best, that they needed space to grow individually. But seeing Colet now, seemingly happier than ever, made her question whether she’d made the right choice.
Mikha’s words echoed in her mind: Kung okay ka na talaga, bakit mo siya sinusulyapan kada limang minuto?
Maloi sighed, leaning back on her couch. “Pucha, Colet. Ano ba’ng ginawa mo sa akin?”
Despite her outward indifference, Maloi wasn’t as unaffected as she pretended to be. Stacey, Gwen, and Mikha were quick to notice.
“Girl, ilang beses mo nang chin-check yung phone mo,” Mikha pointed out one evening as they sat around Maloi’s apartment.
“I’m waiting for an email,” Maloi lied.
“Email? Or updates kay Colet?” Gwen teased, earning a glare.
“Can we not talk about her?” Maloi said, exasperated.
“Sure,” Stacey said, smirking. “Let’s talk about how you keep sighing dramatically every time you think about her.”
“Stacey—”
“Or how you clearly still care kahit na you’re trying so hard to look chill.”
“Enough!” Maloi snapped, though her friends only laughed.
“You know,” Gwen said after a moment, her tone more serious, “you don’t have to keep pretending with us. Alam namin na hindi ka pa over.”
Maloi hesitated, her shoulders slumping. “It doesn’t matter,” she said quietly. “She hurt me. I can’t just… let her back in.”
“Maybe not,” Mikha said. “But it wouldn’t kill you to be honest about what you’re feeling.”
The night was quiet except for the occasional sound of cars passing by the narrow streets of Manila. Maloi Ricalde sat on the edge of her bed, staring at her phone. The soft glow illuminated her face as she scrolled through Instagram, landing on Colet Vergara’s latest post. It was a photo of Colet at her gallery opening. Her caption read, “Proud of you, as always. Time heals, but art immortalizes.”
It shouldn’t have meant anything. It was just a post. Yet, Maloi’s chest tightened.
She put the phone down and rubbed her temples, sighing deeply. She told herself this was all part of Colet’s game—a way to worm her way back into Maloi’s life. But the truth was, it was working.
“Maloi, you okay?” Mikha asked as she poured wine into Maloi’s glass. They were gathered at Stacey’s condo for their regular Friday night hangout. Gwen sat cross-legged on the couch, busy preparing her charcuterie board, while Stacey fiddled with the playlist on her laptop.
“Yeah, fine,” Maloi replied, her tone as calm as ever. She leaned back on the armchair, swirling the wine in her glass.
“Alin diyan ang fine? ‘Yung tahimik ka buong gabi, o ‘yung nakatitig ka sa phone mo kanina?” Stacey teased, smirking as she switched the music to something upbeat.
“Mukhang Colet ang laman ng isip niya,” Gwen added, her tone light but probing.
Maloi rolled her eyes. “Hindi naman. Ang dami niyo talagang assumptions.”
“Maloi, come on,” Mikha said, sitting beside her. “Kilala ka namin. You’re good at hiding stuff, pero hindi kami tanga.”
Maloi stayed quiet for a moment, sipping her wine. She didn’t know why, but she suddenly felt raw, as though her carefully constructed walls were paper-thin. Maybe it was the familiarity of her friends, or maybe it was the weight of Colet’s presence lately. Whatever it was, she found herself speaking before she could stop.
“I hate how she still gets to me,” Maloi said softly, staring at her glass.
The room fell silent. Stacey paused mid-scroll, Gwen stopped arranging crackers, and Mikha’s expression softened.
“She knows exactly how to push my buttons,” Maloi continued. “She comes into my gallery, smiles like nothing ever happened, and acts like she’s moved on. Pero alam ko, game lang ‘yon.” She looked up at them, her voice trembling slightly. “And what’s worse? It’s working. Naiinis ako kasi… naiisip ko pa rin siya.”
“Maloi…” Gwen started, her voice gentle.
“I know what you’re going to say,” Maloi interrupted, shaking her head. “And I know it’s stupid. We broke up for a reason. But every time she’s around, it’s like… I can’t breathe.”
Later that night, as her friends slept in various corners of Stacey’s condo, Maloi found herself wide awake, staring at the ceiling. Memories of Colet swirled in her mind—the way she used to laugh, her ridiculous persistence when she wanted to prove a point, the soft way she’d brush Maloi’s hair behind her ear when she thought no one was looking.
“You think too much,” Colet had once told her, back when they were still together. “Sometimes, you just have to let yourself feel.”
It had been easy for Colet to say that. She was all heart and spontaneity, while Maloi was all logic and restraint. They balanced each other—until they didn’t.
Maloi closed her eyes, willing the memories to fade. But instead, Colet’s voice lingered, soft and teasing, as if she were still there.
A week later, Maloi found herself at a café, nursing a cup of black coffee. She hadn’t planned to meet Colet, but their mutual friends were impossible to avoid. Stacey had invited both of them to a casual lunch, and now, here they were, sitting across from each other.
Colet was her usual self—confident, charming, and maddeningly persistent. She leaned forward slightly, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup. “How have you been, Maloi?”
“Busy,” Maloi replied curtly, keeping her tone neutral.
“Good busy or bad busy?” Colet asked, tilting her head in that infuriatingly endearing way she always did.
“Just busy,” Maloi said, looking away.
Colet chuckled softly. “You’re still so closed off. Always keeping me at arm’s length.”
Maloi’s gaze snapped back to her, a flicker of irritation crossing her features. “And whose fault is that, Colet?”
Colet sobered, her teasing smile fading. “I’m not here to fight,” she said quietly. “I just… I wanted to see you.”
Maloi leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “Why? So you can keep playing these games? You’ve already won, Colet. You got what you wanted. You’ve moved on.”
“Is that what you think?” Colet asked, her voice soft but firm.
Maloi didn’t answer, but the way her jaw tightened gave her away.
“I haven’t moved on,” Colet admitted. “Not really. And I know I’ve made mistakes, Maloi. But I’m not playing games. I just… I don’t know how else to show you that I’m still here. That I still—”
“Don’t,” Maloi interrupted, her voice trembling. “Don’t say it.”
Colet paused, her heart aching at the vulnerability in Maloi’s eyes. She reached across the table, her fingers brushing against Maloi’s. “I’m not asking for you to take me back. I just want you to know that I’m sorry. For everything.”
Maloi stared at her, torn between anger, hurt, and something she couldn’t quite name. Finally, she stood, her chair scraping against the floor. “I can’t do this, Colet. Not now.”
And with that, she walked away, leaving Colet alone in the crowded café.
The soft drizzle of rain fell against the Manila skyline, blurring the lights of the city as Maloi Ricalde stood outside her gallery. The event had ended an hour ago, but she wasn’t ready to go home yet. She lingered by the glass doors, watching the world move on without her, a quiet ache settling in her chest.
It had been weeks since she’d last spoken to Colet. Weeks since their confrontation at the café. She thought she’d feel better with space, with boundaries. But the absence of Colet’s chaotic presence only seemed to amplify the silence in her life.
“Maloi.”
The sound of her name, familiar and soft, made her heart skip a beat. She turned to find Colet standing there, slightly drenched from the rain. She looked different—less polished, more raw. Vulnerable in a way Maloi hadn’t seen in a long time.
“What are you doing here?” Maloi asked, her voice guarded.
Colet hesitated, clutching the strap of her bag tightly. “I needed to talk to you.”
“It’s late,” Maloi replied, her tone cool. “And I don’t think there’s anything left to say.”
“There is,” Colet said quickly, stepping closer. Her eyes were earnest, desperate. “Please, just… just hear me out.”
Maloi crossed her arms, glancing away. “Colet, I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep letting you show up and—”
“I love you.”
The words hung in the air, cutting through the rain like a blade. Maloi froze, her breath catching in her throat.
“I’ve been fighting for something I thought I lost forever,” Colet continued, her voice trembling. “But the truth is, I’m still fighting for us. I know I’ve made mistakes—God, so many mistakes—but I’m not here to play games anymore. I’m here because I can’t imagine my life without you.”
Maloi’s throat tightened as she searched Colet’s face for any trace of insincerity. All she found was raw, unfiltered emotion.
“Colet…” she started, her voice faltering. “You can’t just say things like that and expect me to forget everything. The hurt, the disappointment. It doesn’t just go away.”
“I know,” Colet said softly. “I’m not asking you to forget. I’m asking for a chance to make it right. To show you that I’ve changed. That I’ll never stop trying to be the person you deserve.”
Maloi felt her resolve cracking, the walls she’d built around her heart beginning to crumble. She wanted to believe Colet, but the fear of being hurt again held her back.
“Why now?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Why did it take you so long to realize this?”
Colet took a deep breath, the rain dripping from her hair and onto her jacket. “Because I was scared,” she admitted. “I was scared of failing, of not being enough for you. But losing you made me realize that the only thing scarier than trying is living without you.”
Maloi led Colet into the gallery, where the silence was thick and heavy. The dim lighting cast long shadows across the room, the remnants of the exhibit surrounding them. Colet looked around, her eyes settling on a sculpture near the center of the space.
“Is this new?” she asked, her voice tentative.
Maloi nodded, following her gaze. “It’s called Resilience.”
Colet stepped closer to the piece—a delicate structure made of interlocking fragments of glass. It looked fragile, yet somehow it stood tall and unyielding.
“It’s beautiful,” Colet said softly. “Like you.”
Maloi rolled her eyes, but there was a faint hint of a smile on her lips. “Don’t try to charm your way out of this.”
“I’m not,” Colet said earnestly. She turned to face Maloi, her expression serious. “I mean it. You’ve always been the strong one. The one who keeps going, no matter what.”
“And you’ve always been the reckless one,” Maloi replied, her tone tinged with both frustration and fondness.
“Yeah,” Colet admitted, chuckling softly. “And look where it got me.” She met Maloi’s gaze, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “I know I don’t deserve it, but… I’m asking for another chance. Not just to be with you, but to prove that I can be better. For you. For us.”
Maloi looked at her, the weight of Colet’s words sinking in. She wanted to believe her, to trust that this time would be different. But the scars of their past still lingered.
“I don’t know if I can do this again,” Maloi said quietly, her voice trembling. “What if it ends the same way?”
Colet stepped closer, her hands trembling as she reached out to take Maloi’s. “Then I’ll keep trying. I’ll keep fighting for you, for us, for as long as it takes.”
The rain had stopped by the time they left the gallery. The streets were slick with water, reflecting the glow of the streetlights. Colet walked Maloi to her car, the silence between them filled with unspoken words.
As Maloi opened the car door, she hesitated, turning back to Colet. “This doesn’t mean I’m saying yes,” she said firmly.
“I know,” Colet replied, a small, hopeful smile tugging at her lips. “But it’s a start.”
Maloi nodded, her expression softening. “Goodnight, Colet.”
“Goodnight, Maloi.”
As Maloi drove away, Colet stood there, watching until her taillights disappeared into the distance. She felt a mix of relief and uncertainty, but for the first time in a long time, she also felt hope.
In the days that followed, Colet kept her promise. She didn’t overwhelm Maloi with grand gestures or incessant messages. Instead, she showed her love through small, thoughtful actions—bringing her coffee during busy workdays, leaving notes of encouragement in her office, and quietly supporting her from the sidelines.
Maloi, for her part, remained cautious. But slowly, she found herself letting Colet back into her life, piece by piece. She began to see the sincerity in Colet’s efforts, the way she was willing to put in the work to rebuild what they had lost.
It wasn’t easy. There were moments of doubt, moments of pain. But there were also moments of laughter, of connection, of love.
And as they stood together in the gallery one evening, the city lights casting a warm glow around them, Maloi realized that maybe, just maybe, they were worth fighting for.
The air inside the gallery was heavy with tension. Maloi Ricalde stood in the middle of the exhibit, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Colet Vergara lingered near the entrance, her hands shoved into the pockets of her jacket. It was after hours, the doors locked and the lights dim, but neither seemed in a rush to leave.
“I don’t know why I agreed to this,” Maloi said, her tone sharp but not unkind.
“Because you want answers,” Colet replied, stepping forward cautiously. “And I owe them to you.”
Maloi’s gaze was piercing, but beneath the icy surface, there was something softer—something fragile. She didn’t stop Colet from closing the distance between them.
“You’ve spent weeks showing up, doing all these little things,” Maloi said, her voice trembling slightly. “But you never once stopped to ask how I feel. You just assume persistence will fix everything.”
Colet flinched at the accusation but nodded. “You’re right,” she admitted, her voice low. “I’ve been so focused on proving myself that I forgot to ask if it’s even what you want.”
“Exactly,” Maloi shot back, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “Do you even understand how much you hurt me, Colet? How hard it was to move on, only for you to show up and pull me back in?”
“I do understand,” Colet said firmly, meeting her gaze. “And I hate myself for it. Maloi, I’m not trying to erase the past. I know I messed up, and I know it’s going to take more than words or grand gestures to make things right.”
Maloi shook her head, letting out a bitter laugh. “Do you? Do you really know what it’s like to feel like you’re not enough? To question why the person you love can’t stay?”
Colet stepped closer, her heart breaking at the pain in Maloi’s voice. “I do, Maloi. Every single day since we broke up, I’ve felt that. And I know it’s my fault. I didn’t know how to be the person you needed back then, but I want to be now.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence was deafening, filled with all the words they’d left unsaid for far too long. Finally, Maloi sank into one of the chairs near the wall, her shoulders slumping as if the weight of their history was too much to bear.
“I was scared,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I still am. You were this big, chaotic force in my life, and I didn’t know how to keep up with you. I thought if I let myself love you completely, I’d lose control.”
Colet knelt in front of her, her eyes searching Maloi’s. “You never had to keep up with me, Maloi. I didn’t need you to be anything other than who you are. That’s what I loved about you—the calm, the steadiness. You grounded me in a way no one else could.”
“But it wasn’t enough,” Maloi said, her voice breaking. “You still left.”
“I left because I was scared too,” Colet said, her own voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t think I deserved you. I thought if I stayed, I’d only drag you down. So I ran. And it was the worst decision I ever made.”
Maloi looked at her, tears pooling in her eyes. “Do you even realize how hard it was to put myself back together after you left? And now, you want me to risk everything again? To trust that you won’t leave me broken all over again?”
“I’m not asking for blind trust,” Colet said softly. “I’m asking for a chance to prove that I’ve changed. That I’ve grown. And that I’ll do whatever it takes to make you feel safe and loved.”
Maloi wiped at her eyes, taking a deep breath as she tried to steady herself. “What if we’re just setting ourselves up for failure? What if we’re too broken to make this work?”
Colet reached for her hand, her touch gentle but firm. “We’re not broken, Maloi. We’re just… human. And yeah, we’re going to mess up sometimes, but that doesn’t mean we can’t try. We owe it to ourselves to at least try.”
Maloi hesitated, her heart warring with her head. She wanted to believe Colet, to trust that things could be different this time. But the fear of getting hurt again loomed large.
“Okay,” she said finally, her voice barely audible.
Colet’s eyes widened in surprise. “Okay?”
Maloi nodded, looking down at their joined hands. “But we start over. No pretending like everything’s fine. No sweeping things under the rug. We address the hard stuff, even when it’s uncomfortable.”
Colet smiled, a mixture of relief and hope washing over her. “I can do that. Whatever it takes, Maloi.”
Over the following weeks, Colet and Maloi worked to rebuild their relationship—this time with honesty and vulnerability at the forefront. They had long, difficult conversations about their past, confronting the pain and miscommunications that had driven them apart.
“Why didn’t you tell me you felt like you weren’t enough?” Maloi asked one evening as they sat on her balcony, sharing a bottle of wine.
Colet sighed, leaning back in her chair. “I guess I thought you’d see it as weakness. I’ve always tried to act like I have it all together, but the truth is, I didn’t. And instead of leaning on you, I just… shut you out.”
Maloi reached over, resting her hand on Colet’s. “You don’t have to do that anymore. If we’re going to make this work, we need to be honest with each other—even when it’s hard.”
Colet nodded, her grip tightening around Maloi’s hand. “I’m learning. I promise.”
Of course, it wasn’t all smooth sailing. There were moments when old wounds reopened, when insecurities and doubts crept back in. But instead of running away, they faced those moments together, leaning on each other in ways they hadn’t before.
One night, after an argument about something trivial, Colet showed up at Maloi’s door with a bouquet of sunflowers and an apologetic smile.
“I overreacted,” she admitted. “I’m sorry.”
Maloi rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at her lips. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
“Yeah,” Colet said, grinning. “But you love me anyway.”
Maloi shook her head, but her laughter betrayed her. “You’re lucky I do.”
As the months passed, Maloi and Colet found themselves falling into a rhythm—a partnership built on mutual respect and understanding. They supported each other’s passions, celebrated each other’s successes, and learned to navigate the challenges that came their way.
And while the scars of their past never fully disappeared, they became reminders of how far they’d come.
One evening, as they stood together in Maloi’s gallery, Colet wrapped her arms around her from behind, resting her chin on Maloi’s shoulder.
“Thank you,” Colet said softly.
“For what?” Maloi asked, leaning into her embrace.
“For giving me another chance,” Colet replied. “For believing in us.”
Maloi smiled, turning her head to press a gentle kiss to Colet’s temple. “You fought for us, Colet. And I’m glad you did.”
Together, they stood in the quiet of the gallery, their hearts full of hope for the future they were building—one step at a time.