Chapter Text
Being president wasn’t just about giving speeches or making decisions. It was about being seen, always seen. Every step she took, every word she spoke, was measured under the scrutiny of her peers, her advisors, and even the quiet whispers of the students she led. In Aiah's world, image was everything. Aiah wasn’t just admired for her grace or quiet confidence. She was brilliant, top of her class, known for her sharp mind and quick thinking. When challenges arose, she was the one her team turned to, the one who had the answers, the one who could make tough calls without hesitation.
Her leadership was a careful balance of strength and empathy. She listened more than she spoke, but when she did speak, her words carried weight. She led with kindness, but also with an unyielding resolve that earned the respect of even the toughest critics.
She stood at the podium in the crowded auditorium, the buzz of the College of Commerce’s student council annual general assembly filling the room like electricity. Her voice was calm, steady, and unwavering, the kind that commanded respect without raising a hand. “Leadership isn’t about power,” she said, eyes scanning the sea of faces. “It’s about responsibility. To our team, our school, and ourselves.”
Applause followed, polite and warm, but Aiah’s gaze drifted to the side, where Jhoanna was watching. Jhoanna, with her effortless smile and open warmth, stood near the edge of the crowd, laughing softly with a few council members from different colleges. Aiah had earned the respect of most student leaders, not just for her beauty or poise, but for her brains, her dedication, and her ability to carry the weight of expectations with quiet strength. That’s why peers from different student councils had become her friends, supporting this event. And that’s why Jhoanna was here.
Unlike Aiah, Jhoanna’s leadership was a beacon of light, bright, inviting, impossible to ignore. Aiah’s heart clenched for a moment when their eyes met, that brief lock breaking only when Jhoanna looked away, cheeks tinged with a faint flush. It was dangerous, this small moment, the kind she couldn’t afford to entertain.
Some things were too risky to be seen.
As she continued her speech, Aiah forced herself to focus on the words, on the responsibilities, on the image she must protect. But in the quiet corners of her mind, Jhoanna’s face lingered, a reminder of what she both longed for and feared.
There were lines she couldn’t cross. Lines she didn’t want to cross.
Jhoanna’s smile was the first thing people noticed about her. Warm, inviting, impossible to resist. It was the kind of smile that made even the most stressed, out student feel a little lighter, a little safer. Standing at the corner of the auditorium, she watched Aiah speak with a mix of admiration and quiet awe. Aiah’s grace, her calm authority, it was something Jhoanna had always looked up to. But unlike Aiah, who ruled her world with quiet strength, Jhoanna led with light and laughter.
Being president of the Faculty of Arts and Letters student council was no small feat. Jhoanna treated her team like family, sometimes noisy, sometimes chaotic, but always loyal. She was the one who made sure birthdays were celebrated, who remembered the little things, who stayed late to help with projects and cheered the loudest when things went right. Her leadership wasn’t just about tasks and schedules; it was about people. And yet, beneath that extroverted exterior was someone who excelled in her classes, juggling multiple organizations without breaking a sweat. Jhoanna was sharp, driven, and fiercely capable, though she never felt the need to flaunt it. Her success came naturally, fueled by passion and hard work.
Tonight, surrounded by peers from different councils, she felt a familiar tug in her chest whenever her eyes found Aiah. Their eyes met briefly, a flash of connection that sent a jolt through her. For a moment, the noise and crowd faded, and all she could see was Aiah’s steady gaze, calm and unreadable.
Jhoanna’s mind drifted back to the first time they met.
It was during their early days in the student council circuit, Aiah was then the Vice President of the College of Commerce student council, all poised confidence and quiet command. Jhoanna was just the Public Relations Officer of the Faculty of Arts and Letters, still finding her footing, her energy bright but raw.
She remembered how Aiah had guided her through their first joint event—the way she listened, explained, and made Jhoanna feel seen, not just as a colleague but as someone worthy of trust.
It had been a long afternoon of back-and-forth proposals. Jhoanna sat quietly, fingers curled around her pen, nodding along but barely speaking. Every time she opened her mouth, someone else cut in, older, louder, surer.
Until Aiah noticed.
“Hey,” Aiah had leaned in, her voice soft but firm, “Jhoanna right? I liked what you commented on the google docs... about integrating creative booths between academic ones. You should bring that up.”
Jhoanna blinked, surprised. “Nabasa mo yun?”
“I did.” Aiah smiled, the kind of smile that made people feel braver. “You’ve got good ideas. Say it.”
And Jhoanna did. A little shaky, a little nervous—but she said it. And when the room finally quieted to listen, it was Aiah who nodded first and said, “I second that. Let’s hear her out.”
After the meeting, Jhoanna caught up to her in the hallway, still buzzing. “Thanks for that. I didn’t think anyone would notice,” she said, clutching her notes a little too tightly.
Aiah grinned, “You’ll get the hang of it, trust me. I'm Aiah, by the way. First meeting’s always a bit of a blur.”
“You make it look easy, Ate Aiah."
Aiah laughed—easy and bright. “Only because I’ve made all the mistakes already. You should’ve seen me in my first year. I was replying to my friends in a group chat but I wasn't looking at my screen... only to see that I saved it in a google docs shared to the whole university."
Jhoanna gasped, eyes wide. “No way! Ano naman ung tinype mo?"
Aiah nodded solemnly. “It said "HAHAHAHAHAHA i love that for you sister" and the dean saw it before I could, I swear I almost resigned.”
They both laughed, the kind of laughter that lingered. Then Aiah looked at her—really looked—and said, “You’re gonna be great, Jhoanna. I can already tell.”
It was just a few words. Just a few minutes. But to Jhoanna, it had meant everything. She had walked away that day with a quiet flutter in her chest. Back then, she told herself it was just admiration. That moment had sparked a quiet admiration that had grown over the years, layered with warmth and something deeper Jhoanna wasn’t ready to name.
Now, years later, that admiration had settled into a more complicated ache. She wanted to cross the room, to say something, anything. But she held back.
Because some things weren’t meant to be spoken out loud. Not yet. Jhoanna was just happy to look out for Aiah, to admire her from afar. She wanted to be there—in the moments when Aiah was laughing freely, glowing with pride, and especially in the quiet moments when she was sad or burdened by the weight of it all.
To Jhoanna, being near Aiah, even without words, was enough.
FLASHBACK
College Week wasn’t just another university event—it was a chance for each college to show the rest of the campus who they truly were beyond the labels and the tired stereotypes. That commerce students weren’t just about numbers and corporate suits and Arts & Letters students weren’t just loud creatives with no direction. Just like how IT students weren’t just isolated coders glued to their screens and Sports Science students aren't just all about sports. This year’s theme was “Break the Mold.” Each college would design immersive booths, exhibits, and activities to highlight the reality of their courses—the passion, the culture, the stories students lived every day. The entire week would be open for all students to roam freely, learn, engage, and connect with the other worlds inside their own campus.
And because Commerce and Arts & Letters shared the same building, and because of how tight space and manpower could get, Aiah and Jhoanna were tasked to co-lead the coordination for the whole building. Jhoanna didn’t mind. She liked working with Aiah. Well... maybe too much.
Their first few meetings were in the office, with papers and ideas scattered on the table like puzzle pieces. Aiah always came prepared—neatly organized documents, checklists, contingency plans. Jhoanna, on the other hand, brought energy and creativity: “How about an interactive exhibit? Like pwede nila i-experience gawin ung mga specialties natin. So for example for journalism right, pwede nila itry ung mga prompt na pang broadcasting. Kung matapos nila yun in 10 seconds and masasabi nila clearly, they get a prize!" she suggested one afternoon.
Aiah blinked, then nodded slowly. “I like that. That's actually smart.” They made a good team. Everyone said so. But no one really saw how the collaboration bled into something deeper. It started with shared Google Sheets and group chats, but over time, it was just the two of them, always coordinating, always checking in.
Jhoanna
Hi Ate Aiah, May details ka na raw ng magtatao sa Friday from Comm? I was tasked to obtain the list from you.
Aiah
I’m here sa café near down my dorm in Dapitan. Want to go over it there? Mas madali kaysa mag-email ng napakaraming attachments.
Jhoanna
Libre mo ko ha. Student leader compensation.
Aiah
Wow? Pero sige. Libre kita, special ka eh.
Jhoanna
Sheesh! Na-screenshot ko na. “Special ka eh” - Aiah 2025.
Aiah
HUY. I’ll block you.
Jhoanna
Hindi mo kaya. Ako source ng updated attendance mo kay Central.
Aiah
Tsk. Just come here already.
That night, they ended up staying at the café past 10. Their laptops were closed by then, and the event list was forgotten somewhere between their second cups of coffee and a long discussion on which event had the messiest group chat.
One time, Aiah had stayed behind in the council room long after everyone else left. The halls of the Commerce building were already quiet, the faint hum of the electric fan in their office the only sound breaking the stillness. Jhoanna pushed the door open gently and peeked inside. The lights were still on.
Aiah was standing in front of the council office’s whiteboard, arms crossed, eyes scanning the messy tangle of schedules, lists, and sticky notes someone had written in half-faded markers. Her other hand held a red whiteboard marker, cap clenched between her teeth. She looked like she’d been standing there for hours.
Without a word, Jhoanna placed the iced coffee beside her laptop and pulled out a warm meal from Tiger Winx. “Kain?” she said softly, tugging the cap from Aiah’s marker-hand. Aiah blinked out of her daze. Her eyes were tired, her posture heavy, but when she saw Jhoanna, something in her face relaxed. “Thanks, Jho,” she murmured. “You didn’t have to.” Jhoanna shrugged, offering her a fork. “Eh ikaw rin naman yung supplier ko ng formal templates ‘pag wala pa akong copy. Fair lang.”
Aiah chuckled, finally letting the marker go and slumping into one of the chairs. “I swear this whiteboard is mocking me,” she muttered. “Every time I erase something, someone writes the exact same thing again.”
Jhoanna snorted. Then she leaned her elbow on the table, watching Aiah poke at her rice. “You okay?” Aiah hesitated. Then nodded slowly. “Just tired. I want this to go well. It’s a big event as president. Gusto ko maayos lahat, for the team… for the college.” “Hey,” Jhoanna said, gentler this time. “You don’t always have to carry it alone.” Aiah looked at her, lips parting slightly, like she wanted to say something but didn’t know how to form the words. So Jhoanna smiled instead, easy and warm.
“Partner tayo, di ba?” she said. “I’m here. Kahit pa hindi ako taga-Commerce, kahit hindi ako part ng team mo. If you need someone to help… or just to bring food and make fun of your... board, I’m your girl.”
Aiah looked down at the coffee, “I don’t deserve that kind of kindness,” she whispered. Jhoanna furrowed her brow. “Why not?”
Aiah’s eyes flicked toward her, filled with something sharp and aching—but she looked away again before Jhoanna could ask. “Wala. Just tired, like I said.” She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.
Still, she took the fork and ate. Jhoanna watched her for a moment longer, trying to decide if she should say something else. But there were no right words. Not now, she thought. So she asked instead, quietly, “Can I hug you?”
Aiah froze, fork halfway to her lips. Her eyes flicked up in surprise. Jhoanna added quickly, “I mean... you don’t have to say yes. I just thought… minsan, food, coffee and conversations like these aren’t enough.” There was a beat of silence. Aiah looked down at the rice, like she was trying to convince herself she didn’t need anything else. And then, almost too softly to hear, she whispered, “Okay.”
Jhoanna stepped closer, arms wrapping gently around Aiah’s shoulders. She didn’t squeeze too tight, just enough to let Aiah know she was here, just enough to steady her if she was falling apart. Aiah didn’t hug back at first. But then slowly, tentatively, she did. Her hands clutched the fabric of Jhoanna’s uniform, and she let herself sink into the warmth she’d convinced herself she didn’t need. It lasted only a few seconds. But for Aiah, it was everything she’d been holding back, all released in silence, in a space she didn’t think she was allowed to enter. When they pulled away, Aiah avoided Jhoanna’s eyes. But her smile, this time, held a little more truth. “Thank you,” she said, almost shyly.
Jhoanna just nodded. “Anytime.” And she meant it.
They weren’t just organizing an event anymore—they were building something. Something fragile. Something unnamed.
Spending more lunches together. Sharing notebooks, inside jokes, late-night rants. Meeting at odd hours outside the campus or quiet cafés. Jhoanna accompanying Aiah to the Dean’s office more times than she cared to count "for moral support,” she’d say with a grin. Aiah waiting outside Jhoanna’s classroom just to hand her a flash drive she forgot—“convenient lang, I was nearby,” she’d claim, even when she wasn’t. It had become routine. Easy. Familiar in a way that made Aiah’s heart ache.
One night, after a particularly long meeting, the council room emptied until it was just the two of them. Aiah sat cross-legged on the floor, flipping through forms with a pen in hand, while Jhoanna was perched on the edge of the table, sipping cold coffee. The world felt quieter than usual. Aiah looked up, tired but thoughtful. “You’re always here,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t you ever get tired?”
Jhoanna turned to her, eyes glinting with something warm and certain. She didn’t even hesitate. “Not when it’s you.” Aiah froze. Her hand tightened around her pen, the plastic creaking faintly beneath her grip. She tried to say something—laugh it off, redirect, pretend like it didn’t mean anything. But the words stuck in her throat. Because it did mean something. And that was the problem. She dropped her gaze, pretending to go back to the papers. Her voice, when she spoke, was quieter. Almost brittle. “Jho… don’t say things like that.”
Jhoanna blinked. “Why not? It’s true.” Aiah didn’t look up. Couldn’t. Because she was afraid that if she met Jhoanna’s eyes, she’d lose whatever hold she had left on the boundary she’d so carefully drawn between them.
Jhoanna watched her for a moment longer, her smile dimming just slightly. But she didn’t push. Instead, she stood up, grabbed her phone from the table, and said, “Okay. Masyadong serious. Time for a reset!" Aiah glanced up, confused, as Jhoanna propped her phone against a pile of folders and hit record.
“What are you—”
“Shhh. Gusto ko maging tiktok famous.”
Then, right there in the middle of the council room, Jhoanna started dancing to a random TikTok trend—the kind that had no real choreography, just exaggerated hand gestures and a lot of facial expressions. She botched a few steps on purpose, dramatically rolling her eyes and flailing like a muppet. Aiah blinked. And then she laughed. It was soft at first, almost reluctant. But it grew, cracking through the quiet tension like sunlight. She leaned back against the wall, shaking her head as Jhoanna struck a ridiculous pose at the end of the video.
“Para kang ewan talaga.” Aiah said, cheeks flushed. Jhoanna beamed, stopping the recording. “And you, Maem President, are smiling again. Mission accomplished!"
“I should revoke your council privileges for this,” Aiah teased, leaning back against the wall. “Nye nye, you can't kasi mamimiss mo ko.” She just looked at her and for a moment, the ache she’d buried deep inside flickered to the surface. But Jhoanna was already sitting back beside her, casual and warm, like nothing had happened. Like that strange, heavy almost-confession a moment ago could stay unspoken.
And Aiah let it. Because it was easier that way. Because even if she couldn’t allow herself to reach for Jhoanna… She couldn’t bring herself to pull away either.
Their colleges couldn’t have been more different—but somehow, their hearts beat to the same rhythm: structured, chaotic, loyal, burning. And without knowing it, they were drawing closer. Line by line, moment by moment. They just didn’t realize yet that this wasn’t just collaboration. This wasn’t just leadership. This was something else entirely. Professors and student affairs officers had started mentioning them in the same breath.
“They’re a powerhouse,” one faculty member said during a planning meeting with the Dean. “Professional, articulate, reliable. And somehow, they still manage to balance friendship with leadership.” Aiah always smiled politely at that kind of praise. But inside, it twisted something in her chest. Because yes, they were admired—for how seamlessly they worked together, for how smoothly they made things run. But no one saw the quiet, deliberate ways Aiah leaned in a little closer.
How she sometimes suggested in-person coordination when a message would’ve sufficed. How she reshuffled the master schedule just to carve out time to walk with Jhoanna between classrooms. How she’d say they should meet at the Faculty of Arts and Letters council room—Jhoanna’s home turf—because she knew it made her feel at ease.
“Mas gusto ko dito. Mas homey,” Aiah had said once, running her finger along the corkboard covered in old photos and colored printouts of events. “Told you,” Jhoanna beamed. “We decorate with love.” Aiah only nodded. But her gaze lingered a second too long.
There were little things like that. The soft hours between work and rest when Jhoanna would poke her head into the Commerce council office and ask, “Ate Aiah, lunch?” The first time she said it, Aiah blinked.
“You don’t have to call me Ate, you know,” she said, almost too casually, like it didn’t mean anything. Jhoanna tilted her head, teasing. “But you are older. Boomer ka na 'di ba?"
Aiah rolled her eyes, but her voice was gentler than usual. “That is so not a compliment. Just… Aiah is fine.” There was a pause. Then Jhoanna grinned. “Okay. Aiah.” It stuck.
After that, Aiah started buying caramel bars from the café near her dorm—just because she’d overheard, once, that it was Jhoanna’s favorite. “You remembered,” Jhoanna would say, her smile wide, and it was the most incredible thing in the world to Aiah.
One afternoon, they were hunched over the marketing floor plan of the Arts and Letters council room. Jhoanna traced layouts in colored pens, muttering to herself. Aiah glanced over. “You always do this by hand?”
“Yup. Helps me think.” She flashed a grin. “Old-school, di ba?” “No,” Aiah said quietly, voice softening. “It’s you.” Jhoanna smiled. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Jhoanna looked down and laughed, pretending not to notice how Aiah’s voice had cracked just slightly.
Later that week, they were walking to the Dean’s office after class. Jhoanna’s bag was heavy, so Aiah took it from her without a word. “You don’t have to carry my stuff, you know.”
“I want to,” Aiah said, then paused. “Actually, this bag is suspiciously heavy for a college student. May bato ka bang dala?”
“Oo! Bato ni... DARNA!” Jhoanna shouted, suddenly striking a superhero pose. Aiah blinked, mortified. “Jho —” Too late. A few students turned, some chuckling. Aiah covered her face, laughing. “You’re such a loser.”
“Tawang-tawa ka nga dyan,” Jhoanna said proudly, still posing. “Because I’m running on three hours of sleep and your nonsense is weirdly effective,” Aiah mumbled.
“Well, that’s my job,” Jhoanna replied, nudging her. “Lighten your load—figuratively and literally.” Aiah shook her head, smiling. “You’re unbelievable. Ano bang laman nito?”
“Just my 40 oz tumbler filled with ice and water,” Jhoanna said matter-of-factly. “Sabi sa news aabot ng 40 degrees today. Honestly? I don’t think my Jisulife fan can handle that kind of betrayal.”
Aiah snorted. “You’re preparing for war, not your media ethics class.”
“Climate war, Aiah. At wala namang ginagawa ang gobyernong ’to about that!”
They reached a shaded bench. Aiah tugged at Jhoanna’s arm. “Upo muna tayo. My shoulders are filing a complaint.” Jhoanna laughed, sat down, and opened her tumbler with a satisfying twist. “Sige, pahinga ka. Ako rin, feel ko magiging fried chicken na ako.” Aiah leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “This heat is criminal.”
She opened her mouth, eyes dancing with mischief. “Drink your water, b—” But Aiah turned to her, one brow raised, a half-smirk forming.
Jhoanna blinked, caught mid-sentence, then grinned sheepishly. “—bhie.” Aiah laughed. “I knew it. Bretman fan ka nga.”
“Of course! Hydration is a lifestyle and an attitude.”
“Noted, bhie,” Aiah teased, rolling her eyes, smiling still.
Some nights, Aiah reread old messages.
Jhoanna
Aiah, good luck sa exams tomorrow! I know you’ll kill it.
Thanks for today. You really make things easier.
I hope you’re eating enough.
She’d never been one to save messages. But these? These stayed. Jhoanna didn’t know how much of Aiah’s day revolved around her. How her smile could flip a bad day. How her chaos could anchor Aiah when everything felt like too much.
After one particularly draining meeting, Aiah sat beside her in the hallway and sighed—a sigh that carried too many unsaid things. Without a word, Jhoanna leaned her head on Aiah’s shoulder. Just a second. But Aiah memorized the weight of it.
The comfort. The stillness. The quiet hum of something unspoken. They didn’t say anything. They just sat, scrolling through dumb reels and cursed memes. At one point, Jhoanna leaned in again—briefly. And Aiah didn’t move.
She couldn’t. Her heart was too loud. And in that moment, Aiah knew. It was the way Jhoanna brought light into every space. How she remembered Aiah’s coffee order. How she knew when silence was needed—and when silliness was everything. It was the way Jhoanna saw her. All of her. And stayed.
They worked too well. That was the problem.
Aiah knew she was drawing closer to something dangerous. Something irreversible. Because it wasn’t just about working late or shared goals anymore. It was the way Jhoanna instinctively checked if she had eaten. The way Aiah found herself pausing mid-sentence just to watch Jhoanna laugh at a joke no one else found funny. The way her heart settled when Jhoanna entered a room.
She was falling. And Jhoanna? Jhoanna was already there... only she didn’t know it yet.
The news came between a student affairs check-in and a logistics meeting. Aiah’s phone buzzed, and she almost didn’t answer—until she saw her Kuya’s name flashing on the screen. “Hello?” Her voice was tight, controlled.
But in seconds, her posture shifted. She stood with knuckles white around the phone. “What?? But—okay. Okay, wait. I’ll try to get the next flight. Kuya, calm down—wait, is she okay? Is she—”
Jhoanna, standing by the corkboard with the rest of the props, turned immediately at the change in tone. She didn’t need to hear the rest to know something was wrong. The call ended. Aiah looked around the room like she couldn’t remember where she was. “Aiah?” Jhoanna moved closer. “What happened?”
“My sister-in-law, she’s in labor. Early. Kuya said she’s already in the hospital. I was supposed to be there next week, after the seminar.” Aiah’s voice trembled slightly, the kind of crack she usually never allowed in public. Jhoanna gently took the papers from her hands and set them aside. “Go. Book a flight and get the earliest one. I’ll cover for you here.” Aiah hesitated, still caught between panic and guilt. “But the meeting with the SC chair later—”
“I’ll handle it,” Jhoanna said, firmer now. “Besides, she's family, you said she's the sister you never had. How she makes your Kuya sing karaoke with her every Sunday kahit sintunado.”
That pulled a breathy laugh from Aiah, despite herself. Jhoanna continued, softer now. “Go. Be with your family.” Aiah looked at her, eyes glossed with emotion. “There’s still class tomorrow…”
“Balik ka nalang agad. You’ve done crazier things for events. This is nothing." Aiah managed a small nod. “Yeah. You’re right.” Jhoanna gave her a reassuring smile and reached out to hug her quick. “Text me once you’re at the airport!"
As Aiah hurried to gather her things and make calls, Jhoanna watched her with quiet admiration—and something else. Something deeper. Because in that moment, she wasn’t thinking about the event, or the meetings, or the deliverables Aiah was leaving behind. She was just thinking: You love them so much. And I know how hard it is for you to be away every day. So go—be there. I’ll stay. I’ll hold everything down for you.
And even as Aiah disappeared out the door in a blur of motion and quiet panic, Jhoanna already knew she would carry whatever weight Aiah left behind. For as long as it took. Because that’s what you do for someone who carries love like that.
[10:37 PM]
Aiah
Just landed in Cebu!
She’s tiny, Jho. And perfect. Meet my niece.
[Attached: a photo of Aiah in a hoodie, still in her uniform, holding a newborn close to her chest, face tired but glowing with wonder.]
Jhoanna stared at the photo longer than she meant to. The sight of Aiah cradling a baby—with that soft, unguarded expression—tugged at something deep in her chest.
Jhoanna
Ang ganda niya. You look so full of love in this photo.
Aiah
Haba ng lashes niya 'no?
Kuya cried. And I, 😎
Jhoanna smiled. Her fingers hovered over the screen for a moment before replying.
Jhoanna
Patingin nga pag walang shades?
Aiah
🥲
Jhoanna
HAHAHAHAHA. Your secret’s safe with me, always.
She hesitated again before sending the next message, remembering the rush of the day—classes, council duties, and Maloi slipping her updates from the group chat with a knowing grin. That look. That quiet teasing in Maloi’s eyes that said, May gusto ka kay Aiah 'no? Jhoanna hadn’t answered. She just shook her head with a smile and asked for the details of the meetings Aiah missed.
Jhoanna
BTW, I got updates from Ate Maloi. Things went good today daw.
Aiah
Of course. You were there.
Her stomach fluttered a little at that.
Jhoanna
What time’s your flight tomorrow?
Aiah
7 AM.
Wait—are you cutting class to pick me up?? Jho, I’m a terrible influence. Grabe ka talaga. You’re making me soft.
[Seen – 11:23 PM]
No reply. Aiah blinked at the screen, then chuckled to herself. She fell asleep on me, she thought, imagining Jhoanna curled up in bed, probably with her phone on her chest. She didn’t mind. Not one bit.
The moment the plane touched down in Manila, Aiah switched off airplane mode and watched as a flurry of notifications poured in. Among them was one that made her heart still for a second.
[7:52 AM]
Jhoanna
Good morning, Aiah. Yes, dito na ako! Hindi ako magcucutting 'no, class turned into an online group activity.
So, keep an eye out when you land—black Veloz, plate number IDT 2627.
And no, you’re not a terrible influence. You’re just someone I’d cross Manila traffic for.
Aiah stared at the screen, a tired smile pulling at her lips. She let out a soft breath of laughter—quiet, almost incredulous. And for a moment, surrounded by the noise of other passengers standing to get their bags, she didn’t move. Just held the phone, rereading the message like it was something delicate. Like it meant more than it should, maybe it did. Jhoanna stood just outside the arrival gate, one hand tucked into the pocket of her jacket, the other holding a small sign that read “ Maem President - Welcome Back” in hastily drawn Sharpie strokes. She wasn’t exactly hard to spot—tall, beaming, her black Veloz parked neatly nearby, as she informed, hazard lights blinking softly.
The crowd spilled out slowly from the gates, passengers wheeling luggage and hugging waiting family. "Aiah!” she called, raising her hand. Aiah spotted her almost instantly. That voice—bright, familiar, grounding. She didn’t even try to hide her smile. "May pa-sign ka pa dyan!" Aiah said as she walked up. Jhoanna laughed and handed her an iced coffee. “Limited edition. Welcome Back Kit: includes sugar, caffeine, and a ride.”
“Wow.” Aiah teased, taking the drink. “You sure you’re not secretly my executive assistant?”
“President ka lang sa papel, pero ako ang tunay na may ari ng Commerce,” Jhoanna grinned. Aiah shook her head, amused. “Grabe ka pala, master.”
As they walked toward the car, Jhoanna eyed her luggage. Or, more accurately, the lack of it. “Wait,” she blinked. “Where’s your stuff?” Aiah snorted, lifting her iPad from her sling bag and tapping it lightly. “This is it. This is all I brought.”
“No clothes? No overnight bag? Not even… toiletries?!”
“I had to fly out in two hours, Jho,” Aiah said, laughing. “It was either this or miss my niece being born.” Jhoanna opened the passenger door for her, mock offended. “You’re unbelievable. Good thing I brought snacks and wet wipes.”
“See? Blessing in disguise na din na wala akong dala, I knew you’d overprepare.” Jhoanna rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the fondness curling in her chest. “You’re lucky you’re cute.” Aiah raised a brow as she settled into the passenger seat. “You just called me cute.”
“Shut up,” Jhoanna said quickly, cheeks pinking as she slammed her door shut and started the engine. Aiah didn’t push. But the smile on her lips didn’t leave the whole drive back. It lingered even as silence filled the car, even as Jhoanna hummed along to the soft music playing from the speakers. Something unspoken was settling between them—familiar, warm, and terrifyingly gentle.
Aiah didn’t know when she started doing those things. Picking the longer route just to spend more time with her. Saying yes to coffee or lunch or even dinner even when she had reports waiting. Choosing to walk past Jhoanna’s classroom “by coincidence.” None of it was in her structured, color-coded planner.
But she found herself doing them anyway.
A week before Aiah's speech at the Commerce’s student council annual general assembly, the afternoon is quiet. As she waits for the dean’s office to open, Aiah stands in the hallway, distractedly scrolling through her iPad. She overhears a conversation from the open council room next door—voices she recognizes instantly. Jhoanna’s co-officer, Stacey, laughs softly while scrolling through their phone: 'Grabe si Jho talaga. Sobrang sweet sa girlfriend niya.
It hit Aiah like a slap. She didn’t ask. Didn’t confirm but the spiral began quietly.
Of course, Jhoanna would have someone. Of course, she would love someone with the same kind of warmth and brightness she gave everyone else... only more. And if Jhoanna were to love a girl, she would do it openly, proudly, the same way she spoke in meetings and fought for her team and stayed behind to help clean up when no one asked her to.
And Aiah? Aiah would never be able to do that. She could barely admit it to herself. There were rules she had to live by—expectations, image, the silent pressure of always being seen. That night, Aiah skipped dinner. She stared at her ceiling, wondering what it would’ve felt like to be on the receiving end of Jhoanna’s affection—freely, without fear. She didn’t know what hurt more: the idea that Jhoanna could never love her… or the possibility that she could, and Aiah could never give it back the way she deserved.
Aiah became cold the next week. Not overtly. Not in a way anyone else would notice. But Jhoanna did. Where there used to be shared glances across rooms, there was now avoidance. Where their shoulders used to brush when they leaned over the same sheet of paper, Aiah now kept a deliberate distance. Her replies were shorter. Her tone clipped, formal. Efficient.
The change was subtle, but it was enough to make Jhoanna feel like the ground beneath her feet had shifted.
She noticed when Aiah left early after their presentation without saying goodbye. She noticed when Aiah suddenly stopped sending those late-night messages. She noticed when, during a meeting with the admin, Aiah called her “Jhoanna” instead of “Jho.” It was like she had become… just another colleague. And Jhoanna couldn’t understand why.
She waited two days before confronting her. And when she did, it wasn’t even planned. They had both just come from the Dean’s office after a successful walkthrough. Aiah was packing up her signed proposal documents quickly, eyes trained anywhere but on Jhoanna.
“Ayos ka lang?” Jhoanna asked softly, stepping beside her. Aiah didn’t look up. “I’m fine.”
“You’ve been… distant,” she said, careful not to sound accusatory. “Did I do something?” “No,” Aiah replied too fast. Then, quieter: “You didn’t.”
Jhoanna frowned, her voice barely a whisper. “Then why does it feel like you’re running away from me?” That made Aiah pause.
She looked up finally, and for a moment, Jhoanna saw it—just a flicker in her eyes. Pain. Conflict. Something unraveling. But it disappeared as fast as it came. Aiah offered a tight smile. “I’m just busy. We both are. Too many responsibilities. Isang week nalang and event na." It was a lie. Jhoanna knew it was. But what could she do with a lie dressed in strength?
Aiah didn’t let her speak again. She walked away like she always did—calm, composed, unreadable. But her hands were trembling around the paper. Each step down the hallway echoed louder than the last, like her heart trying to outrun the truth. That it wasn’t just pressure, or stress, or the mounting responsibilities of student leadership that made her pull away.
It was fear. Fear that if she let herself fall any deeper, she wouldn’t know how to come back up.
And Jhoanna—bright, kind, persistent Jhoanna—was starting to feel less like a teammate and more like home. A kind of home Aiah wasn’t sure she was allowed to have. So she kept walking, even when every part of her wanted to turn around. Because Aiah had never been good at staying away from the people she loved. Because loving Jhoanna in silence still felt safer than losing her in the open.