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The morning crept in gently, all pale blue and gold seeping through the thin dorm curtains.
Niña stirred awake.
It took her a second to remember where she was—the top bunk, the blanket draped loosely over her legs, the earphones half-dangling from Angel's phone, now long dead.
And then she remembered why her shoulder was so warm.
Because Angel was still leaning against her.
Fast asleep.
Her head slightly tilted, lips parted, breaths slow and even.
Niña froze.
The ache in her shoulder was nothing compared to the sudden pounding in her chest. She didn’t dare move. She couldn’t. Every twitch felt like it would shatter the fragile peace between them—this borrowed moment that neither of them asked for, but never pulled away from either.
She let her eyes wander, just for a second. The way Angel’s hair had fallen loose from her tie. The soft crease between her brows. Her lashes against her cheeks.
Niña had never been this close to someone she liked.
And maybe "like" was too small a word.
Too soft for how her heart felt like it was trying to dig its way out of her ribs.
Then—
From across the room, Amie groaned, shifting in her bed with a half-mumbled curse and her phone still clutched in one hand.
And reality snapped back like a rubber band.
Niña blinked, hard.
What was she doing?
This wasn’t the kind of thing you let happen when you had days left of joint training. When you were sharing the same court. When everyone already looked at Angel like she was the future of Philippine volleyball.
One of the most watched rookies. La Salle’s pride. The pressure she carried every time she stepped into a gym—it wasn’t light.
And Niña?
Niña was just some girl who happened to get close enough to sit beside her. Close enough to touch. Close enough to fall for.
This wasn’t fair.
Not to Angel.
Not when she had all that potential and spotlight chasing her.
Niña slowly shifted, gently easing Angel off her shoulder. Careful. Precise.
Angel murmured something inaudible in her sleep and turned slightly, face burying into the blanket. She didn’t wake.
Niña didn’t let herself look too long this time.
She pulled out the earphone from her right ear, shut off Angel's phone, and quietly pulled herself out of bed, one foot on the ladder, the rest of her body floating in a sudden flood of guilt.
Because if this silly little crush ever cost Angel even a second of her focus…
Niña didn’t think she could live with that.
So she climbed down the bunk as silently as she could.
And she didn’t look back.
Not even when Angel shifted again, reaching slightly for the earphone wire still curled where Niña used to be.
Angel woke to the sound of rustling fabric.
The dorm room was still quiet, save for the muffled hum of morning outside. Someone’s footsteps padded across the floor—light, careful.
She blinked her eyes open slowly.
It was cold.
Her first thought wasn’t where am I or what time is it .
Her first thought was: Where did she go?
Because Niña wasn’t beside her anymore.
The spot where her head had been resting—the spot that was once warm and steady and perfectly Niña—was now just a crumpled pillow and an empty corner of the bed.
Angel sat up slightly, her back brushing the cold wall. The right earphone slipped from her shoulder.
Only one side still clung to her ear. The music had stopped a while ago.
For a second, she just stared at her phone on the sheets between them. Still cracked open like it waited for another shared moment. Another quiet night.
But that moment had already ended.
Angel’s eyes flickered toward the ladder just in time to see the faintest shadow disappear out the door. A glimpse of someone’s back. The soft swing of a hoodie sleeve. Niña.
She didn’t even say goodbye.
Not that she had to.
Not when this—whatever this was—had been built on silence and half-smiles and shared earphones. Nothing loud. Nothing real.
Angel leaned her head back against the wall and sighed, rubbing her eyes like it might push the tight feeling away from her chest.
She tried to tell herself it didn’t matter.
It was just a late night. Just a couple of songs. Just the smallest shift in air between two people trying not to fall into something they couldn’t afford to carry.
But Angel wasn’t dumb.
She could still feel the weight of Niña’s head from hours ago—the way her breath had slowed, the way they almost synced without trying.
She didn’t mean to fall asleep.
But she also didn’t mean to want to stay like that, either.
And now that Niña was gone?
Now that the top bunk felt a little colder?
Angel wondered if she’d already messed it up.
Or worse—if Niña had already decided it wasn’t worth it.
She curled into herself, pulled the blanket over her knees, and glanced at her phone one more time.
Okay lang ‘to, she told herself.
This was training camp.
Not a love story.
Even if it was starting to feel like one.
Day 2 of camp, mid-training. The girls are on water break. The gym’s buzzing with movement—footsteps echo, bottles clinking, muffled laughter. Angel sits against the bleachers, towel slung over her shoulders.
Angel wiped the sweat from her face with her towel. She’d been feeling off the whole drill, like something wouldn’t settle in her chest. She wasn't tired, exactly. Just... off.
She reached for her water bottle and noticed someone already sitting there—Nica, towel over her neck, watching the court.
“Solid rally kanina,” Nica said, breath still a little uneven.
Angel nodded, eyes trained ahead. “Good ball movement.”
A pause. Not awkward—just enough for tension to sneak in if it wanted to.
“DLSU looks sharp,” Nica added, tone casual but precise.
Angel glanced at her. “UP, too.”
Another small smile from Nica. The polite kind. “You’re all adjusting fast.”
Angel didn’t say anything at first. But something itched at her chest, so she let it slip.
“Niña’s quick.”
Nica’s brows rose slightly. “She is.”
Angel kept her voice even. “She gets along with everyone, 'no?”
Nica didn't like that Angel talked about Niña like she knew her better.
“She always has,” Nica said. “People like her. She knows how to make them feel at ease.”
Angel’s grip tightened on her water bottle a bit. She didn’t look at Nica, just nodded once. “Yeah.”
“Although…” Nica leaned back against the bench, legs stretched out. “She gets quieter when she admires someone,”
Angel blinked.
“What?”
"Admire, like someone she'd look up to." Nica didn't want to give Angel hopes yet.
Hopes that Nica herself didn't have.
Nica turned to her then, slow and deliberate. “Just something I noticed.”
Angel tried to act unfazed. “You sure?”
Nica gave a small shrug. “I only know because I’m the same.”
And that landed.
Heavier than Angel expected.
Because suddenly, she remembered how Niña was all laughter with Bienne earlier, with Shane the day before, with almost everyone during drills.
Except with her.
With her, Niña was hesitant. Reserved. A little awkward. Like she didn’t know where to place her hands. Like she was thinking too much.
Angel tried not to overthink it herself, but the thought stuck like sweat on skin.
“You and Niña,” Angel said, voice lighter than she felt, “you’ve been teammates since rookie year, right?”
“Yeah,” Nica said. “First time I met her, she talked to me like we were already friends.”
Angel nodded slowly. “That’s… nice.”
“It is,” Nica replied. Then after a beat, she added, “But she doesn’t do that with everyone.”
Angel didn’t answer.
She just stared ahead, heart knocking a little louder against her chest.
Nica stood up, rolling her shoulder out. “You’ll figure her out,” she said, almost kindly. “If you want to.”
Angel didn’t even look at her.
She just took a sip of water, eyes drifting toward the court where Niña was helping clean up stray volleyballs, grinning at one of the staff that's suddenly her new friend.
And yet Angel could still feel that moment from the night before—her head tilted softly against her own shoulder, that unspoken weight between them humming gently like a song they were both too afraid to hear in full.
She hated that she wanted to.
And hated even more that Nica might’ve heard it first.
The gym buzzed with the kind of intensity only a cross-team scrimmage could bring. Every rally held weight. Every set, every dig, every glance across the net—it all meant something.
Angel adjusted the tape on her fingers, jaw tight. On the opposite side of the net, Niña bounced on the balls of her feet, light and quick. She grinned at something Bienne whispered. Amie rolled her eyes playfully. Niña nudged her back.
Angel swallowed hard, gripping the ball.
It wasn’t jealousy.
No. She just wanted to win.
That’s what she told herself.
The whistle was now blown.
The ball was tossed into play, and Angel moved like fire. Her limbs were sharp, exact—too exact. She called for every ball that wasn't hers. Dug one even before the libero could. Stepped across into Nica’s zone, fingertips brushing hers as she reached for a ball that Nica already had covered.
Nica didn’t say anything at first. Just gave her a tight-lipped glance and reset her stance.
Next rally. Angel did it again—this time on a block.
Nica exhaled hard through her nose.
“Gusto mo ba sabay na lang tayo mag-set?” Nica said jokingly under her breath as they walked to position.
Angel didn’t respond. Her eyes were glued to Niña again—who was adjusting her knee pads and chatting with Lyka.
Why does she talk like that to everyone except for me?
“She doesn’t know you’re fighting ghosts over there,” Nica muttered, dryly, almost too soft to hear.
Angel snapped her gaze to her.
“I’m not.”
“You’re playing like it.”
The whistle blew again. Amie sent a quick set toward the back.
Niña leapt, graceful as always—effortless power mid-air.
Angel’s block came too late to read, but she swung hard anyway.
Too hard.
The ball slammed straight into Niña’s face—full speed—and the sound it made cut through the room like a gunshot.
Niña crumpled backward, falling onto the court. The room gasped collectively.
“Gagi pre,” Bienne said.
Alleiah darted toward her. “Niña—hey, you okay?”
But Nica was already kneeling beside her. “Look at me,” she said—steady, soft, certain.
Her hands cradled Niña’s face like it was a map she’d memorized, like it was something fragile she’d been entrusted to protect.
Familiar.
Precious.
Like it had always been hers to hold.
Niña blinked, dazed. “Okay… wait—‘m fine,” she murmured, sitting up with Amie’s help.
Angel didn’t move.
She stood there, rooted—arms slack, heart loud.
There was something about the way Nica held Niña’s face.
Like she’d done it before. Like she’d earned the right.
Like she knew her.
And maybe that was what got to Angel the most.
The knowing.
The ease.
The quiet intimacy of it.
Angel looked away before she could make sense of the ache blooming in her chest.
Before she could name it.
Before it could name her.
Amie looked back at her, something unreadable in her face.
Angel tried to speak—tried to say she didn’t mean it, that it wasn’t personal, that it was just a play gone wrong—but her throat was dry.
Then a hand touched her arm. Coach Ramil, stern-faced and quiet.
“Canino. With me.”
Angel blinked, slowly turning to follow.
They moved toward the side of the court, away from the crowd forming around Niña.
“You’re not yourself out there,” the coach said, arms crossed. “That’s not how you play.”
“I didn’t mean to hit her,” Angel muttered.
“I know. But you weren’t focused. And that’s what worries me.”
Angel didn’t respond.
The coach leaned in a little, voice dropping. “You're one of the most promising players we’ve brought here, Angel. Everyone’s watching. Don’t let your emotions write the story for you.”
Angel glanced over her shoulder.
Niña was back on her feet, laughing softly at something Amie said. Bienne handed her water, and she took it with a grateful nod. Nica stood a few feet away, arms crossed, watching Angel instead.
“Whatever it is,” the coach continued, “leave it at the door when you’re on this court.”
Angel nodded, jaw tight. “Yes, coach.”
She turned back, her heart pounding—less from the drill, more from the sting of her own spiraling.
Because maybe Nica was right.
She was playing like she was fighting ghosts.
And the worst part?
One of those ghosts had a soft laugh, a calm gaze—and was still rubbing the side of her head with a smile.
Once Angel was dismissed, Amie caught up with her at the edge of the court, wiping her face with a towel slung over her shoulder.
She didn’t say anything right away. Just stood beside Angel in silence, both of them watching Niña sit on the bench while Nica crouched in front of her, inspecting her temple like a doctor off-duty. Niña waved her off with a soft laugh, but Nica wasn’t backing down.
“She’s fine,” Amie said quietly.
Angel didn’t answer.
Amie sighed, tugging lightly on Angel’s elbow. “Come here.”
They walked a few steps off court, just far enough to be out of earshot.
“You good?” Amie asked, not accusing, not soft either. Just honest.
Angel took a beat before answering. “Hindi ko sinasadya.”
“I know you didn’t.” Amie leaned back against the wall. “But you’re not playing like yourself today.”
Angel’s jaw clenched. “I’m just… focused.”
“That’s not focus,” Amie said, gesturing vaguely toward the court. “Iba na yan, Angel.”
Angel stayed quiet. Her eyes were still glued on Niña—who was now standing, sipping water, nodding at whatever Nica was saying. She looked okay. But that wasn’t the point anymore.
“Was it about Nica?” Amie asked carefully after she followed her line of sight.
Angel turned to her. “What?”
“You and Nica were… off. Like, stepping on each other’s zones. And you’re never like that unless you’re trying to prove something.”
Angel looked away. “She’s just—” She exhaled, gripping her hands behind her back. “She’s good.”
“She’s the UP captain,” Amie said. “Of course she’s good.”
Angel didn’t respond.
“But this isn’t about her being good,” Amie added. “This is about you not liking that she knows Niña more than you do.”
Angel’s head snapped toward her. “Ha?”
Amie raised both brows. “You think I haven’t noticed?”
Angel scoffed. “Inooverthink mo masyado.”
“Sure,” Amie said with a small shrug. “But you’re staring a little too long for someone who apparently 'doesn’t care.’”
Angel wanted to argue. She wanted to say that Amie was wrong. That Niña was just another face on the court. That it didn’t matter who Nica sat beside or checked on or knew better.
But her silence said otherwise.
Amie bumped her shoulder. “Hey. You don’t have to figure it out now.”
Angel stayed still.
“But don’t let whatever this is get in your way,” Amie said, more gently now. “You’re better than that.”
Angel nodded slowly. Her throat felt tight.
“And Angel?” Amie added, a grin spreading slowly across her face like she was enjoying this way too much. “Next time you headshot someone, maybe not the girl you slept with ?”
Angel’s entire body froze. “I—WHAT—OKAY, UNANG UNA SA LAHAT, DO NOT WORD IT LIKE THAT.”
Amie didn’t even flinch. She just raised an eyebrow, still grinning.
“PANGALAWA,” Angel went on, voice rising just a little, “NAKITA MO YUN?!”
Amie started laughing—loud and unbothered. “Okay, fine. Edi the girl you slept in the same bed with. Better? Also, oo. Narinig ko pa nga yung bulong-bulong mo. Mas discreet pa si Niña sa’yo, promise.”
Angel let out a low, strangled groan, dragging her hands down her face. “Amie. I’m begging you. Wag mong sabihin sa iba. Lalo na kay Shevana. Or Lyka. Hindi ko na 'to mababawi pag nalaman nila.”
“Alin?” came a voice from directly behind her.
Angel nearly jumped out of her skin, whipping around.
“Tangina naman!” she hissed, heart practically leaping to her throat as she stared at Lyka, who had appeared out of nowhere, standing with her brows furrowed.
Amie doubled over laughing, nearly choking on nothing.
Lyka looked at them both, confused. “Anong meron?”
“Mamaya,” Amie said sweetly, slinging an arm around Lyka’s shoulders. “Promise, sa'yo ko unang ikukuwento.”
Angel looked like she was about to faint. “Amie, I swear to God—”
“Too late, kapitana,” Amie sang as she walked off with Lyka.
Angel stood there, hands on her hips, muttering to herself. This is how I die. This is it. I lived a good life. Paalam na.
The whistle blew sharp.
"Team shuffle," barked one of the coaches.
Angel wiped sweat from her brow, only half-listening as names were called out. Her body was still humming, partly from the drill, mostly from the earlier incident—Niña, dizzy on the floor, and Nica rushing in before Angel could even move.
“…Angel Canino, Niña Ytang…”
Angel's head snapped up.
What?
The rest of the roster blurred in her ears. Her eyes immediately found Niña across the court.
Niña, who barely flinched at the new lineup. Her expression didn’t change—no eye-rolls, no sighs. Just that same, unreadable calm. But Angel noticed the smallest pause in her stretch. The tiniest twitch of her fingers.
She was surprised too. She just didn’t show it.
They met in the middle of the court, standing side by side as their new team formed around them. Niña gave her a single nod. Barely there.
Angel nodded back. Her throat was tight.
Not angry. But not warm, either.
The first few points were stiff. Misaligned. Angel called for a pipe and Niña went for a short set instead. They recovered fast, sure, but the miscommunication lingered in the air like static. It felt heavier than it should have.
Twice, Angel hesitated.
She never hesitated.
Then came the rally.
Fast and wild. Everyone scrambling. Jaz barely got the ball up and it came flying toward Niña, who didn’t even look—just dropped into position and gave a smooth, perfect pass.
Angel moved without thinking.
She was in the air before she even knew it, arms slicing clean, eyes locked on the ball. Her body found the rhythm she hadn't realized they were sharing.
She landed hard. The ball cracked the floor just inside the line.
Point.
Angel stayed frozen, breath caught in her throat. She turned.
Niña was already looking at her.
That look again. Like she wasn’t sure whether to speak or leave.
Their eyes met—longer than usual. Not hostile. Not kind.
Just… charged.
Angel felt her mouth part, something on the tip of her tongue.
Nice receive. Smooth set. Anything.
But before she could say a word—
"Grabe, Angel!" Shevana clapped her on the back, bright and proud. "That kill was clean!"
Angel blinked, startled out of the moment. Shevana’s grin was too genuine to ignore, and Angel gave a faint smile, distracted.
She looked back at Niña—
—but Niña had already turned away, nodding once toward her, just polite enough.
Then, without a word, she jogged to the back of the court to compliment Jaz on the serve instead.
Angel stood there for a second, heart half-lifted, half-sinking.
She never got to say it.
And worse—she couldn’t shake the feeling that Niña knew exactly what she was about to.
After the scrimmage, Niña sat on the bench with an ice pack gently pressed to the back of her head. She waved off the coaches twice already, saying she was fine, just a little dizzy, nothing major.
Nica was crouched in front of her again. “Just let me walk with you to the infirmary. Para sure,” she said, voice low but firm.
But before Niña could respond, Coach Boc chimed in from the side. “Nica, stay for the next drill. You’re leading the rotations for the blockers.”
Nica paused, torn for half a second, but nodded reluctantly. Her hand lingered on Niña’s knee before pulling away. “Text me if anything.”
Angel, who’d been standing a few feet behind, shifted her weight.
“Can I go with her?” she asked, surprising even herself. “Para may kasama siya.”
The coach looked between them, then gave a short nod. “Go. Make sure the med staff checks her thoroughly.”
Angel swallowed and turned to Niña, who blinked at her once before nodding slightly.
They didn’t speak the whole walk to the infirmary. Their shoes tapped quietly against the gym’s hallway tile, and Angel could feel the words forming, then dissolving before they reached her mouth.
Inside, the nurse checked Niña’s vitals, asked a few questions, then left briefly to get a cold compress.
That left the two of them alone.
Angel stood near the windowsill. Niña sat on the padded bed, legs swinging slightly, her fingers tracing the rim of the now-warm ice pack.
“I didn’t mean to hit you that hard,” Angel said, voice low.
Niña looked up. “I know.”
A silence settled again. Heavy. Familiar.
Angel rubbed the back of her neck, eyes flickering anywhere but Niña’s. “You okay? Like… really okay?”
Niña nodded. “Slight headache. Nothing serious.”
Another pause. Angel’s mind drifted—Nica’s hand on Niña’s face earlier, the way Niña laughed with the others but never quite the same with her.
“She’s really close to you, no?” Angel asked, instantly regretting it.
Niña tilted her head, cautious. “Si Nica?”
Angel hated that Niña knew exactly who she was talking about.
Angel gave a small shrug. “Yeah.”
There was a beat. Then Niña smiled—soft, unsure. “She’s been there since rookie year. Kind. Protective. But she’s like that with everyone she cares about.”
Angel didn’t answer.
Niña’s fingers gripped the edge of the bed slightly. “Why’d you come with me?”
Angel met her eyes, startled by the honesty in the question.
“Hindi ko alam,” Angel muttered. Then, quieter, “Siguro… kasi gusto kong makabawi.”
Kailan mo pa maiintindihan na hindi mo kailangang bumawi nang paulit-ulit—ang kailangan ko lang, piliin mo ako?
Niña’s lips parted, just slightly. Her eyes didn’t leave Angel’s.
“I liked the song,” she said.
Angel blinked. “What?” She didn't want to believe that she heard right at first.
“The one you played last night.” A small smile formed. “I liked it.”
That made Angel’s stomach flip in the stupidest way.
“May iba pa akong playlist. Mas chill,” Angel said, a little too fast.
Niña nodded slowly. “Mamayang gabi ulit?”
Angel looked away, hiding a smile. “Sige.”
The door creaked open, but it was just the nurse dropping off the cold compress and reminding them Niña needed a few more minutes to rest.
When the door shut again, Niña scooted just a little to the side of the bed.
Angel hesitated.
Niña patted the empty space beside her.
And for once, Angel didn’t think. She just sat.
Silence again, but warmer this time.
Their shoulders almost touched.
Niña kept her eyes forward, lips twitching into a quiet smile.
And Angel… didn’t move away.
Angel sat at the edge of the infirmary bed, elbows on her knees, sneaking glances at Niña—who, despite the slight bump on her temple, looked… annoyingly composed.
Well, kind of. She kept fiddling with the edge of the cold compress like she wasn’t sure how to hold it. Like her hands were too busy pretending not to be nervous.
And then—
"May kainan kaya malapit dito?" Niña asked suddenly, eyes still on the wall.
Angel blinked. “Meron naman. Labas ng camp, mga ten-minute walk. Bakit?” She paused, squinting slightly. “May date ka ba?”
There was a heartbeat of silence. Niña didn’t look at her. But her next word came out softer.
“Ikaw.”
Angel’s breath hitched.
Niña added quickly, stumbling now, “I mean—ikaw, gusto mo ba... samahan ako mag-dinner? Not like, as a date, pero like... hindi naman date-date… pero like—”
She was rambling. Angel could tell she’d practiced this in her head and now it was spilling out in the most endearing mess of nerves and half-meant admissions.
Angel wanted to laugh.
But something stopped her.
Because Niña was trying. Really trying.
And for a second, Angel didn’t know if teasing her would make her retreat, or lean in further.
The Angel Canino, someone who promised to herself that she wouldn't fall for a fellow volleyball player again, finds herself falling a bit too deep.
Like her fingers were slowly slipping off, and she was gripping onto this denial of feelings with two fingers left.
She looked at her—at Niña, sitting with her cheeks slightly flushed, eyes trying not to look too hopeful—and Angel felt something warm stir in her chest.
So she smiled. Slowly. Carefully.
“Nins…” she said, a soft lilt in her voice. “Kalma lang, baka mas sumakit pa ulo mo.”
Niña groaned, dropping her face into her hands. “Kalimutan mo na lang, please.”
Now Angel laughed—gentle this time, not loud, not teasing. Just real.
“Ang cute mo,” she said, and it surprised even her how naturally it came out. “I mean that.”
Niña peeked through her fingers, almost suspicious. “So…?”
“So,” Angel echoed, nudging her lightly, “I want to come with you. Sa not-date dinner na ‘to. With you.”
She saw the flicker of relief in Niña’s eyes before she turned away to hide it.
Angel grinned, a little stupidly.
This girl.
This girl was going to ruin her if she wasn’t careful.
And for once, Angel didn’t mind the idea.
They walked back into the gym like nothing happened.
Like Angel hadn’t just caught herself—barely—from falling in love with Niña.
Like Niña didn't just ask Angel to a date in the most unexpected way ever.
But once they stepped onto the court—same team, same rotation—the difference was impossible to ignore.
The first play, Angel dove for a crosscourt dig. Niña was already behind her, covering the tip like she’d been waiting for it. Second play, Niña read a quick set from the opposing setter and blocked it straight down. Angel grinned without meaning to, clapping behind her.
“Solid,” she said under her breath.
Niña just nodded, that same quiet spark in her eyes. “Nice cover.”
Then came the rally.
Shevana launched a floating serve from across the net. Angel’s team received it cleanly, but Shevana’s side quickly countered with a soft middle attack—deceptive and sharp.
Angel moved before the ball even crossed the tape.
She darted crosscourt, reading the hit early. Just as her knees hit the floor, Niña slid in beside her, already syncing up for coverage like they'd done this a hundred times before.
The ball popped up.
Mikole stepped in, barely needing a second to decide. One fluid motion—she set it up high and fast.
Angel didn’t hesitate. She rose off the floor, tracked the ball midair, and slammed it down across the net. A clean kill.
The sound of it echoed.
No calls. No plans. Just pure instinct.
When Angel turned to jog back into position, she caught Niña already looking.
And from the sidelines, a few teammates exchanged quiet glances—because that rally? That chemistry?
That wasn’t normal.
That was something else entirely.
Angel turned to Niña, hand lifted for a high five.
She hit it lightly, maybe too lightly.
They kept playing, and the rhythm didn’t break.
Angel adjusted her blocks to line up with Niña’s reads. Niña timed her jumps to bait the setter, giving Angel the perfect angle to defend from the back. It was like they were connected at the hip, even when they weren’t looking at each other.
“She’s not even calling out plays,” Shevana whispered to Lyka on the sidelines.
“She doesn’t need to,” Lyka replied, raising a brow. “They’re reading each other like they’ve been playing for years.”
Amie squinted from the far side of the court. “Since when did Niña get so reactive on defense?”
“Since Angel started grinning every time she touches the ball,” Bienne added, rolling her eyes—but she was smiling. Amie talked to her.
After another successful read—Niña faking a close block and Angel swooping in for a surprise dig—Niña gave Angel a small look.
Just the slightest smile.
Angel tried not to melt. Or blush. Or grin like an idiot.
“Good eyes,” Niña said softly.
“You’re easy to read,” Angel replied before she could stop herself.
It came out more flirty than intended. Angel stiffened.
But Niña just laughed under her breath. Not loud. Not mocking.
Just soft.
And something inside Angel fluttered dangerously.
“You guys wanna chill or win?” Nica called from across the court, raising a brow.
“We can do both,” Angel shot back quickly.
“Sure,” Nica replied flatly, her eyes lingering on Niña before she turned away.
Angel swallowed hard.
Niña didn’t notice.
Or maybe she did—and didn’t say a word.
The locker room buzzed with post-practice fatigue. Trained until dinner time, shoes scuffed against the tiles, towels slapped onto benches, and faint chatter filled the air. Angel had just finished tying her laces when Amie leaned against the locker beside her with that look—smug, knowing.
“You and Niña looked good out there,” Amie said, voice just low enough to be dangerous.
Angel didn’t look up. “Team chemistry,” she muttered.
“Uh-huh,” Amie snorted. “If by team chemistry you mean heart eyes after every kill.”
Angel glanced up sharply. “You’re imagining things.”
Amie grinned wider. “Sure. Like how you kept glancing at her when she talked to Nica. Or how you mirrored her blocks like it was instinct. Or—”
Angel shoved her lightly. “Amie.”
“I’m just saying,” Amie teased, stepping back. “Maybe you should tell her before someone else does.”
What they didn’t realize was that, just outside the locker room, Niña had paused.
She wasn’t eavesdropping, not intentionally—but when she heard her name and Angel’s voice in the same breath, something in her chest clenched. She didn’t wait to hear more. She adjusted her jacket and started walking off quickly, hoping to escape unnoticed.
“Ytang.”
Niña froze.
Angel’s voice, casual but close.
She turned, slow.
Angel was already behind her, a towel slung around her neck, cheeks pink from the cold air outside the gym.
“Akala ko aalis ka na nang di man lang nagpapaalam,” Angel said with a crooked smile.
“I—akala ko kakain kayo ni Amie together,” Niña mumbled, clutching her water bottle.
“Sinabihan na niya ako na mauuna siya,” Angel said, eyes twinkling.
Niña looked away, suddenly aware of how close they were. “Right…”
Angel tilted her head. “So… dinner?”
Niña blinked. “Dinner?”
“‘Yung not-a-date?” Angel teased, and then quickly added, “Unless… you changed your mind?”
Niña panicked slightly. “No! I mean, yes—yes, as in, gusto ko pa rin. I just… paano?”
Angel looked around theatrically, then leaned in like she was about to share a secret.
“We sneak out.”
Niña looked horrified. “Bawal ‘yun—”
But Angel’s grin made something in her stomach flip.
“Nins, trust me,” Angel said, eyes practically glowing. “Walang makakahuli sa’tin.”
Kulit mo rin, 'no?
Niña sighed, pretending to be exasperated. “Okay… wait, wallet ko—”
“Got it?”
“Yeah.”
“Then let’s go.”
They slipped past the back gate like they were escaping a dream—giggling, breathless, flushed with mischief. Their footsteps echoed on the pavement, and with every glance, every shared laugh, Angel felt lighter. Like she was fourteen again and falling for someone for the very first time.
The cold nipped at their fingers, their breath visible in the air. When they reached the small restaurant Angel had in mind, the lights were already out.
“Closed?” Niña asked, peeking through the glass.
Angel groaned softly. “Sayang.”
Niña didn’t miss a beat. “May mga karinderya pa a few blocks away. Usually bukas hanggang ganitong oras.”
Angel blinked, surprised—but then smiled, eyes soft. “Lead the way.”
She didn’t even care where they ended up. As long as it was with Niña.
They found a place tucked between a bakery and a sari-sari store, lit by warm yellow lights and the scent of freshly cooked sinigang. An old woman, seemingly the owner, behind the counter squinted at them as they walked closer.
“Uy! Sa UP Diliman ka, ‘di ba?”
Angel watched from the side as Niña lit up, face visibly softening.
“Ah! Ikaw po ba ‘yung lola ni Aling Merly? ‘Yung may karinderya sa Katipunan dati?”
The old woman laughed, nodding excitedly, and waved them toward a table like they were family.
Angel trailed after her, oddly quiet.
She watched Niña beam as she spoke to the owner, her voice a little higher when she was excited, her hands moving animatedly as she talked about her lola, why she was here, the karinderya near campus that sold the best tapsilog in all of Diliman. And all Angel could think was—
God.
She’s so... soft.
Soft in a way Angel had never known people like them were allowed to be.
Niña wasn’t even trying, and she had everyone—Angel included—wrapped around her finger without knowing it. Not because she wanted to, but because she was just that kind of person. Warm. Present. The type you didn’t want to stop looking at.
They sat down. Niña ordered like she’d been coming there for years.
Angel just smiled and pointed at whatever Niña was having, still too dazed.
Niña catches on Angel being oddly quiet.
“Bakit?” Niña asked, sipping water, cheeks slightly pink from the cold.
Angel tore her gaze away, laughing quietly to herself. “Wala. You’re just… good with people.”
Niña raised an eyebrow. “Ikaw rin naman.”
Angel shook her head. “Not like that.”
The food came—simple, steaming, delicious.
And the conversation flowed easier than it ever had before. They didn’t talk about volleyball. They talked about their favorite comfort foods. Niña’s obsession with cartoons and animated films, Angel’s playlist full of love songs (that she never related to again until now, but she won't tell Niña that). They talked about how Angel used to hate kare-kare growing up—until one day, it clicked.
Angel didn’t realize how long they’d been there, or how many times she caught herself laughing too hard, or how many times Niña’s eyes flicked to her lips when she smiled.
It was nothing fancy.
No candlelight. No music. Just two girls in jackets too thin for the weather, sharing a meal that cost less than a training shoe.
And yet, Angel couldn’t remember the last time dinner made her feel like this.
Like maybe—just maybe—it didn’t matter where they were, or what they were eating.
As long as it was with Niña.
She looked at her, really looked.
Niña, with a smudge of sauce near her lip. Niña, wiping it with a tissue that the owner gave them. Niña, leaning in, listening intently, trying.
Trying to know her. Trying to be near her.
Trying, even when Angel hadn’t asked her to.
Angel felt it then—that tightness in her chest. A fluttering anxiety she didn’t know how to name.
What if Niña never says it?
What if she never finds the words?
And worse—what if the person Angel once waited so long for comes back, just when she’s starting to feel like this?
Like maybe she could fall again.
Angel pushed the thought away.
She wanted to stay in this moment. This bubble. This night where it finally felt like someone was meeting her halfway—nervous, stumbling, and still showing up.
It was the first time in a long time Angel felt like she wasn’t chasing.
It was the first time someone made her want to be caught.
They were still laughing when they stepped out of the karinderya, warm from the food and even warmer from each other. Niña was cradling her leftovers like treasure, while Angel had her hands shoved into her pockets, grinning like an idiot.
“Hindi ko in-expect na may gan’to pa palang bukas,” Angel said. “Parang hidden gem.”
Niña beamed. “Sabi ko naman sayo, di ‘yan nagsasara agad.”
Angel looked at her again—at how the streetlight caught in Niña’s eyes, at how her hair swayed lightly in the breeze, at how natural she looked in this moment.
And it hit her again.
She could fall. She already was.
They walked slower now. Neither of them saying it, but both knowing they weren’t ready to go back just yet.
“I had fun,” Niña said softly, eyes fixed on the sidewalk. “Thanks for coming with me.”
Angel’s throat tightened. “Thanks for inviting me.”
They stopped at the corner, right before the gate came back into view.
Niña hesitated. Then—“Angel?”
“Hmm?”
“If… If I was being weird kanina, I didn’t mean to. Sa invite, I mean.”
Angel turned to her slowly.
“You weren’t.”
“I mean, ayoko lang maging weird. I just—felt like, if hindi kita in-aya kanina, I’d regret it.”
Angel blinked.
And for a second, she saw it.
The nerves in Niña’s shoulders. The flush on her cheeks. The way her eyes refused to meet hers now.
“Nins,” Angel said, voice a little gentler than usual. “It wasn’t weird.”
Niña finally looked at her.
And something about the way she did—that quiet kind of hopeful, the maybe-is-this-okay? kind of gaze—made Angel’s chest ache in the best, most dangerous way.
“Niña,” she said again, almost a whisper this time.
Niña tilted her head, waiting.
Angel wanted to say it. To tell her that if this wasn’t a date, it sure as hell felt like one. That she liked how Niña looked when she was flustered. That she hadn’t stopped thinking about her since that scrimmage. Since before that, maybe.
But the words caught in her throat.
She laughed instead, soft and unsure, scratching the back of her neck.
“You always make things harder, you know that?”
Niña’s brow furrowed. “Huh?”
Angel smiled—but it was smaller now, more fragile. “Wala. Just… never mind.”
Niña opened her mouth, about to press—then stopped herself.
The silence stretched.
Angel took a step closer.
One step.
And even if they weren’t touching, it felt like something between them had crossed anyway.
She looked at Niña like she wanted to say it. Like if she leaned just a bit closer, maybe she could.
But then—
“Let’s head back?” Angel asked, voice a little hoarse.
Niña nodded slowly.
And they walked side by side again, closer than before, but still just shy of the line neither of them dared to cross.
Not yet.
Not tonight.
But maybe…
Soon.
The dorms were quiet when they slipped back in, the kind of quiet that made every soft giggle between them feel louder than it should. Everyone else was already asleep—dim lights, doors cracked open just a sliver, the occasional sound of a teammate shifting in bed.
Inside their room, the hush settled heavier. Safe. Intimate.
Niña yawned as she set her phone down, already toeing off her shoes. “Grabe, pagod na agad ako, lumakad lang.”
Angel smiled, wordless, as she pulled off her hoodie and dropped onto the bed with a quiet thump. Niña followed, crawling under the covers, their routine so familiar now it needed no instructions.
One earbud. One playlist. One bed.
Same as always.
Except this time, their fingers brushed before the music even started.
Angel didn’t mean to grab Niña’s hand.
It just… happened. Maybe out of instinct. Maybe because she was still buzzing from earlier—the laughter, the late-night escape, the way Niña smiled at strangers like they were old friends.
Niña didn’t pull away.
In fact, her thumb gently grazed the back of Angel’s hand.
And then slowly, so softly that Angel barely noticed, their fingers laced together.
Angel didn’t say anything.
Couldn’t.
This time, Niña's playlist was the one that they were listening to.
Over October. Ikot.
The room felt warmer now. Not from the blankets, but from Niña’s skin, from the quiet rise and fall of her breathing beside her.
She snuck a glance—Niña’s eyes were closed, lashes long, lips slightly parted. Her body naturally curled toward Angel’s, like gravity just pulled her there.
Angel stared for too long.
She shouldn’t have.
Because the longer she looked, the harder it was to pretend she didn’t want this.
Didn’t want Niña to stay like this.
Didn’t want to fall asleep like this every night.
Her brain told her to move. To unlatch their hands, to roll over, to keep whatever this was from turning into something it shouldn’t.
But then Niña shifted gently in her sleep, head finding Angel’s shoulder, breath warm against her neck.
And Angel melted.
She sighed—quiet, defeated—and let herself lean in just a bit more. Their legs tangled slightly under the sheets. Her thumb brushed against Niña’s knuckles.
“Jusko po,” Angel whispered into the dark, barely a breath. Like she was asking some sort of help from Amie that was already deep in sleep.
Because she knew what this looked like.
What it felt like.
And maybe it wasn’t a confession.
Maybe it wasn’t official.
But as she lay there, eyes open, heart thudding too loud, and Niña’s hand warm in hers—
Angel decided she wasn’t letting go. Not tonight.
Not when it finally felt like someone was reaching back.
Angel woke first.
The morning light painted soft gold on the walls, and the air was still hushed with sleep. She blinked slowly, registering the familiar bunk bed frame above her, the quiet hum of the AC—and then the weight beside her.
No.
On her.
Angel lowered her gaze and immediately froze.
Niña.
Wrapped around her like a second blanket. Arms snug around Angel’s waist, her head tucked against Angel’s shoulder, their legs tangled like vines. One of Niña’s hands was still laced with hers—fingers locked like it had meant to happen.
Angel’s brain short-circuited.
How did they even end up like this?
She remembered lying beside Niña, swapping songs, hands barely brushing. She remembered Niña mumbling something about Over October. And then—
Nothing.
Just… this.
She stayed still, heart pounding, unsure if she was supposed to move, breathe, exist.
And then—Niña shifted.
Let out a soft, sleepy groan. Blinked blearily.
Angel panicked and quickly pretended to still be asleep.
She peeked through one eye.
Niña was slowly waking up—and the second her brain caught up to how they were curled around each other, her whole body stiffened.
“Oh my God,” Niña whispered, very much awake now.
She slowly uncurled her arm, then tried to untangle her leg, and— failed.
She accidentally kneed the blanket, the mattress bounced, and her elbow clipped the edge of the bed.
“Shit,” she hissed under her breath, trying to back away like she could reverse the past eight hours.
Angel opened her eyes, caught between concern and trying very hard not to laugh.
“Nins—”
“I’m sorry,” Niña whispered in a panic, eyes wide. “I—I didn’t mean to cling, I was just—your arm was warm and— oh my god this is so weird isn’t it? I swear I don’t usually—”
She backed up a little too far—
“Wait, Nins—”
—and nearly tumbled off the edge of the bunk bed, arms flailing.
Angel shot forward and caught her arm just in time, keeping her from falling off completely. Niña ended up dangling halfway off, eyes wide in horror, face redder than a tomato.
Angel slapped a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing.
Too late.
A giggle escaped.
Then another.
Then she burst out laughing so hard the entire bed shook.
Niña groaned in embarrassment. “Angel—stop—”
“I’m— sorry, ” Angel wheezed between laughs, “you were— this close to dying because you—”
“ It was a strong cling! I blacked out!”
Their laughter filled the room—until a groggy voice piped up from below.
“...Guys, anong oras na ba?”
Amie.
Angel clamped her mouth shut, eyes wide. Niña immediately jumped down, Angel letting go of Niña.
“‘Di ba may scrimmage pa tayo today?” Nica grumbled from the other side, still buried in her sheets.
“Mamaya pang 10, it's still 7 AM. Sleep pa kayo,” Angel called out, voice a little too high-pitched.
“‘Kay,” Amie mumbled.
Silence settled again, gentle and heavy like a blanket.
Angel glanced down and found Niña facing the wall—curled up stiff like guilt made flesh.
She bit back a laugh. "Okay ka lang?"
Niña let out a sigh, long and dramatic, the kind that said no , but also don’t worry .
She stayed still for a beat longer before shifting—climbing halfway up the ladder like it took all the courage in the world, only to collapse gently onto the edge of Angel’s mattress, forehead pressed to the sheets.
“I’m never sleeping again,” Niña muttered, voice muffled against the bed.
Angel smiled, scooting closer. Her hand moved on its own, soft pats on Niña’s back like one would calm a startled kitten.
"I-kalma mo kasi," Angel teased, trying to keep the mood light.
"Ikaw na 'yan eh, paano kakalma?" Niña looked up, eyes still sleepy but full of something that made Angel’s chest tighten.
She had no answer.
Just silence again, thick with unsaid things.
Niña’s lips curled into the faintest smile.
"I guess hindi na kakalma?" she whispered, teasing now—but not really joking.
Angel returned the smile. Small. Quiet. A little afraid.
Because even in that tender, golden moment, all she could think was—
What if she couldn't give back what Niña was already offering?
And yet, she stayed.
And yet, she didn’t move away.
Pinapaasa ko ba siya by doing this?
Angel looked at Niña, still sitting at the edge of her bed, the early morning light catching the soft curve of her cheek.
"Kumain ka na nga, Nins," she said, shifting the weight of the moment with a gentle nudge.
Niña chuckled, low and warm, like she knew Angel was retreating and let her.
"Sabay na tayo," Niña offered.
Angel hesitated. Then smiled—soft, apologetic.
"Sorry, sabay kami ng girls eh. Next time na. Nag-dinner naman tayo kagabi, damot mo naman kung gusto mo pa breakfast."
Niña nodded, smile still in place. But something flickered in her eyes.
So what if I do want you for myself?
She stepped down from the ladder with quiet grace, and Angel’s gaze followed her—couldn’t help it.
She watched as Niña crossed the room to where Nica slept, crouching beside her and gently shaking her awake.
Angel looked away.
Turned her face toward the ceiling and let the silence press down.
A muffled “Wowo” and a few sleepy chuckles drifted through the room.
Angel closed her eyes.
And all she could think was—
If she’s not the only one in love with Niña…
Will I fight for her?
Or will I lose her just by standing still?
The cafeteria was unusually quiet. With the UP girls opting to eat outside and the other DLSU girls eating in their dorms, Angel, Amie, Shevana, and Lyka had the space to themselves. Trays clinked, the smell of eggs and tapa filled the air, and conversation hovered lazily between sips of warm coffee.
“You’ve been quiet,” Lyka said, nudging Angel’s arm.
Angel shrugged, chewing slowly.
“You slept well last night?” Shevana teased, smirking.
Amie snorted into her drink while Lyka chuckled. Angel tried to smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
“Ganun pa rin,” she muttered.
Shevana leaned forward, propping her chin in her palm. “So… what happens if she finds out you’re still waiting for her?”
The table fell quiet. Amie and Lyka wanted to tell Shevana off, but it was too late.
Angel stared at the longganisa on her plate like it had just insulted her.
Shevana continued, gentler this time. “The girl. The one you used to wait for. What happens if she comes back now, Angel?”
Angel didn’t answer.
Because she didn’t know.
Because she didn’t want to know.
And yet—she looked up, catching her reflection faintly in the metal of her spoon, lips pressed into a line.
Amie broke the silence, voice soft. “It’s okay to not be ready. But don’t hurt her if she’s already sure.”
Lyka chimes in, "Agreed. Mukhang mabait naman si Niña. Just, kung sa tingin mo kailangan mo na sabihin, sabihin mo na."
Amie hums, adding to what Lyka said, "Don't make Niña another girl that you'll have to keep tabs on just to know how she's doing."
Angel’s heart twisted.
They were right.
Angel would be stupid to not tell Niña how she felt.
Angel isn't stupid.
At least, she thinks she isn't.
The team scrimmage had become routine by now—one of the few constants in the ever-changing shuffle of drills and team mixes. Today, Angel and Niña found themselves on the same side of the net again, just like the day before. On paper, nothing was different.
But on the court… something was off.
Angel moved like clockwork—efficient, precise, always in the right place. But gone was the warmth in her calls, the subtle encouragement she usually saved for Niña. She still set clean screens, still made plays, but now her decisions were calculated, careful. She passed to Lyka even when Niña was the clearer option. She threw glances at Amie for feedback instead of nodding toward Niña like she used to.
It wasn’t overt. It wasn’t unkind.
Just… distant.
Like Angel had drawn a quiet, invisible line between them.
Niña, caught up in the rhythm of drills, barely noticed it at first. She chalked it up to the physical toll of the past few days. Everyone was tired. Maybe Angel was just having an off day.
But during a water break, as they gathered near the bench, Jaz leaned in beside her and tilted her head, concerned.
“May nangyari ba?”
Niña frowned slightly. “Ha?”
“You and Angel,” Kianne chimed in, lowering her voice. “Parang iba today. Less… kayo.”
Bienne, who had been sipping from her water bottle, added with a raised brow, “Hindi lang today, ah. Kahapon din. Nag-sorry ba siya?”
Niña blinked, looking over her shoulder toward the court. Angel was tying her shoelace, head down, laughing quietly at something Amie had said.
“I—” Niña hesitated, the realization creeping in like a slow chill. “Wala lang ‘yon. Baka focused lang siya.”
Bienne tilted her head. “Sure ka, Nins? You didn’t notice at all?”
Niña tried to laugh it off. “Maybe pagod lang. Training’s been intense.”
Jaz pouts slightly. "Wag kayo mag LQ, please. Ayaw namin magkaroon parents of divorce." That gains a slap on the back from Bienne.
Niña raises an eyebrow. "Anong parents?" Her voice turned stern now, and the three bowed their heads down in sync like they were getting scolded by their mom.
"Si Bienne nanguna sa ship!" Jaz accused, and Bienne whips her head to Jaz.
"Kinilig ka naman din! Ikaw din!" Bienne now whipped her head to Kianne, who just puts her hands up like she was surrendering.
"Mga buang." Niña says in between laughs, putting her hands on her hips.
"Wala naman nangyayari saamin." That hurt to say.
But even as the words left her mouth, a sliver of doubt lodged itself deep in her chest. Because now that she thought about it—really thought about it—Angel hadn’t looked at her during drills.
Hadn’t bumped shoulders with her after a point. Hadn’t even said good set, Nins once.
It was subtle. Barely there.
But once noticed, impossible to unfeel.
She caught herself watching Angel now. Angel who used to walk beside her after every water break. Angel who’d sometimes nudge her with her elbow between plays. Angel who now stood beside Lyka and Shevana, distant, like they hadn’t shared whispered playlists or a dinner under the stars just nights ago.
Niña’s throat felt dry, and it had nothing to do with the water break.
Suddenly, she wasn’t sure if it was Angel who was being distant—
—or if she’d let herself believe too soon that they were already something.
After the scrimmage, Niña waited.
Waited for a moment when Angel might drift back toward her orbit like she used to—during cooldown stretches, after drills, during water breaks.
But it never came.
Angel stayed tethered to her side of the world: laughing softly with Amie, chatting with Lyka, walking beside Shevana as they exited the gym. She didn’t even glance Niña’s way.
And Niña, as much as she wanted to approach, couldn’t find the right moment. Couldn’t find the courage.
After the showers, still towel-drying her hair, Niña stepped out quietly. She avoided the group chatter in the hallway, didn’t bother waiting for the rest of the team. Her feet took her to the dorm building, up the stairs, back to the comfort of her room—the only place where things still felt safe, even if only slightly.
She climbed onto her bunk and tucked herself into the corner, earbuds in. Music spilled softly into her ears—songs Angel and her had listened to these past two nights, tracks they’d passed back and forth in the language only the two of them seemed to share.
But tonight, the songs weren’t enough. Not on their own. Not without Angel Canino.
So Niña opened her Spotify and created a new one.
She didn’t overthink the title.
"heaven sent"
A subtle reminder who the playlist is dedicated to.
One by one, she started adding songs. Soft, tentative ones. Some aching. Some shy. Some too hopeful for their own good.
Maybe Angel would never hear them.
But Niña needed to send them out anyway. Into the universe. Into the static of whatever they were now.
Bienne noticed Niña’s absence midway through dinner. She kept glancing toward the hallway, waiting for her friend to show up like she always did, laughing and dragging her tray beside Nica’s.
But she never came.
After a few more minutes of poking at her rice, Bienne quietly stood and slipped out, telling the girls she’d check in on something. Jaz and Nica seemed to be the only one to hear her over the voices of complaints on how tiring the training is and how good the Lady Spikers were.
She padded through the halls, took the stairs two at a time, and knocked gently on the door.
No answer.
She pushed it open slowly.
There, curled up at the top bunk, was Niña—knees pulled close, one earbud still in, the glow of her phone screen lighting up her face. She looked like she hadn’t moved since training ended.
“Hey,” Bienne said softly.
Niña looked up, startled. She took out one earbud. “Hey.”
“Hindi ka na nag-dinner.”
“Didn’t feel like it.”
Bienne didn’t hesitate. She climbed up beside her, squeezing into the space across from her on the mattress.
“You okay?”
Niña stared at the screen for a long second before she finally whispered, “I think I messed up.”
“Huh? Saan?”
“I think I’m committing too much to this.”
Bienne blinked, caught off guard. “Since when is it too much to love?”
Niña didn’t answer immediately.
She stared down at the playlist open on her screen—songs she’d been lining up quietly since training ended. Some were new discoveries, most were old comforts, all of them reminders of Angel in small, specific ways.
“I don’t know,” she said eventually. “Maybe when you start loving without knowing if you’re being loved back.”
Bienne frowned, shifting closer on the bunk.
“I felt something during dinner,” Niña continued, almost to herself. “We slipped out the back gate. Found this karinderya in the cold. She let me pick the place, and she let herself just... be there with me.”
Bienne’s eyes widened, her mouth parting slightly. “Wait—what? That happened?”
Niña looked at her. There was a vulnerability there, almost a question—asking if it was okay to say this out loud, if it was safe in Bienne’s hands.
And Bienne, reading the air, softened immediately.
“Oh,” she said quietly. “You don’t have to tell me everything. That sounds like… it was just yours.”
Niña gave a tiny nod, grateful.
“I just… I thought we were getting somewhere,” she whispered. “And now she’s pulling away. I don’t know if I imagined the way she looked at me, or if it scared her to feel it, too.”
“She’s probably scared,” Bienne said after a moment. “Angel’s tough, yeah, but she’s not reckless with her heart.”
“Well, she’s not the only one trying to protect hers,” Niña muttered.
The words hung there, heavy and quiet.
Bienne didn’t respond with clichés or reassurances. She just scooted forward and pulled Niña into a tight hug, arms wrapping around her like a shield.
“Okay. No more overthinking for now,” Bienne whispered. “Movie night. My pick.”
Niña nodded, settling against her shoulder. “Something soft. Something slow.”
And as Bienne reached over to grab Niña's iPad and pick something out, Niña let herself close her eyes—still unsure of what tomorrow would bring, but certain, at least, that tonight she didn’t have to carry the weight of her feelings alone.
They sat in silence for a few seconds, only the soft hum of the iPad as Bienne scrolled through apps filling the room. Then—
"Also, Ate Nins," Bienne murmured without looking up.
"Hmm?"
"If you want, kaya ko naman kausapin si Amie about Angel."
Niña cracked one eye open, smirking. “Sino niloloko mo? Gusto mo lang siya kausapin. Gagawin mo pa kaming tulay ni Angel.”
Bienne turned to her with mock offense, clutching her chest. “Hoy! Hindi! Genuine 'tong ginagawa ko para sa'yo, okay? Ayokong mag-divorce parents ko!”
That made Niña laugh, truly laugh this time. She reached out and gently smacked Bienne’s forehead. “Drama mo.”
Bienne groaned, rubbing her forehead dramatically. “Hindi mo lang alam, Nins. Mabubuang na rin kaming tatlo nina Jaz at Kianne sa kakapanood sa inyong dalawa. Kung ‘di kayo magkakatuluyan, magtatayo ako ng fanpage ninyo tas gagawin ko kayong parang AlDub.”
Niña rolled her eyes, still smiling, as Bienne settled beside her and scrolled through their saved movies. And as the titles flickered by, Niña found herself opening up more—quietly telling Bienne about the karinderya, the way Angel looked at her under the yellow light, the way it felt like something real.
Bienne didn’t interrupt. She just listened, offering the occasional gasp or wide-eyed look, reacting like someone reading the best chapter of a long-awaited slow burn.
And when the movie finally started playing, Bienne curled up beside her, resting her head on Niña’s arm like it was the most natural thing in the world.
For a while, they stopped talking. Just the glow of the screen reflected in both of their eyes.
And for one night—just this night—Niña let herself pretend that things didn’t feel broken. That maybe, somehow, it was all still unfolding the way it was meant to.
That maybe she was supposed to be like this.
That she didn't need romance in her life, when friends like Bienne could make her feel loved and appreciated.
Angel had finished brushing her teeth. Her thoughts were tangled, stomach heavy with something she couldn’t name. She stepped into their shared room quietly, the sound of the door clicking shut behind her almost too sharp in the stillness.
The lights were dimmed.
Niña was up on the top bunk, legs tucked under a blanket, watching something with Bienne. The glow of the screen lit up their faces, both of them smiling. Nica sat nearby, cross-legged on the other end of the bunk, thumbing through a paperback.
None of them noticed her right away.
Angel’s eyes darted to her own bed. Empty.
Then across the room—to Amie’s bunk, where her teammate sat with her back against the wall, scrolling through her phone, earbuds looped around her fingers.
Angel hovered for a second too long, unsure of her place, before quietly making her way over and lying down beside Amie without a word.
Amie peeked at her, raised a brow as if to ask you okay? —but didn’t push. She simply slipped one earbud back in and leaned into the silence.
Angel stared at the ceiling, heart oddly unsteady.
Niña’s soft laugh cut through the air. It was quieter than usual, but real. Safe.
Angel’s jaw tensed.
That laugh— her laugh—had felt like hers for a while. She’d earned it through subtle glances across the net, playlists, one dinner, and subtle touches they never acknowledged out loud.
But now, it wasn’t hers alone. And maybe it never had been.
She closed her eyes, trying to shut out the ache she didn’t know how to name.
This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? To not get too close. To give Niña room. To wait for clarity. For safety. For… someone else?
But clarity never came.
Just Niña’s voice again. Muffled by the blanket, softened by the screen, laughing at something dumb Bienne said. There was no hint of heartbreak in it. No trace of the playlist Niña made hours ago. No glimpse of the girl Angel left hanging earlier that day.
And yet Angel knew— she knew —that Niña was hurting too. That laugh was survival, not surrender.
She curled onto her side, back facing the bunk bed, as if that could hide her longing.
She wanted to go back up there.
Not just to sit beside Niña, but to bury herself in the warmth they always found in each other—wordless, quiet, safe.
But she didn’t move.
Didn’t reach out.
Didn’t let herself.
Because she was scared of what she’d do if she looked Niña in the eyes again.
So instead, she let Amie’s quiet presence be her anchor.
And let the silence stretch long and tight in her chest.
And when she finally drifted to sleep, it wasn’t peace that met her—but the sound of Niña’s voice lingering in her memory, just out of reach.
She stayed still, eyes closed, willing the ache to quiet.
And somewhere beyond the walls of that room, the past had just returned—quiet, but not gone.