Archive of Our Own

The dorm was still.

Only the soft buzz of Nica’s lamp filled the space now, casting a warm glow on Niña’s face. Bienne had left after a tight hug and a few quiet reassurances, retreating back to her room once she made sure Niña was okay.

Angel and Amie were asleep—Amie with one arm draped lazily over her waist, Angel curled inwards like she was trying to disappear.

Nica watched them for a moment before turning back up toward the top bunk, where Niña sat with her knees drawn in, hoodie half-zipped, eyes unfocused.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Nica asked gently.

Niña shook her head. “Ikaw din?”

“Didn’t want to.”

There was a pause. And then—

“I told Bienne,” Niña whispered, her voice cracking just slightly.

Nica blinked. “Told her what?”

“About the dinner.”

Niña didn’t meet her gaze. She was staring past her now, lost in memory.

Nica’s brows pulled together. “What dinner?”

“With Angel. After the locker room talk.” Niña’s voice was barely audible. “We snuck out. Found this karinderya a few blocks away. Ate there. Talked. Laughed. Shared a drink. She even tried kare-kare and didn’t complain.”

Nica stilled.

Niña chuckled softly. “I didn’t want to read into it too much, pero parang ang dali lang… to fall.”

And just like that, Nica was a freshman again.

Worn sneakers soaked from the rain. Niña tugging her by the wrist, dragging her to yet another hidden food spot near the outskirts of campus. The two of them laughing with the owners, being given free soup because “ang bait n’yong dalawa.” Falling—not suddenly, but steadily.

Karinderya by karinderya.

And now here Niña was, describing a memory so achingly similar… but it wasn’t with her this time.

It was with Angel.

Nica forced a small smile, hiding the sting in her chest. “That sounds… special.”

“It was,” Niña whispered. “That’s why I don’t understand why she’s pulling away now.”

“You’re not too much, Niña.” Nica said it before she could stop herself. “You never have been.”

Niña looked at her now, really looked.

“I think you need to talk to her. If you let this fester, it’ll eat you alive. Get your answer, even if it’s one you don’t want.”

Niña nodded slowly.

Nica’s voice softened further, barely above a whisper. “I just want you to find someone who won’t get scared of how much you love. Someone who’ll love you right back with the same kind of gravity.”

She didn’t say someone like me.

But she thought it.

“I want you to be with someone who will know how to take care of your heart, Nins. Someone who won’t leave you wondering.”

There was a pause—and then Niña reached forward and pulled her into a hug.

It was warm. Familiar. A little too much.

Nica held on anyway.

She buried her face into Niña’s shoulder, letting herself feel what she knew she shouldn’t.

She still loved her.

And if Niña ever gave her the chance—

If she turned to her with even a flicker of doubt, asking if there could be something more—

Nica would say yes. Every time.

But tonight wasn’t about what she wanted.

So she held Niña tighter, steady and silent, knowing she’d let go when Niña needed to.

Even if it hurt.

Angel stirred.

A voice, muffled by the haze of sleep and the dim hush of the dorm room.

She didn’t mean to listen. But she hadn’t meant to stay awake this long either.

"...I want you to be with someone who will know how to take care of your heart, Nins."

Nica’s voice. Barely a whisper.

Angel’s eyes remained shut, her breathing even—but her chest tightened.

She knew that line wasn’t meant for her.

Or maybe it was.

That was the worst part.

She shifted slightly on Amie’s bed, the mattress creaking beneath her. Amie didn't stir.

Angel clenched her jaw and tried to will herself back to sleep, counting her breaths in slow, practiced rhythm.

But sleep wouldn’t come.

She hated how her heart reacted.

She hated how much she wanted to respond.

She hated that it was easier to pull away than to admit she was scared.

But lying there, in the quiet, she made a decision.

Just one more time.

She would chase her.

And if it felt right—if it still felt like how it did that night in the karinderya,

when Niña looked at her like they had all the time in the world—

then Angel would stop running.

She’d choose Niña.

And she’d fight for her.

Even if it meant letting go of the ghost she'd been waiting on.

Angel stared at her reflection in the mirror, toothbrush hanging from her mouth, brows slightly furrowed. Her stomach had been buzzing since last night. Barely any sleep. Too many thoughts.

I’ll try one more time, she had told herself.

But now that it was morning, the thought of trying made her hands sweat. How exactly did one… try? Was there a guidebook for this kind of thing?

She spat out the toothpaste and sighed. “Wala bang module for crushes?”

Amie, still half-asleep when she entered the bathroom, grunted, “What?”

“Wala,” Angel said quickly, already tying her shoelaces a little too tightly.

She hesitated at the door. She could wait and walk with the others. Or—

“Bahala na,” she muttered, grabbing her bottle and slipping out early.

The morning breeze was soft against Niña’s cheeks as she walked beside Jaz, Kianne, Bienne, and Nica, trays in hand, weaving past the cafeteria doors toward the usual shaded spot in the garden where the girls liked to eat.

"Parang iba sikat ng araw ngayon, no?" Jaz said with a grin, nudging Niña.

"Medyo," Niña replied, distracted by the smell of hot rice and fried egg wafting from her tray.

But before they could fully round the corner, Jaz suddenly slowed down, squinting at the distance. “Wait, may nasa pwesto natin…”

They all looked.

Angel Canino. Sitting alone at their usual garden spot, tray in hand, mumbling to herself while fidgeting with her utensils like she was practicing a speech.

Bienne gasped. “Uy, Ate Angel!”

Angel jolted like she'd been electrocuted, her eyes darting up to see them approaching. Her shoulders dropped—relief flooding her face as she quickly straightened up and smoothed down her hair.

She got the spot right.

Nica’s grip tightened on her tray. She said nothing, but Niña felt the shift in her posture beside her.

“Ganda ng timing mo, Ate,” Bienne teased as they neared. “Mukhang reserved mo talaga ‘tong table ah.”

Angel gave a nervous smile, glancing quickly at Niña before muttering, “Just thought... the air was nice today.”

Sure. The air.

Niña looked at her, then looked at the empty spot Angel had left open on the bench beside her. Angel shifted subtly, just a few inches over—barely perceptible, but it said everything.

It reminded Niña of the quiet way she'd always invite Angel to lie beside her during late night music sessions. Wordless. Simple. Intentional.

Niña took the hint. She smiled faintly and sat beside her.

Angel didn’t look at her directly, just blinked a few times like she was trying to hide her surprise.

Nica hesitated for a moment—just a breath—but she said nothing. Instead, she settled across the table beside Jaz, Bienne, and Kianne.

The breeze passed through again. The leaves rustled gently.

“Shoot,” Niña suddenly said, patting her tray. “Nakalimutan ko yung utensils—”

Angel, without hesitation, reached into her tray and handed over a pair like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Gotchu.”

Niña blinked. “You brought an extra?”

“Lagi naman ako may extra. Just in case.”

Across the table, Jaz, Kianne, and Bienne froze like someone had just dropped a bomb in front of them.

Jaz slowly turned her head. “Nakita mo yun???”

Kianne bit her lip, eyes wide with amusement.

Bienne clutched her tray like she was physically restraining herself from squealing.

Niña, ever the innocent, smiled. “Thank you,” she said, unwrapping the utensils. “Saved me a trip.”

Angel didn’t respond. She just focused on her food, poking at her egg like it might explode if she looked too happy.

Nica, seated across from them, stared at her own food like it suddenly lost its taste. She poked at her rice, her appetite already starting to slip—but she kept eating anyway.

The others giggled softly, whispering to each other in poorly disguised excitement, shooting glances at Angel and Niña like they were watching a live episode of their favorite love team finally getting airtime.

And Niña?

She just happily dug into her breakfast, oblivious to the chaos unraveling on both sides of the table.

Was she really oblivious, or was she already made up with her decision to never take the risk?

Warmups started shortly after breakfast, with both teams jogging to the gym, the morning sun casting long shadows on the court.

Angel had barely changed into her training shirt when Shevana nudged her on the shoulder.

“Hey, where’d you eat kanina? We didn’t see you in the cafeteria,” she asked casually, looping her hair into a bun.

Lyka chimed in, looking closely at Angel and smirking. “Yeah. And you weren’t in the hallway either. Sabi ni Amie nauna ka.”

Angel just looked straight and smiled. “Outside.”

“Outside where?” Amie asked, now suspicious.

Angel shrugged, that same vague, dreamy grin on her face. “Somewhere nice.”

The girls stared at her like she’d just confessed to a secret crush—which, in a way, she had. Amie narrowed her eyes, Shevana let out a slow “uh-huh,” and Lyka full-on gasped before whispering, “Ytang nanaman.”

But Angel was already jogging ahead, cheeks pink, pretending not to hear them.

Niña, meanwhile, stood by the side of the court, bouncing lightly on her feet as the whistle blew for warmups. She didn’t even notice Angel switching lines—casually, awkwardly, definitely on purpose—just to end up beside her.

“Hi,” Angel said, a little too breathless for someone who’d only jogged ten steps.

Niña glanced sideways, a bit startled. “Hi! Okay ka lang? Parang ang bilis mo tumakbo bigla.”

Angel cleared her throat. “Just excited for training,” she said, voice tight and totally unconvincing.

Behind them, Bienne let out a small squeak and nearly tripped over her own feet. Jaz caught her elbow, whispering, “Oh my god. Oh my GOD.”

From a few feet behind, Joan was already nudging Nica with her elbow. “This is literally a romcom. Like, we’re witnessing it live.”

“I guess. Baka excited lang mag-training si Angel,” Nica muttered, refusing to look up. But even she didn’t sound like she believed it.

Angel, meanwhile, was already stretching beside Niña, subtly mirroring her movements. When they bent forward to reach for their toes, Angel tilted her head slightly toward her, like she was trying to make it seem casual.

“Your back okay?” Angel asked, voice softer now. “I saw you touch it kanina. During the jog.”

Niña blinked, thrown off. She hadn’t even realized she did that.

“Oh. Yeah, okay lang. Wala ’to,” she replied quickly, brushing it off.

But Angel wasn’t convinced. She nodded like she was taking mental notes, then offered her hand without hesitation. “Want me to help you stretch it out?”

Niña hesitated. “Oh. Sure?”

The second she felt it, Niña short-circuited.

Angel’s hands— Angel’s hands —were suddenly at her lower back, guiding her gently as she leaned forward into the stretch. She could feel the warmth of Angel’s palms through the fabric of her shirt, steady and careful, but it was like her brain had blue-screened.

“Oh,” Niña blurted, a little too loudly. “Uh. That’s—okay ka lang ba diyan? I mean—ako? I mean. Yeah. Thanks.”

Angel bit back a chuckle, entirely unaware of the riot she had just caused inside Niña’s chest.

Behind them, Jaz screamed into her water bottle and Bienne smiled like an idiot while watching them from afar as she stretched with the other girls.

Amie, across the court, froze mid-lunge and pointed at Angel like she was witnessing a public proposal. “ANONG GINAGAWA MO?!” she mouthed dramatically.

Angel shot her a helpless look that could only say: I don’t know anymore, okay. I’m just winging it.

And Niña?

She stared straight ahead, face rapidly turning red, refusing to look at anyone, her body stiff as a board.

Because now all she could think about was how warm Angel’s hands were.

And how, no matter how hard she tried to deny it—

She definitely wasn’t okay.

The sun was at its high, casting long shadows over the benches outside the gym. Bienne sat cross-legged on the wooden bench, pretending to scroll through her phone. She wasn’t waiting.

Definitely not waiting.

Until Amie walked past with a towel around her neck, fresh from warm-ups, earbuds slung loose around her neck.

“Hi, Amie!” Bienne chirped—way too eagerly.

Amie blinked, then smiled faintly. “You’ve been sitting here for a while.”

“I like the fresh air,” Bienne said quickly, patting the bench beside her. “Sit down. Please.”

Amie raised an eyebrow but sat anyway, having a feeling what this is gonna be about.

There was a beat of silence before Bienne leaned in a little too fast.

“Okay, sabihin mo sa’kin. Please.”

Amie didn't even look at her. “No.”

“Luh! Angel and Niña? I know you know something.” Bienne practically begged, hands clutched together. “You’re her best friend! I won’t tell anyone. Promise.”

Amie gave her a long, tired stare.

Bienne blinked, wide-eyed. Puppy-mode: activated.

Amie resisted a smile and sighed. “Fine.”

Bienne gasped, scooting in closer.

“She’s... confused,” Amie said, low and careful. “Angel likes her. Sobra, medyo sobra pa nga sa sobra. She just doesn’t know what to do with it. Never had this kind of feeling in a while. She’s scared.”

Bienne squealed.

Amie immediately slapped her hand over Bienne’s mouth. “Don’t squeal! This is top-secret. Kulit mo, Bansil.”

Bienne nodded furiously, eyes wide.

Amie’s hand was still on her mouth.

They both realized it at the same time.

Bienne’s brain short-circuited. Her heart practically climbed out of her chest.

Amie blinked, then slowly pulled her hand back, clearing her throat.

“Right. Just. Keep it to yourself.”

Amie glanced at her again. “Or, well, more like, saatin lang.”

Bienne nodded again, dazed.

She didn’t know what was more heart-racing: Angel being in love with Niña…

…or the fact that Amie’s palm still lingered warm on her skin.

The gym doors creaked open just as the players were filing in for the next scrimmage. Amie slipped through the side entrance, towel still draped around her neck, just in time to see Angel stretching by the baseline.

“You disappeared,” Angel said as soon as she saw her, nudging her with a grin. “Where’ve you been, partner?”

Amie shrugged casually, grabbing her knee and pulling it to her chest. “Just… outside. I told you, rerefill ako ng tumbler.”

Angel squinted. “Alone?”

Amie opened her mouth—but froze.

Because behind Angel, she caught sight of Bienne walking into the gym, still looking way too smiley for someone who hadn’t even touched a volleyball yet.

Bienne’s eyes met Amie’s for a split second—before she giggled quietly to herself and turned to join her teammates.

Angel followed her gaze, then raised her eyebrows way too fast.

“Ohhh.”

Amie’s eyes went wide. “No.”

Angel’s grin widened. “Didn’t say anything.”

“You were going to.”

Angel raised her hands innocently. “I didn’t! I just find it very interesting that someone came back looking suspiciously giddy and someone else here is suddenly allergic to eye contact.”

Amie rolled her eyes, face heating up. “Shut up.”

Angel laughed, bumping her shoulder gently. “Whatever you say.”

But when Amie glanced back—just briefly—Bienne was looking again.

And this time, Amie didn’t look away right away.

“Ready?” the coach called.

Both teams gave a collective “Yes, Coach!” before splitting into their sides. Angel tugged her jersey down and jogged to her spot on the court, heart already pounding—not from nerves, but from pure tunnel vision.

Across the net, Niña stood with her hands on her knees, locked in focus.

Angel tried not to stare.

Tried.

First serve: Angel’s.

She bounced the ball once, twice, inhaled sharply—and served it straight at Niña.

A perfect, targeted missile.

Niña barely managed the receive, scrambling as the ball spun into her arms.

Angel pretended it was just coincidence.

Second serve? Again, at Niña.

This time, Denise actually voiced out her thoughts to her teammates. “Wait—Huh? Akala ko sa'kin yun mapupunta...”

Alleiah snorted. “I don’t think we’re even playing against each other anymore. I think Angel’s playing with emotions now.”

“Target acquired si ate.” Jaz muttered to herself, but it was loud enough for Bienne to laugh at it.

Niña is still trying to recover from the strong serves that for some reason, keeps going to her.

Third rally: Angel’s spike.

Guess who she hits again?

“ANGEL!” Amie whisper-yelled from the back row. “That’s the third time you aimed at her!”

“I didn’t!” Angel snapped her head back and whisper-yelled back at Amie.

Meanwhile, Niña—now sweating twice as much as normal—turned to her teammates. “Bakit sa’kin lahat ng bola?!”

Kianne shrugged, barely suppressing a grin. “Baka ikaw lang talaga ‘yung weakness ni Angel.”

Niña turned red.

“No, she’s probably just… testing me.”

Bienne laughed. “Ate Nins, kung test ‘to, passing with flying colors ka.”

Jaz and Kianne giggled after, and Amie and Mikole had to bite back a laugh.

Back on court, Angel prepared for another serve, biting her lip.

Her hands were steady, but her heart wasn’t.

She hadn’t meant to hit Niña with every ball. But maybe—just maybe—it was the only way she knew how to say:

I still want you to see me.

The whistle blew.

Sweat-slicked and breathing hard, players began peeling off toward their water bottles and stretch spots. The coaches clapped them off, nodding with tired approval as they announced that they’ll be some changes to the schedule after the players spread out.

Angel stayed near the baseline, towel draped over her shoulders, catching her breath. Her heart wasn’t racing from the drills—it was from all the things she didn’t say.

She had aimed everything at Niña. Her spikes. Her serves. Her focus.

And now, when it was all over, she stood still like she was waiting for something.

Footsteps padded softly across the court.

She didn’t look up right away. But she felt it.

Niña.

“Hey,” Niña said, tone light but edged with something curious. She stopped just a few feet away, arms crossed.

Angel looked up, blinking like she was caught in headlights. “Hey.”

“You okay?” Niña asked. “Parang... you were a little intense kanina.”

Angel scratched the back of her neck. “Was I?”

“Spiking straight at me four times... Serving to me thrice... counts as intense, no?”

Angel grimaced. “Okay, yeah, maybe that was… a bit much.”

Niña waited.

“I wasn’t trying to—hurt you or anything. I just…” Angel shrugged, eyes darting to the floor. “I think I got carried away.”

“Carried away?” Niña echoed.

Angel tried to laugh, but it came out awkward. “Yeah. I mean, ewan ko. It’s the fourth day and I started thinking like—what if we don’t get this kind of time again?”

Niña blinked, caught off guard. “…Time?”

Angel hesitated. Then met her eyes again. “Later. After lights out. Rooftop? Playlist ko naman.”

Niña tilted her head. “Bakit after lights out pa? Tigas ng ulo mo, Canino.”

Angel smirked, her usual confidence peeking through. “Hindi tayo mahuhuli, promise. Nakapag-dinner nga tayo tas walang nakapansin na nawala tayo.”

Niña tried to play it cool, but her cheeks were already warming. “Pag nahuli tayo, ikaw sisihin ko.”

Angel chuckled. “So? Mamaya ulit?”

Niña paused—only for a moment—then nodded. “Okay. Rooftop.” As if Niña wanted to say no anyway.

Just then, Amie shouted from across the gym, “Angel! Si Coach, tawag ka!”

Angel groaned. Niña laughed at Angel not getting enough rest, teasing her slightly.

As Angel jogged off, she looked over her shoulder—just once—and found Niña still watching her.

And though neither of them said what they really meant, something had shifted.

Just enough to start again.

At least, that’s what Angel thinks.

Sneaking out once was nerve-wracking.

Sneaking out twice? That was borderline stupid.

Niña clutched the many bag of chips to her chest like it was evidence and tiptoed behind Angel, who was already cracking the stairwell door open with a practiced hand.

"You sure no one’s awake?" Niña whispered.

Angel turned, a faint grin on her face. “We’ve been training morning up until dinner time. Everyone’s snoring by now.”

As if on cue, the Coke cans in Angel’s hands clinked together like they were laughing at her. Niña winced. “You’re so sure.”

Angel held the door, gesturing. “Mauna ka na.”

Niña gave her a look. “Ikaw mauna. Baka mahulog mo nanaman yung coke sa stairs.”

Niña shivered slightly as she replayed the moment that happened just a few minutes ago. They almost got caught.

“That was one time and it wasn’t even—okay, fine,” Angel whispered, already chuckling under her breath as she climbed up.

The rooftop was quiet. A little chilly. The lights from the nearby buildings cast a soft glow over the concrete floor and rusty rails. Above them, the stars peeked through the Manila haze, faint but trying.

Angel dropped her bag first and immediately started laying out a large hoodie to sit on. Niña plopped down beside her with the chips and the Coke.

They both exhaled in sync, like they’d been holding their breaths since they left the gym.

“So,” Niña said, passing her a can.

Angel cracked it open with a hiss. “So.”

There was a pause. The sound of chips rustling, of street noise faintly rising from below.

Angel leaned back on her hands, looking up. “Why does it feel like this place makes everything quieter?”

Niña followed her gaze. “Or maybe we’re just too loud during the day.”

Another beat of silence passed, comfortable this time.

Then Niña nudged her gently. “You okay?”

Angel looked at her sideways. “You keep asking me that.”

“That’s because you keep acting weird.”

Angel laughed softly. “Define ‘weird.’”

“Like… you, but turned all the way up. Parang hyper ka around me lately.”

Angel made a face. “Is that a bad thing?”

Niña opened her mouth to answer, but stopped. Blinked. “…No. I don’t think so.”

Angel bit the inside of her cheek, suddenly more nervous than she wanted to admit. “I just wanted to… spend time with you. Before camp ends.”

Niña’s heart jumped. “Why?”

Angel looked at her for a long second. Then handed her the phone—the same phone that Angel offered the first time that they shared music that night, the same shared earbuds from that night, and maybe, just maybe, the same feelings that they had that night.

“I don’t have the words yet,” Angel said. “But maybe these songs do.”

Niña swallowed.

And nodded.

They sat side by side, city lights flickering in the distance, sharing a Coke and a crinkly chip bag between them. Music flowed in and out of their ears—some upbeat, some soft, all carefully picked.

And while Angel leaned back like she was calm, her fingers near Niña’s trembled slightly.

Niña noticed.

And still, neither pulled away.

The rooftop was quiet except for the distant hum of traffic and the occasional gust of wind. The stars above were still faint, barely seen through the city haze, but up here, it was enough. The world had dimmed just enough to make room for this quiet corner of honesty.

Angel held her Coke can, now lukewarm, between both hands. Niña had kicked off her shoes and sat cross-legged, hoodie sleeves covering half her hands as she cradled the phone in her lap.

It was Niña who broke the silence.

“Angel Anne Canino.”

Angel blinked. She turned her head slightly, brow raised in amusement. “That’s me.”

A small smile tugged at Niña’s lips as she kept her eyes on the sky. The next song began to play— Aphrodite by The Ridleys—and something in its opening chords made everything feel slower. Softer.

“Hindi ka ba… naprepressure?” Niña’s voice had lost its usual sharpness. It was gentle now. Careful. “Sa buhay. Everyone has such high expectations for you.”

Angel didn’t answer immediately.

Niña finally looked over, her eyes searching.

“How does the Angel Canino handle pressure?” she asked with a teasing lilt, though the question carried weight.

Angel huffed a small laugh under her breath, then tilted her head up toward the stars as if they could help her find the words.

“I try not to think about it,” she started, quiet. “Pero… mahirap iwasan. Kahit anong pilit kong huwag damhin.”

She paused.

“I think people forget na tao lang din ako. Na every time I mess up, it hurts. Kasi when I make a mistake—parang may bumabagsak sa loob ko. Parang... 'yung mga cheer, 'yung sigaw ng coaches, lahat 'yon biglang nagiging ingay na hindi ko matakasan.”

Her fingers tightened around the can slightly.

“I let my emotions take over sometimes. Not because I want to, but because I’m scared. Scared na kung hindi ako perfect, I’ll disappoint everyone. And then I won’t be… enough.”

Niña didn’t say anything at first. Just turned her body, folding her legs underneath her and angling herself so she could see Angel better.

The dim light from a rooftop lamp caught the side of Angel’s face—tired, honest, a little more human than usual.

“Niña Ytang,” Angel said after a moment, her voice softer.

Niña blinked, surprised.

“That’s me,” she replied, mimicking Angel’s earlier tone. The smile she offered was a little shy, a little sad. Angel let out a soft laugh at that—one that made Niña’s heart twist.

“How does the Niña Ytang navigate life?”

The question hung in the air for a beat too long.

Niña looked away, eyes tracing the skyline of buildings across the horizon.

“Like a river,” she finally said.

Angel turned to her, brows furrowed with interest.

“Minsan mabilis. Minsan mabagal. Minsan liliko. Minsan matutuyo. Minsan masisira. Minsan maaayos. Pero…”

Niña looked back at her, and her voice was steady.

“…it’ll always be there. I’ll always be here.”

Angel’s breath hitched.

Something in her chest squeezed tight, like the moment had caught her off guard. Niña didn’t realize what she had said at first, not until she saw the way Angel’s expression shifted—softening into something vulnerable, something tender.

Angel blinked and looked away again, hoping the night could mask the way her heart was hammering.

Neither of them said anything after that.

The music played on, one song bleeding into the next. The Coke cans had long since gone warm, and the chips were mostly forgotten. But neither moved. Neither seemed to care.

Angel sat still, the words I’ll always be here echoing in her ears like a promise she didn’t know she needed. And Niña, quiet beside her, started to wonder when exactly her chest had started feeling so full and so heavy all at once.

Eventually, Angel lay back on the cement floor, arms behind her head, letting the cool surface ground her spinning thoughts.

And as Niña watched her from the side, silhouetted by the city lights, she suddenly had the urge to reach out. Just to see if the warmth she felt in her chest was real.

But she didn’t.

Not yet.

For now, the rooftop held their silence like a secret. And the stars—distant and dim—listened closely.

Niña didn’t mean to be up this early.

She hadn’t even set an alarm, but her eyes snapped open before the sun fully broke past the rooftops. For a while, she lay still—blanket wrapped around her shoulders, heart oddly restless.

Angel had walked her back to the dorms last night.

They’d tiptoed into the room, careful not to wake anyone, but when they opened the door, Amie was still up—scrolling silently on her phone, earbuds out. She didn’t say a word. Barely even looked at them.

Niña had brushed it off, blaming the cold night air or maybe the sugar from the Coke, but she hadn't been able to sleep since.

Now she found herself walking towards the garden again, hoodie half-zipped, hands buried deep in the pockets. It was quiet, the world still damp with morning. The bench came into view—

“Uy,” said a voice.

Niña blinked. Bienne was already there, curled up in her oversized jacket, sipping from a thermos.

“Gising ka na?” Niña asked, surprised.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Bienne replied, patting the space beside her. “You?”

Niña joined her. “Same. Mind’s noisy.”

Bienne nodded like she understood. “Amie said the same thing last night.”

Niña glanced at her, puzzled.

“Anyway, why’s your mind noisy?” Bienne added quickly, playing it off.

There was a beat of silence before Niña sighed, head tilting up toward the lightening sky. “Angel brought me to the rooftop last night.”

Bienne went still.

“She brought snacks. Coke. Chips. Music. We talked about… a lot. Life. Pressure. The things no one asks about when all they see is your jersey.” Niña smiled faintly. “She felt so… real last night. Like she wasn’t someone I thought was untouchable before.”

Bienne kept her gaze low.

“I thought maybe it meant something. I wanted it to.”

Bienne took a breath, visibly hesitating. Then, slowly, she spoke. “Ate Nins…”

Niña looked at her.

“Amie texted me last night,” Bienne said carefully. “While you two were gone.”

Niña straightened slightly, brows furrowing. “Wait, nagtetext kay-”

“She said that Angel was waiting for someone.” Bienne talked quickly to cut off Niña, but was still careful. “She had someone in her life just as important as you. And she was waiting for them to come back.”

Niña’s heart thudded. “Waiting…?”

Bienne just nodded, lips pressed in a tight line. “Amie didn’t say more. Just that.”

Niña didn’t know what to say. Her fingers curled into the sleeves of her hoodie, as if to steady herself.

All this time, she thought she was starting to see the truth. Starting to get closer.

But now…

Now she didn’t know if the rooftop was meant for her at all.

She forced out a laugh. “Baka kaibigan lang.”

But even to her own ears, it didn’t sound convincing.

Bienne didn’t push. She just looked at Niña, gently, the way someone does when they want to tell you I’m here without actually saying it.

So they sat in silence—two girls and one unraveling thread of hope—while the morning bloomed quietly around them.

The scrimmage felt cleaner than the ones before. Niña wasn’t thinking too hard—just reacting. Passing, reading, adjusting. Her body moved on instinct, and for the first time in days, she didn’t feel the weight of someone else’s gaze on her back.

Because she wasn’t looking for it.

Because if she looked—if she caught Angel’s eyes, even for a second—she wasn’t sure she’d be able to keep her head above the surface.

So she didn’t look.

She played.

And she played well.

Every dig was clean. Her coverage was sharp. Her tips found space. She heard Coach Boc clap once, sharply, after her last save of the set.

And it hurt.

It hurt because she was playing well when she wasn’t thinking about Angel.

It hurt because it felt like her body was betraying her. Like it was proof that maybe Angel was never hers to think about in the first place.

Across the court, Angel struggled. Her spikes were either too soft or too wide. Her serves—all of them—went straight to Niña. And not by strategy.

By habit.

Niña received each one with mechanical precision, face unreadable, eyes never lifting above the net.

Angel called out to her once after a rally—“Nice receive, Niña”—but Niña only nodded, too quiet, too far gone.

The whistle blew. Scrimmage over.

And just as Niña turned to grab her towel, she heard her name behind her.

“Niña—”

Angel’s voice. Breathless. Just behind her.

Niña turned.

But before either of them could speak—

“Girls!” Coach Boc’s voice echoed through the gym.

Niña stepped back without thinking.

Angel’s mouth shut mid-word.

“Meeting. Center court,” Coach Boc barked.

The teams gathered slowly, bodies still heaving from exertion. Sweat and tension clung to the air. Niña found herself standing beside Bienne, towel draped over her shoulders like a shield. She didn’t glance behind her. She didn’t want to know if Angel was looking.

Coach Boc looked exhausted. He glanced at Coach Ramil, then back at his girls.

“Let’s keep this short. UP will be leaving tomorrow morning.”

The words didn’t register at first.

Niña blinked.

“We’ve decided to cut the training camp short on our end,” Coach Boc continued. “This will be our last scrimmage with DLSU.”

A cold, hollow ache opened in Niña’s chest. Tomorrow?

Tomorrow?

She heard Nica suck in a breath beside her.

“There are a few reasons,” Coach Boc said, “but the short of it is—some of you have been… distracted. And we can’t afford that.”

His eyes landed, unmistakably, on her and Bienne.

It felt like being slapped. But Niña didn’t flinch.

Coach Boc moved on quickly. “We’ve passed our slot to another team. The Ateneo Blue Eagles will be joining DLSU starting tomorrow.”

A pause.

Niña didn’t breathe.

Coach Ramil stepped forward. “And since DLSU has been performing consistently, we’ve agreed to extend our stay here for another week. Starting tomorrow, we’ll be training with Ateneo. Here's their lineup—”

The names blurred together. Niña didn’t care. Her ears were ringing.

Until:

“—Lyann De Guzman.”

The name sliced through the noise like a blade.

Angel crumbled.

Not physically. She was still standing. Still breathing.

But Niña felt it.

She felt the breath hitch in Angel’s throat. Saw the way her knuckles whitened as she gripped the edge of her towel. The way Amie instantly stepped closer. Lyka’s hand settled on Angel’s back. Shevana leaned in, eyes sharp with concern.

And Angel?

Didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t look at her.

Niña stared. Her own heart thudding too loudly in her ears.

Lyann.

That was her name.

The one Angel was waiting for.

The one Amie had never said.

The one Bienne had never confirmed.

But now Niña knew.

And the thing that hurt the most?

The clarity.

The certainty.

The undeniable confirmation that Angel's heart had never been hers to hold.

Not really.

Niña blinked down at the floor, trying to breathe past the sudden tightness in her chest. She didn’t cry. She wouldn’t.

But something inside her quietly, irrevocably... let go.

Maybe that rooftop moment was just a passing light.

Maybe it was never meant to stay.

The meeting ended in a blur of nods, clipped farewells, and forced smiles. Girls from both teams clapped each other’s backs, exchanged numbers, took a few last selfies. Bienne and Shevana even shared an awkward, oddly tender high-five. The kind you only gave someone you barely knew but would miss anyway.

But Angel wasn’t watching any of them.

Her eyes were scanning the room—frantic, wild, desperate. Because Niña was gone.

One second she was standing near Bienne.

The next, gone.

Angel moved instinctively, heart racing in her chest like it was trying to escape her ribs. She looked by the benches, behind the water station, near the exit doors, even at the stairs that led to the dormitories.

Nothing.

“Angel.” Amie caught her by the arm, firm but soft. “Hey—where are you—?”

“I have to find her,” Angel said, voice already trembling.

“Can’t this wait—”

“No,” Angel said. Her voice cracked. “I—I have to find her.”

Amie’s hand loosened, her expression shifting.

Because Angel Canino never begged.

Never chased.

Angel Canino was always the one people came to.

She had medals, titles, banners with her name. She had crowds chanting for her, eyes turning when she walked into a room. She had choices.

So why?

Why was it that the one girl she wanted most—couldn’t seem to stay?

She stepped out of the gym, the light immediately dimming as the sun began to set. Her feet moved fast, but her thoughts moved faster.

She wanted to tell her. All of it.

That Lyann was the past.

That Niña was the only one who made her laugh like she wasn’t a name but a person. That every serve she sent Niña’s way wasn’t just muscle memory—it was want.

That if Niña just gave her a chance—one, just one—she’d spend every day unlearning how to wait for someone who already left.

She turned a corner, breath caught in her throat.

And there she was.

In the garden.

Backlit by golden light, eyes wet—but not crying. Standing still.

In Nica’s arms.

Angel froze.

Not because she didn’t expect it.

But because she did.

Because some part of her always knew that Niña had someone steady in her corner. Someone who didn’t fumble with their feelings. Someone who had never waited.

She watched Nica hold Niña like she was anchoring her in place.

And Niña—God, Niña looked like she needed to be held.

Angel took one step back, the gravel crunching beneath her shoe louder than it should have been.

Niña’s head turned slightly.

Angel panicked and slipped behind the post, out of sight.

The words she rehearsed— I love you. It’s you. It’s always been you. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize. —died in her throat.

And for the first time in a long, long time…

The Angel Canino didn’t get what she wanted.

And maybe—

Just maybe—

She never deserved to.

Nica's arms wrapped around Niña, steady and sure, the way only years of friendship could provide. Niña didn't cry, not really. But her chest rose and fell with a kind of grief she couldn’t quite name. Her hands were clutching at the back of Nica’s shirt, as if letting go might mean falling apart completely.

“Akala ko susunod siya,” Niña said softly, after a moment. Her voice cracked on the last word.

Nica pulled back just enough to see her face, brushing a strand of hair away from Niña’s cheek.

“Sino?”

“Angel.” Her name left Niña’s lips like a secret that hurt to say out loud. “I thought... after everything... I thought she’d come after me.”

Nica looked down, the smallest shift in her expression betraying what she already knew.

“She didn’t,” Nica said gently.

Niña nodded, then let her eyes slip shut.

“I kind of figured,” she said, her voice thinner now. “Pero… ang sakit pa rin.”

They walked in silence to their usual garden spot, the one with the cracked bench and the overgrown vines that always smelled faintly of citronella. The sky was slowly turning violet. Everything felt hushed, like the world was giving Niña space to unravel.

She sat first. Nica followed.

And then—

“She made me feel like—like I mattered,” Niña started. “Not just as a player, but as me . Like... when we were eating at that karinderya, and she laughed so hard she forgot to breathe, and I felt like I could’ve lived in that moment forever.”

Nica stayed quiet, listening.

“And then last night, we snuck out to the rooftop... she made it feel like I wasn’t the only one afraid of being seen for who I really am. She let me in. And I let her in. I did. God, I did , Nica.”

Niña’s hands were clasped tight together, knuckles white.

“But the moment I start to feel too much,” she said, “something always happens. And now she’s coming back, and I don’t know if I was just... a distraction while Angel waited for someone else.”

Nica placed a hand over Niña’s, grounding her.

“You weren’t just a distraction,” Nica said softly. “But I get why it feels that way.”

“I keep telling myself I don’t care,” Niña whispered. “That I should just pull away before it hurts worse. But it’s too late. Ang sakit na.”

“Ang sakit, sakit na.”

Nica squeezed her hand.

“I’m here,” she said. “I’ve always been here. Just lean on me for now. We’ll pick up the remaining pieces of your heart as you heal.”

And that’s what broke Niña a little more.

Because Nica had seen every piece of her: from the late night studies, to her getting injuries here and there, to the heartbreaks, the breakdowns, the nights she thought she wasn’t enough. Nica had been her constant.

So when she leaned her head on Nica’s shoulder and let out a long, shaking breath, Nica didn’t say anything more.

Because sometimes, you don't need advice.

You just need someone to stay when it feels like everyone else is choosing to walk away.

Dinner felt quieter than usual.

The UP girls filled the cafeteria with their usual banter and chatter, but Niña only smiled when she had to, nodded when she was spoken to. She sat beside Bienne and across from Nica, who kept stealing glances at her like she was still worried she’d shatter again.

She wouldn’t.

Not tonight.

Because Niña had already cried all the tears she could, and now there was just a dull ache in her chest where hope used to be.

As they cleared their trays and stood to leave, Niña slowed her steps, letting the others walk ahead. She lingered in the hallway by the exit, blinking against the fluorescent lights overhead, her hands in the pockets of her hoodie.

That’s when she nearly bumped into someone.

“Ah—sorry,” Niña mumbled, startled.

“No worries,” came a low, calm voice.

She looked up and was surprised to find Shevana standing there, a half-full water bottle in her hand, gym bag slung over her shoulder. They hadn’t spoken much—only a few polite nods in passing and a brief exchange during warmups. Shevana was intimidating in the way only calm people could be.

But tonight, there was something softer in her eyes.

“Hey, Ytang?” she asked.

Niña turned fully now. “Yeah?”

Shevana hesitated, then shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “I know it’s not my place to say anything. But I figured... someone should.”

Niña furrowed her brows, confused.

And then—

“If you find it in your heart to love again,” Shevana said quietly, “please choose Angel.”

Niña’s breath hitched.

Shevana looked straight at her, sincere.

“I promise you—she’ll meet you halfway.”

Niña didn’t know what to say. Her throat tightened. Her fingers curled in her pockets.

“She doesn’t show it all the time,” Shevana added, more gently now. “But she’s trying. And I think... I think she just doesn’t know how to let go of what used to be. But if it’s you—she will. I really believe she will.”

A silence stretched between them, tender and heavy.

And then Shevana nodded once, giving Niña a small, knowing smile before walking off, her footsteps echoing down the hallway.

Niña stayed there for a long time after.

Not moving.

Not thinking.

Just feeling.

Because somewhere deep in her chest, the ache stirred.

Niña could only laugh.

She had to hear it at the worst possible time, at the worst possible situation, and from someone else.

Angel Canino, hindi talaga kita kayang abutin.

The air was thick with a kind of silence that felt ceremonial. Morning dew still clung to the grass, the early light soft and golden, casting long shadows across the pavement.

The UP girls were lining up to board their bus. Laughter bubbled here and there—false bravado to mask the heaviness of departure. DLSU girls exchanged farewells and numbers, a few even crying, having grown attached to their unlikely training camp rivals.

Bienne didn’t hold back her tears as she hugged Amie tightly, burying her face into the crook of her neck. Amie, usually composed, sniffled once before squeezing Bienne just a little harder.

Angel stood still, rooted near the front of the gym, watching it all unfold—but her eyes weren’t scanning for everyone.

Just one.

And then she saw her.

Niña.

Hair up in a messy bun, her hoodie too big for her frame, her bags slung lazily over one shoulder. Her eyes were just as red and puffy as Angel’s—proof that the rooftop, the garden, the scrimmage, and all the quiet in-between had caught up with her too.

They stood in front of each other like a replay from every almost they shared.

“Angel Anne Canino,” Niña said first, voice barely above a whisper.

Angel exhaled softly, smiling despite herself. “Niña Ytang.”

A small, breathy chuckle escaped both their lips. Familiar. Intimate. Painful.

And then Angel broke.

She didn’t even try to hide it—her face crumpled as the tears spilled over, and she stepped forward, wrapping her arms around Niña tightly, like the goodbye would never be enough.

Niña hugged back immediately.

Like she didn’t want to let go.

Like maybe in another universe, she didn’t have to.

Angel held her breath, steadying the storm in her chest.

She wanted to say it.

She wanted to say everything.

But the weight of years —of Lyann—settled back in her chest like an anchor.

Because after all the music they shared…

After the laughter and the late-night karinderya talk, the rooftop confessions, and the playlists…

Angel realized: none of it could measure up to what she and Lyann had built for years.

And Angel wasn’t stupid.

She loved Niña. Maybe not in the same way—not yet, not fully—but she could have. She really, really could have.

And she hated herself for choosing what was safe. What was familiar.

So she cried harder, face buried in Niña’s shoulder.

Because Angel never told her that she thought about them.

About her and Niña happening, at least once.

Niña, now used to the ache in her ribs, just held her. Eyes shut. Fingers trembling.

And when they pulled apart, Angel wiped her cheeks quickly.

Then—

“I love you.”

It was barely audible. A murmur. A breath.

But it was real.

And it was too late.

Niña’s eyes flickered, but she didn’t flinch. She only stepped back half a pace, pretending not to hear it. Because acknowledging it would shatter her all over again.

She didn’t want to ask why now.

She didn’t want to hope.

The bus engine roared in the background, rumbling louder, crueler.

Angel stood still, staring at her, waiting for something.

A word.

A smile.

A “stay.”

But Niña only breathed out, unsteady.

Then—"Migraine by Moonstar88. Last song,” she said, forcing a tiny smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Message me what you think of the song when you’re done listening to it, okay?”

Angel nodded numbly. Mindlessly.

She wanted to pull her in again, tell her wait, wait, maybe I’m wrong, but her body wouldn’t move.

And Niña—she turned.

She turned and jogged lightly toward her team, hoodie swaying with the breeze.

Angel stood there, breath caught in her throat, her heart threatening to collapse in on itself as the doors closed and the bus pulled away.

And when the outline of Niña blurred into the distance, Angel just stayed there.

Still.

Shaking.

Breaking.

Amie was the first to reach her, wordless. She hugged her from the side, tightly.

Shevana came next, then Lyka. No words. No questions.

Just arms wrapped around Angel as she stood frozen in the wake of everything she didn’t say sooner.

And everything she just lost.

UAAP Season 86

The arena buzzed with celebration, camera flashes capturing every victorious tear and every moment of history being written. Gold confetti slowly drifted to the floor like falling memories, catching on shoes, ponytails, and medals.

Angel Canino stood on the sidelines, clapping softly with the rest of the crowd. She had fought hard, trained harder, but now, she was watching someone else's moment under the lights. And as she watched players line up for the awarding ceremony, she felt a faint, unexpected tug in her chest.

It was familiar.

Like a whisper from a dream she hadn’t thought of in months.

A face.

A voice.

“Niña Ytang!”

The announcer’s voice boomed through the speakers, naming her as Second Best Middle Blocker of the Season.

Angel’s applause halted mid-clap.

She stood frozen, breath catching in her throat as her eyes darted toward the UP dugout. She expected to see her again—after all this time.

To see her walk onto the court.

To catch even just a glimpse.

But Niña never came out.

The host moved on quickly, as if her absence wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. As if Angel hadn’t just been punched in the gut by a name.

“Was she even here?” Angel asked aloud before realizing she did. Her voice was so soft it nearly disappeared into the noise.

A deep sigh escaped her lips before she could stop it, and it didn’t go unnoticed.

Amie, who was standing beside her, gently nudged her arm and leaned in close. “You okay?”

Angel didn’t answer right away. Her eyes were still on the dugout.

“I thought I’d see her again,” she said quietly.

Amie didn’t say anything, but her hand reached for Angel’s, giving it a small, grounding squeeze.

Later, after the ceremony and the media frenzy, after the lights dimmed and the cheers faded into quiet hums, Angel sat alone in a quiet corner of the dugout with her phone in hand.

She opened Instagram.

Her fingers hovered over the search bar like muscle memory had taken over.

“Niña Ytang”

There it was.

Still the same profile picture from last year.

Fewer followers than Angel could count in a day. A messy feed—random shots of sunsets, teammates, unfiltered selfies, and blurry school event photos. A sharp contrast to Angel’s polished, curated profile.

But somehow…

She looked free.

She looked happy.

And that hurt.

That really hurt.

Angel stared at the glowing blue “Message” button for what felt like forever.

She wanted to finally say it.

"Migraine by Moonstar88. I listened to it."

She wanted to tell her it broke her.

That she still thinks about Niña on bus rides, in locker rooms, when a Ridleys song plays randomly in her playlist. That she remembers the exact weight of her body against hers in that final hug.

But she couldn’t.

Because how do you reach out to someone who already looked like they let go?

Her thumb hovered over the screen—trembled, even—but all she could do was press the back arrow.

Just like that, Niña’s profile disappeared.

And Angel was left staring at her own reflection in the black screen of her phone, wondering why closure still felt so far away.

"Angel."

"Hmm?"

"You ok?"

"I'm fine, love."

Somewhere across the city, Niña told Coach Boc she couldn’t come.

Said she wasn’t feeling well.

She wasn’t lying, not entirely. The sickness sat in her chest, unmovable and unnamed. Coach scolded her gently—told her to rest, to take care next time—but he let it go.

He didn’t know the real reason.

That Niña couldn’t stomach the idea of history repeating itself.

She wasn't sure if Angel made the cut to have an award, but she doesn't want to risk it.

Not again.

Not like during last season’s awarding.

Not like the moment her eyes locked with Angel Canino's for the first time.

The name that became muscle memory on her search bar.

The face she memorized before she even heard the voice.

Angel Canino. A name she only dared to whisper in conversations that would never reach her. A name that felt too far, too golden, too untouchable.

Back then, Angel wasn’t someone Nina thought she could reach.

She was just another fleeting infatuation. Another almost.

Just a passing star Niña convinced herself she’d forget.

But the thing is—stars don’t leave quietly.

The possibility of what could’ve been still sits with her. Still lingers.

Still haunts.

And just when she thinks she’s doing fine—just when the ache starts to dull—

it returns.

A photo on her feed.

A name.

LyGel.

Her breath leaves her like a joke that stopped being funny a long time ago.

She laughs—dry, bitter, cracked at the edges.

Miserable in the quietest way.

Maybe it was a mistake. Recommending that song.

Maybe it was never Angel’s kind of music.

Maybe Angel listened. Maybe she didn’t.

But Niña wouldn’t know.

She never got a reply. Not even a “thanks.”

So maybe… it’s time to stop waiting.

She mutes the name.

Not blocks. Not erasing. Just mute.

Because she’s not ready to let go.

Because some part of her—stupid, stubborn, soft—still believes.

Still hopes that maybe, one day, a message will come.

That Angel will remember the song.

That Angel will remember her.