Chapter Text
The television was barely audible in the background, but the names were unmistakable.
“...Dr. Liana Yude is now under investigation for multiple counts of medical malpractice, the Department of Health confirmed earlier this morning…”
Muted daylight filtered through the blinds of Dr. Solana Rielle Soriano's office, tinting in a faint silvery blush—as if the sun knew not to intrude too harshly. The space was clinical in form, but meticulous in aesthetic: file folders arranged by shade from white to rose-pink, pens standing upright like surgical tools in clear containers, and a pale quartz lamp casting a soft glow beside a miniature model of the human heart. A single orchid bloomed in a pink glass vase—petals perfectly symmetrical. On the wall, an anatomical chart hung like fine art. There was no clutter, no unnecessary decor—everything had its place.
Solana herself sat behind her desk—still in a clean, navy scrub top that contrasted sharply with the soft colors around her. Her brown hair was slicked back into a clean bun. Her jaw was locked, shoulders tense, catlike monolid eyes fixed on the untouched screen of her laptop like it might offer her an answer to a question she hadn't dared ask.
Across from her, Gail Aranjuez—co-surgeon, college best friend, frequent uninvited bearer of truth—stood to reach for the remote and finally muted the broadcast.
“Hindi ka pa rin nagsasalita tungkol sa issue,” Gail said carefully, the way someone would poke a lion asleep with a scalpel.
“I haven’t processed it yet,” Solana muttered, shifting in her chair. “She’s… a friend.”
Gail crossed her arms, leaning casually on the window frame like she owned the office. “You’re not worried dahil kaibigan siya. You’re worried dahil ikaw na ang sunod.”
Solana blinked. “That’s not—”
“Let’s not pretend, Sol. Everyone knows you turned down the Hospital President’s son last quarter. Wala pa yatang nakakatanggi sa kanya except sa’yo. And now, you’ve got a 30% success rate surgery lined up, no official statement to cover your ass if it fails, and the last human thing you posted online was a photo of an EKG machine with no context—making you an easy moving target.”
Solana didn't miss a beat. “It was symmetrical.”
Before Gail could roll her eyes, Solana’s phone buzzed on the center table. She vaguely gestured toward it, her eyes now on her notes, shifting from the laptop screen. “Pakitingin nga kung sino ‘yon.”
Gail raised a brow but obliged. She stepped over and squinted at the screen.
“Bakya Retailer?” she read aloud, the confusion clear in her voice. "Wait... Bakit may contact ka na ganyan? Hindi ka naman nagsusuot ng bakya."
Solana coughed, clearly flustered. "I collect them." She tried to sound casual. "Like how you collect... Hironos." She said with a half-smile, trying to downplay the weirdness of the situation.
Gail shot her a look. “Excuse me, you’re the last person on Earth who'd wear bakya. You’d wear Crocs to a wedding before you let wood touch your feet.”
“It’s complicated,” she muttered with a shrug, hoping to brush it off as she reached for her pen.
Gail squinted. “It’s suspicious.”
The phone buzzed again. Gail held it out, a teasing smirk tugging her lips. "Anyway, I've been paged for surgery. But I think your Bakya Retailer is getting impatient."
Solana accepted the phone silently, eyes lingering on the screen. She didn't answer. She just clicked it off.
As the door shut behind Gail, Solana’s mind didn’t settle. The weight of the situation pressing heavily on her chest. She glanced at the clock. 10:07 AM. She felt restless, like a pressure building up, threatening to burst. She could barely concentrate on her next operation. Exhaustion had started to gnaw at her bones. She hadn’t left the hospital in three days.
Her thoughts swirled: the broadcast, the whispers in the hallway, Liana's voice from the last time they spoke. Her fingers trembled against her temple.
A knock tapped once and quickly before Solana could answer, the door creaked open.
She frowned. Her secretary usually screened her appointments.
"Take a seat. I’ll be with you in a moment," Solana muttered distractedly, flipping through a patient file.
The sound of footsteps echoed across the room, soft but deliberate. But something was different.
The air shifted. But when the person spoke, Solana’s heart stopped. The voice was unmistakable.
"Hi, Doctor," the voice rang out, sharp and teasing. "This is highly unprofessional. I’ve been diagnosed with... abandonment."
Solana’s head snapped up, her lips parted in surprise. It was Amaris Yvonne Arellano, a figure she’d been trying to ignore for the past few days.
Before Solana could respond, Amaris stood before her desk in mock offense.
The soft rustle of her tailored navy suit, paired with a white button-down beneath, accentuated the seriousness of her appearance. Her makeup was minimal, her features striking: high-set cheekbones, well-defined brows, and a smirk that curled trouble. But it was her eyes—always those almond expressive eyes—that gave her away. Playfulness, affection, and something else... concern.
“You’re not even my patient,” Solana said, trying to sound professional but failing to mask the soft affection in her voice.
“Don’t I have the right to schedule an appointment to see you? I'm your lawyer and you’ve been avoiding me long enough,” Amaris teased, her lips curling into a mischievous smile. “Let’s have a date.”
Solana blinked, too tired to even muster a witty response. “Oh, come on, Amaris. Can we do this later? I’m busy.”
“Busy rin naman ako ah,” Amaris teased, leaning in and crossing her arms. “But I always make time for you.”
“Over naman sa pangongonsensya,” Solana quipped, clearly joking. “Fine. Let’s have a date later.”
“Later pa? Bakit hindi ngayon?” Amaris raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying this little game of hers.
Solana rubbed her temple again, the frustration mounting. “Attorney Arellano, FYI, I’m working right now. My patients need me.”
Amaris didn’t miss a beat. “How about me? I’m your first-ever patient, remember? I used to be your practice patient back in med school. Don’t I get some special treatment?”
Solana sighed heavily, rolling her eyes. “Gosh! I can’t with you!”
Amaris didn’t respond, but the slight pout on her lips told Solana everything. She was definitely in tampo mode.
Solana stood, sighed, and rounded the desk, her steps unhurried but certain. She stopped in front of Amaris, gently uncrossed her arms, then cupped her cheeks in both hands.
Amaris, like muscle memory, slid her arms around Solana's waist.
“Come on, Bakki,” Solana said softly. “Don’t be tampo na. I’ll make it up to you. We’ll have a date later, okay? Pinky promise?”
Amaris hesitated for a moment, then held out her pinky. “Okay, fine. Pinky promise.”
She smirked, not missing the nickname Solana had slipped.
“Don’t tell me I’m still saved as Bakya Retailer in your contacts?”
Solana snorted. “You’re so arte—you said we had to keep it discreet. And besides, we’re quits. You saved me as Longganisa Seller.”
Amaris gasped. “Mas suspicious kaya ang Bakya Retailer! I mean, who even buys bakya these days?”
Solana chuckled. “Ikaw.”
Referencing their first anniversary—when Amaris had no choice but to buy her a pair of bakya after Solana had an allergic reaction to the hotel's scratchy slippers.
Amaris rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. I had no choice! That's a different case!”
“Objection, Attorney. Please don’t shout at the defendant.” Solana grinned at her own joke.
Amaris laughed, shaking her head. “I’m not shouting. I’m—”
“—defending. You know, I'd love for people in the courtroom to see you like this—para mabawasan ang intimidation nila sa'yo.” Solana teased.
“It’ll never happen, Nishie,” Amaris said, a smirk still playing at the corner of her lips. “I’m a professional.”
Solana leaned in closer, her voice playful. “Eh paano kung manood ako?”
Amaris looked at her with a sly smile, a teasing glint in her eyes. “Go on. I’m sure if you did, you’d fall more in love with me.”
Solana poked her dimples, smiling as Amaris shot her a look. “Conceited. You can’t even focus on your work when I’m around.”
“Try me,” Amaris fired back, her confidence unwavering.
Solana grinned, feeling the weight of the past few days finally lift, even if just for a moment. “Whatever, go home. I’ll be planning our date later, okay? To make up for this.”
“As you should!” Amaris agreed, playfully.
Solana chuckled and turned to grab her clipboard at the desk. “Go home, Bakki.”
Amaris pouted, arms still wrapped around Solana's, clearly reluctant to let go. “Okay, okay. I’ll be the one to fetch you.”
“No,” Solana replied with a sly grin. “I’ll be the one fetching you. But... dress casual. We’re going somewhere far. I’m sure you’ll love it.”
Amaris raised an eyebrow. “Where?”
Solana didn’t answer immediately, but the smile on her face spoke volumes. “It’s a surprise.”
Amaris huffed but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at her lips. “Okay, okay. We’re really having a date, ah?”
Solana gave her a small smile. “Oo nga. Now go home. I’ll see you later.”
Amaris sighed and then pulled Solana from her waist into a quiet embrace, resting her forehead against the crook of Solana’s neck. She inhaled deeply, grounding herself there. “Promise me that you’ll also come home later. I missed you, Sola.”
Caught off-guard by the tenderness, Solana stilled. Then slowly, she set down her clipboard and wrapped her arms around Amaris, sliding her hands across her back in slow, soothing strokes.
“Yes, uuwi na ako. I’m sorry, Ris.”
Amaris exhaled, her voice muffled against Solana’s skin. “I understand your work. I really do. But you have to update me as well... kasi when you shut me out, it makes it harder not to be upset.”
Solana sighed softly, fingers curling at the hem of Amaris’s blazer. “I know. And I hate that I made you feel that way. No more shutting you out. I'm sorry.”
Amaris didn’t answer with words. Instead, she pulled back just slightly and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of Solana’s eye, then her cheek, and finally—gently—to the corner of her mouth. Not quite a kiss meant to linger, but one meant to stay.
Her lips were avoided. That alone told Solana just how upset Amaris was.
Solana smiled, almost shy beneath the touch. Her hands slid to rest over Amaris’s shoulder. “I’ll make it up to you later, okay?”
“Mhmm,” Amaris hummed, resting her forehead briefly against Solana’s neck again before reluctantly pulling away.
Her hands slid down Solana’s arms, fingers brushing against hers before finally letting go. “Okay. I’m really leaving now.”
Solana nodded, watching her fondly. “Ingat.”
Amaris took a few slow steps back toward the door, giving one last glance over her shoulder. “Don’t forget the dress code. Casual, right?”
Solana smirked faintly. “That includes no heels.”
Amaris scoffed. “Blasphemy.”
Then, with one last playful pout and a soft smile meant only for her, she slipped out of the office, pulling the door quietly closed behind her.
Solana stood for a moment, the warmth of Amaris’s touch still lingering on her skin. She looked at the empty space, at the silence.
Then, she picked up her clipboard again—her fingers pausing where Amaris’s lips had just been.
And for the first time that day, she allowed herself to smile.
By 1:30 PM, Solana was stepping out of the operating room. The procedure had gone as expected—clean, efficient, with the kind of quiet focus she was known for. Still, it didn’t stop Gail from catching her at the scrub station, eyeing her knowingly.
“Anong meron at naka-blush ka pa rin kahit galing ka sa OR?” Gail teased.
“Post-op glow,” Solana flicked her wrist dramatically as she dried her hands.
“Sure," Gail snorted. "Or maybe you just had a successful transaction with the Bakya Retailer.”
Solana smirked in response, shaking her head as she peeled off her cap. "Can't confirm. Client records are protected under the Bakya Act of 2020."
Back in her office, the sunlight had softened. Her orchid was bathed in a soft, peach hue now. She noticed something on her desk—a neatly packed food container wrapped in a familiar floral cloth.
A pink sticky note was pressed on top.
"Eat before you drive, Doctor. Or else I’m filing for neglect. —Bakya Retailer <3"
Solana chuckled under her breath, her heart tugging softly. She sat down and unwrapped the cloth, revealing a warm bento-style box: sinigang na salmon, perfectly packed rice, grilled eggplant, and a fried lumpia—Amaris always did know what she could and couldn't eat.
Tucked beneath the eco-friendly utensils, was another folded note:
"I know you skipped lunch. This isn’t a bribe. But if you feel guilty, I won’t stop you."
Solana stared at the handwriting a moment longer, her fingers resting lightly on the edge of the note.
Then her eyes drifted toward the muted television—still frozen on the earlier segment about Liana. The image flickered faintly in the afternoon light.
She exhaled. Shook her head. Not now.
Then, almost on instinct, she reached into her drawer.
Tucked inside was a gift box she'd been too stubborn to hand over the past three weeks—something she'd worked on for months.
She hesitated only briefly, running a thumb over the edge, then finally slipped the box into a small blush paper bag waiting by her desk.
By 1:45 PM, Solana had changed.
Gone were the scrubs, the pressure, the weight of the day. Just Solana—in a white tank top under a cropped blush jacket, loose but feminine, tucked into a high-waisted denim mini skirt. She wore sleek black hush sunglasses, her hair now down in soft waves, with a small pink hair clip holding a section away from her face.
She caught her reflection and smiled. "Sobrang monyeka!" She praised herself, half laughing—then grabbed the car keys and the small blush paper bag on her desk.
Before leaving, she quickly pulled out her phone and typed a message to her secretary, asking to reschedule all her remaining consults for the next day. Emergency cases had been cleared, her post-op rounds were light—she could afford to disappear just for one night.
In front of Amaris’s apartment, she double-parked and honked twice—soft, careful.
When Amaris finally stepped out, Solana softly smiled.
Amaris wore a beige sleeveless midi dress cinched delicately at the waist, the fabric fluttering with every step. Her hair was in a simple low ponytail, parted cleanly at the side, soft strands framing her face. She carried a light cardigan draped over her arm and wore low cream sandals—not heels.
Solana smiled wider and leaned over to push the passenger door open.
As Amaris leaned down to enter, Solana reached up and placed her hand against the top of the doorframe—protectively—so her lawyer wouldn't bump her head.
“Wow," Solana said softly. "You actually listened.”
Amaris slid inside, arching a brow. “My legs are offended, but they’ll survive.”
Solana didn't move yet. She just looked at her for a moment longer than necessary. “Ang ganda mo.”
Amaris smiled softly, the tips of her ears turning tomato-red. “Of course I do. I have a date with a doctor who forgets to eat and yet somehow remembers to match her hair clip to her jacket.”
Solana raised an eyebrow, pretending to scoff. “Accusations this early in the ride?”
Amaris laughed. "You love it."
"I tolerate it."
Amaris leaned back. "You adore it."
Solana pulled the car into gear, sunglasses gleaming in the light. "Maybe."
They drove off into the lengthening day, sunlight still high but mellowing into gold. Solana’s playlist—smooth R&B with a few Coldplay songs, one of Amaris's favorite bands—hummed low through the speakers.
No rush. Just the sound of tires on the open road, and the quiet comfort of two people who had finally, finally made time for each other.
After a few minutes, Amaris yawned—trying to hide it behind the back of her hand.
Solana glanced at her. “Sleepy?”
Amaris shifted in her seat, eyes half-lidded. “Kind of. I haven’t really slept well these past few nights.”
Solana raised an eyebrow. “Work?”
Amaris leaned her head back, gaze tilted toward the window. “Work… and someone who didn’t come home for three days.”
Solana’s lips curved into a small, guilty smile. “I'm here now.”
“Hmm, just don't disappear again,” Amaris murmured, already sinking a little lower in her seat.
"I won't." Solana reached over and gently brushed a loose strand of hair away from Amaris’s face. “Matulog ka na. Malayo pa.”
Amaris didn’t argue.
And with the road stretching quiet ahead of them, Amaris finally let her eyes close, lulled by the soft sway of the car and the hum of Coldplay in the background.
The drive went on.
Solana kept her hand steady on the wheel as the city faded behind them, replaced by fields, then forests, then the uneven bends of the mountain road. The sky mellowed into a deep amber, with streaks of gold flaring across the treetops.
She glanced at the passenger seat.
Amaris had her head tilted slightly toward the window, lips parted just faintly. She looked soft—tired in a way Solana understood too well. Three days without coming home. Three days of barely any messages. Three days of pretending she wasn’t waiting.
Solana adjusted the AC vents so they wouldn’t hit her directly and slowed a bit on the rougher turns. She didn’t mind the silence. Not when she knew how lonely it must’ve been.
By the time they reached Umiray, the sun had dipped low enough to begin melting into the ocean line, casting the entire forest in a burnished glow.
Solana parked off-road, guiding the car toward a quiet, elevated clearing she’d found out after a lot of research. She turned the engine off gently, letting the silence settle before she reached over and brushed a knuckle against Amaris’s arm.
“Ris,” she said softly. “Wake up.”
Amaris stirred, lashes fluttering, voice groggy. “Hm?”
“We’re here.”
Amaris blinked, adjusted, and slowly sat up. As the car door opened and she stepped outside, her eyes widened. The cliffside lookout was modest—just a flat opening ringed by trees and overlooking a long stretch of mountains tapering toward the sea. No signs, no crowd. Just wind, light, and solitude.
Solana had already pulled out a light blanket and a small thermos from the trunk. She took off her sunglasses, hooking them onto her jacket, then spread the blanket across the grass while Amaris took it all in.
Amaris stood still for a moment, eyes catching the last shimmer of the water from afar. “I so despise you,” she said quietly.
Solana glanced back at her, smiling faintly. “Oh, you don’t.”
“Palibhasa kasi alam na alam mo paano ako kunin, eh,” Amaris muttered, a smirk pulling at her lips.
“Of course I know you. And your love for history.”
They sat close, and Amaris pointed toward the southern horizon. “You know this whole area... Dingalan, Baler, even this—Umiray—used to be so isolated. They called it the Pacific frontier.”
She squinted toward the south.
“That direction is Quezon. You’re literally sitting on the edge of Aurora, and just a few hills over is General Nakar. It’s like a forgotten line where two stories meet.”
“Remember what I told you?” Amaris asked.
“That Aurora used to be part of Quezon?”
Amaris nodded. “Yes. They made it a separate province only in the ‘70s. And they named it after Aurora Aragon Quezon, Manuel L. Quezon’s wife. She was more than just a First Lady. She died trying to bring hope to this place.”
She turned toward Solana, her voice softening.
“In 1949, she was ambushed and killed here in the mountains, near Bongabon, while on a humanitarian mission. She just wanted to help people rebuild after the war. She was so loved they named this province after her. A province born from love… and loss.”
A pause. She looked down, her fingers brushing the ground gently.
“It’s kind of romantic, don’t you think? This place—these cliffs—named after a woman who believed in something enough to die for it.” She reached and picked a tiny flower growing near her sandal. “I planned to bring you here. But you beat me to it.”
Her voice cracked on the last sentence, just slightly.
“You didn’t just bring me to a lookout,” she said. “You brought me to a border. Of histories. Of provinces. Of people who refused to forget.”
She turned back to Solana. “It’s one of my favorite facts about this place. Not just because it honors a woman in a country that forgets women in its landmarks… but because these two provinces—Aurora and Quezon—remind me of us.”
Solana looked up at her. Something shifted in the air between them.
“We’re never seen together,” Amaris continued. “Not really. Like these provinces—connected, but rarely standing in the same frame.”
A pause.
“Because of our jobs. Because of what the world expects. Because our story was never built for spectators.”
She stood and stepped closer to the cliff’s edge, wind catching her hair.
“But I want you to know... I would break every bridge, every mountain trail, just to protect you. Even if no one sees us. Even if we’re always standing on opposite sides of the border.”
Solana watched her quietly. She adored this version of Amaris—the one unafraid to speak with conviction, who wore her passions like second skin.
But she also knew there was still a trace of tampo in that voice. The kind that didn’t flare loud, just settled deep—because Amaris didn’t get angry when it mattered. She got hurt.
And Solana knew—time had always been her language. And she had kept her waiting.
So Solana stood up and gently reached into her paper bag.
“Okay,” she said, brushing invisible dust off the box she pulled out. “Since it's already long overdue… and knowing how your tampo works…”
Amaris turned to her slowly.
“Close your eyes,” Solana added, voice dipping softer. “I'm going to give my second anniversary gift to you.”
Amaris didn’t budge. Her voice, when it came, was low.
“You cancelled that day.”
Solana’s voice faltered for half a second. “I know.”
A pause. Her fingers gripped tighter around the box.
“I waited the whole night,” Amaris continued. “I even wore that stupid heart pin you liked.”
“I didn’t cancel because I forgot,” Solana said quietly. “I wasn't done pa sa gift. I couldn’t come empty-handed, Ris. Not on something that mattered this much.”
She held the box toward her.
“I’ve been working on it for six months,” she admitted. “Snuck out to workshops when you thought I was on-call. I know how much you love this aside from law and history—and there’s so many things I wanted to give you. But instead of buying them…”
She met Amaris’s gaze.
“I painted them.”
Inside was a ten-page hand-bound canvas book. Custom made. Soft to the touch, and unmistakably Solana’s. Each page was something Amaris loved.
Until the last.
The smudge was clear. A portrait washed out in brownish stains.
“That one,” Solana said, trying not to shift on her feet. “It was your passport photo. I know you love traveling. It was done na nung Monday… but I spilled coffee on it. I tried to fix it. I just—”
She paused.
“I couldn’t face you with something broken.”
Amaris ran a thumb lightly over the damage. She didn’t speak.
Solana’s voice dropped. “You're not saying anything. Do you... not like it?”
Amaris didn’t look up at first. Her fingers gently ran across the warped texture. Then she closed the book, set it down on the picnic cloth between them, and stepped forward.
And just when Solana looked down, bracing—
Amaris reached forward and placed her hands on Solana’s cheeks.
She didn’t smile.
But her voice was soft—tender, with a quiet ache beneath it.
“Under the doctrine Res Ipsa Loquitur… your gift speaks for itself.”
A moment passed. She let out a sigh that felt more like surrender than complaint. Her eyes met Solana’s.
“And so does my heart.”
Solana let out the smallest breath of relief, her lashes fluttering like she hadn’t realized she was holding tension in her spine the whole time.
“Really? You’re not mad anymore?”
Amaris didn’t answer right away. She just pulled Solana into her, kissed her forehead and let her thumbs trace slowly along her skin. Her eyes softened. Her voice dropped just above a whisper.
“All my objections fall apart when it's you, Solana.”
“Objection,” Solana whispered, finally smiling. “Too cheesy.”
Amaris sighed, but a flicker of mischief returned. “Tell that to your red face, Nishie.”
Solana was still smiling, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.
Her lips parted as if to answer—but instead, a tear slipped down her cheek.
It was so unexpected, that Amaris only noticed when her thumb brushed it by accident.
“Hey,” Amaris said, instantly shifting, concern clouding her teasing. “Hey—what’s wrong?”
But Solana just leaned forward and folded herself into her—arms circling Amaris's waist, face pressed against her collarbone like she was anchoring herself.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, the words muffled. “I know it was just a date. I know it was just a gift. But I cancelled. I kept you waiting. I kept us waiting.”
Amaris didn’t speak.
Solana's voice cracked.
“And I hate that I keep falling short. I hate that sometimes, I feel like I’m not fulfilling who I said I’d be to you. As a partner. As your... wife.”
The word wife landed soft, but deep. Like it carried every vow they had promised in silence.
“I try to be everything—the doctor, the daughter, the friend—but somewhere along the way, I forgot how to just be yours.”
Silence stretched, but it wasn’t empty.
Amaris’s fingers moved gently—brushing the strands from Solana’s temple, tucking her closer.
"You didn’t forget," she murmured. "You just got lost. And I know how much it takes for you to come home to me."
Solana let out a small, broken laugh. “You’re really not mad?”
Amaris looked at her for a long moment—then leaned in and kissed her forehead, slow and sure.
Her voice was soft. “Of course I’m still mad.”
Solana blinked.
“But not at the gift. Not even at the waiting.”
She smiled faintly, thumb tracing Solana’s cheek.
“I’m mad because you still think you’re not enough—when all I ever needed was for you to come home.”
And there—surrounded by cliffs and the hush of fading light—Solana held on. Not because she was forgiven, but because she was still wanted.
And for now, that was enough.
They sat on a thin blanket Solana had somehow packed—a soft plaid thing that now cradled a spread of snacks: leftover rice, a thermos of lukewarm sinigang she insisted still “slapped,” a box of pastillas, and even metal straws.
Amaris was chewing through a slice of melon when Solana, eyes half-lidded and lips pressed in thought, said casually:
“Hypothetical lang…”
Amaris side-eyed her. “That’s never a good intro.”
Solana swirled her juice box. “What if… may mag-frame sa’kin? Tapos makulong ako ng matagal?”
Amaris stopped mid-chew, her eyes narrowing. “Don’t joke.”
“It’s just hypothetical!” Solana whined, nudging her knee. “What if?”
“I’ll present you,” Amaris said flatly. “I won’t even let them make you touch a jail cell. Not even a holding chair.”
Solana grinned, pleased. “Really?”
Amaris nodded.
But she didn’t stop. “What if... all evidence points to me? Like wala na talaga choice. Jail era unlocked.”
Amaris turned to her, face deadpan. “Are you doubting my skills as your lawyer?”
“No!” Solana laughed. “Just saying what if.”
“Then I’ll follow you inside.”
“Huy! Baliw lang?” Solana barked a laugh, nearly spilling the sinigang. “Relationship goals ang atake?!”
“I won’t let that happen,” Amaris said more quietly now, meaning every word.
Solana paused, watching her for a beat. “You're serious?”
“Yes.”
“You have to promise me something then.”
Amaris groaned, already suspicious. “I really hate how your mind works sometimes.”
“Promise me,” Solana leaned in, voice lowered, “na if ever that happens…”
A beat.
“…Make sure it wasn’t because I choked someone at the hospital.”
A beat more—then Solana broke into a laugh.
Amaris blinked, then burst out laughing too.
“I’ll burn the hospital down,” Amaris said, matter-of-fact.
“I’m a doctor,” Solana choked between giggles.
“Then I’ll burn it ethically.”
They were laughing harder now, the kind of laughter that rolled from relief—the release of weight, of tension that had hung heavy between them for weeks.
And then Solana turned her head, a smile still faint on her lips. Her voice softened.
“You’ll really defend me, right?”
Amaris looked over. The last of the sun framed her in a dusky halo.
“Every time,” she said. “Even when you’re wrong. Especially when you’re right. Always.”
Solana beamed… until Amaris added, far too casually:
“So you’re a choker pala, ah.”
Solana’s face reddened. “GOSH. You and your dirty mind! You need Jesus!”
Amaris didn’t even blink. “Too late. I'm already going to hell for falling for you.”
They laughed again, the sound echoing softly in the stillness—just them, the stars slowly creeping out, and Amaris leaning gently against Solana’s shoulder, in the quiet hush of being known and loved exactly as they are.