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Aiah had always seen Mikha — right from the very start. Their first meeting, their first conversation… it all just clicked.
Until one day, Aiah fell in love with her.
It wasn’t sudden; it was in the small things.
When Mikha waited for her after rehearsals and training sessions.
When she stayed beside Aiah during her panic attacks, her presence alone calming the storm.
When she offered gentle words of affirmation that made Aiah feel seen.
Aiah would often invite her to jog — though Mikha always refused at first, she’d still end up coming along.
There were the ice cream treats whenever Aiah felt down, or during her dysmenorrhea, just to make her smile.
The way Mikha would rush to open the car door for her, or quietly place her jacket on Aiah’s lap whenever she wore short clothes.
And then, there were the mornings.
When Aiah would wake up to Mikha’s sleeping face, peaceful and close — their breaths almost mingling, Mikha’s arm draped gently around her waist. Those quiet moments were her favorite.
When Mikha called her “Ate Aiah,” or sometimes, “Babi,” it always made her heart skip a beat.
In short, Mikha was her best friend — her anchor, her peace.
The others would tease them endlessly, laughing and squealing at how inseparable they were. Aiah would laugh too, cheeks flushed from embarrassment.
But deep down, it wasn’t just fun for her.
To Aiah, it was so much more than that.
Three years had passed.
Still the same routines, the same laughter, the same bond — except for one thing.
Mikha had a boyfriend.
Yes. A boyfriend.
His name was Quentin — charming, handsome, lahat na nasa kanya kind of guy. An academic achiever, a licensed pilot, and two years older than her. To top it all off, he was a nepo baby — related to a well-known Filipino actor. So yes, he had connections.
How did they meet?
During a fan service.
Mikha was never the type to show her emotions easily, but that day… that guy somehow made her pause. She was hesitant at first, but still polite — interacting with the fans the way she always did.
Quentin, of course, was her fan. She was his bias.
And that day, he gave her a gift — a luxury one at that: an 18K yellow gold Van Cleef & Arpels Perlée diamonds duo ring.
Aiah saw it all.
The way Mikha smiled, even if faintly. The teasing that followed from the other BINI members. Some of them giggled, some kept quiet — because they knew.
They all knew.
They knew about Aiah and Mikha.
The kind of closeness that didn’t need words.
The glances that lingered too long.
But beneath all the cheers and congratulations, Aiah felt it — that quiet, twisting unease.
She told herself not to judge.
Not to assume.
But something about Quentin didn’t sit right with her.
There was something about his smile — too smooth, too perfect — and the way Mikha’s eyes dulled just a little whenever he called.
Aiah couldn’t explain it, but her gut whispered what her heart refused to hear.
Something was wrong.
One night, Aiah found Mikha sitting quietly by the window, the soft glow of her phone light reflecting off the gold band in her hand. She was examining the ring Quentin had given her — turning it carefully, letting it catch the light.
Aiah leaned against the doorway, watching in silence for a moment before speaking.
“That looks good on you, Mikhs,” she said softly, trying to sound casual.
Mikha glanced up, smiling faintly. “Yeah, it’s… beautiful. Grabe, ang mahal daw nito. He really didn’t have to give me something this expensive,” she said, her tone a mix of surprise and guilt. “But still, I appreciate it — especially since it came from a fan.”
Aiah chuckled, though her voice trembled just slightly. “Or… a particular fan?” she teased, forcing a smile.
Mikha laughed, shaking her head. “Maybe.”
The word hit harder than Aiah expected. It was lighthearted, harmless — but deep down, it stung. She knew Mikha didn’t see her that way. She probably never would.
As Mikha carefully placed the ring back into its velvet box, something small caught her eye — a folded card tucked beneath the satin lining. She opened it, and there it was: a neatly written mobile number, signed with Quentin’s name and a short, sweet note.
Mikha smiled, shaking her head in disbelief. “Especially this,” she said, lifting the card playfully toward Aiah’s face.
Aiah laughed along, though her chest felt tight. She looked at Mikha — her smile, her laugh, the sparkle in her eyes — and for a moment, she let herself dream.
She hoped.
That someday, somehow… Mikha would be hers.
“I said yes.”
The words echoed in Aiah’s head long after Mikha said them.
It turns out — it wasn’t a joke. She wasn’t imagining things.
They were all gathered in the conference room — the entire BINI girls, their management, and Quentin, who walked in with that confident stride that seemed to own the space. Mikha had just announced the news.
They were dating.
Everyone was shocked for a moment, then the room filled with cheers and congratulations. Aiah joined in, smiling, clapping, even saying “Congrats, Mikhs!” with as much warmth as she could muster.
She saw Mikha smile — wide and genuine, or at least it looked that way.
But there was something beneath it. Something Aiah couldn’t name. Maybe she was just imagining it, maybe it was just her jealousy playing tricks on her.
After the short celebration, management began discussing how to handle the relationship in the public eye — how it would affect the group’s image, their fan base, their schedules. Aiah sat silently, nodding along, her heart heavy with every word.
When the meeting ended and they finally stepped out of the room, the girls immediately began teasing Mikha about Quentin. Mikha rolled her eyes, laughing as she swatted them playfully.
Halatang kinikilig.
And then Quentin stepped closer.
Without hesitation, he wrapped an arm around Mikha’s shoulders.
“I’ll take her home,” he said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
It looked sweet — affectionate, even — but Aiah noticed the small things again. The way his grip tightened a little too much. The way Mikha stiffened, her laughter faltering.
And for the briefest second, Aiah saw it — the smile fading from Mikha’s face.
It was only a flicker, gone as quickly as it came. But it was enough to send a chill down Aiah’s spine.
Something was wrong.
And this time, Aiah was sure she wasn’t imagining it.
Days went by, and everything seemed to be going well — at least on the surface.
Mikha and Quentin began posting soft-launch photos together: a pair of coffee cups, matching sneakers, a blurry photo taken at sunset. And then, one night, the official post dropped — a clear picture of them smiling under the city lights, fingers subtly intertwined.
The caption was simple but powerful enough to shake the fandom:
“in every calm, i find you. 💫”
#MikhTin #Finally #PilotAndMuse #MyPeace
It didn’t take long for the internet to explode.
The BINI fandom went into full frenzy. Timelines flooded, hashtags trended, and fanpages began dissecting every detail — the matching bracelet, the location tag, even the lighting.
But what caught everyone’s attention most were the Mikhaiah fans.
Heartbreak. Chaos. A little humor to cope.
Some fans were kind:
“If Mikha’s happy, then we’re happy 🫶”
“Respect their relationship, mga bubs. We still love Aiah and Mikha!”
But others… well, they took it differently:
“HELLOOO MIKHAIAH NATION??? WE ARE IN SHAMBLES 😭💔”
“Not the #PilotAndMuse hashtag 😭 AIAH IS THE REAL CAPTAIN HERE 🛫”
“Quentin who?? Our girl Aiah been holding Mikha’s hand since pre-debut 😭💀”
“This hurts more than my midterms grade.”
“#MikhaiahEndgame still stands. You can’t change my mind.”
“Mikhaiah lubo-*gunshot*”
Aiah scrolled through the comments that night, her name tagged repeatedly. She smiled at the funny ones, her heart aching at the rest. It was strange — being shipped so hard with someone you actually loved. Watching fans mourn a fantasy that, to her, felt all too real.
The next day, during practice, the teasing continued.
“Uy, Mikha!” Jhoanna called out, grinning. “Lubog na raw kayo sa X!”
Before Mikha could react, Maloi yelled from the back, “Mikhaiah lubo-”
Everyone burst out laughing — except Stacey, who quickly covered Maloi’s mouth, eyes wide.
“Hoy!” Stacey whispered loudly. “’Wag kang ganyan! I’m the Mikhaiah captain, remember?”
The room roared with laughter. Mikha turned red, throwing a towel toward Stacey while Aiah laughed along, though her chest felt heavy.
She smiled — because that’s what she always did. But deep inside, every joke, every hashtag, every reminder of Mikhaiah hurt a little more than the last.
One night, Aiah stepped out onto the balcony, where the rest of the girls were gathered. The cool breeze carried their laughter as they huddled together, trading stories about work, life, and everything in between.
They talked and talked — until, eventually, the topic shifted.
Mikha and Quentin.
Someone joked about how long they’d been together. “Three years na sila, ‘di ba?” Gwen said, leaning back on the railing. “Sana all.”
The girls giggled, but Jhoanna’s voice broke through the laughter — softer, more serious.
“Wait… hindi niyo ba napapansin si Mikha lately?” she asked, brows furrowing. “Mas lumalalim eyebags niya. Parang lagi siyang pagod. Tapos pumayat siya.”
The laughter died down.
That caught Aiah’s attention immediately — because she’d noticed too.
Every time she asked Mikha if she was okay, she’d just smile that same rehearsed smile — the kind that didn’t reach her eyes.
I’m fine, she’d say. Always fine.
Gwen nodded in agreement. “Oo, napansin ko rin. Madalas din siyang malate sa rehearsals. Tapos minsan nakikita ko, may kausap siya sa phone — parang nag-aaway. Si Quentin siguro.”
Colet, ever the protective mama bear of the group, frowned. “And is it just me, or parang lagi na siyang naka-long sleeves lately? Alam ko mahilig siya sa mga covered outfits, pero araw-araw na for months? Weird lang. Usually, nagsusuot din ‘yan ng crop top or sleeveless.”
The group fell silent.
Even Stacey, Sheena, and Maloi — who usually filled every quiet moment with chatter — said nothing at first. Then, Stacey spoke hesitantly.
“Actually…” she began, exchanging glances with the two beside her. “May napansin din kami.”
Sheena nodded. “One time, after rehearsal, narinig namin si Quentin… parang sumisigaw sa phone on speaker. Tapos si Mikha, umiiyak after.”
Maloi added, her voice small, “We also heard her parents talking backstage last time. They said they don’t like Quentin. Di raw nila bet si Quentin para kay Mikha.”
A heavy silence followed.
The only sound was the faint hum of the city below.
Aiah’s heart pounded.
Every piece of what they said — every late arrival, every forced smile, every long-sleeved outfit — started to form a picture she didn’t want to see.
She stood up abruptly, her chair scraping against the concrete.
“I have a bad feeling about this,” she muttered, mostly to herself.
The others looked at her, concern flashing in their eyes, but Aiah was already pulling out her phone.
She called Mikha. Once. Twice. Three times.
No answer.
She texted her — “Mikhs, where are you?
Nothing.
Then another one – “Are you okay?”
Nothing.
She even tried calling Quentin. The line rang, but no one picked up.
Her hands started to tremble.
Gwen said quietly, “Minsan na lang mag-pick up ng phone si Mikha ngayon. Even sa GC, halos ‘seen’ na lang lagi.”
“Pati sa social media,” Colet added. “Halos wala na siyang post lately. It’s like she just… went quiet.”
Aiah stared out into the dark city skyline, the wind brushing against her face.
For the first time, she felt real fear clawing at her chest.
If what the girls said was true — if Mikha had been living like this for three years — then she couldn’t just sit still anymore.
She had to find her.
Her Mikha.
Aiah tried again.
And again.
And again.
But Mikha never answered.
Every call went straight to voicemail, every text left unread. Her chest tightened with every passing minute, anxiety clawing at her ribs.
Then Stacey suddenly snapped her fingers. “Wait—may location app tayo ‘di ba? ‘Yung ginagamit natin pang-track kapag may gig?”
All of them scrambled for their phones. A few seconds later, Gwen’s voice trembled as she said, “Found her.”
Everyone gathered around her screen.
There it was — Mikha’s location, pinned.
At Quentin’s place.
For a second, nobody spoke. The only sound was the soft hum of the cold wind and Aiah’s uneven breathing.
“Tara,” Colet said firmly, standing up. “Now.”
They didn’t need to say anything more.
They all knew what the others were thinking — but none of them dared to say it aloud.
They just couldn’t bear the thought of what might be happening.
Not to Mikha.
Especially not to Aiah’s Mikha.
Colet took the driver’s seat — calm and steady, the only one who could handle the road right now. Stacey sat beside her in the passenger seat, phone in hand, keeping an eye on the tracker.
In the backseat, it was cramped — Maloi, Sheena, Jhoanna, Gwen, and Aiah squeezed together, hearts pounding in sync.
No one dared to talk for the first few minutes, but the silence was heavy, filled with what-ifs and worst-case scenarios.
Aiah sat by the window, fists clenched so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her eyes were red, her breathing sharp, her jaw locked in tension. She stared out at the blur of passing lights, her reflection trembling in the glass.
Stacey looked back from the front seat. “Ate Aiah, huminga ka muna,” she said softly.
“Oo nga, Ate Aiah,” Maloi added, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder. “We’ll find her, okay? Breathe lang muna.”
But Aiah didn’t respond. She just nodded, eyes still fixed on the dark horizon.
Every second felt longer than the last.
The air inside the car was thick — part fear, part anger, and part heartbreak. Each girl knew how much Mikha meant to Aiah, but seeing her like this… broken, shaking, barely holding it together — it hit differently.
Jhoanna caught Aiah’s eye for a moment, offering a small, reassuring smile. “She’s okay,” she said, though her own voice wavered. “We’ll get her back, okay?”
Aiah swallowed hard, her throat burning. “She has to be,” she whispered.
Then, in the distance, the pin on Stacey’s phone blinked closer and closer.
They were almost there.
Then they reached Quentin’s place.
A luxurious condominium — top floor, penthouse suite. The kind of place that screamed money and secrets.
As Colet parked, their eyes immediately caught sight of the unmistakable silver Porsche 911 Turbo S gleaming under the dim basement lights.
“Confirmed,” Sheena muttered. “Sa kanya 'yan.”
They exchanged quick, nervous glances before heading inside.
At the reception, Stacey approached the front desk. “Hi, excuse me, is Mr. Quentin Estrada here?”
The receptionist typed something, then smiled politely. “Yes, ma’am. He’s checked in about an hour ago.”
That was all the confirmation they needed.
The elevator ride up felt endless. No one spoke. The air was thick, the tension almost suffocating. You could hear the shuffle of shoes, the click of the elevator floor indicator, the faint hum of electricity.
Every few seconds, Gwen checked her phone — hoping, praying — that maybe Mikha would message.
Then suddenly, Aiah’s phone buzzed.
Everyone turned to her.
A message.
From Mikha.
Mikhs 🧸: Out with Quentin. Don’t wait up 🩵
Aiah stared at the screen, her heart pounding. The timestamp. Just now.
“Lie,” she whispered, voice trembling.
The others looked at her in silent agreement. Something wasn’t right.
The elevator finally dinged.
They stepped out into the penthouse floor — marble floors, ambient lights, quiet hallways. Too quiet.
When they reached Quentin’s door, Colet took a deep breath before knocking.
Once. Twice.
No answer.
Then Colet tried to turn the knob — unlocked.
Inside, everything looked perfect.
Too perfect.
The living room was spotless, the couch aligned just so, the scent of expensive cologne faint in the air. Aiah’s stomach twisted.
“Hello?” Stacey called out, voice echoing. “Quentin? Mikhs?”
Nothing.
She tried again. “Mikha?”
Silence.
The six girls looked at each other, unease flickering in their eyes.
Then —
BANG!
A loud slam echoed from the hallway, making them all jump.
A figure appeared from behind the glass partition — tall, confident, composed.
Quentin.
Still in his pilot uniform, hair slicked back, posture sharp. His lips curled into a charming smile.
“Well, this is a surprise,” he said, walking toward them smoothly. “Didn’t expect to see you guys in my living room tonight.”
Aiah stepped forward, her voice firm but shaking. “The door's unlocked. I’ve been calling you, Quentin. Paulit-ulit. Hinahanap namin si Mikha.”
Quentin raised a brow, feigning confusion. “Mikha? Oh, I dropped her off sa condo niya kanina pa. Safe and sound.”
Sheena frowned. “Pero sabi sa location app namin, nandito siya.”
Quentin blinked. His confident demeanor faltered for a second. “What? That’s— that’s impossible. Baka nag-loloko ‘yung app niyo?”
“Life360 yan,” Stacey shot back coldly. “Legit ‘yan. Hindi nag-e-error ‘yung tracker namin.”
The air shifted. Everyone was staring at him now.
For a moment, Quentin just stood there — smiling, but something about it didn’t reach his eyes.
“Girls,” he said, chuckling lightly, “you’re overthinking. I promise, she’s home.”
Aiah’s fists clenched. “Then why does it say she’s here?”
The silence stretched — heavy, suffocating.
Then Sheena broke it with an almost casual tone, though her eyes darted toward the hallway. “Uh, Quentin… pwede bang maki-CR?”
Quentin hesitated, his jaw tightening for a brief second. Then he forced a smile. “Sure. You know your way around, right?”
Sheena nodded and walked off, heart pounding in her chest.
Back in the living room, Quentin kept talking — telling the same story again and again, insisting he’d dropped Mikha off. His tone grew more defensive, his smile tighter, rehearsed.
The others exchanged wary glances.
Then—
A scream.
Sheena’s blood-curdling, terrified scream — from the direction of the bathroom.
The girls froze.
The sound echoed through the penthouse.
The girls scrambled down the hallway, panic rising with every hurried step.
Only Colet and Jhoanna stayed behind — eyes locked on Quentin, who stood there with that unnerving calm, hands tucked into his pockets like nothing was wrong.
“Diyan ka lang at 'wag kang gagalaw,” Colet hissed, her voice low and dangerous. “You so much as blink the wrong way, sisiguraduhin kong pagsisisihan mo ’yan.”
But Quentin only smirked. “You girls are so dramatic.”
Meanwhile, down the hall—
Aiah was running. She could barely feel her legs. Her lungs burned, but she didn’t care. She just kept praying under her breath.
Please. Please, let her be okay. Let her be okay.
She reached the room.
And then she stopped breathing.
Sheena was kneeling on the floor, arms wrapped tightly around a trembling figure — Mikha.
Aiah’s world collapsed in that instant.
Mikha’s head rested weakly on Sheena’s shoulder, her face barely visible beneath her tangled hair. Her skin was pale. Her breathing shallow. The soft yellow light of the room revealed what they all dreaded — a constellation of bruises scattered across her arms and legs. Some were fresh — angry purples and reds. Others had already faded into the sickly yellow of old wounds.
Her lower lip was split, swelling. One eye — nearly shut, darkened to violet.
Aiah dropped to her knees beside her, the sound that escaped her was half sob, half disbelief. “Mikha…”
Mikha’s eyelids fluttered, her lips parting as if to speak. Nothing came out but a faint whisper — “Aiah…”
Aiah cupped her face gently, ignoring the tears streaming down her own. “I’m here. I’m here, okay? Don’t talk. Please don’t talk.”
Maloi stood frozen in the doorway, hand over her mouth. Gwen’s hands were trembling as she fumbled for her phone. “I’m calling an ambulance—now.”
But Aiah didn’t hear any of them. The world had narrowed down to the girl in front of her — the girl who used to laugh the loudest in the room, who held her when she couldn’t breathe during panic attacks, who once called her babi with that little giggle that made everything right.
And now, she was barely holding on.
Aiah brushed the hair from Mikha’s face, her voice breaking. “He did this to you?”
Mikha’s gaze shifted — just barely — toward the door.
And nodded.
Aiah followed her eyes.
And there stood Quentin — framed by the hallway light, Colet and Jhoanna blocking his path but unable to hide the cold fury in their eyes.
For the first time, the mask on Quentin’s face slipped.
And Aiah saw it — the truth.
The charm. The smiles. The confidence.
All of it had been a performance.
Her chest tightened until she could barely breathe. The weight of it — the realization that the person who had hurt Mikha was someone they once trusted — crushed her completely. Around her, the girls sobbed uncontrollably. Their cries filled the hallway, echoing off the cold, perfect walls of Quentin’s penthouse.
Then Jhoanna and Colet appeared, their eyes widening at the sight before them — Mikha limp in Aiah’s arms, her bruises illuminated by the harsh light above. For a moment, everything froze.
And then Quentin moved. Grabbing his keys, his jacket — his mask of control slipping as he tried to escape.
But Colet saw red.
Quentin grabbed his things, trying to leave, but Colet exploded.
“Putangina ka! Ayaw na gyud ka ana, gago!” she screamed, Bisaya and Tagalog snapping together like a whip. She sprinted after him and, without hesitation, pounced—slamming him against the door so hard he stumbled.
Quentin froze, wide-eyed.
Colet leaned in close, voice low and dangerous. “Ayaw’g lihok. Ayaw kang mu-lihok bisan usa ka blink, magbasol ka—ka-sige na kag yawa.” Her words were a fast, furious roll of Tagalog and Bisaya: no pleading, no mercy—only a promise of consequence.
“Colet, tama na!” Jhoanna and Stacey rushed forward, trying to pull her back, but she wouldn’t let go. “Yawa ka, g***ng lalaki! Unsa’y gibuhat nimo sa among amiga?!” she shouted, her words sharp, broken, raw.
Quentin stammered, face pale. “I-I didn’t—”
“Shut up!” Stacey spat. “You don’t get to talk!”
Meanwhile, Aiah sat frozen, the world spinning around her. She looked down at Mikha — the girl she’d always wanted to protect — now trembling in her arms, barely conscious. She brushed her fingers through Mikha’s hair, whispering through tears, “I got you… I got you, Mikha…”
Then she felt it — a light pressure against her hand.
Mikha’s fingers, weakly curling around hers.
Aiah looked down — and her breath hitched.
On Mikha’s finger was a ring.
Not the one Quentin had given her.
But the silver Cartier ring.
Her throat tightened as tears streamed down her face anew. That ring — their ring — gleamed faintly in the dim light.
Aiah realized it then.
Even through pain. Even through fear.
Mikha had chosen her.
One week later.
Everything moved too fast—too much, too soon.
Quentin had been reported and was now facing multiple charges. The management made sure no leaks reached the press; the last thing they wanted was to drag Mikha into the media storm while she was still recovering.
She was confined in a private room at the hospital. The once bright, unstoppable Mikha now lay quietly against white sheets, her arm wrapped in gauze, a small bruise fading on her cheek. The sight broke everyone’s heart each time they visited.
When her family found out what had happened, rage filled the halls. Her father’s jaw clenched, her Ate Pat's and mother’s tears wouldn’t stop, and her brother—Kuya Enzo—had nearly lost control. They said he’d confronted Quentin outside the court hearing and landed a clean punch that gave the bastard two black eyes. The security had to step in before things escalated. Luckily, no tabloids were around. No cameras. Just raw, human anger.
The girls visited Mikha every day.
Sometimes they brought flowers, other times food she barely touched. Most days, they just stayed beside her—talking softly, joking around, trying to fill the silence with something warm. Stacey and Sheena often played quiet music in the background, while Maloi made sure to tell her about all the new memes and fandom chaos online. Colet, though usually loud, now spoke gently, checking her vitals as if she were her nurse. Gwen and Jhoanna organized shifts so someone was always there.
But Aiah… Aiah never really left.
Even when the visiting hours ended, she found ways to stay. Sitting by the window, fingers brushing against Mikha’s hand, whispering things no one else could hear. There were nights when Mikha woke up from restless sleep, only to find Aiah still there—eyes tired but steady, as if keeping watch against the world.
It was one of those quiet hospital nights again.
The city outside was asleep, its lights dimmed under the silver moon. Inside Mikha’s room, only the faint hum of the aircon and the slow beep of the heart monitor filled the silence.
Aiah had fallen asleep beside her bed—arms folded under her head, hair slightly messy, her face softened in exhaustion. She’s been there every night since it happened. Never left.
Mikha stared at her for a long time.
There was something grounding about the way Aiah breathed, slow and steady, as if telling her—you’re safe now.
Gently, Mikha reached out and brushed her fingers through Aiah’s hair. Her touch was light, hesitant. But then Aiah stirred, eyes fluttering open.
“Hmm?” Aiah mumbled sleepily. “Mikhs?”
Mikha smiled faintly. “Sorry, did I wake you?”
Aiah blinked a few times, disoriented. “No, no, it’s okay. I was just… resting my eyes.”
Mikha chuckled softly. “Yeah, right. You were drooling.”
“Excuse me?” Aiah gasped, sitting up, cheeks turning red. “I don’t drool!”
Mikha laughed again—soft, real, but then her smile slowly faded. The silence between them grew heavier, charged with unspoken pain.
“You don’t have to stay every night, you know,” Mikha murmured, her voice small. “You’ve done enough.”
Aiah shook her head. “Mikhs, there’s no such thing as enough when it comes to you.”
That broke something inside Mikha. Her eyes began to water, her fingers trembling as she stared down at her lap. “Ate Aiah…”
“Hey,” Aiah said softly, reaching out to hold her hand. “You don’t have to say anything if you’re not ready, okay? I’m here.”
But Mikha shook her head. “No… I need to tell you.”
Her voice cracked.
“It didn’t start like this. He wasn’t always like that,” she whispered, eyes unfocused—as if she was somewhere else entirely. “At first, he was… perfect. Sweet. Attentive. He made me feel special. He’d bring me food during rehearsals, send flowers to the dorm… kahit bawal.”
She laughed bitterly. “I thought it was love. But then… the small things started.”
Aiah’s hand tightened around hers.
“He’d get jealous easily. Sobrang dali niyang magalit. One time, I missed his call after a show kasi drained ako—he accused me of ignoring him. He said I was probably with someone else.”
Mikha wiped her tears quickly, voice trembling harder. “The first time he hurt me, he said it was my fault. That I provoked him. I believed him. I actually said sorry.”
Aiah’s heart shattered right there.
“And it got worse. Every time I’d try to speak up, he’d threaten to tell the media. Sabi niya, ‘Do you know what they’ll think if they find out BINI’s Mikha is not as perfect as she looks?’” Mikha’s shoulders shook. “I felt trapped. Every bruise, every lie—I just kept telling myself it’ll get better.”
Aiah bit her lip hard, tasting the salt of her own tears. “Mikha…” she whispered, reaching out, brushing away the tear that fell down Mikha’s cheek.
Mikha let out a shaky laugh that broke halfway into a sob. “Tapos… lagi niyang sinasabi—‘Aiah this, Aiah that.’ Lahat na lang may Aiah. He hated that I smiled differently whenever you’re around. He said I lit up differently when it was you.”
Aiah froze. Confusion, hope, and guilt twisted inside her chest. Her pulse raced, her breath catching midair. “Mikha, what are you saying?”
Mikha looked at her—really looked at her. There was exhaustion in her eyes, but beneath it was something soft, something that ached to be understood. “I mean… he wasn’t wrong.” Her lips trembled into a fragile smile. “I did light up differently when it was you.”
The room went still. The world outside—cars, nurses, the soft murmur of the night—disappeared into silence.
Aiah couldn’t breathe. She wanted to say something, anything—but her voice refused to come out.
Mikha looked down at her bandaged hands, her voice quieter now. “That’s why I couldn’t say anything. He told me if I ever told someone—lalo na ikaw—he’d… he’d hurt you. And I couldn’t let that happen.”
“Mikha…” Aiah’s voice cracked, her throat burning.
Before she could speak further, a soft knock came at the door. Both of them froze. A nurse peeked in, clipboard in hand, smiling gently. “Routine check lang po, girls. I’ll just take her vitals.”
Aiah nodded faintly, moving aside as the nurse walked in. But her mind was still spinning—Mikha’s trembling voice, her confession, and those eyes that held pain, fear, and something deeper.
Something that, even in the quiet hum of the hospital room, felt dangerously close to love.
They still visited Mikha every day. Every single one of them. Sometimes they’d bring flowers, other times food or handwritten notes from BLOOMs taped into small pastel cards. But no matter what they brought, what mattered most was that Mikha was never alone.
Aiah still visited her every day, too. She always arrived just after lunch, when the hospital halls were quieter and the nurses knew to let her in without asking. She’d sit beside Mikha’s bed, read her stories from fan letters, or just play music while they watched the city lights flicker through the window.
But they never talked about that night.
Aiah tried—God, she tried—but every time she was about to bring it up, something always interrupted. The nurse checking vitals. A call from management. A delivery from fans. Even the occasional thunder outside that somehow broke the courage forming on her lips.
And so, for weeks, Aiah was left wondering and bothered.
By the words Mikha said.
By the look in her eyes.
By the confession that lived somewhere between pain and love.
Then, one morning—it happened.
The news broke.
#JusticeForMikha trended across all platforms. The headlines spread like wildfire:
“Quentin Estrada Facing Assault Charges Against BINI Member Mikha Lim.”
“BINI’s Management Speaks Out: ‘We Stand With Our Girl.’”
“Fans Flood Social Media With Support for Mikha.”
Clips of the girls visiting Mikha at the hospital circulated online, the comments overflowing with hearts, prayers, and fury. Some BLOOMs cracked jokes to lighten the mood, others cried openly in their tweets, but all of them shared one thing—solidarity.
And then came the interview.
Mikha sat before the camera, her voice steady but her eyes shimmering with quiet strength. She didn’t hide the truth—she told it, every piece of it, with honesty that broke and healed hearts all at once.
“No one deserves to feel small,” she said softly. “No one deserves to be silenced. I stayed quiet for too long—but now, I just want to live without fear. I want to heal.”
Behind the scenes, the girls watched from the dressing room, some crying, some clasping hands. Aiah didn’t look away once.
After consistent hearings that stretched over the next months, Quentin was sentenced to ten years in prison—with no chance of parole for the first seven.
The verdict was read aloud in the courtroom, and though Mikha wasn’t there, the news reached her quickly. Aiah was the one who told her—her voice soft, her smile trembling.
And for the first time in a long while, Mikha breathed freely.
Not as a victim.
But as someone who survived.
Now that Mikha was alright—at least, physically—she was finally allowed to go home. The last of her bruises were fading, leaving only faint shadows along her arms and the soft trace of a healing cut near her temple. Her skin had regained its warmth, her eyes their old light, though there were still moments when she’d catch herself flinching at sudden noises or footsteps behind her.
She was back at her own condo now. Familiar walls. Familiar scent. The same place that once held laughter, music, and late-night rehearsals. But it felt different this time—quieter, heavier somehow.
The management and her family had tried to convince her to stay with them for a while.
Her mom pleaded, “Anak, please, dito ka muna. We just want you to be safe.”
Even her Ate Pat had gently urged, “You don’t have to be alone yet.”
But Mikha was firm. “I’ll be okay,” she said, her tone calm but resolute. “Besides, mas malapit ‘to sa studio once I'll go back training.”
The management didn’t push further, though they made sure there were always people checking in—nurses on call, and the girls dropping by whenever they could. Still, Mikha knew what they were really doing: watching over her from a distance.
That night, her condo was dimly lit, city lights casting golden reflections through the window. Her guitar leaned against the couch, untouched for weeks. She sat with a blanket around her shoulders, sipping tea, staring at the empty mug on the table.
It had only been a few days since the sentencing. The world had finally heard her story, believed her, stood by her. She was supposed to feel free. And in many ways, she did.
But something else still lingered—something left unspoken between her and Aiah.
The automatic doors of the grocery slid open with a soft ding, welcoming Aiah into the familiar hum of fluorescent lights and quiet chatter. It was already late, and the aisles were half-empty—just the way she liked it.
She scrolled through her phone absently while waiting in front of the snack shelves when a notification popped up.
Mikhs 🧸: Hey, you can come over if you want. I was planning to watch a movie. Maybe… you could join me?
Aiah’s heart did a strange little flip. She blinked at the message for a few seconds before her lips curled into a smile. Her thumbs typed almost instantly.
Babi: Of course, Mikhs. Be there in a bit.
She tossed a few bags of chips into her basket, grabbed popcorn, and headed toward the freezer aisle. Mikha’s favorite ice cream flavor wasn’t hard to remember—cookies and cream, always. Then, just as she was about to check out, something caught her eye.
A small rack of supermarket flowers. Most of them were plain, slightly wilted… except for one bouquet of pale pink carnations.
Simple. Soft. Unassuming.
Just like Mikha.
Aiah stood there for a moment, smiling to herself before picking them up. “First time kong bibili ng supermarket flowers para sa isang tao,” she muttered under her breath, chuckling quietly. “Tapos ikaw pa.”
When she reached Mikha’s condo, she took a deep breath before knocking. A soft shuffle sounded from the other side, then the lock clicked. The door opened slightly, revealing Mikha peeking through the peephole. When she realized it was Aiah, her whole face relaxed into a relieved smile.
“Hi,” Mikha greeted softly, her voice a little husky from rest.
“Hi,” Aiah replied, her tone equally gentle. She lifted the grocery bag and the flowers a little awkwardly. “Uh, I brought snacks. And ice cream. And… this.”
Mikha blinked at the bouquet. “Carnations?”
Aiah nodded, a bit shy. “They reminded me of you. Simple pero… pretty.”
Mikha laughed quietly, her cheeks flushing as she took them. “You’re so cheesy. Pero thank you. They’re beautiful.”
Inside, the air smelled faintly of vanilla candles. The lights were dim, the TV screen reflecting soft blue on the walls. They settled on the bed, legs tucked under the same blanket, sharing popcorn and quiet laughter.
“Tagal na nating hindi nagmo-movie night,” Mikha murmured, resting her head lightly against Aiah’s shoulder. “Thank you for coming.”
“Always,” Aiah whispered, heart thudding in her chest.
By the time the movie ended, Mikha had already fallen asleep—her breathing soft, steady. Aiah carefully reached for the laptop, shut it down, and placed it on the coffee table.
Then she turned back to Mikha.
The girl looked so peaceful, curled up against her. Her face, illuminated by the soft glow of the city lights outside, was finally free of the constant tension Aiah had seen for months. There were still faint marks on her skin—remnants of pain that time hadn’t fully erased—but tonight, they seemed small, almost forgotten.
Aiah reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from Mikha’s cheek. Her thumb lingered there for a moment, tracing the air just above her skin, afraid to wake her.
“Finally,” Aiah whispered, barely audible. “You’re safe now.”
And for a long moment, she simply sat there, watching Mikha sleep—her chest rising and falling softly, her lips parting with each quiet breath.
Aiah’s heart felt heavy and light all at once. Relief. Longing. Love, maybe—though she wasn’t ready to name it yet.
But as the city outside hushed into midnight silence, Aiah knew one thing for sure.
She would never let anything break Mikha again.
Aiah shifted slowly, heart pounding as she studied Mikha’s sleeping face once more. Her face was calm now, soft and unguarded in a way Aiah hadn’t seen in years. There was still a faint trace of bruising along her arm, but her breathing — steady, gentle — was proof enough that she was healing.
Aiah’s hand hovered hesitantly above Mikha’s cheek before finally giving in to the pull. Her fingers brushed lightly over her skin, careful, reverent. Then, as though drawn by something deeper than thought, she leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to Mikha’s forehead.
Then another on her closed eyelids.
And one more, lingering, on her cheek.
Each one was a confession she never had the courage to say aloud.
But before she could pull back, Mikha stirred. Her lashes fluttered open, confusion flickering before settling into recognition. Their eyes met — both wide, startled, but neither moving away.
For a long heartbeat, there was only silence.
Then Aiah whispered, her voice trembling with something between fear and longing,
“Mikha… what did you mean that night?”
Mikha blinked, her brows drawing together. “What night?”
“That night,” Aiah breathed, eyes glistening. “When you said Quentin got jealous. That you always said my name. That you smiled differently when I was around. That you stayed quiet so I wouldn’t get hurt.”
The words hung heavy in the air.
Mikha’s lips parted, but no sound came out. Her gaze fell, her breath uneven. Aiah reached for her gently, their foreheads touching in the hush between their heartbeats.
“Mikha,” Aiah whispered, almost pleading. “Please. Tell me.”
Mikha’s tears fell before the words did. “I dated him because I thought I could bury it,” she said, voice cracking. “Because I felt too much when it came to you.”
Aiah froze. The world seemed to tilt.
“I tried, Aiah,” Mikha continued, the words spilling out like she had held them too long. “I thought if I loved someone else, thinking maybe the feelings would fade. Pero hindi. Because every time I look at you, it hurts. I still want to hold you the way I never got to. I still want to say it — clearly, honestly — it’s you. It’s always been you.”
She took a shaky breath, eyes glistening. “And even if loving you means everything will turn into a mess… then fine. I’ll take the mess. Because I want it. I want you.”
Aiah’s heart clenched. “Mikha…”
She reached up, cupping Mikha’s face, her thumbs wiping at her tears. “You shouldn’t have had to protect me like that,” she murmured. “You didn’t have to go through all of that alone.”
Mikha shook her head, sobbing softly. “I couldn’t lose you.”
And that was it.
The breaking point.
Aiah pulled her close, arms wrapping around her tightly, holding her like she’d disappear if she let go. “I loved you for a long time,” she whispered against her hair. “Matagal na, Mikha.”
Mikha’s hands found their way around Aiah’s neck, gripping her like an anchor. Through her tears, she laughed — soft, aching. “Bakit ngayon lang?”
Aiah let out a shaky breath, smiling through the tears. “I was scared,” she admitted. “Scared of ruining what we had.”
Mikha pulled back just enough to cup Aiah’s face, forcing their eyes to meet. Her fingers were cold, but her touch was steady.
“Then don’t be scared now,” she whispered.
Aiah’s breath hitched. Her hands slid from Mikha’s jaw to the back of her neck. She leaned in slowly, her gaze flickering to Mikha’s lips, waiting — searching for permission.
Mikha tilted her head slightly, closing the space between them.
Their lips brushed — soft, trembling, like the first breath after drowning.
The kiss deepened just enough to feel real — a slow exhale of everything they’d kept buried. The years of silence, the pain, the love unspoken — all of it melted into that one moment.
When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads rested together, breath mingling in the soft stillness of the room. Neither spoke. There was no need for words when the silence already said everything.
Then they kissed again—firmer this time, as if to prove that what they felt was real. Mikha’s hand rose to Aiah’s neck, her voice barely a whisper against her skin.
“Stay with me tonight.”
Aiah looked at her, eyes soft but burning. “Mikha…” she murmured, before closing the space between them once more. Their lips met—gentle, searching, then deeper, heavier with meaning.
Aiah’s arms slid around Mikha’s waist, pulling her closer until Mikha’s back met the mattress. The world outside faded. There was only the warmth of their breaths, the rhythm of hearts beating in quiet agreement.
Aiah’s hands brushed against Mikha’s hair, her fingertips lingering as if memorizing every strand. She paused just to look at her—really look. Her eyes traced the faint scars and fading bruises on Mikha’s face. Tears threatened, but Mikha reached up and smiled, reassuring her without a single word.
Then Mikha cupped her cheeks, pulled her close, and began kissing her face—her forehead, her nose, her lips—each one a promise. Aiah laughed softly between the kisses, her tears breaking into quiet joy.
“Can I love you here?” Aiah asked, her voice trembling.
“Yes,” Mikha breathed, smiling. “Overdue ka na.”
Their laughter melted into another kiss—slow, tender, full of relief. The night deepened around them as they found comfort in each other’s closeness, their movements unhurried, their breaths syncing in quiet devotion.
Aiah pressed her palm over Mikha’s heart, feeling its steady beat beneath her touch. Mikha covered that hand with her own, whispering, “You feel that? That’s yours.”
In that fragile hour, love became language—spoken in glances, in touch, in the warmth of skin against skin.
They moved together gently, hands learning the contours of each other not in hunger but in remembrance. Mikha’s fingertips traced the outline of Aiah’s shoulders, her spine, her pulse. Aiah’s breath lingered over Mikha’s collarbone, her temple, her hairline — tasting the nearness without claiming it.
Every brush of skin, every shiver of breath was like poetry being written in silence. There was no rush, no boundary between them — only the slow surrender of walls that had taken years to build. The world seemed to fade until there was nothing left but their shared heartbeat, pulsing steady beneath their joined hands.
When they finally stilled, Mikha’s fingers found Aiah’s hand and guided it to her heart. The rhythm there was calm, sure — steady against Aiah’s palm. Their fingers intertwined. Mikha’s silver ring glinted softly against Aiah’s gold one—a quiet symbol of something that had always been there, even before tonight.
They lay there, faces close, breathing in sync. Sweat, warmth, and tenderness blurred the line between them. Aiah traced the curve of Mikha’s cheek, memorizing her face in the quiet. “We’re going to be okay,” she whispered, her voice breaking on the edges of belief.
Mikha smiled — tired, teary, but sure. “I know.”
Their lips met once more — soft, unhurried — a seal to all the words they couldn’t speak.
And as their fingers remained entwined, Aiah thought, Tonight, I gave her everything — my love, my heart, my soul. No matter what time takes or how life changes us, I’ll always find my way back to her.