Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Girl, you need to find a lover, or else you’ll be stuck as our forever third wheel.”

That was Sheena, leaning back in her chair, straw poking out of her iced latte as if it was pointing directly at Aiah. They were sitting outside some café after class, the three of them pressed around a tiny round table.

Jhoanna, Sheena’s girlfriend, snickered immediately, her hand casually reaching over to squeeze Sheena’s fingers like she couldn’t resist the display of affection even when it wasn’t necessary.

Aiah just sipped on her matcha, raising an eyebrow. “You guys act like it’s the end of the world. Why does everyone think I need to find someone? I’m fine.”

“Fine?” Jhoanna repeated dramatically, eyes widening as if Aiah had said she’d rather eat cardboard for the rest of her life. “You come to every party alone, you never even dance with anyone, and then you post your whole… what do you call it? Self-love monologue on Instagram the next day.”

“It’s not a monologue,” Aiah muttered, setting her cup down. “It’s called a caption. People like my captions.”

“They like laughing at them,” Sheena teased. “You literally said, ‘I date me, myself, and I. The holy trinity.’”

“That was funny,” Aiah said, though her lips tugged up because yeah, it kind of was.

Sheena and Jhoanna exchanged one of those glances couples shared when they were about to gang up on someone. Aiah recognized it instantly. She braced herself.

“You’re twenty four,” Sheena said, tapping her nails against the table. “You’ve never been in a relationship. Like—not even a little fling. You’re about to become a myth.”

Jhoanna chimed in, “Exactly. People are gonna start calling you Saint Aiah, patron of singlehood.” She put her hands together like she was praying, mock-serious. “Please grant us your wisdom, oh saintly one. Teach us how to be alone forever.”

Aiah rolled her eyes and grabbed one of Sheena’s fries without asking. “You two are disgusting. Do you not get tired of roasting me every time we sit down?”

“No,” they said in unison, and then cracked up.

It wasn’t like Aiah hated love.

She didn’t roll her eyes every time she saw people holding hands or sneer when someone posted a cute anniversary story. She just didn’t feel the same pull everyone else seemed to. When classmates confessed, she didn’t feel butterflies or even the urge to test it out.

Instead, there was just this hollow politeness, and the words came automatically—

“Sorry, I’m not interested, but thank you.”

Every rejection made her friends look at her like she was hiding something. Like she had some secret reason, a heartbreak in her past or a person she couldn’t get over.

But the truth was simpler. She just wasn’t interested. At least, not in the way everyone expected.

Jhoanna leaned her chin on her palm, eyes glittering mischievously. “What about Marco? He asked you out last month, right? He’s cute, tall, basketball varsity. What’s wrong with him?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Aiah said, flicking a crumb off her skirt. “He’s just not for me.”

“Not for you?” Sheena repeated like the phrase was ridiculous. “You didn’t even give him a chance. You said no before he could even finish his sentence.”

“Yeah, because I knew I didn’t want to,” Aiah said simply. “Why waste both our time?”

That earned her groans from both girls. Jhoanna even slapped the table for dramatic effect. “You’re impossible. Do you know how many people would kill to have even half the options you get? And you’re just rejecting left and right like you’re some queen choosing servants.”

Aiah snorted. “If I’m a queen, then that means I don’t need anyone else to sit on the throne with me. Problem solved.”

Sheena gave her a look, part exasperated, part amused. “You keep saying that now. But one day, it’s gonna hit you. You’ll look at us being all happy and realize you want it too.”

Aiah leaned back in her chair, stretching her arms. “Or maybe one day, you’ll realize I was right, and being alone isn’t the end of the world.”

The conversation spiraled the way it always did—Sheena and Jhoanna teasing her relentlessly, Aiah deflecting with sarcasm and stolen fries. They talked about the next party coming up, about who was hosting, about whether or not Jhoanna would wear that sparkly red dress again because Sheena couldn’t stop staring at her whenever she did.

Aiah laughed at their antics, the easy back-and-forth, the comfort of sitting with people who didn’t mind her contradictions.

She knew they didn’t mean harm when they pushed her about love. To them, relationships were natural, a thing to want, to chase, to celebrate.

To her, it was something that never even crossed her mind unless they brought it up.

It wasn’t loneliness. She never felt empty going home alone, never stared at her phone waiting for a goodnight text that didn’t come. Her life was full enough—studies, work, nights out with these two fools, her own little rituals of journaling and taking herself out for coffee.

Sheena reached over to steal her matcha, only to grimace after a sip. “Ugh. How do you drink this grass water?”

“Because it’s good,” Aiah said, snatching it back. “Unlike your sugar soup.” She pointed at Sheena’s latte drowning in syrup.

Jhoanna giggled, sliding her hand into Sheena’s again, fingers laced tight. “See, babe, this is why she needs a girlfriend. Someone who actually understands her weird tastes.”

“Or,” Aiah said, standing up to stretch as the sun dipped low, “I keep drinking my grass water alone and don’t have to share it with anyone. Win-win.”

Minutes later, Aiah excused herself to the bathroom, Sheena’s phone lit up on the table, buzzing nonstop with the kind of chaotic notifications that only came from their group chat.

She leaned forward, already groaning because she knew exactly which friend it was without even opening.

“God,” she muttered, unlocking it. “It’s her again.”

Jhoanna perked up immediately, sipping her drink. “What now?”

Sheena tilted the screen toward her. Their chaotic group chat was blowing up with Stacey’s chats.

1:23 PM

From: Stacey

I’m so single I’m gonna die fuuuckkkkk

1:24 PM

From: Stacey

Literally no one wants my ass dude

1:24 PM

From: Stacey

I’m gonna become a nun at this point

1:25 PM

From: Stacey

Who wants to bury my ass bro. Meet up now pls.

Jhoanna almost spat her drink back into the cup. “Oh my god. Didn’t she just break up with someone last week?”

“Yes!” Sheena scrolled up rapidly, pointing at the receipts. “Here, look. Mikha’s active.”

1:26 PM

From: Mikha

Girl, you literally dumped Paolo just 4 days ago

1:26 PM

From: Mikha

And before him it was Eric??

1:27 PM

From: Mikha

AND before him, it was Gabby. Do you even rest?

And Stacey, true to form, had replied instantly—

1:27 PM

From: Stacey

It’s different! None of them were real. Didn’t feel the spark, you know.

“None of them were real,” Sheena read aloud with a scoff. “Stacey and her dramatic ass. Like what does that even mean?”

Jhoanna leaned closer, eyes twinkling with amusement. “She acts like she’s starring in some telenovela every week. She’s literally a model, she should be booked and busy, not crying to us about imaginary soulmates at two in the afternoon.”

As if on cue, another bubble popped up.

1:28 PM

From: Stacey

Do you guys think it’s because I’m cursed or something

1:29 PM

From: Stacey

Like a love curse

1:29 PM

From: Stacey

This is my villain origin story fuck life dude

Sheena slapped a hand over her face. “I can’t with her. I swear, it’s like whiplash comparing her to Aiah. One’s convinced she’ll die alone, the other’s convinced she’s thriving alone.”

Jhoanna started giggling so hard her shoulders shook. “Literally polar opposites. If we threw them into a room together, they’d either kill each other or balance out the universe.”

“Balance out the universe,” Sheena repeated dryly, scrolling further. “Listen to this—”

1:30 PM

From: Mikha

You literally had three boyfriends this month

1:31 PM

From: Mikha

What media training do you have crying like this in public chat.

1:33 PM

From: Maloi

LMFAOOOOO

1:33 PM

From: Maloi

You’re not even single long enough for me to update your contact name properly

And Stacey, relentless:

1:35 PM

From: Stacey

STOP BRINGING UP THE PAST GOOD LORD

1:35 PM

From: Stacey

Why do you hate me

1:36 PM

From: Stacey

Can’t you see I’m suffering!!?!

Sheena and Jhoanna both collapsed into laughter at that. A couple sitting near their table glanced over in mild irritation, but neither cared.

“She’s unreal,” Jhoanna said between giggles. “You know what? I’m starting to think Stacey’s addicted to the drama more than the actual guys.”

“She definitely is,” Sheena agreed. “It’s like a cycle. Cry about being single, find some poor guy, post cute pictures, break up in two weeks, cry again. Rinse, repeat.”

Jhoanna leaned in conspiratorially, lowering her voice even though no one else could hear. “Do you think she even remembers all their names? Like in order?”

Sheena barked out a laugh. “Please. She probably has to scroll through her camera roll to check.”

The phone buzzed again, and Sheena tapped it open. Another stream of Stacey’s melodrama filled the screen.

1:39 PM

From: Stacey

NO ONE UNDERSTANDS

1:40 PM

From: Stacey

I’m beautiful BUT unlovable

1:40 PM

From: Stacey

I’m gonna fucking rot alone like milk left outside.

That sent Jhoanna over the edge—she clutched her stomach, nearly tipping her chair back. “Rot alone like milk—oh my God, someone take her phone away.”

“Maloi already tried,” Sheena said, scrolling up again. “Look.”

1:42 PM

From: Maloi

Staks log off plz

1:43 PM

From: Maloi

We love you but PLEASE

1:43 PM

From: Mikha

I’m so gonna block you for three hours. Go touch grass.

But of course, Stacey was undeterred.

1:44 PM

From: Stacey

BLOCK ME THEN

1:45 PM

From: Stacey

You’ll regret it when I’m dead from loneliness!!

1:45 PM

From: Stacey

And you have to carry my CASKET.

The chat was an absolute circus, and Sheena just shook her head, shoving a fry into her mouth. “You know, sometimes I wonder how we ended up friends with her. She’s so—”

“Chaotic?” Jhoanna offered.

“Unhinged,” Sheena corrected.

Jhoanna nodded thoughtfully. “But like in a lovable way. Kind of.”

“She drives me insane,” Sheena muttered, though the tiny smirk at the corner of her mouth betrayed her fondness. “Honestly, though, she should meet Aiah. Imagine Aiah’s blank-face rejection energy versus Stacey’s crying-over-being-single energy. That’s a show I’d pay to see.”

Jhoanna burst out laughing again, shaking her head. “Please. Aiah would just stare at her, say ‘you’ll live,’ and walk away.”

“And Stacey would write a whole monologue about how heartless she is,” Sheena added, giggling into her drink. “God, our friend group is a mess.”

The phone buzzed again, the chat relentless. Stacey’s name popped up once more:

1:48 PM

From: Stacey

Does anyone wanna date me for fun???

1:48 PM

From: Stacey

You four know I’m funny anyway

1:49 PM

From: Stacey

And I cook sometimes

That line made both Sheena and Jhoanna snort at the same time, nearly choking.

“She can’t even boil water,” Sheena whispered.

“She burned rice,” Jhoanna reminded her.

“Twice!”

When Aiah came back, wiping her damp hands on her jeans, she squinted at the two idiots across the table. Sheena had her forehead pressed to the back of her hand, shoulders shaking, while Jhoanna was biting her straw like it was the only thing keeping her from howling.

Both of them were red in the face, stifling their laughter so hard it looked painful.

“What,” Aiah said flatly, narrowing her eyes.

The two of them immediately snapped their heads up, trying—and failing—to compose themselves. Jhoanna coughed into her cup like she could cover it, and Sheena slapped on the fakest poker face imaginable.

“Nothing,” Sheena said, voice already cracking.

“Uh-huh.” Aiah sat down slowly, suspicion written all over her face. She grabbed her drink again, eyes darting between them. “You guys look like you just witnessed a crime.”

“We did,” Jhoanna whispered dramatically, which set Sheena off again.

“Seriously,” Aiah pressed, brows furrowing. “Why are you laughing like hyenas? Did someone text?”

At that, Sheena and Jhoanna froze. Their eyes flicked to each other, then back to Aiah, then back to each other again, like they were silently communicating. It was that couple telepathy thing they did—whole conversations exchanged with a single look.

And then, almost at the same time, their expressions shifted. Wide-eyed, like a bulb had gone off in their heads. An idea. A dangerous one, if Aiah judged correctly.

“What,” Aiah repeated, slower this time, a touch of dread curling into her tone.

But instead of answering, Jhoanna leaned back in her chair, lips twitching like she was trying not to grin. Sheena’s eyebrows were raised just slightly too high, feigning innocence in the most suspicious way possible.

“You know,” Jhoanna started carefully, tapping her straw against her cup, “it’s kind of funny…”

Aiah narrowed her gaze. “What’s funny?”

“That we’ve never…” Sheena picked up the thread, twirling one of her fries like it was part of her performance, “…properly introduced you to some of our other friends.”

Aiah blinked, deadpan. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Sheena and Jhoanna exchanged another loaded glance. Aiah hated when they did this—plotting something without saying it out loud, making her feel like the only clueless one in the room. Her frown deepened.

“What are you two scheming now?” she asked, leaning back with her arms crossed.

“Nothing!” they said at the same time, too quickly, which of course made it sound like everything.

Aiah rolled her eyes. “You’re both terrible liars.”

Jhoanna giggled under her breath, leaning closer across the table like she couldn’t keep it in. “Okay, okay—don’t get mad—but we were just thinking…”

“Thinking what?” Aiah’s tone sharpened, her suspicion turning into mild annoyance.

“That you should meet Stacey,” Sheena blurted.

The name hung in the air, meaningless to Aiah. She stared at them blankly. “Stacey who?”

“Our friend,” Jhoanna jumped in, eager now. “She’s not in our class, you wouldn’t know her. But she’s… well…” She trailed off, looking at Sheena like she needed help finding the right word.

“She’s the complete opposite of you,” Sheena finished, her lips twitching again like she was holding back laughter.

Aiah tilted her head, unimpressed. “Meaning?”

Sheena set her drink down, leaning forward with mock gravity. “You, my dear Aiah, are the queen of rejecting every poor soul who dares to breathe near you. Meanwhile, Stacey is…”

“A mess,” Jhoanna supplied cheerfully.

“Yeah. A lovesick, dramatic mess,” Sheena agreed. “Always crying about being single. Always begging for love. Literally your polar opposite.”

Aiah’s expression didn’t budge. She took a slow sip of her drink, unimpressed. “Sounds exhausting.”

“Exactly!” Jhoanna’s grin widened. “Which is why you have to meet her.”

“No,” Aiah said immediately.

“You didn’t even think about it,” Sheena groaned.

“Didn’t need to.”

Jhoanna leaned forward eagerly, eyes shining with mischief. “But imagine it. You—Miss Ice Queen who rejects everyone—versus Stacey—Miss Drama Queen who cries about being unloved. If you two ever shared a room, it would be…”

“Chaos,” Sheena said, nodding firmly.

“Comedy gold,” Jhoanna added.

“A car crash I wouldn’t want to watch,” Aiah muttered, stabbing at the last fry.

Sheena smirked. “Oh, you’d watch. You’d be in it.”

Aiah groaned, dropping her head into her hand. “You two are insufferable. Don’t drag me into your matchmaking schemes.”

“It’s not matchmaking,” Jhoanna sing-songed. “It’s scientific curiosity.”

“Yeah,” Sheena said with a grin. “An experiment. What happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object?”

Aiah gave them both a flat look. “You’re calling me an immovable object?”

“Yup,” Sheena said, popping the last fry into her mouth.

“And Stacey’s definitely the unstoppable force,” Jhoanna giggled. “Of drama, anyway.”

Aiah shook her head, exhaling like she’d wasted oxygen even sitting back down. She didn’t care who this Stacey was, or why her two friends suddenly looked like mad scientists on the brink of discovery. All she knew was that whatever idea had just lit up in their heads, it was bad news for her.

She didn’t know how yet. But judging from the way they were both trying (and failing) to suppress their smug grins, she had a sinking feeling she was about to find out.

So she groaned and leaned back in her chair, covering her face with one hand like she was already ten steps ahead of whatever ridiculous scheme was being brewed.

“You two can stop with the mad scientist eyes. Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not happening.”

“Why not?” Sheena challenged, smirk tugging at her lips.

“Because,” Aiah dropped her hand and gave them both a tired look, “I’m booked the entire week. Literally every day. Shoots back-to-back, editing until ungodly hours. If I even think about adding ‘meeting some random drama queen’ to my calendar, I’ll collapse and you’ll both have blood on your hands.”

Jhoanna pouted, leaning on the table like a child denied candy. “Oh, come on. One hour, that’s all we’re asking.”

“One hour is one hour too many,” Aiah shot back. “Do you even understand how rare it is for me to sit here with you two right now? Today’s a miracle. A whole planetary alignment. Stars shifted just so I could sip this stupid matcha in peace. And you’re trying to use it to set me up?”

Sheena raised a brow. “We’re not trying to set you up! We just want you to meet her.”

Aiah snorted. “Which is just code for ‘set me up.’”

“No,” Jhoanna said, smiling far too sweetly. “We swear. Just a casual hangout. No pressure.”

“Yeah, no pressure,” Sheena echoed with mock innocence. “Just introducing two friends. Totally harmless.”

Aiah let her head thunk against the back of her chair. “You guys are unbearable.”

They ignored her sulking, of course. They always did.

The truth was, Aiah’s schedule really was relentless. Since graduating, she’d been hustling nonstop as a freelance photographer, taking whatever jobs came her way—product shoots, portraits, even the occasional event coverage.

Some weeks she felt like she barely slept, juggling deadlines and lugging her camera bag around like it was an extra limb. People thought freelancing meant freedom, but for her, it mostly meant being permanently tired and permanently wired on caffeine.

This week alone she had a fashion shoot tomorrow, editing from the weekend’s wedding stacked up, and another booking lined up for Friday. Saturday she promised to cover some indie band’s gig for a friend. Sunday was supposed to be her rest day, but she already knew she’d end up behind her laptop color-correcting until her eyes blurred.

So yeah—today, sitting outside this café with Sheena and Jhoanna laughing at God-knows-what, was nothing short of miraculous. She almost hadn’t come, citing exhaustion as usual, but something told her to at least make an effort.

And now, instead of basking in her rare pocket of free time, she was being harassed about some stranger named Stacey.

Sheena tilted her head, studying Aiah like she was a puzzle piece. “You really don’t want to meet her? Not even just to hang out?”

“Not even if you paid me,” Aiah said, dead serious.

Jhoanna sighed, sitting back with exaggerated defeat. “You’re no fun.”

“I told you that when you invited me,” Aiah replied dryly, grabbing her drink again.

But Sheena wasn’t done. She leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm with a sly grin. “You know, we could always bring Stacey to you.”

Aiah’s eyes snapped to her, horrified. “Don’t you dare.”

Jhoanna’s laugh bubbled out immediately, delighted at the idea. “Oh my God, yes. Surprise introduction. Imagine Aiah’s face.”

“Imagine my wrath,” Aiah countered. “Do you want to die? Because that’s how you die.”

The couple broke into giggles again, clearly enjoying themselves.

Aiah dragged a hand down her face. She didn’t have the energy for this. All she wanted was a quiet coffee, a few fries stolen from Sheena, and maybe to go home early enough to actually sleep. But of course, with these two, peace was a luxury she was never going to get.

“I’m serious,” she muttered, half into her hand. “Don’t try anything this week. I don’t have the time or the patience.”

“Fine,” Sheena said, but the smirk on her lips betrayed her.

“Fine,” Jhoanna echoed, already grinning.

Aiah groaned again. They were absolutely going to try something, and she hated how powerless she felt against their scheming.

“God help me,” she muttered, staring down at the dregs of her matcha like it held the answers to her suffering.

…

By the time Aiah finally shut her laptop, her eyes were burning. It was past two in the morning, and she’d just wrapped up the last batch of edits for her classmates who thought “exposure” counted as payment.

At least these ones had paid her a little—enough to justify the long hours hunched over Lightroom, adjusting colors until her back screamed for mercy. She leaned back, cracking her knuckles, and rubbed her neck.

Her phone buzzed against the table. Once, twice, then a relentless stream that made her groan. She grabbed it, expecting maybe a client chasing revisions or some last-minute reschedule. Instead, the screen lit up with the name she least wanted to see this late at night: Sheena.

And, of course, their group chat with Jhoanna.

She opened it and immediately regretted it.

SHEENA: ok but listen to me aiah

SHEENA: just LISTEN

JHOANNA: babe shes going to block u

SHEENA: no bc im making sense rn

Aiah rubbed her temples. Of course.

Before she could even type, another flood came in.

SHEENA: we can work around ur sched

SHEENA: like we KNOW ur busy

SHEENA: but ur not THAT busy all the time

JHOANNA: yeah just tell us a free day and we’ll make it happen

SHEENA: YES exactly see this is why we’re dating bc we share 1 braincell

Aiah slumped forward, forehead pressed to her desk. She typed with one hand.

AIAH: it’s 2 AM.

AIAH: i just finished work. why are you like this.

They answered instantly, like they’d been waiting for her to come online.

SHEENA: bc we love you <3

SHEENA: and bc ur being stubborn

JHOANNA: very very stubborn

Aiah sighed. Her thumb hovered, debating between muting the chat and humoring them. She should mute it. She really should. But she knew them—muting would only buy her peace until they called her directly.

So she typed.

AIAH: i told you already. no.

AIAH: i’m booked this week.

Seconds later, the typing bubbles appeared again.

SHEENA: ok but next week??

SHEENA: or the week after??

JHOANNA: we’ll literally wait for whenever ur free

SHEENA: we’ll drag stacey into ur schedule like a dentist appointment

Aiah groaned out loud, flopping onto her bed dramatically even though no one could see her. She stared at the ceiling, thumb hovering over the keyboard again.

AIAH: you two are insufferable.

Sheena sent back a selfie immediately—her in bed, messy hair, grinning smugly with a thumbs-up.

SHEENA: thank u <3

Jhoanna followed it with her own selfie, peace sign, face half hidden under her blanket.

JHOANNA: consider it our gift. we find u friends so u dont rot behind ur laptop.

Aiah actually laughed under her breath at that, but she quickly covered it with another sharp reply.

AIAH: i don’t need more friends. i don’t need anyone.

AIAH: pls let me die in peace.

SHEENA: oh my god she’s DRAMATIC too

JHOANNA: she and stacey are gonna get along so well HAHA

Aiah sat up, horrified at the thought.

AIAH: stop. don’t even joke.

SHEENA: oh we’re not joking babe.

JHOANNA: we’re dead serious.

Her phone buzzed again and again, their energy endless even at two in the morning.

Meanwhile, she was barely awake, eyelids heavy from staring at a screen all day. She wanted to tell them off, to throw her phone across the room, but her fingers still moved, still responded, because this was their rhythm.

And beneath her annoyance, she knew they weren’t trying to torture her. They just wanted to wedge her into their idea of what “happy” looked like. Couples. Friends. Late-night chaos. They couldn’t fathom that maybe she was already fine as she was.

She yawned, tossed her phone onto the pillow beside her, and typed one last thing before her eyes finally gave out.

AIAH: schedule all you want. i’ll be busy forever. goodnight.

The typing bubbles popped up again, but she didn’t wait to see what they said. She rolled over, buried her face into her blanket, and let exhaustion drag her under—her phone still buzzing faintly against the pillow like a reminder that her two best friends were never going to let this go.

…

The sunlight was sharp when it finally forced its way into her room, cutting through the blinds and landing squarely on her face. Aiah groaned and yanked the blanket higher, but it was useless; the warmth had already stirred her awake.

Her phone was still by her pillow, faintly buzzing at some ungodly hour earlier, probably Sheena and Jhoanna sending more garbage memes or continuing their “Introduce Stacey” campaign. She didn’t bother checking right away. Her body felt like lead, muscles sore from staying hunched at her desk last night, and her brain was thick with leftover exhaustion.

She rubbed her eyes and sat up slowly, hair sticking out in every possible direction. First thing she did, like always, was check her phone. Emails first, socials later.

Her thumb dragged across the screen lazily, fully expecting nothing more than a client follow-up or another late payment notice.

But then she froze.

Right there, bolded at the top of her inbox, was a name she recognized immediately. A huge name. Aiah blinked hard, making sure she wasn’t seeing things. The sender’s domain alone was enough to make her heart skip—it was the official email of one of the region’s biggest modeling companies. Not just a brand. Not just some middleman agency.

This was the kind of company her classmates whispered about when they daydreamed out loud. The kind of company her old professors used as examples when they said, “This is the big leagues.”

She clicked it open with trembling fingers.

Subject: Scheduling a Shoot – ST8FEM Collaboration

Her stomach dropped. She skimmed the body of the email once, twice, then a third time because her brain refused to process it the first two rounds.

They wanted her.

Her photography.

They were inquiring about her availability to work on a campaign—an actual campaign—for their upcoming seasonal line. They had seen her portfolio, someone had recommended her, they liked her eye for color and composition, and they wanted to discuss scheduling a shoot today.

Today.

Aiah slammed her laptop open with a speed she didn’t think she had in the morning, fumbling with her password. Her inbox lit up again, and she opened the email on the bigger screen, rereading every line carefully to make sure this wasn’t some scam.

But no—it was real. The signatures, the contact details, even the NDA link attached for her to review. Legitimate.

Her pulse hammered in her throat.

For a moment, she just sat there, staring at the screen. Her tiny room, cluttered with hard drives, tripods, and laundry she hadn’t folded, suddenly felt way too small to contain the enormity of what had just happened.

She had been grinding for months—taking whatever jobs she could, saying yes to gigs that paid just enough for groceries, editing until her head pounded.

And now this landed in her lap. Out of nowhere.

Her first reaction wasn’t joy. Not yet. It was disbelief.

“Is this real?” she muttered to no one, pulling her knees up to her chest as she scrolled through the email again. “No way. No way they actually want me.”

She thought of all the times she told Sheena and Jhoanna she was busy. The way they teased her, saying she used work as an excuse to dodge people, to dodge life. And maybe they weren’t completely wrong—she did hide in her work, bury herself under tasks so she wouldn’t have to think about what she was missing.

But this? This was why she did it. For moments like this. For the chance to prove herself in front of the people who mattered.

Her hands itched to pick up her camera right that second. She could already imagine the pressure of stepping onto a professional set, surrounded by models and stylists and company reps, her job being to capture it all in a way that made sense, in a way that mattered.

But underneath the adrenaline, the panic set in too.

Today. They wanted her today.

She glanced at the clock—barely nine in the morning. Her first instinct was to say no, to beg for a later schedule, to buy herself time to prepare, to breathe.

But she knew better. Opportunities like this didn’t wait. If they wanted her today, she’d move mountains to make it happen.

Still, her brain was spiraling.

Did she even have the right outfits to look presentable? Did she need to bring her own gear, or would the studio have some? What if she messed up? What if she walked into that set and froze, suddenly unable to see the shot, unable to translate what was in her head into the camera?

Her inbox blinked with another unread message. She jumped. It was from the same company—short, polite, just asking if she’d seen their initial email and if she could confirm her availability.

She nearly dropped her laptop.

Aiah buried her face in her hands, letting out a long, muffled groan. Her heart was racing, her stomach twisting, her head buzzing so loud she couldn’t hear her own thoughts. She wanted to scream. She wanted to laugh. She wanted to cry. All at once.

When she finally looked up again, her reflection on the darkened side of the laptop screen caught her attention. Hair a mess, dark circles under her eyes, still wearing the same oversized shirt from last night’s editing marathon. And she thought: This is the girl they want to hire?

It felt absurd.

But then, a small voice in her head whispered: Yes. You. They want you.

Her lips curved upward, just a little. Not the full-blown grin Sheena or Jhoanna would’ve plastered on in her place, but a quiet, trembling smile.

The kind you wore when you couldn’t quite believe it yet but hoped it was true.

She pulled her phone close, thumbs flying across the screen. Sheena and Jhoanna’s chat was still filled with messages from last night, more memes and dramatic Stacey updates she hadn’t bothered to scroll through. For once, though, she didn’t feel annoyed. She typed quickly:

AIAH: guess who just got an email from ST8FEM

AIAH: they want me on a shoot. today.

Her phone lit up almost immediately after she dropped the bomb in the group chat. Sheena was the first to reply, of course—she was a chronic over-texter.

SHEENA: AIAHHHHHHH

SHEENA: STOP.

SHEENA: STOP RIGHT NOW.

SHEENA: ARE U FR?!!??

Aiah rolled her eyes, grinning despite herself. Before she could even type back, Jhoanna’s messages started flooding in too.

JHOANNA: NO WAY. NO. ACTUAL. WAY.

JHOANNA: THE COMPANY??? LIKE THE COMPANY??

JHOANNA: TODAY???

Aiah was pacing around her room, phone in one hand, half-zipped camera bag dangling from the other. “Yes, today,” she muttered to herself like they could hear her through the screen.

The chat blew up again.

SHEENA: OH MY GOD

SHEENA: U NEED CLOTHES. LIKE GOOD CLOTHES. NOT THE SAME 3 SHIRTS U WEAR TO CLASS.

SHEENA: I SWEAR IF U SHOW UP IN THAT FROG SHIRT IM—

Aiah glanced down at her oversized green shirt with a cartoon frog plastered across the front. “…Okay, valid,” she whispered.

JHOANNA: Clothes later. First: professors.

JHOANNA: I got you. You’re excused. Just say you had to go save the economy or whatever.

Aiah barked out a laugh, dropping her bag on the bed. “Save the economy, huh? Sure, why not.”

The messages kept coming, ping after ping, until her notifications were a solid wall of chaos.

SHEENA: Wait wait wait. Do u even OWN something presentable???

SHEENA: Like. Do u???

JHOANNA: She doesn’t. She’s lying if she says yes.

SHEENA: She’s def lying.

AIAH: I can read u know.

SHEENA: GOOD. THEN READ THIS: BUY. CLOTHES.

Aiah groaned and tossed herself onto the bed, legs dangling off the edge as she typed furiously back.

AIAH: I don’t have time for a fashion show right now. I literally have like… a couple hours tops.

SHEENA: THEN WE BRING THE FASHION SHOW TO YOU.

SHEENA: I have a blazer u can borrow.

JHOANNA: I got like 6 button ups. Some of them clean. Maybe.

AIAH: “maybe” doesn’t give me confidence.

JHOANNA: It’s called rustic charm.

Aiah laughed so loud her neighbor probably heard. Sheena’s typing bubble popped up again.

SHEENA: No but seriously. This is big. Don’t show up looking like u just crawled out of Lightroom.

SHEENA: U need to look like u BELONG there. Like u accidentally got lost on ur way to a Vogue cover.

Aiah squinted at the screen. “Okay, dramatic.” But she couldn’t help the warmth rising in her chest. For all their chaos, her friends were… well, they were invested. Like really invested.

She finally dragged herself up and rifled through her closet, holding the phone under her chin so she could type between hangers.

AIAH: I have a black sweater. Does that count.

JHOANNA: NO.

SHEENA: NO.

SHEENA: R u kidding me. Sweater?? In this heat?? U trying to pass out on set???

JHOANNA: No but imagine she does. Instant drama. Instant headlines.

SHEENA: STOP.

Aiah wheezed, nearly dropping her phone into the pile of unfolded laundry.

AIAH: Look, I’ll figure it out. Camera’s packed. Batteries charged. Lenses good. That’s the important part.

SHEENA: Yes. But also clothes.

JHOANNA: She’s right. Listen to ur fashion mom.

Sheena sent three eye-roll emojis in a row.

Then Jhoanna fired off another message.

JHOANNA: Okay but like—logistics. Class today. Do u want me to actually email profs for you?? Cuz I will. I’ll say you’re shooting the president.

AIAH: Please don’t.

JHOANNA: Too late.

Aiah slapped a hand over her face. She could already imagine it: her professors opening their inboxes and seeing “Aiah can’t attend class today because she’s busy photographing the head of state.” Great. Just great.

She typed furiously.

AIAH: Don’t make me a liar before I even get to the shoot.

JHOANNA: Fine. Prime minister then.

Sheena sent the longest sigh emoji chain possible.

The room around Aiah was now a battlefield—open laptop buzzing with unread emails, half-stuffed camera bag spilling cords and batteries, a pile of clothes she still hadn’t committed to. Her head was spinning. But her phone kept buzzing like a tiny, supportive, deeply annoying cheerleading squad.

SHEENA: U got this. Seriously.

SHEENA: Like… this is it, Aiah. All the nights u ghosted us for edits. All the times u said “sorry can’t, work.” It’s for THIS.

JHOANNA: Yeah. We joke but. We’re proud.

SHEENA: So proud.

Aiah froze mid-throw of a shirt. For a second, the noise in her brain quieted. Proud. That word sat heavy and warm at the same time.

She plopped down on the floor, phone resting on her knees, staring at their messages. It was dumb, but her throat tightened a little. She typed back quickly before she could overthink it.

AIAH: …ok stop. ur gonna make me cry before the shoot.

SHEENA: GOOD. Emotional tears = hydrated skin.

JHOANNA: Scientifically proven.

Aiah snorted so hard she nearly choked. “You guys are the worst,” she muttered, grinning like an idiot.

The notifications kept coming, lighter now—jokes about bringing confetti to her house, about making a fan club banner. She shook her head, finally shoving a halfway-decent button-up into her bag along with her gear.

It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t glamorous. But it was her.

Aiah’s thumbs flew across the screen, still buzzing from the flurry of notifications.

AIAH: ok enough. im gonna shower. stop blowing my phone up.

She dropped her phone on the desk with a dramatic sigh, peeled off her frog shirt, and headed to the bathroom. Steam began to fill the tiny space within minutes, her hair plastered to her back, and she let herself breathe under the spray.

The chaos of the morning was still spinning in her head, but at least the water helped slow her down. For once she could focus on something simple. Shampoo, rinse, conditioner, rinse again.

By the time she stepped out, towel knotted tightly around her chest, she felt a little steadier. Ready, even. She padded barefoot back into her room, dragging another towel through her dripping hair—

And then froze.

Because standing right there, like she owned the place, was Sheena.

“What—” Aiah nearly dropped the towel. “What the actual hell are you doing here?”

Sheena just grinned like she’d caught Aiah in a scandal. “Hi, bestie. Don’t mind me. Just breaking and entering. You know, casual.”

“Breaking?!” Aiah sputtered. “You have a key!”

“Semantics.” Sheena waved her off, already eyeing the piles of clothes on the bed with a critical gaze. “Wow. This is worse than I thought. You’d actually show up in… this?”

Before Aiah could snap back, the door swung open again and Jhoanna slipped in, arms full of hangers. Dresses, blazers, a couple button-ups that definitely weren’t Aiah’s style but looked pressed and neat. She set them down like a personal stylist on duty.

“Alright,” Jhoanna announced, clapping her hands together. “Try on everything. We’ll pick the best one.”

Aiah’s glare could’ve killed. She jabbed a finger toward her towel. “HELLO? Do you not see me right now? I am naked under this!”

Sheena gasped dramatically. “What! Aiah, no underwear?!” She clutched her chest. “Think of the children!”

“There ARE no children!” Aiah threw her head back, exasperated.

Jhoanna was already spreading clothes across the bed like a boutique display. “Then put some on. We don’t have all day. Come on, underwear takes like two seconds.”

“Two seconds?!” Aiah sputtered. “Do you want me to flash you right here?!”

Sheena leaned against the wall, smirking. “Well, not complaining—”

“Sheena.” Jhoanna gave her girlfriend the sharpest look, then turned back to Aiah with a shrug. “Okay, fine. Go get dressed. But you’re trying these on. No excuses.”

Aiah groaned, dragging her hands down her face. She hadn’t even dried properly yet. Water was dripping onto the floor, her towel was loosening, and these two lunatics had turned her room into a fashion runway.

“Why do I let you have keys again?” she muttered.

“Because you love us,” Sheena said sweetly, already snapping photos of the clothes lineup like this was a behind-the-scenes moment.

Aiah shot her the deadliest glare. “Delete. That. Now.”

“Nope. Memories,” Sheena chirped, hiding her phone behind her back.

Meanwhile, Jhoanna was holding up a beige blazer against herself, squinting as if she were already styling Aiah in her head. “Okay, but like, hear me out. This with some fitted pants and your hair down—chef’s kiss. You’ll look like a corporate assassin.”

“I don’t own fitted pants!” Aiah groaned, stomping toward her drawers.

“Then we improvise,” Jhoanna said calmly, unbothered as always.

Sheena perched on the edge of the bed, kicking her legs. “Honestly, I’m just impressed you own underwear. With how often you live in those giant shirts, I thought maybe you gave up on them entirely.”

Aiah yanked a drawer open so hard it almost fell off the rail. “Do you want me to throw this at you?” she hissed, holding up a bra threateningly.

Sheena only laughed. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Jhoanna shook her head but smiled, clearly amused despite herself. “You’re wasting time, Aiah. Just put the underwear on, then we can get started. The shoot won’t wait for you to complain.”

Muttering under her breath, Aiah stormed back into the bathroom with underwear in hand, towel clinging for dear life. From the other side of the door she could hear Sheena humming loudly—loud enough to be obnoxious, of course—and Jhoanna rearranging the clothes like a stylist prepping a client.

“This is harassment!” Aiah yelled through the door.

“Love and support!” Sheena yelled back.

“Same thing!” Jhoanna added cheerfully.

By the time Aiah re-emerged—this time decently clothed in the basics—her face was burning. She yanked at the hem of her shirt as if that would shield her from their teasing.

“There. Happy?” she snapped.

Jhoanna shoved a button-up into her hands. “Happier when you put this on.”

Aiah groaned so loudly it rattled the windows, but she obeyed anyway, slipping into the shirt while muttering curses under her breath. Sheena, of course, took another picture.

“Delete it!” Aiah barked.

“No,” Sheena said, grinning. “This is gold.”

Jhoanna stepped back, eyeing the fit critically. “Hmm. Needs ironing. But it works. Try the blazer next.”

Aiah’s soul left her body. “Kill me now.”

But she slipped the blazer on anyway, shoulders slumping like a child forced into Sunday church clothes.

And of course—of course—Sheena cooed, “Aww, look at our little professional. All grown up.”

“I’m going to strangle you both,” Aiah muttered, tugging at the sleeves.

By the time they got through round three of “let’s humiliate Aiah in her own apartment,” the three of them were already sweating. Jhoanna had vetoed two blazers, Sheena had vetoed a dress (“you look like you’re going to a baptism, not a shoot”), and Aiah had vetoed everything else on sheer principle.

Eventually, though, they circled back to the first choice—the beige blazer with the crisp button-up underneath. Aiah looked at herself in the mirror, squinting. It wasn’t flashy, but it wasn’t tragic either.

Just professional. Which, she guessed, was the point.

“Fine,” she muttered, tugging at the sleeves. “This’ll do.”

Sheena tilted her head, chewing on her lip. “It’s okay. But the hair—”

“I’ll tie it,” Aiah cut in quickly, already reaching for a hair tie. She dragged her damp hair up and twisted it into a bun at the back of her head, securing it with a couple of pins. The look in the mirror was sharp. Clean.

“There.” She dusted her hands off like she’d solved a complex equation. “Professional enough.”

Jhoanna squinted at her reflection and made a face. “It’s… neat,” she admitted reluctantly.

“Messy,” Sheena added, tilting her head.

“Messy neat,” Jhoanna corrected, glancing at Sheena with a little smirk.

Aiah sighed. “So which is it? Neat or messy?”

“Both,” the two answered in perfect sync, then shrugged.

Aiah groaned. “You’re hopeless.” Still, she didn’t take the bun down. It was practical. And practical worked.

As a finishing touch, she reached over to her desk and grabbed her specs. She almost never wore them out—contacts were easier—but her eyes were burning from the late-night editing spree. She slid the glasses on, adjusting them carefully on her nose.

Sheena let out a soft whistle. “Well, well. Look at you, Miss CEO.”

Jhoanna elbowed her. “Nah. She’s more like the artsy professor who grades too harsh but secretly cares.”

Aiah gave them both the blankest look possible. “I’m literally just trying not to look like a disaster. Please.”

But she couldn’t hide the little exhale that slipped out of her chest. Specs, bun, blazer. Her reflection didn’t scream “frazzled freelance photographer who hasn’t folded laundry in weeks.”

It actually screamed reliable. The kind of person who could walk into a shoot and hold her ground.

Good enough.

She turned away from the mirror and crouched by her bag again, double-checking her gear. Batteries, lenses, memory cards, charger—check, check, check, check. She shoved a granola bar into the side pocket, because knowing her, she’d forget to eat until she was fainting.

Behind her, Sheena and Jhoanna had flopped onto the bed like they owned the place, whispering to each other in voices that were absolutely not quiet.

“You know,” Sheena said loudly enough that Aiah shot her a look, “if she keeps getting gigs like this, she could totally afford to keep us here.”

Jhoanna nodded solemnly. “Yeah. Like, live-in friends. Rent-free. We’d clean sometimes. Maybe.”

“Cook occasionally,” Sheena added. “Mostly instant noodles, but hey. Culinary love.”

Aiah zipped her bag with extra force, muttering, “You two are delusional.”

But Sheena rolled onto her stomach, kicking her legs behind her. “C’mon. Picture it. You work your big-time shoots, we live here, cheer you on, keep the place from turning into a cave. Win-win.”

“Win for you,” Aiah shot back.

Jhoanna shrugged, not even pretending to deny it. “Still a win.”

Aiah stood, slinging her bag over her shoulder and glaring at the two sprawled on her bed. “Do I look like a charity?”

Sheena grinned. “Actually, you look like a stressed-out professional about to get rich. So yes.”

Aiah groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You two will be the death of me.”

But under her annoyance, there was a spark of warmth she couldn’t smother. Their banter, their ridiculous plans—it kept her grounded. She wasn’t sure if she’d admit it to them, but she kind of liked the idea that they thought of her as someone who could provide. Someone capable.

Still, she wasn’t letting them move in. Not in a million years.

She picked up her phone and checked the time again, nerves tightening her chest. She had maybe forty minutes before she had to leave. She grabbed her camera bag more firmly, heading for the door.

“Alright. I’m going. Don’t touch anything while I’m gone.”

Sheena raised a hand like a scout’s honor. “We’ll only eat your snacks.”

“Especially the expensive ones,” Jhoanna added.

Aiah groaned again, pushing the door open with her hip. “I’m changing the locks when I get back.”

“You won’t,” they chorused from behind her, laughter bubbling in their voices.

And—ugh. They were right. She wouldn’t.

…

The closer she got to the building, the heavier her bag felt. It wasn’t just the weight of her gear—it was the weight of the moment. Aiah’s sneakers slapped against the pavement in rhythm with her pulse, the company’s sleek glass doors gleaming like something out of a dream.

She tried to breathe slow, to steady herself, but her phone wouldn’t stop buzzing.

She pulled it out and nearly laughed. The group chat was on fire again.

SHEENA: Did u get there yet??

SHEENA: Don’t tell me u’re late. ARE U LATE??

JHOANNA: She better not be. Imagine being late to THAT company. Cancelled. Career ended.

Aiah rolled her eyes but smiled, thumbs flying as she walked toward the lobby.

AIAH: I’m literally at the door. Chill.

She barely slipped her phone back in her pocket before it buzzed again.

SHEENA: OMG

SHEENA: Okay. Don’t panic. Actually no panic is good. Panic keeps u alert.

JHOANNA: No. Calm keeps u professional. Panic makes u sweat. Sweating = gross.

Aiah huffed out a laugh, adjusting her blazer. She stopped outside the glass, catching her reflection one last time. Bun tight, blazer neat, glasses straight. She looked like she belonged. Sort of.

Her phone buzzed again.

SHEENA: ARE U BREATHING. Answer me rn.

JHOANNA: Show us ur breathing. Send a vid.

Aiah shook her head, leaning against the wall before heading inside. She typed quickly.

AIAH: Yes I’m breathing. No I’m not late. Yes I look fine. Stop acting like u’re the ones going in.

The typing bubbles popped up immediately.

SHEENA: Well sorry for caring!!!

JHOANNA: Yeah. We’re basically ur managers at this point. 20% cut of all future earnings pls.

Aiah barked out a laugh that startled a man passing by. She pressed her phone to her chest, still chuckling, then typed back.

AIAH: Managers don’t eat all my snacks.

SHEENA: Lies. That’s literally in our contract.

JHOANNA: Page 3, section 4, subsection B.

Aiah grinned, shaking her head as she finally pushed the door open. The lobby inside was cool and quiet, a polished expanse of marble and steel. Her sneakers squeaked faintly against the floor as she made her way to the receptionist.

Her phone buzzed again in her pocket. She ignored it while she introduced herself, gave her name, explained about the shoot. The receptionist nodded, checked something on a tablet, then smiled politely. “They’re expecting you. Elevator to the 12th floor.”

Aiah exhaled slowly, murmured a thank-you, and headed toward the elevators.

Only when she was inside the metal box—alone—did she dare check her phone again.

SHEENA: ARE U DEAD YET.

JHOANNA: Did they spit on ur shoes.

SHEENA: Did u trip at the door.

JHOANNA: Blink twice if ur kidnapped.

Aiah covered her face with her hand, shaking her head. These two are insane. Still, she typed back quickly, thumbs tapping as the elevator dinged higher.

AIAH: I’m fine. Stop it. U two are more nervous than me.

Almost immediately, Sheena’s reply popped up.

SHEENA: That’s bc we CARE. U’re like our investment.

JHOANNA: Yeah. Imagine if u flop. Embarrassing for all of us.

Aiah snorted so hard she nearly scared herself with the echo.

AIAH: I’m not gonna flop. Relax. I’ve done shoots before. Just… not this big.

The typing bubbles blinked on and off, then Jhoanna finally sent:

JHOANNA: U got this. Really. We’re just… loud bc we don’t know what else to do.

And Sheena chimed in right after:

SHEENA: Yeah. Sorry. We’re proud. Just nervous-proud.

Aiah leaned against the elevator wall, their words softening the tight knot in her chest. She typed back, slower this time.

AIAH: I know. And thanks. I’ll be fine. Promise.

The doors slid open with a chime, revealing a hallway lined with framed campaign shots—sharp, colorful images of models in poses that screamed confidence. Aiah stepped out, squaring her shoulders, the sound of her sneakers muffled on the carpet.

Her phone buzzed one last time.

SHEENA: Go slay queen.

JHOANNA: Don’t say slay queen.

SHEENA: Fine. Go photographically dominate the room.

JHOANNA: …better.

Aiah chuckled under her breath, slid her phone into her bag, and adjusted the strap.

Her nerves hadn’t disappeared, but they’d dulled into something steadier. Between her blazer, her bun, and her ridiculous friends texting like they were the ones about to hold a camera in front of strangers—she felt ready.

Or at least, ready enough.

The door creaked open, and the first thing that hit her was the smell—powder, hairspray, coffee. Aiah blinked, stepping inside with her bag slung across her shoulder. The studio wasn’t packed yet.

Lights stood like tall white skeletons waiting to be switched on, cables curled across the floor, and a few assistants shuffled around adjusting things that didn’t look like they needed adjusting.

“Ah—you must be Aiah?”

The voice came from the middle of the room. A man, probably mid-forties, salt-and-pepper hair pulled back in a little ponytail, strolled over with a clipboard in one hand and a coffee cup in the other. He looked like the kind of guy who’d seen too many all-nighters but survived on sheer enthusiasm. His blazer was wrinkled but his smile was sharp.

“Yes, sir,” Aiah said quickly, straightening, pushing her glasses up. “Sorry—am I late?”

The man laughed, waving his free hand. “Late? You’re early. Relax. We don’t even have the model in yet. That girl runs on her own clock, apparently.”

“Oh,” Aiah said, suddenly aware of how stiff she was standing. She forced herself to ease up.

The man held out his hand. “Director Ramon. I handle the fashion side and I’m basically the glorified babysitter of this shoot.”

She shook his hand, relieved by his casual tone. “I’m Aiah. Uh—student. Third year. Multimedia Arts.”

“Student, huh? Thought so,” Ramon chuckled, sipping his coffee. “You’ve got that wide-eyed, don’t mess up, don’t mess up kind of look. It’s endearing. Don’t worry, this isn’t one of those stiff, scary shoots.”

“Right,” she said, clutching the strap of her bag a little tighter. “Good to know.”

“Let’s walk, c’mon.”

He led her through the space, pointing out where the backdrop would go, the racks of clothes waiting to be steamed, the table where makeup kits were spread like an artist’s palette. He talked fast, but it wasn’t overwhelming—it was like listening to someone narrate a cooking show while chopping onions.

“So here’s the vibe,” Ramon said, gesturing broadly with his cup. “Loose, lighthearted. We don’t want Vogue-level intensity here. Think. Sunny, fun, approachable. Bright colors, lots of movement. The theme is more feel alive than brood like a misunderstood poet.”

Aiah cracked a small laugh. “That’s easier. I think.”

“Exactly. We’ll throw the model in light fabrics, playful stuff. Nothing too heavy. It’s basically: smile, twirl, laugh like someone just told you a dumb joke. Simple, right?” He grinned at her.

“Right. Simple,” Aiah echoed, though her nerves still fluttered under her ribs.

Ramon caught it. “Relax. You’re not being grilled for a degree here. You’re here to practice and deliver. And hey, if something’s off, we adjust. That’s it. No one’s losing limbs over a missed shot.”

That made her snort, which made him grin wider. “There you go. That’s the spirit.”

They paused near the wardrobe racks, bright blouses and skirts swaying lightly under the AC. Ramon flipped through them absentmindedly. “The model—she’s in her first year of Tourism, can you believe that?”

“Really?” Aiah asked.

“Yup. Kid’s only just stepped into college. But she’s been doing this since she was ten. Imagine that—being in front of a camera before you even had braces.”

“That’s a long time,” Aiah said, genuinely impressed.

“Tell me about it. Meanwhile, I was still figuring out how not to ruin white laundry at that age,” Ramon muttered, shaking his head. “She’s a pro, though. You’ll see. Probably knows how to angle herself better than most people twice her age.”

That should’ve made Aiah more nervous, but something about the way he said it—the casual shrug, the easy respect—made it sound more like encouragement than pressure.

Ramon set his cup down on a nearby table and crossed his arms, studying her for a beat. “So. Third year, Multimedia Arts. Why photography? Why not, I don’t know, animation or design?”

Aiah hesitated, then shrugged, adjusting her bun. “I like… capturing moments. Framing them. I don’t know if I’m explaining it well, but there’s something about freezing a second that feels real, you know?”

“Ah,” Ramon said, nodding like he got it instantly. “The old time in a bottle thing. Good answer.”

She smiled sheepishly. “Yeah. Something like that.”

“Well, you’re in the right place, then,” he said, clapping his hands once. “We’ll get you set up once hair and makeup starts. Don’t stress about being perfect. Just—watch, shoot, and don’t forget to breathe.”

“Got it,” Aiah said, her nerves settling a little.

“Good.” He picked up his cup again, glancing at his watch. “Now all we gotta do is wait for Little Miss Tourism to show up. She’s probably stuck in traffic. Or eating fries somewhere. Either way, she’ll roll in eventually, and when she does, this whole place will start buzzing. You’ll see.”

Aiah exhaled, her lips quirking into a half-smile. The director’s energy was weirdly grounding—like having a cool uncle guiding you through the chaos.

She tightened her bun once more, adjusted her glasses, and thought: Okay. Maybe I can actually do this.

Aiah had tucked herself into one of the folding chairs near the corner, scrolling through her phone while waiting. Sheena and Jhoanna were blowing up her messages again, acting like they were the ones about to shoot instead of her.

Sheena: so?? hows the set look like??? 👀👀

Jhoanna: did u meet the director na??? is he scary??

Sheena: tell me they gave u coffee?? they better treat our girl right 😤

Aiah typed back, lips twitching into a faint smile.

Aiah: he’s fine. not scary.

Aiah: y’all more nervous than me lol

Sheena spammed her with the crying emojis while Jhoanna sent a gif of someone doing a fist pump. Aiah shook her head, chuckling under her breath.

They really had nothing better to do than stress for her. She was halfway through typing another reply when the door suddenly opened with a loud squeak.

Everyone’s heads turned at once.

And in she walked.

The model.

Aiah’s jaw almost dropped to the floor.

She hadn’t prepared herself. The first thing that hit her wasn’t the professional aura, or even the perfectly styled hair—it was just… her face. Fresh, bare-faced, and unfairly pretty in the kind of effortless way that didn’t need retouching.

She had a sling bag on one shoulder, another tote bag in the other hand, and—of all things—a brown Jollibee paper bag swinging by her wrist.

“Sorry, sorry! I know, I know, I’m late—traffic was insane.” Her voice was light, a little breathless, but she was smiling. Not sheepish either, but genuinely apologetic. “So peace offering.” She lifted the Jollibee bag like a trophy.

The assistants broke into cheers. One guy clapped his hands. “Finally, real food!”

“God bless you,” another muttered, already reaching for the bag.

“Burgers for everyone,” she announced, setting it down on the nearest table with a flourish. “My treat. Don’t complain about me being late now, alright?”

Aiah could only stare. She realized too late how dry her throat was, how her tongue felt stuck against the roof of her mouth. She forced herself to look back down at her phone, hoping no one noticed her double-take.

Wow. Okay. She’s… pretty. Too pretty. That should be illegal.

The group around the model started opening wrappers and distributing food. Laughter bubbled in the air, the mood instantly lightening. Even Director Ramon looked amused, shaking his head.

“You really came armed with burgers?” he asked, sipping his coffee again.

“Always works, doesn’t it?” she grinned, tossing him one.

Aiah ducked her head lower, pretending to scroll. Her friends’ chat was still open, and she typed quickly, almost as if confessing a secret into a void.

Aiah: …she’s here.

Sheena: WHO 👀👀👀👀👀

Jhoanna: the model?????

Aiah: yeah.

Sheena: and???????

Aiah: she’s. uh. really pretty.

Jhoanna: LMAO of course she is, shes a MODEL.

Sheena: u sound like ur jaw dropped.

Aiah: shut up.

She locked her phone before they could roast her further, ears warming. Across the room, the model was laughing at something one of the stylists said, dimples flashing.

She tore into her own burger like she hadn’t eaten all day, totally unbothered by the fact that everyone else was stealing from the bag like vultures.

For a split second, their eyes almost met, and Aiah panicked—snapping her gaze away so fast she nearly gave herself whiplash. She tugged her bun tighter, adjusted her glasses like she was suddenly deeply invested in the seam of her bag.

Her chest tightened.

Great. Fantastic. I’m gonna die here.

The chatter of wrappers crinkling, Ramon calling out instructions for set adjustments, and the smell of Jollibee beef patties filled the studio. Everyone seemed to melt into ease around the model, like she carried a little sun with her and set it down in the middle of the room.

And Aiah?

She was just trying not to choke on nothing.

“Alright, alright,” Ramon’s voice cut through the chatter, warm but commanding enough that people actually paused mid–burger bite. He clapped his hands once, eyeing the girl who’d just strolled in and completely stolen everyone’s attention without even trying.

“Now that the queen has finally graced us with her presence…”

“Director,” the model groaned, her mouth still half full of burger. She waved him off with the wrapper. “Don’t start.”

“…let me actually introduce you two properly.” Ramon ignored her, smirking. He motioned Aiah closer, and Aiah, who’d been glued to her folding chair like it was a lifeboat, froze. Her feet didn’t want to move, but the director’s expectant stare had her pushing herself up before her brain could protest.

She nearly tripped over a cable. Great start.

“This,” Ramon announced, placing a hand on the model’s shoulder, “is our golden girl. Stacey Sevilleja. The company’s little princess, though she’ll deny it till her last breath.”

“Please, stop embarrassing me in front of people,” Stacey laughed, crumpling her burger wrapper into a ball and aiming it at him. He dodged easily. “Seriously, ‘princess’? You’re making it sound like I show up in a tiara.”

“Wouldn’t put it past you,” Ramon teased.

“Ha-ha.” Stacey rolled her eyes, but the way she laughed again—open, unbothered—made it seem like this was a routine. She’d clearly heard that nickname more than once.

“And this,” Ramon turned, gesturing toward Aiah, “is our photographer for the day. Fresh blood. Still in college. Go easy on her, yeah?”

Aiah felt about twenty pairs of eyes swing in her direction. Her throat went dry again. She opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again.

“I—uh—Aiah,” she croaked, then winced at how it sounded. Like she’d swallowed sandpaper. “Um. Hi. Me. Yes. I’m—Aiah.”

There was a beat of silence, then a couple muffled chuckles from the assistants who assumed she was just nervously introducing herself, the way interns often did. Ramon just looked amused, sipping his coffee.

Stacey, though, smiled at her. Bright. Warm. Oblivious to the fact that Aiah’s brain had just melted into soup. “Nice to meet you, Aiah. Thanks for doing this with us today.”

Her voice was casual, friendly, not a single trace of judgment in it. Like she hadn’t noticed that Aiah had just introduced herself like a broken robot.

Aiah forced herself to nod, still clutching her bag strap like it might save her. “Y-yeah. Sure. Thanks. I mean—you’re welcome. I mean…” She trailed off, internally screaming.

Kill me. Somebody actually kill me.

Stacey tilted her head a little, curious, but still smiling. Probably chalking it up to nerves. Everyone else seemed to, too. The makeup artist whispered something to the hair stylist and they both grinned like, aw, the newbie’s shy.

No one realized that Aiah’s awkward stuttering had less to do with being new and more to do with the fact that the company’s “princess” was standing right in front of her, looking like a literal movie poster come to life.

“Don’t mind her,” Ramon cut in smoothly, clearly entertained. “First day jitters. She’ll loosen up once we start shooting.”

“Mm, I get that,” Stacey said, nodding sympathetically. “I was a wreck my first year too. Honestly, I think I tripped in my very first shoot.” She laughed at the memory, shaking her head. “So yeah, don’t worry. Even pros start out clumsy.”

Aiah blinked at her, halfway between admiration and mortification. Oh my god, why is she nice? Why is she NICE on top of everything else?

All she managed to say was, “Cool.”

“Cool,” Stacey echoed with a grin, like she was humoring her.

Aiah wanted to sink into the floor.

The assistants were already unwrapping burgers and munching happily, the chatter resuming. Ramon clapped Stacey on the shoulder again.

“Alright, princess, finish your food and let’s get you to hair and makeup. We’ve got a schedule to keep.”

“Stop calling me that,” Stacey groaned, but she was laughing again as she followed the stylist toward the chair.

Aiah stood there a moment longer, still frozen, her face heating. When she finally remembered how to breathe, she turned back to her folding chair, fumbling for her phone like it might anchor her to reality.

Of course, Sheena and Jhoanna had texted.

Sheena: sooooo???????

Jhoanna: did u meet her already 👀👀

Aiah: …her name’s stacey.

Sheena: …u typed that like ur having a crisis.

Aiah: i might be.

Her phone buzzed again, just as she was about to shove it deeper into her bag. Sheena and Jhoanna had clearly caught whatever faint clue she’d dropped earlier. She hesitated, sighed, then dragged it out again.

The group chat was already lighting up.

Sheena: WAIT.

Sheena: HOLD ON.

Jhoanna: stacey????? u said stacey right????

Sheena: like… THE stacey????

Jhoanna: oh my god oh my god.

Aiah frowned, thumbs flying over the keyboard.

Aiah: what are u two on about

Sheena: DUDE. that’s literally the girl we were gonna introduce to u 😭

Jhoanna: the set up, remember??? the plan?? u already met her LMAO

Sheena: soooooo??? interested now??? or still Ms. “i don’t do dates”

Aiah sat there, staring at the screen, her heart doing an uncomfortable flip.

No. There was no way. They couldn’t possibly mean this Stacey. The girl currently across the room having her hair fussed over while nodding along to Ramon’s chatter. The one who walked in like a commercial and had the whole room orbiting her instantly.

No.

It had to be coincidence.

Aiah: stop making things up

Aiah: u think every stacey in the world is the same one??? pls

Sheena: LMAO yes we do rn

Jhoanna: come onnnn u look like ur already blushing just typing HAHA

Aiah slammed her phone down onto her lap, cheeks hot. “Unbelievable,” she muttered under her breath. She stuffed it deep into her bag this time, zipping it like a lock. No way she was giving them the satisfaction of more replies.

There’s no chance. They’re just pulling my leg. Probably know, like, some random Stacey from class and are trying to mess with me.

Still.

Her eyes flicked up despite herself.

Stacey sat in the makeup chair now, posture straight but relaxed, her expression focused as Ramon spoke animatedly beside her. The stylists moved around her efficiently—dusting powder, brushing through her hair—but she didn’t fidget, didn’t scroll on her phone like most people did in that kind of chair.

She listened. Really listened. Nodding when Ramon gestured with his coffee cup, laughing softly at something he said, asking a question every now and then.

Aiah found herself staring.

At first it was practical. She told herself she was studying, observing how Stacey carried herself, how she reacted, how she lit up when she smiled. She was supposed to capture her later, wasn’t she? The whole point of photography was to catch what others missed.

But then she caught herself just admiring.

The curve of her jaw, the way her hair caught the light as the stylist fussed with it. Even her hands, fiddling with the paper napkin from her burger, looked so effortlessly photogenic.

Aiah shifted in her chair, crossing her legs, telling herself she was only looking because it was her job. But her throat felt dry again, and the thought she’s really pretty looped in her brain like a broken record.

From where she sat, Stacey leaned a little closer to Ramon, listening intently, and then she laughed again—full, bright, easy. The whole crew seemed to soften whenever she did.

Aiah inhaled, slow and steady, pressing her glasses higher on her nose.

Yeah. Okay. This is going to be harder than I thought.

She sat there, pretending to be invisible, while her two best friends were probably still screaming in the group chat.

“Aiah,” Ramon’s voice carried across the room, smooth but expectant. He waved his coffee cup in her direction. “Don’t just sit there looking like you’re about to take an exam. C’mon, get comfortable. We’re still prepping Stacey, so use the time.”

Aiah startled, sitting up straighter like she’d been caught daydreaming. Which, technically, she had. She quickly pushed herself up from the folding chair, nodding a little too stiffly. “Y-yes, sir. On it.”

Ramon gave her a look that screamed relax, but he didn’t say it this time. Instead, he turned back to Stacey, who was getting her hair tugged into place with a curling iron.

Okay. Focus.

She pulled her camera out of her bag, the weight familiar and grounding in her hands. The nerves in her chest eased a little just from the feel of it—the solid body, the cool lens. This, at least, she knew how to handle. Cameras didn’t have dimples or eyes that could short-circuit her brain.

The set was already half arranged: a wide backdrop in soft cream, the light stands looming like watchtowers. To the right, by the big window, they’d placed a simple table and a pair of wooden chairs.

There was even a little shelf with potted plants lined up neatly, the kind you’d see in an apartment that was “tastefully minimalist” but probably cost way too much to decorate.

She walked toward it, camera strap over her neck, and crouched low for a test angle. Through the viewfinder, the window spilled light like a blessing. Warm, soft, natural. Exactly what Ramon had said earlier—bright, easy, loose.

Yeah. This could work.

She adjusted the focus, zoomed slightly, then pulled back out. The table could be used for casual poses—Stacey leaning forward with her chin propped up, maybe pretending to write or sip coffee. The chairs could give her movement, something playful to do with posture. And the plants by the window? Perfect for that cozy “Sunday morning at home” vibe.

Easy. Okay. This is fine.

Aiah stood, brushing off her knees, and moved to another corner. She tested angles from a higher perspective this time, letting her eye trace how the light fell across the table’s edges. She crouched again, clicked an empty test shot, and adjusted her ISO. The soft shutter sound was enough to steady her nerves more than any deep breath could.

“Getting the feel already, huh?” one of the assistants passing by said, smiling at her.

Aiah managed a small grin back. “Yeah. Just warming up.”

They nodded approvingly and carried on with their bundle of wires, leaving her alone again.

She exhaled slowly. Okay, she could do this.

Her eyes wandered back, inevitably, to the makeup chair. Stacey was still there, but now her hair was done—loose waves that framed her face, strands catching the studio lights like liquid brown.

She sat perfectly still while the artist dabbed foundation across her cheek, eyes half-lidded, calm as if she’d done this a million times before. Which, technically, she had.

For a second, Aiah wondered how many photographers had already had the chance to shoot her. Hundreds? Thousands? People with far more experience, better equipment, bigger names. And here she was, some third-year student freelancing her way through college, standing in the same room.

The thought made her chest tighten, but then she turned back to her camera and adjusted her lens again.

No. It wasn’t about competition. It was about doing the work.

She crouched lower near the table again, tilted the camera slightly, and framed it so the window light cut across diagonally. Through the lens, she could imagine Stacey already there, smiling faintly, eyes catching the glow.

She swallowed hard and dropped the camera back to her chest.

Another assistant came by, dragging a light reflector into place. Aiah helped hold it steady for a second, then stepped back, nodding. Already, the room was shifting gears, people preparing, the quiet before the storm of the actual shoot.

She raised her camera again, snapped another test shot, and allowed herself the faintest of smiles.

The clatter of the set dulled to a hush when Ramon clapped his hands and said, “Alright, let’s get this moving. Lights are ready. Camera’s on you, Aiah.”

Her pulse jumped. The assistants shuffled back, leaving only the low hum of equipment and the bright spill of window light cutting across the staged room. Stacey rose from the makeup chair, smooth, unhurried, and moved toward the little table like it wasn’t her first time walking onto a spotlight. Which, of course, it wasn’t.

But for Aiah, it might as well have been the first time anyone had ever walked into her frame.

She adjusted her grip on the camera, lifted it, and called, “Uh—can you sit by the window first? Just lean a little, yeah, right there.” Her voice cracked on the first word, but she pushed through it.

Stacey did as told, sliding into the chair with the grace of someone who knew how to own furniture. She tilted her head, chin resting lightly on her knuckles. “Like this?”

Click. Shutter. Perfect.

Aiah let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Yes. That—stay like that.”

It wasn’t “easy work done” the way she thought earlier. No, it wasn’t about finishing quickly or breezing through poses. This kind of easy was dangerous, effortless in the way her eyes kept following Stacey no matter how she shifted.

“Now angle your face a bit more toward the window,” Aiah said, adjusting her stance, crouching for a lower shot. She peeked through the lens. “Good. That’s… yeah, that’s beautiful.”

Stacey chuckled under her breath. “Feels like you’re hypnotizing me into place.” She shifted again, this time resting both hands on the table, back straight. “What about this? Gives you more lines to play with.”

The words hit Aiah square in the chest. Most subjects she’d shot in the past froze under direction, rigid, unsure. But Stacey—Stacey helped. She read the air, read the frame, and gave more without being asked. It wasn’t like coaxing light out of stone. It was like standing in front of a river that flowed on its own.

Click. Another shutter. The image in her viewfinder was sharp, alive.

Aiah lowered the camera slightly, enough to peek over it. “Yeah. That’s… perfect. Hold that.”

The words “perfect” and “Stacey” tangled in her throat too easily.

She circled around, climbing up onto the low stool to catch an overhead shot. “Now, relax the shoulders. Let the hands soften.”

Stacey obeyed without hesitation, but then she added a faint smirk, letting her lips curve lazily. “What, softer like I’m about to fall asleep? Or softer like I’m hiding something?”

Aiah blinked. Shit. Both worked. “Uh—second one.”

Click. Click. Click.

Through the camera, Stacey’s smirk wasn’t just a smirk anymore—it was a story. A whole scene of intimacy, of secrets whispered in kitchens on Sunday mornings. Aiah nearly forgot to breathe as she pressed the shutter again.

She stepped down from the stool, lowering the camera. “Okay. Can you stand, maybe? Just lean against the window frame.”

Stacey pushed the chair back, standing with an ease that made it look like part of the choreography. She slipped one hand into her pocket, leaned with her shoulder against the frame, and let her eyes wander off toward the light.

“Like this?” she asked, almost teasing.

“Yes.” Aiah’s answer was immediate, sharp, before she even checked the lens.

Click.

It was unfair. Utterly unfair. Normally she’d sweat to guide someone into poses, fumble to make them look natural. With Stacey, she didn’t even need to try. Every tilt of her head, every shift of her fingers looked intentional, cinematic.

It was easy—not because the job was simple, but because Stacey herself was too damn easy to capture. The camera adored her. The light bent for her.

And Aiah… well, she was just lucky enough to be holding the shutter.

“Try crossing your arms,” Aiah said, her voice firmer now, steadier. She was finding her rhythm.

Stacey obeyed, but then cocked her hip slightly, giving the posture a little more tension. “Better?”

Click. “Much.”

Aiah shifted for another angle. “And now… look back at me.”

Stacey’s eyes met the lens dead-on, calm but sharp, like she knew exactly what kind of weight that gaze would carry through glass. The shutter snapped twice, three times, her fingers working faster than her breath could keep up.

She swallowed. “That’s—yeah, that’s it.”

It didn’t feel like directing anymore. It felt like a conversation, quiet, wordless, carried through the lens and posture. She guided Stacey with small cues, Stacey gave back twice as much, and together it spun into something neither could quite claim alone.

Ramon’s voice cut through from somewhere behind, low but approving: “Keep that flow, girls. Don’t stiffen it up.”

Aiah barely nodded, too busy lining up the next frame.

“Want me to sit on the table?” Stacey asked suddenly, already half-turning toward it.

The idea hit her like a spark. “Yes—please, yeah. Try that.”

Stacey slid up onto the table’s edge, one leg bent, the other touching the floor, hands braced lightly on either side. She tilted her head back just enough for the window light to graze her jaw.

Click.

Shit.

It was too easy. Too damn easy. Whatever Stacey did, the camera followed, hooked without question. She wasn’t just a subject—she was the subject.

Aiah lowered the camera for a beat, her pulse still hammering, her throat tight. She had to remind herself to breathe, to move, to not let it show.

She raised the camera again, steadier now.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Every shot felt like stealing, like taking something she wasn’t supposed to have but couldn’t resist. And Stacey—Stacey didn’t make it any easier. She leaned forward, lips parting slightly, her gaze locking on the lens with a spark that almost felt intentional.

“You look like you’re about to faint behind there,” Stacey teased softly, but she didn’t move from the pose.

Aiah’s laugh was quick, shaky, covered by the next shutter. “Just stay still.”

But inside, she knew the truth.

The work wasn’t easy. The poses weren’t easy. None of this was supposed to be easy.

But taking pictures of Stacey—

That was the easiest thing in the world.

Then Aiah lowered her camera, the strap sliding against her palm. Her heart thudded against her ribs as she glanced toward Ramon.

“Sir—uh,” she cleared her throat, “Can I put the camera down for a second? I just—have something in mind.”

Ramon raised a brow but waved a hand. “Go ahead. Let’s see what you’re thinking.”

Alright. Okay. Cool. No pressure.

Except there was all the pressure in the world because Stacey was right there watching her, head tilted like she was curious, like she actually cared what was about to happen.

Aiah rubbed her damp palms against her jeans before stepping closer. Her sneakers scuffed against the polished floor.

“Uh—Stacey.”

Those big brown eyes blinked up at her. “Yeah?”

God. Why did she have to say it so casually, like they were classmates instead of whatever this was.

Aiah’s fingers fidgeted with the hem of her shirt. “Could you, um, sit down? On the floor. Just here.” She gestured to the patch of light spilling through the window. “Spread the fabric around, yeah? The pink one. It’ll look good.”

For a second, she thought Stacey might laugh. Might say, the floor? seriously?

Instead, Stacey just smiled, all easygoing, and slid down gracefully.

“Like this?” She tugged at the sheer pink fabric from the chair, letting it puddle around her legs like soft water.

The sunlight poured in at the perfect angle, catching on the threads and turning them golden at the edges. Stacey sat cross-legged, posture loose, the fabric glowing around her.

Aiah froze.

Holy shit.

It was too much. Too pretty.

She scrambled back to grab her camera, nearly tripping over a stray cord. “Okay—don’t move!” she blurted, breathless.

Stacey chuckled under her breath. “Wasn’t planning to.”

Aiah raised the lens. The frame clicked into focus, and there it was—

Stacey’s smile.

Not the polite little smirk from earlier. Not the practiced tilt-of-the-lips smile she probably gave reporters.

No. This was huge, open, the kind of smile that crinkled her nose and made her eyes disappear into soft crescents.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Each shot was better than the last, each one making Aiah’s chest feel tighter.

She shifted angles, crouching low, then standing to catch the light from above. Stacey’s laughter spilled out as she tried to adjust the fabric so it didn’t tangle.

“Do I look like a kid in a blanket fort yet?” Stacey teased, tossing one end of the fabric over her shoulder.

Aiah snorted. The sound surprised even her. “No. You look like—” She cut herself off before she said too much, coughed instead. “Just—stay there. Don’t move.”

Click.

Her finger wouldn’t leave the shutter. She wanted every angle, every second of that sunlight dancing across Stacey’s grin.

Ramon muttered something approving from the corner, but Aiah barely heard him.

It was just her. The camera. The light.

And Stacey.

Especially Stacey.

Aiah lowered the camera for a beat, peeking over the lens just to make sure it wasn’t lying.

It wasn’t.

Stacey looked even better without the glass between them.

The fabric glowed. The sun kissed her hair. And that smile—

That smile could ruin her.

“Got it?” Stacey asked, still grinning.

Aiah swallowed hard, fumbling with the strap as her face burned. “Y-yeah. Got it.”

Her voice cracked.

Click. She took one more anyway.

Just in case.

…

The last shutter clicked. Ramon clapped his hands once, signaling the end. Assistants swarmed in, folding fabrics, gathering props, turning off light stands. The room shifted from the calm hum of a shoot into the hurried bustle of cleanup.

Stacey stood, dusting her jeans off, her smile still lingering as if it hadn’t been plastered on for work but had settled there naturally. She slung her bag over her shoulder, Jollibee wrappers long forgotten on the counter.

“Sir Ramon, I’ll go ahead,” she said cheerfully, bowing her head slightly. “My class starts in an hour. If I don’t leave now, I’m dead.”

“Yeah, yeah, go,” Ramon waved her off with his cup of coffee. “Tell your professors I said hi.”

Stacey giggled, adjusted her bag, then turned to the room with a small wave. “Thanks, everyone! Lunch’s still on me, so don’t fight over the last burger, okay?”

And just like that, she was gone. Aiah barely caught the door closing behind her.

Her chest felt… weirdly empty. Like someone had turned the volume down.

But she didn’t let herself think about it too long, because one of the editors was already waving her over. “Hey, photographer. Sit here, yeah? We’re starting the first round of selects.”

Aiah nodded quickly, clutching her camera tighter than she needed to. She walked over to the desk where two monitors glowed with fresh imports of her shots. Rows of thumbnails filled the screen, each tiny square a moment she’d just lived through.

She set her camera down gently, as if it might crack under the weight of her own nerves, and leaned in.

“Alright,” the editor muttered, scrolling. “You have an eye, huh. See this?” He pointed to one of Stacey sitting cross-legged in the sunlight, fabric around her like a painting come to life. “You angled it right so the folds look layered instead of flat. That’s rare.”

Aiah blinked, caught off guard. “Uh… thanks. I just… saw it and thought it might work.”

The other editor, younger, grinned at her. “No, that’s more than might work. Look at how natural her expression is here. Not stiff, not model-y. Just… human. That’s not easy to capture, especially with her.”

“Her?” Aiah echoed before she could stop herself.

The younger one shrugged, not looking away from the screen. “You know how it is. Stacey’s been doing this since she was a kid. Most people get the polished stuff, all angles and ‘I’ve done this pose a hundred times.’ But here…” He tapped the shot where Stacey’s eyes had vanished into crescents, her grin wide, sunlight turning the fabric behind her into soft pink fire. “This feels real. Like she forgot she was being photographed.”

Aiah swallowed. Her throat was dry again.

“Yeah,” she managed. “She was just… easy.”

Both editors nodded, scrolling through more. “Keep this one. And this. Maybe not this, the light hit weird here, but—oh, this one’s gold.”

The next half hour blurred into quiet debates over angles, cropping suggestions, color balance talk. Aiah found herself leaning forward, pointing at details: the way the light had curved against Stacey’s hair, the tilt of her chin that made the shot warmer, the little folds in the fabric she wanted to keep visible.

Her nerves melted into focus. This was her space, her comfort zone. Explaining what she saw, showing how she wanted it to look—she could do that without fumbling her words.

Every time one of the editors nodded, dragging her pick into the “final” folder, something inside her chest loosened.

Still, every picture they pulled up was Stacey. Stacey smiling. Stacey laughing. Stacey with that ridiculous pink fabric making her look like some kind of daydream.

And Aiah had to keep pretending she wasn’t staring longer than necessary, pretending it was all just technical evaluation.

The monitors kept filling with images of her.

And Aiah kept telling herself she was only doing her job.

She leaned back in the chair, the glow of the monitors casting her face in pale light. Her eyes tracked over the thumbnails again, though the editors had already marked their favorites. Stacey’s face filled every square—smiling, laughing, one hand tugging fabric, one brow raised mid-joke.

And it hit her, the thought slipping in like it had been waiting.

Her friends.

Sheena and Jhoanna, in the group chat, had spent weeks—months even—ranting about their other friend Stacey. Always crying about being single, always dramatic, always dropping all-caps messages about I’M GONNA DIE ALONE or something equally ridiculous.

Maloi and Mikha always clapped back with her dating history, roasting her for being a “walking heartbreak compilation.”

That Stacey was chaotic. Messy. Loud in the way you could hear her in your head even when your phone was on silent.

But this Stacey—the one she’d just worked with—wasn’t that.

This Stacey had walked in late with burgers and laughed it off instead of sulking. She’d sat in the makeup chair like a calm morning, answering Ramon with soft ease, not an ounce of drama. During the shoot, she’d been sunshine itself, her energy warm and bright, her smile open like she trusted the room.

No frantic crying. No wallowing in singlehood. No theatrics.

Just her.

Aiah shook her head, exhaling through her nose.

It had to be coincidence.

There were probably a hundred Staceys in the city. Thousands, even. Just because Sheena and Jhoanna said their friend was a “model” didn’t mean this model.

“Star,” Ramon had called her. The company’s princess. That wasn’t the kind of detail her friends would just leave out if it was the same girl. They would’ve been bragging nonstop, using it as leverage to shove Aiah into meeting her. No way they would’ve kept quiet about that.

So yeah. Coincidence.

Different Staceys.

She told herself that firmly, planting the thought like a wall in her head.

Because the alternative—that her friends were planning to set her up with someone like this—made her chest tighten in a way she didn’t want to think too hard about.

Aiah’s eyes lingered on the photo of Stacey in the pink fabric, eyes scrunched into crescents, that impossible smile lighting her whole face.

She quickly clicked away before anyone could notice she’d stopped paying attention to the edits.

Coincidence.

Had to be.

…

Aiah dragged herself up the last flight of stairs, her camera bag hanging heavy on her shoulder, the strap digging into her skin. Her keys jingled faintly when she pushed into the apartment, but the place was silent. No shoes by the door. No loud chatter echoing down the hall.

Sheena and Jhoanna were gone.

Probably back in the university by now, pretending to take notes or maybe already raiding the canteen for snacks. Aiah remembered vaguely that Jhoanna said she’d handle her professors, something about excusing her absence. Bless that girl.

She kicked off her sneakers, letting them fall wherever they landed, and dropped her bag by the wall. The muscles in her shoulders screamed relief when the weight was gone.

Straight to her room. Straight to the bed.

She collapsed face-first, burying into the sheets, the faint smell of laundry soap clinging to the fabric. A heavy sigh left her chest, the kind that deflated everything at once.

God.

Today had been—what even was today?

Her hands twitched against the blanket. She stared up at the ceiling for a long moment before dragging the pillow over her face.

Stacey.

That was all her brain seemed capable of replaying.

Not the lights. Not Ramon’s approving nods. Not the editors saying she had an eye.

Just tacey.

The way she’d walked in with that Jollibee bag like it was nothing, like she wasn’t the literal center of attention. The way she’d laughed off Ramon’s teasing about being “the company’s princess.” The way she’d sat on the floor with the pink fabric and somehow managed to look like sunlight had been invented just for her.

Aiah groaned into the pillow, flipping over onto her back. She stared at the ceiling again, her chest rising and falling too fast for someone who was supposed to be exhausted.

Her brain wouldn’t stop looping the same stupid thought.

She’s so damn pretty.

Like—unfairly pretty. Not just “model pretty” in that polished, distant way you see in magazines. Stacey was warm pretty. Sunshine-pretty. Pretty in a way that made you feel it, like your chest was too small for your ribs.

Aiah pressed her palms over her face.

“This is stupid,” she muttered to herself. “She’s just—she’s just another model. You’ve met models before.”

But none of them had been Stacey.

She rolled to her side, curling up, blanket tugged halfway over her head.

She could still see Stacey’s eyes disappearing when she smiled. The way her laugh had slipped out so easy when she teased about looking like a kid in a blanket fort. The way she’d said “Yeah?” when Aiah had asked her to sit down, like it was the most natural thing in the world to follow her lead.

Another deep sigh tore out of her chest.

Aiah must’ve dozed off without meaning to. One second she was curled into her pillow, her brain still circling around Stacey like a moth stuck against glass, and the next she was blinking awake, her stomach growling loud enough to rattle her ribs.

The room was dim now, the afternoon sun slipping further down the sky. Her head felt heavy, hair sticking in random directions. She rubbed her face with both hands, groaning.

Food. She needed food.

Dragging herself upright, she stumbled out of bed and shuffled to the kitchen. Her limbs felt too loose, still weighted with leftover sleep, but her stomach wasn’t letting her get away with ignoring it.

Noodles. Easy, brainless noodles. She grabbed the pack from the cupboard, filled a pot with water, and set it on the stove.

As the water heated, she leaned against the counter, cheek resting in her palm, and of course—like clockwork—her thoughts drifted straight back where she didn’t want them to go.

Stacey.

That stupid fabric. That stupid sunlight. That stupid, wide, honest grin that had no business looking that good through her lens.

She squeezed her eyes shut, muttering under her breath. “Get a grip, Aiah. She’s just a model. It’s literally her job to look like that.”

But then her brain betrayed her again, replaying the way Stacey had looked directly at her before following directions, like she trusted her, like she wanted her approval. The way her voice had been soft and easy, no arrogance in it, no walls. Just… warmth.

The water hissed as it started to bubble. Aiah snapped back, fumbling for the noodles, tossing them in with a clatter. Steam rushed up, fogging her glasses, and she nearly yelped when the hot water splashed close to her wrist.

“Shit!” She jerked back, clutching the counter, heart pounding.

Close. Too close.

She let out a shaky laugh, pushing her fogged-up specs higher on her nose. “This is ridiculous. I’m gonna burn myself over a crush I don’t even have.”

Except—didn’t she?

The thought lingered while she stirred the noodles, her chopsticks clinking against the pot. She kept trying to shove it down, bury it under logic. She didn’t do crushes. Everyone knew that. Her friends had teased her endlessly for being the third wheel, for rejecting dates left and right, for rolling her eyes at love talk. She was the “bummer” of the group, the one who preached self-love and independence like a mantra.

And yet.

She pictured Stacey sitting on the studio floor, fabric spilling around her legs, sunlight painting her edges gold.

Her chest tightened.

Maybe it wasn’t a crush. Maybe it was just the shock of being in the same room as someone like her, of having her camera catch something real instead of rehearsed. Maybe it was just admiration.

But admiration didn’t usually make your hands sweat while pouring boiling water.

The noodles softened, steam filling the kitchen. Aiah shut the stove off and drained them carefully this time, gripping the pot like it might jump out of her hands if she wasn’t careful.

She dumped everything into a bowl, added the seasoning, and sat at the table. Chopsticks in hand, she poked at the noodles but didn’t eat right away. Her stomach was growling, but her head was louder.

Stacey’s voice echoed. The little laugh. The teasing line about looking like a kid in a blanket fort.

Aiah’s lips twitched, and before she realized, she was smiling. Alone. Over a bowl of instant noodles.

Pathetic.

She buried her face in her hands, groaning softly. “Get over it. You’re being stupid. You’ll never even see her again.”

But even as she said it, her chest ached with something she couldn’t name.

Because she wasn’t sure she wanted to believe it.

…

Aiah dragged her feet down the cracked sidewalk, the afternoon heat pressing against her back. Sheena was chattering about something—professors, deadlines, who knew—and Jhoanna had her head bent down, tapping furiously at her phone. Aiah wasn’t even halfway listening. Her body was on autopilot, moving with them, but her head was somewhere else.

Stacey. Again. Always.

Her face, her laugh, that stupid smile with her eyes scrunched up into crescents. It looped in her mind like a broken record.

And she hated it. Or maybe not hated. She just couldn’t stop.

She stumbled, catching her foot on a raised bit of pavement.

“Shit.” She groaned, grabbing Sheena’s arm to keep from fully eating it on the ground.

Sheena blinked, pausing mid-sentence. “Girl, are you good?”

“Fine,” Aiah muttered, shaking her head. She didn’t meet her eyes.

“No, you’ve been zoning out this whole time,” Sheena pressed, narrowing her eyes like she was piecing together some crime scene.

Jhoanna finally looked up from her phone. “Facts. You almost tripped on air earlier this week too. That’s like, the third time.”

“It’s the ground’s fault,” Aiah grumbled, kicking the pavement lightly. “Not me.”

They both exchanged a look—one of those silent conversations that friends have, eyebrows lifted, lips twitching.

“Don’t give me that look,” Aiah said, shoving her hands in her pockets.

“What look?” Sheena’s voice went higher, too innocent.

“The one where you think you know something about me,” Aiah shot back.

Jhoanna smirked, sliding her phone into her pocket. “We do know something. You’ve been weird lately.”

“I’m always weird.”

“Weirder,” Sheena corrected. “Like, distracted-weird. Not just your usual, chill, half-baked comments weird.”

Aiah groaned again, tilting her head back toward the sky like it could swallow her whole. The sun was blinding, too much. Just like Stacey’s face, blinding in her head, stuck there like glue.

Sheena nudged her shoulder. “C’mon, spill. What’s up with you?”

“Nothing.”

Jhoanna snorted. “Lame answer. Try again.”

“Seriously. Nothing.”

But even she didn’t sound convincing, and they both knew it.

The thing was, they weren’t wrong. She was distracted. Less focused. She’d already turned down two event invites because she couldn’t bring herself to show up half-there, mentally checked out.

Her brain kept circling back to that shoot, to the way Stacey listened when Aiah directed her, to the way she followed with such ease. To how easy it felt, pointing a lens at her and knowing every click would come out beautiful.

Her chest squeezed. She wanted to groan again.

Sheena slowed her steps, walking backward to face her. “You didn’t even laugh at my joke earlier. Like, that’s how I know something’s wrong.”

“What joke?”

“Exactly.”

Jhoanna cackled, slinging an arm over Aiah’s shoulders as they kept walking. “Okay, deadass, are you stressing? Like, uni crap? Bills? Secret side hustle? Do we need to beat someone up?”

Aiah laughed weakly, shaking her head. “No. None of that.”

“Then what?”

They weren’t thinking it was a person. Of course they weren’t. Aiah never made space for that. She’d always been uninterested, too busy, too… closed off. The thought that someone might be haunting her thoughts would probably make them choke.

If only they knew.

Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her shirt, twisting the fabric until it wrinkled. She wanted to tell them, maybe. Or maybe not. It felt ridiculous—pathetic, even—that her entire brain was melting because of a girl she’d only worked with once.

Just one shoot. One afternoon. And here she was, slipping, losing focus, falling behind.

Jhoanna poked her side. “You’re humming.”

“What?”

“You’ve been humming for like five minutes. Some random tune.”

Aiah blinked. She hadn’t even noticed. She pressed her lips shut, heat creeping up her neck. “Didn’t realize.”

Sheena smirked. “Bro. You’re gone. Like, mentally out the door, body just vibing on autopilot.”

Aiah exhaled sharply, dragging her hands down her face. “Maybe I’m just tired.”

“Tired doesn’t make you smile to yourself like an idiot.”

“I wasn’t smiling.”

“You were.”

Jhoanna laughed so hard she almost tripped herself. “Aiah, you’re so cooked. Whatever it is, just admit it already.”

But she didn’t. Couldn’t. The words sat on the tip of her tongue, heavy and burning, but she swallowed them down.

Not yet.

So instead she shoved Jhoanna off, earning a dramatic gasp, and muttered, “I’m hungry. Can we get food? Maybe that’ll shut you both up.”

Sheena grinned, triumphant. “Fine. But this convo’s not over. You’re suspicious.”

“Yeah,” Jhoanna agreed, still giggling. “Majorly suspicious.”

Aiah rolled her eyes, but her lips tugged up, betraying her. And even while they teased her into the nearest café, her head still spun.

It always circled back to her.

When they arrived, Aiah pushed the door open, the little bell overhead chiming, and let Sheena and Jhoanna breeze in first. She followed, dragging her feet, shoulders heavy, head still somewhere else entirely.

Ordering was quick. She told the cashier to just add whatever Sheena and Jhoanna wanted to her tab. Coffee, pastries, a couple sandwiches—it didn’t matter. Her brain was too fogged up to care.

The second she sat down at their corner table, she slumped, elbows on the wood, chin sinking into her palms. The world buzzed around her: clinking mugs, the hiss of steamed milk, chatter from other tables. All of it felt far away.

Her head spun.

Anything pink in sight had her chest clenching. The soft pink sleeve of a girl passing by, the pastel case of someone’s phone, even the foam heart in a latte on the table across from theirs.

All of it shot her back to the fabric Stacey sat on that day. The sunlight, the way her smile swallowed the whole room, the way her laugh was caught forever in Aiah’s camera.

Sheena and Jhoanna were already deep into conversation, barely noticing her silence. It was a blessing. They could fill a whole room on their own if they wanted to.

“So then the professor just forgot about the quiz,” Sheena was saying, hands flying. “Like, actually forgot. I’m not complaining, but damn. Who does that?”

Jhoanna laughed, sipping her iced coffee. “Lucky you. Meanwhile my prof gave us an extra quiz. Double points. Said it was ‘bonus practice.’” She rolled her eyes. “I swear he hates us.”

Sheena gasped dramatically. “Drop out. Let’s go live in the mountains.”

“You wouldn’t last a week without Wi-Fi,” Jhoanna shot back.

Aiah barely heard them. She just stared at the swirl of her drink, tapping her finger lightly against the side of the cup.

Stacey’s face slipped in again, uninvited. Always uninvited. Her crescent-moon eyes, the soft curve of her lips, the way she tilted her head when she was listening. Every little detail was tattooed across her mind, loud and stubborn.

Sheena’s voice broke through, sharp and teasing: “Earth to Aiah. You die over there?”

Aiah blinked, lifting her head slightly. “Huh?”

“Dude, you’re spacing hard,” Sheena said, shaking her head. “Like, I don’t think you’ve said ten words since we sat down.”

Jhoanna leaned forward, grinning. “She’s vibing. Leave her.”

“She’s vibing in another galaxy.”

Aiah shrugged, letting her cheek press against her palm again. “I’m listening.”

“Sure you are,” Sheena muttered, but her smile was fond, not annoyed.

The two of them kept going, their conversation darting from professors to food spots near campus, then to a random TikTok trend that had Jhoanna pulling her phone back out to show Sheena a video. They laughed loud enough to make heads turn at the next table.

Aiah let it all wash over her.

She wanted to join in. She wanted to laugh with them like usual. But her chest felt heavy, and every joke, every story, just bounced off the walls of her mind where Stacey’s face was painted too vividly.

She fiddled with the straw in her iced coffee, stirring the melting ice around. Even the light pink tint of the strawberry syrup clinging to the bottom of the cup made her stomach twist.

Pathetic. She was actually pathetic.

Sheena and Jhoanna didn’t notice, not really. They filled every silence without effort, trading stories back and forth, sometimes pausing only to laugh too loudly or sip their drinks.

Aiah’s plate of food sat mostly untouched, steam curling up from the sandwich she’d barely picked at. The smell should’ve made her hungry, but she wasn’t. Her stomach was full of nerves, of restless energy she couldn’t explain.

Her eyes drifted again. To the café’s decor—pink flowers in tiny vases, pink accents on the menu boards, pink sprinkles dusted on top of someone’s cupcake. All reminders. All knives twisting.

She pressed her lips together, shut her eyes for a second.

Maybe if she stayed quiet enough, still enough, she could pass off as simply tired. Maybe Sheena and Jhoanna would let her slip away without pressing too hard.

“Damn, this is good,” Jhoanna said suddenly, mouth full, waving half a sandwich in the air.

“Stop talking with your mouth full,” Sheena groaned, but her smile betrayed her.

“Make me.”

“Bet.”

Aiah cracked the faintest smile, watching them bicker. It should’ve been comforting. It usually was. But today, even that warmth couldn’t shake her off the edge.

Sheena noticed the small smile though. “There she is,” she said softly, nudging Aiah’s foot under the table. “Almost thought we lost you to the void permanently.”

Aiah snorted quietly, but didn’t argue.

She didn’t tell them what was really looping in her brain. Didn’t tell them about the shoot, about Stacey, about the way her heart had been hijacked without permission.

Instead, she let the sound of her friends’ voices fill the space. Sat there, quiet, nodding when needed, but mostly drowning in her own head.

And always—always—Stacey’s face lingered behind her eyelids. Like she’d been burned there, permanent.

…

The classroom was warm with the late morning sun bleeding through tall windows, dust floating lazily in the beams. Aiah sat at her desk, her notebook open, pen in hand, supposed to be listening.

The professor’s voice droned at the front, talking about composition rules, balance in layouts, how to critique with clarity. It was useful stuff, sure. Stuff she’d normally jot down quickly. But today, her notes were a battlefield of half-written words and doodles.

Tiny sketches filled the margins. Crescent eyes. Curved lips. Lines shaped into a smile too familiar. Messy outlines of hair, then scribbled out, then redrawn. She wasn’t even subtle anymore.

Every time her pen hovered, her brain dragged her back to that sunlight, that soft fabric, that laugh. She could almost hear it echoing faintly, like background noise.

Her chin rested on her palm as her eyes unfocused on the page. She was gone.

“Aiah.”

The sharp voice cut through her fog.

She blinked, head snapping up. The professor was staring directly at her, glasses perched low on his nose. The room had gone quiet, too quiet, students shifting in their seats and holding back chuckles.

“Care to repeat what I just said?” His tone was neutral, but there was a warning edge to it.

Aiah froze. Her pen twirled nervously in her fingers. “Uh—”

A beat of silence stretched.

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’ve been caught daydreaming too many times this semester already. This is the third call-out in a week, isn’t it?”

The class chuckled softly, whispers bubbling. Aiah wanted to sink into the floor.

“I—sorry, sir,” she muttered, heat rising to her ears.

He tapped the desk with his marker, then went back to writing on the board. “Focus, Miss Arceta. Third year is not the time to slack. You know that.”

Her stomach twisted. She ducked her head, trying to look like she was refocusing, scribbling whatever he was writing on the board.

But her pen betrayed her again. The words turned into loops, the loops into a smile, the smile into eyes she knew too well.

She wanted to slam her notebook shut.

The professor’s lecture went on. Lines, curves, principles, critique. But her ears caught nothing. All she could see was the shape of Stacey’s grin blooming in pencil scratches across the page.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket, but she didn’t dare check. Probably just random group chat pings or some notification about an edit deadline. Nothing that would drag her out of this mess in her head.

The class dragged, each minute heavier than the last. She doodled to stay awake, to pretend she was taking notes. A half-finished sketch of hair falling across a face stared back at her.

When the bell finally rang, relief flooded her. Students packed up quickly, chairs scraping against the tiled floor.

Aiah shoved her notebook into her bag, pulling her hoodie tighter around herself as she slipped out with the crowd.

The hallway buzzed with life—students from different programs crossing paths, chattering, laughing, rushing. Normally, she’d spot Sheena or Jhoanna somewhere, wave, maybe grab food together. But they were off in their own corners of the university.

Masscom for Jhoanna, medtech for Sheena. Their worlds collided less and less during the day, only stitching back together when they made plans after class.

So Aiah walked alone.

Her sneakers squeaked softly against the polished floors, her bag heavy on her shoulder. She kept her head down, eyes on the ground, weaving through the crowd without really seeing.

All the while, her notebook burned in her bag, pages filled with the face she couldn’t scrub from her brain.

She wanted to scream at herself. Shake herself out of it.

But instead, she slipped her earphones in, music humming low as she stepped outside into the sun.

The air was hot, sticky. The courtyard was full of students sitting under the trees, eating, laughing, scrolling on their phones. Aiah found a bench at the edge and sat down, pulling out her notebook like a compulsion.

Her fingers traced the doodles. The crescents of eyes. The curve of a grin. The outline of hair she couldn’t perfect.

She sighed, snapping the notebook shut.

This was getting ridiculous.

One photoshoot. Just one. And she was falling apart like some fool in a cheap romance flick.

She buried her face in her hands, groaning softly.

Somewhere across the courtyard, a group of freshmen squealed, probably at some campus crush walking by. Their laughter echoed, too loud, too bright.

Aiah sat there, headphones in, pretending the music drowned everything out.

But deep down, her chest thudded with the same kind of ridiculous, restless beat.

And no matter how much she tried to push it aside, the thought always came back—Stacey, smiling at her through the lens, sunlight painting her golden.

And her professor’s voice haunted the back of her mind too: Third year is not the time to slack.

She knew he was right.

But her heart wasn’t listening.

And Isn’t it the worst thing of all? That’s what Aiah kept circling back to. Over and over like a broken record.

She used to laugh at people who got all tangled up in someone else, who lost sleep, who lost focus, who forgot themselves just because some pretty face batted an eyelash their way. She’d called herself immune. Queen of self-love. She built her whole image on it—turning down suitors with polite smiles, walking into parties alone, making Instagram posts about independence like she was giving a TED talk every week.

People rolled their eyes, called her a bummer, but she wore it like armor.

And now? Now she couldn’t even get through a lecture without scribbling stupid doodles in her notes. Couldn’t boil noodles without nearly scalding herself because her brain conjured up crescent-shaped eyes and a laugh soft enough to ruin her concentration.

Her. Self-proclaimed self-love queen. Falling apart because of a random girl she shot for one gig. One.

It was humiliating in a way, but it wasn’t like she could stop it. The thought snuck in even when she was trying to avoid it. Especially then.

Stacey.

Every time Aiah replayed the moment in her head, she felt her chest twist like it was wringing itself out. The door had opened, a little late, and there she was, carrying a bag of Jollibee burgers like she wasn’t walking into the room like a walking plot twist. The chatter had shifted, the crew had laughed, and the world—Aiah’s world—just stilled.

Everything before that felt muted now, like someone had thrown a filter over her memory. But Stacey walking in? That moment was saturated. Vivid.

Pink.

That was the only way she could describe it. The air had turned pink. The sunlight in the room, the fabric draped across the set, even the laughter bouncing off the walls—it all bloomed into this rosy haze the second Stacey stepped inside.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t supposed to happen like that. Aiah wasn’t supposed to be the kind of person whose entire axis tilted just because a girl smiled, said sorry for being late, offered burgers.

But that’s exactly what happened. She couldn’t even deny it anymore.

Pink.

Her mind wouldn’t let go of it. She could see Stacey framed by that window, fabric spilling around her like soft petals, her grin lighting up the whole damn room. Easy. Natural. Beautiful without even trying.

And Aiah—cool, composed, immune Aiah—had fallen silent. Fumbled her words. Could barely get her name out.

It was like being punched in the chest, except softer. Like her heart had tripped over itself and hadn’t stood back up since.

She sat on her bed days later, staring at the ceiling, headphones in but no music playing, and all she could think was how stupid it was. How unfair. How dangerous it felt to lose herself in something as flimsy as this.

She’d been fine before. Happy even. Sure, her friends teased her for being single, but it never bothered her. Not really. She didn’t need anyone to fill her days—her work did that, her friends did that, herself most of all.

But then. That stupid day. That stupid room. That stupid grin.

Now the things that used to ground her—the camera in her hands, the weight of deadlines, the steady rhythm of edits—felt shaky. Like her focus had been hijacked by something she didn’t sign up for.

“You’re so pathetic, Aiah.”

But the worst part wasn’t even that she was distracted. It was that she didn’t hate it.

She didn’t hate replaying it, didn’t hate the way her stomach twisted when she remembered Stacey following her directions so easily, like she trusted her judgment, like she was listening.

She didn’t hate remembering how Stacey had laughed, teasing but gentle, about looking like a kid in a blanket fort.

She didn’t hate how her voice had sounded, soft and light, every word dripping warmth.

She didn’t hate it at all.

And maybe that was why it scared her so much.

Her whole identity had been about not needing this. Not wanting it. Keeping herself separate from the chaos of feelings and crushes and heartbreaks her friends seemed to trip over every week. And yet here she was, knees weak at the thought of a girl who probably didn’t even remember her name.

Pink.

That color kept haunting her. It wasn’t even her favorite color, but now it was everywhere. The wrapper of a candy someone dropped in class. The shade of a notebook cover in the library. The tinge of the sky when the sun was just about to dip.

Every pink she saw dragged her right back into that moment, into that room, into that world where Stacey walked in and everything changed.

And maybe she was exaggerating. Maybe she was blowing it out of proportion. Maybe it was just the shock of meeting someone so effortlessly magnetic, someone her camera adored as much as her eyes did.

But if it was nothing, if it was just her imagination, then why couldn’t she breathe right whenever she thought of it?

Why did it feel like her still, steady, predictable little world had been cracked open, flooded with pink, and she couldn’t shove it back into grayscale no matter how hard she tried?

She wanted to laugh at herself, but the sound stuck in her throat.

She’d always been so sure she was different. Immune. Untouchable.

And now here she was. Caught.

All because of one smile. One girl. One stupid, pink-tinted moment.

…

Aiah knew she had to do something. Anything. She couldn’t keep living like this—every second hijacked by the memory of a girl who probably forgot she existed the second she walked out of that studio. It was pathetic. Dangerous. Painfully un-Aiah.

So, in a fit of desperation one random morning, she stood in front of her bathroom mirror with a razor in hand, staring at her reflection.

Her eyebrows.

If she shaved them off, maybe she’d look so ridiculous that her brain would finally snap out of it. No way she’d be thinking about Stacey if she was busy panicking over how to draw on eyebrows every morning, right?

She leaned closer, lifting the razor.

“This is insane,” she muttered, but her hand trembled anyway. She pressed the blade just under the arch of her left brow, testing.

But the second the edge touched skin, her heart dropped. Images of herself walking into class with Sharpie-thick drawn-on brows flashed before her. Her professor already hated her for daydreaming—what if he roasted her eyebrows too? And Sheena and Jhoanna…

Oh God, they’d never let her live it down.

She dropped the razor back on the sink with a clatter, clutching the counter. “Nope. Absolutely not. Bad plan.”

Still eyebrowed, still lovesick. Strike one.

By noon she decided maybe distraction was the key. Movies. That always worked. She’d sink into a dark theater, drown herself in popcorn grease and soda, and forget everything. Forget pink. Forget crescent eyes. Forget that sunshine incarnate.

She bought a solo ticket, slouched in her seat, hoodie pulled up like she was hiding from the world. Aiah: queen of independence, master of third-wheeling, solo cinema warrior.

Except—

The movie was Barbie.

Of all things, Barbie.

She figured it’d be light, funny, dumb enough to reset her brain. But from the second the screen glowed pink with the opening credits, her stomach dropped.

Pink. Everywhere.

She wanted to cry.

The set pieces. The outfits. The glossy smiles. Every shade of pink assaulted her like a personal attack. And all she could think was—Stacey. Stacey in that fabric, sunlight hitting just right, laughing like she owned every shade of rose and bubblegum and blush in the spectrum.

Halfway through, while Barbie danced across the screen in neon roller skates, Aiah actually groaned out loud. A mom in front of her turned around, glaring.

“Sorry,” Aiah whispered, sinking lower in her seat.

She shoved a fistful of popcorn into her mouth, chewing aggressively, as if salt and grease could scrub her brain clean. But every laugh, every pastel backdrop, every flash of pink neon just made it worse.

By the time the credits rolled, she stumbled out of the theater like she’d been personally assaulted.

“Never again,” she muttered, tossing her empty popcorn tub into the trash.

Still lovesick. Still pathetic. Strike two.

She trudged home, collapsing face-first into her bed, the smell of butter still clinging to her hoodie. The worst part? She couldn’t even remember the plot of the movie. Nothing stuck except the overwhelming reminder of her.

It was almost funny, if it wasn’t so tragic.

Almost.

She flipped over, staring at the ceiling, hair fanned out like a mess. “You’re losing it, Arceta,” she whispered to herself.

Sheena and Jhoanna would laugh themselves sick if they knew. Their self-love queen, their proudly single best friend, reduced to a clown by one girl. And not just any girl—a girl she met once. One shoot. That was it.

She pressed her hands over her face, muffling the noise of her groan.

Eyebrows intact. Barbie trauma fresh. Stacey still painted across every thought.

It was official. There was no escape.

…

Sheena and Jhoanna were walking a few steps ahead of her, whispering to each other like they always did when they had something brewing between them. Normally Aiah would be quick to throw herself in, tease them, ask what was so funny or make some dumb joke that had all three of them snorting in the middle of the street.

But today? Her feet felt like they had been replaced with lead blocks. Each step dragged, her shoes scuffing against the pavement loud enough to make passing people look at her like she was this exhausted ghost just trying to exist. Her shoulders slouched low, her arms limp at her sides, her bag threatening to slip off.

Sheena glanced back once, raised her brows at Jhoanna. Jhoanna just tilted her head slightly. Neither of them said anything though. Maybe they were waiting for Aiah to pipe up, to bounce back, but she couldn’t. She just couldn’t.

“Jesus Christ,” Sheena finally said, slowing down so Aiah wouldn’t fall too far behind. “Why you walking like gravity’s out here picking a personal fight with you?”

Aiah blinked up at her, expression blank. “I’m conserving energy.”

“Energy for what? You’re literally on break right now,” Jhoanna chimed in, half amused, half concerned.

“For living,” Aiah muttered, dragging one foot forward like it weighed a hundred pounds.

Sheena squinted at her. “You know you run marathons before sunrise, right? Like actual ten kilometers while we’re still drooling on our pillows. Don’t give me this conserving energy crap.”

Aiah just sighed, deep and long, letting it out through her nose. Didn’t even try to defend herself.

That’s when both Sheena and Jhoanna went quiet. Too quiet. The kind that made Aiah’s skin itch. She knew they were studying her—both of them had this annoying skill where they just knew something was up, even when she hadn’t opened her mouth yet.

Sheena slowed down completely until she was walking at Aiah’s side, glancing at her from the corner of her eye. “You good, girl?”

Aiah snorted. “Yeah. Totally.”

“That sounded like a lie.”

“It’s not a lie,” she mumbled.

“Mmhm.” Sheena didn’t push, but the silence after made it worse. Like waiting for an explosion that never came.

Meanwhile, Jhoanna had turned to walk backwards just to stare at Aiah. “Why are you so muted?”

“Muted?” Aiah repeated, scrunching her nose.

“Muted,” Jhoanna confirmed. “Like someone pressed the volume down button on you and forgot to put it back up.”

Sheena snickered at that, but quickly sobered again. “She’s right though. You’ve been kinda, I don’t know, dragging your ass everywhere.”

Aiah rubbed her face with both hands and groaned into her palms. “Maybe I’m just tired, okay?”

“Tired doesn’t make you slump around like your soul left your body,” Sheena said flatly.

Jhoanna nodded. “Yeah, tired Aiah usually just naps between classes. Not this—” she gestured at Aiah’s dragging feet “—possessed zombie arc.”

Aiah let her hands drop and made a face, half pout, half glare. “Wow. Thank you for the flattering descriptions.”

“Anytime.” Jhoanna grinned.

But then the quiet came back. That weird quiet where both of them were definitely thinking too much. And Aiah hated it. Hated how they were probably running through scenarios in their heads.

Was she sick? Stressed? Secretly hiding a failing grade? Planning to shave her head bald for an art project? (Okay, maybe that one was her fault, she did almost shave her eyebrows once.)

Sheena finally spoke again, voice softer this time. “For real though, you sure you’re fine?”

Aiah just shrugged, stuffing her hands into her pockets and kicking a tiny rock on the sidewalk. Watching it bounce forward gave her something to look at that wasn’t their faces. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

The problem was—she wasn’t. Obviously. But what was she supposed to say? Hey guys, I’m obsessing over this random girl from a shoot and now my brain has basically pink-screened every hour since. Help.

No. Absolutely not. They’d never let her live it down. And anyway, she wasn’t the type to get stuck on people. At least, she wasn’t supposed to be.

So she dragged her feet harder, sighed louder, hoping they’d drop it.

They didn’t.

Jhoanna clicked her tongue and muttered under her breath, “Something’s up.”

Sheena agreed immediately. “Yup. And she’s not telling us.”

“I heard that,” Aiah muttered, but it was weak.

“Good,” Jhoanna said, grinning like a cat. “Means we’re right.”

Aiah groaned again, loud enough that a guy on a bike passing them looked over. She didn’t even care.

Her friends didn’t push further though. They just exchanged another one of those silent looks, the kind where they spoke entire conversations without words.

And Aiah was left there, dragging her feet, trying to pretend her chest didn’t ache with something she couldn’t even explain to herself.

The bell above the café door jingled when they walked in, the three of them trailing like mismatched ducks. Aiah pushed the door open with the weight of someone who’d been carrying the entire world on her back, then shuffled inside.

The place smelled like roasted beans and sugar, the kind of cozy sweetness that usually perked her up, but not today. She let Sheena take the lead toward the counter, didn’t even bother looking at the menu.

“Same thing?” Sheena asked over her shoulder.

“Yeah,” Aiah mumbled, sinking her hands into her jacket pockets.

Sheena nodded and ordered for all three of them, rattling off drinks and pastries like it was routine. Jhoanna leaned on the counter beside her, giggling about something the barista said, and Aiah drifted toward a table by the window, sliding into the chair like she was ninety years old.

By the time her friends joined her, drinks in hand, she’d already slumped halfway onto the table, cheek pressed against the cool wood.

“Food will be here in a bit,” Sheena said, setting down Aiah’s coffee.

“Thanks.” Her voice came out muffled.

And then it happened. Silence.

Not the comfortable kind. Not even the easy, lazy quiet they sometimes shared after a long day. No—this was that loaded silence. Heavy. Suspicious. Full of eyes.

Aiah cracked one eye open. Sheena and Jhoanna weren’t talking. Not giggling. Not scrolling their phones. They were both just… staring.

Dead on.

Like laser beams trained on her head.

Aiah groaned, lifting her face off the table and rubbing her eyes. “What?”

Neither answered. Just kept looking at her, identical raised brows, matching tilted heads.

“You two are creepy as hell, you know that?”

Still no response. Just staring.

She slumped back in her chair, dragging her hands down her face dramatically. “Oh my god. Stop. You’re making me feel like I’m on trial.”

Sheena finally leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. “You kinda are.”

Jhoanna nodded, dead serious. “Yeah. Lowkey.”

Aiah dropped her hands and looked at them properly. These two. These literal babies. She was what—three? Four years older? And yet somehow she was the one pinned against the wall by their combined judgment.

Doomed, really. Doomed to be interrogated by kids.

“This is harassment,” she muttered, grabbing her coffee and taking a big sip.

“Only if we’re wrong,” Sheena said.

Aiah nearly choked. “What does that even mean?”

“It means you’re hiding something,” Jhoanna cut in, all smug. “And we’ll sit here and look at you like this until you spill.”

The staring resumed.

Full-on staring contest now.

Aiah tried to hold her ground. Sipped her coffee like she didn’t care. Looked out the window. Looked at the wall. Looked back at them. They hadn’t moved an inch. Sheena’s expression was all playful suspicion, Jhoanna’s was more amused, like she was waiting for a punchline. But they both had the same intent in their eyes: talk.

She groaned again, louder this time. Slouched lower into her seat. “You guys are like vultures circling a dying animal.”

Sheena shrugged. “If the shoe fits.”

“More like if the vibes fit,” Jhoanna added.

Aiah tried to resist. She really did. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes, muttering, “Not gonna work. I’m not telling you anything.”

But when she peeked one eye open again—yep. Still staring. Still dead quiet. She cursed under her breath, squirmed in her chair, looked anywhere but at them. Even the menu board above the counter suddenly became fascinating.

It lasted, what, two minutes? Maybe three? Felt like an eternity.

And then she cracked.

Slapped her hands down on the table and groaned so hard people at the next table looked over. “Fine! God, you win! You win, okay?!”

Sheena smirked, sitting back in her chair. Jhoanna grinned wide, victory glowing in her eyes.

“Older than both of you and still bullied,” Aiah muttered, glaring at her untouched coffee like it had betrayed her. “This is so embarrassing.”

Sheena leaned back, smug as ever. “Then talk.”

“About what?”

“About why you’re walking like a zombie and staring into space all the time,” Jhoanna said, tapping the table with her nails. “Don’t act clueless.”

Aiah crossed her arms, pouted like a sulky kid. “Maybe I’m just—” she paused, scrambled for excuses. “—stressed. School’s tough.”

Sheena raised a brow. “You’ve handled school stress way better before. Try again.”

“Uh… tired?”

“Lame.”

“Hungry?”

“You literally fed us last week with like, three boxes of pizza. Next.”

Aiah groaned into her arms this time, burying her face. “You two are insufferable.”

But she could still feel their eyes, heavy and unrelenting, waiting for something real. Something true. And she hated how they could see right through her like that. She hated even more that she wanted to spill, wanted to just throw the whole thing on the table and let them laugh about it.

But how was she supposed to say it? Hey, I can’t stop thinking about this girl I met once, she’s been living in my brain rent-free, every single pink thing reminds me of her. Send help. Yeah. No. She wasn’t that far gone. Yet.

Still, as she peeked up at them again, their smug faces staring back, she knew one thing for sure—she was doomed. Absolutely doomed.

“Fine.”

That was the first word she spat out, loud enough to make the couple at the other table look over. Sheena and Jhoanna straightened instantly, twin sharks smelling blood in the water.

Aiah slammed her palms flat on the table, leaned forward like she was about to confess to a crime. “It was the shoot, okay? The one with ST8FEM. That company’s got me all messed up.”

The two blinked at her. Silence. Which somehow made it worse.

She dragged her hands down her face dramatically. “Their model—holy shit. She was so fucking pretty I think I blacked out halfway through. Like—actually. Gone. Dead. Deceased.”

Still silence.

“She might be—” Aiah cut herself off, groaning. “God, I hate myself for even saying this, but she might be my favorite muse ever. And guess what? I’m never even gonna see her again in my life.” She threw her hands up, voice cracking like a tragic soap opera actress.

“So I’ll probably end up thinking about her until I’m old and wrinkly, lying on my deathbed, muttering about how the sunlight hit her hair that one afternoon.”

Sheena finally opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Just a blink.

Jhoanna blinked too. Both of them looked like their brains had blue-screened.

Aiah groaned again, slumping back into her chair, covering her face. “Yeah, laugh it up. Go on. Roast me. I know you want to.”

Except they didn’t laugh. Not even a snicker. They just… stayed quiet.

So Aiah kept going, because apparently the dam had broken. Her voice softened without her meaning to. “I don’t know, dude. It was weird. Like, the second she walked into that room, my whole world just shifted. Turned into this—this stupid shade of pink. Like, pastel pink, cheesy shit. The kind of color I’d normally gag at. But now? It’s all I can think about. Pink walls, pink flowers, pink notebooks—I see them and my brain just goes, oh, that’s her.”

She shook her head, staring into her untouched coffee like it could explain what the hell was happening to her. “I’m literally the self-proclaimed self-love queen, right? Miss Independent, Miss I Don’t Need Anybody. And then—bam. Some girl with a smile that makes her eyes disappear and suddenly I’m doodling hearts in my notebook like a middle schooler. What the actual fuck.”

Still, no response.

She peeked up through her fingers. They were both staring at her again, but not with the smugness from earlier.

No, this time they looked soft. Confused, yeah, but soft. Like they were trying to process what she just dumped on them.

“Why are you two so quiet now?” she asked, squinting at them. “You bullied me for thirty minutes straight and now I’m baring my soul, and you’ve got nothing?”

Sheena finally cleared her throat, leaning back. “We just—uh. We didn’t think it was a person.”

Jhoanna nodded, voice small. “Yeah, we thought you were stressing about, like, taxes or something.”

“Taxes?!” Aiah slapped the table. “I’m in college! What taxes do I even have to pay?”

“We’re in the Philippines, you never know!”

That broke the silence, at least. Sheena chuckled, Jhoanna tried to stifle her laugh, and Aiah just sighed, half exasperated, half relieved.

“Anyway.” She rubbed at her temples. “It doesn’t matter. She’s out of my league, obviously. And out of my life. So, you know. Whatever. I’ll just be haunted by pink for eternity. No big deal.”

Her voice cracked at the end, but she tried to play it off by sipping her coffee. Burned her tongue. Cursed under her breath.

Sheena leaned forward again, still with that softness in her tone. “You really like her, huh?”

Aiah froze, cup halfway to her lips. Then she set it down slowly, pressing her lips together. She didn’t answer right away, just stared at the steam curling up from the drink.

Finally, she muttered, “Yeah. I think I do.”

And the café felt quieter than ever.

Jhoanna was the first to break the silence. She leaned back in her chair, clutched her chest like she was in some old soap opera, and let out the most dramatic sigh Aiah had ever heard in her life.

“Oh my god,” she said, dragging the words like they were velvet. “I am so proud of you.”

Aiah’s head snapped up. “Proud? For what? For… for what exactly? For losing my mind over some girl I’ll never see again?”

“Yes,” Jhoanna declared, pointing a finger at her like she was giving a TED talk. “Exactly for that. You’re human. You feel things. It’s a miracle. You’ve been so anti-love, anti-romance, ‘self-love queen,’ blah blah blah— and now, look at you. Hopelessly pining. Like the rest of us peasants.”

Before Aiah could even fire back, Sheena made this noise—something between a squeak, a wheeze, and a dying rat caught under a chair leg. It startled both of them enough to whip their heads in her direction.

Sheena was hunched over her iced latte, shoulders shaking, and that unholy squeaking kept spilling out of her throat.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Aiah asked, deadpan.

Sheena choked. “I don’t know, I just—” another rat squeak, “—I didn’t think you’d actually, like, fall for someone. This is—pfft—oh my god.”

Aiah groaned, slumping so far in her chair she almost slid off. “I didn’t say I fell. I just said she’s pretty.”

“Pretty enough that your whole world turned pink?” Jhoanna shot back instantly, raising a brow.

“Shut up,” Aiah muttered, covering her face with both hands.

Sheena squeaked again, trying to rein it in. “This is actually kind of amazing, though. Like, Jho’s right—it’s a miracle. You’ve been acting like love is this optional DLC you don’t need to buy, and now you’re over here losing brain cells over a girl who smiled at you.”

“I’m not losing brain cells.”

“You doodled hearts in your notes.”

Aiah’s ears went red. “…That was just… shapes.”

Both of them gave her the exact same look. Flat. Unimpressed.

“Shut up,” she repeated, voice smaller this time.

The worst part? They weren’t even laughing. Like, normally they’d roast her into ashes, make memes out of this, drag her in the group chat until she regretted speaking. But no. They were just watching her. Like she was this rare animal that had finally stepped out of the forest after years of hiding.

It was almost worse than being clowned.

Sheena finally leaned her chin into her palm, studying Aiah like she was under a microscope. “So. Let me get this straight. You’re saying you, Aiah Arceta, self-love queen, sworn enemy of mushy feelings, are actually pining? Hopelessly? Over a model?”

Aiah groaned again, tugging at her hair this time. “Don’t say it like that, it sounds stupid when you say it like that.”

“It is stupid,” Jhoanna said, but her tone wasn’t cruel. More like amused, almost soft. “But it’s also kind of sweet? You’re allowed to pine, you know. Even if it’s hopeless. That’s kind of the whole thing. People pine, people get crushed, people survive. It’s human.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t like it,” Aiah grumbled.

“You’re not supposed to like it,” Sheena said with a grin. “That’s why it’s called pining. It sucks. It eats at you. It makes you dramatic.”

“I’m not dramatic.”

They both stared at her again.

Aiah sighed, defeated, sinking further down until her chin was practically on the table. “Okay, maybe a little dramatic.”

“Try a lot,” Jhoanna said, poking her arm. “You should’ve seen your face just now when you said she was pretty. It was like you were confessing to a priest.”

“She’s hopeless,” Sheena muttered, shaking her head.

The word sat heavy for a second. And then all three of them just sat there, the air buzzing with something weird— not quite funny, not quite sad. Somewhere in between.

Because yeah, it was laughable. Aiah, who swore off romance like it was the plague, suddenly caught up in pink daydreams over one random photoshoot. It was absurd. But watching her slump there, cheeks pink, voice small—she didn’t look like someone you could laugh at.

She looked like someone who had no idea what to do with herself.

So they didn’t laugh.

They just let her sit in her hopelessness, sipping their drinks, letting the noise of the café fill the space.

Aiah dragged her hands down her face, smearing invisible stress all over, before mumbling into the table, “Well now that you both know about it, help me.”

Both Sheena and Jhoanna froze mid-sip, cups suspended like someone had hit pause.

“...Help you what?” Jhoanna asked slowly, like she wasn’t sure if she heard right.

“Help me get my brain back.” Aiah lifted her head, looking more like a raccoon at 3 AM than an actual functioning adult. “I swear, it’s like my mind has been hijacked. Every time I close my eyes it’s just—”

She made a vague gesture with both hands, “—her face. Smiling. And pink. Always pink. I’m losing it.”

Sheena leaned back, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “So you’re asking us to, like hunt her down? Track this model girl, set up some kind of meet-cute situation? Because that’s what it sounds like.”

“NO!” Aiah practically yelled, half the café glancing at them. She immediately winced and lowered her voice. “God, no. Don’t even think about it. I don’t need you two turning into creepy love detectives. Besides, I already said— it’s not your Stacey.”

Sheena raised a brow. “Our Stacey, who is literally also a model?”

“Coincidence!” Aiah snapped, pointing accusingly. “Different person. End of story. Don’t even start.”

Jhoanna and Sheena shared a look across the table, one of those wordless exchanges that screamed oh, she’s doomed, but let’s humor her.

“So what do you actually want, then?” Jhoanna asked, leaning in.

“A distraction,” Aiah said immediately, almost desperate. “Anything. Please. I don’t care if it’s stupid. Just something to get her out of my head before I start seeing her face in my cereal or something.”

Sheena snorted. “Honestly? That sounds hilarious. You pour out cornflakes and boom, Stacey’s smile. That’s haunting.”

Aiah glared. “Not helping.”

Jhoanna tapped her chin, pretending to think. “Okay, so you want a distraction like what? Clubbing?”

“No.”

“Karaoke?”

Aiah visibly winced. “Definitely no.”

“Movie marathon?” Sheena chimed in.

“I tried movies,” Aiah muttered. “Barbie reminded me of her. Worst mistake of my life.”

That earned her a solid five seconds of both of them just staring at her before bursting out laughing.

“You— you went to Barbie—” Sheena wheezed, holding her stomach.

“And got reminded of her?!” Jhoanna added, half choking on her iced mocha.

Aiah slammed her forehead against the table with a dramatic thud. “Why did I even ask you guys…”

“Because you love us,” Jhoanna teased, patting her head like she was a sad puppy.

Sheena leaned forward, grin wide. “Okay, okay. What if we take you to one of those pottery classes? You know, distract you with clay. Messy, fun, very not pink.”

“Except clay can be pink,” Jhoanna cut in.

“Shut up, Jho.”

Aiah groaned into the table. “I’m not making pottery. I’ll just end up sculpting her face or something and then I’ll really lose it.”

The girlfriends exchanged another look, this one with more evil spark.

“What about blind dating?” Sheena said, far too casually.

Aiah’s head shot up, eyes wide with horror. “Absolutely not. No. Never. Delete that thought from your brain.”

“Why not?” Jhoanna pressed, her smirk growing. “It’s the perfect distraction.”

“It’s also the perfect way to traumatize me,” Aiah shot back. “I’d rather eat chalk.”

They both laughed again, but at least the tension broke.

For a while, the three of them just sat there throwing out increasingly dumb suggestions—bungee jumping, goat yoga, volunteering at a cat café (“the cats will remind you of her eyes!” “SHUT UP”), even painting each other’s nails neon green just for chaos.

None of it was realistic, but at least Aiah was laughing now, shoulders finally unclenching.

“Seriously, though,” she said after a while, quieter this time. “I don’t care what it is. Just something. I need my brain back before I fail another class or trip over another sidewalk crack.”

Sheena reached over and flicked her forehead, gentle but sharp enough to make Aiah flinch. “Fine. We’ll think of something. But you owe us. Big time.”

“Whatever,” Aiah muttered, rubbing her forehead.

Jhoanna grinned, sipping her drink. “You’re really down bad, huh?”

Aiah groaned into her hands again, voice muffled. “Don’t remind me.”

And just like that, the hopeless self-love queen officially recruited her two chaotic younger friends into Operation: Distract Aiah from Pink.

…

The arcade was loud enough to fry her brain cells, neon lights flashing everywhere, bells dinging like it was some casino for kids who couldn’t gamble yet.

Aiah was right in the middle of it, hair tied up in a lazy bun, sleeves rolled up, gripping that stupid bingo machine like her life depended on it. She should’ve been embarrassed—twenty-something, playing against clusters of titas and lolos with reading glasses slipping off their noses—but no.

She was in her zone. Focused. Dead serious. Her knee bounced, her lips muttered numbers under her breath, and when the machine spat out her card, she slammed it down on the table like she was in some underground fight club.

“BINGO!” she barked, startling the granny beside her so bad the woman clutched her chest.

The staff trudged over, checked her card, and—of course—she won. Again. Aiah grinned, already stacking her pile of tickets like it was gold bullion. She didn’t even care that she looked deranged. For a few precious minutes, it was working—her brain wasn’t pink, wasn’t replaying Stacey’s smile or that stupid memory of her walking into the studio.

For a few minutes, all that existed was the rush of winning against pensioners.

But then she spotted it.

At the prize counter, hanging smugly from the wall like it knew her weaknesses, was a giant stuffed pink bear. Big, soft, ridiculous. The exact shade of pink her brain had been stuck in since Stacey walked into her life.

Shit.

She tried to ignore it, clutching her thick roll of tickets. Maybe a keychain, or candy, or a pack of cheap playing cards—something practical, something normal. But her eyes kept flicking back. That stupid bear grinned down at her, like, “Yeah. You’re gonna fold.”

And of course she did.

So there she was, twenty minutes later, walking out of the arcade with the thing crammed in her arms, its fluffy head bobbing over her shoulder, dragging its long legs against the floor like some corpse she was lugging home.

Outside, Sheena and Jhoanna were waiting on the bench. Both turned their heads in perfect sync when they saw her coming. The silence that followed was so loud Aiah almost groaned right there. She slowed down, hugging the bear tighter, like maybe if she clutched it hard enough it would explain itself.

The two younger girls didn’t even say anything at first. Just stared. Hard.

Aiah stopped in front of them, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. “What?” she snapped, defensive.

More staring.

“Oh my god,” she muttered, clutching the bear closer like it was her emotional support animal. “Don’t look at me like that.”

Still nothing. Just deadpan faces, eyes boring into her like they were holding an intervention.

Sheena finally tilted her head, lips twitching. “So, uh… Plan one failed, huh?”

Aiah groaned so loud people turned to look. “Shut up.”

Jhoanna tried to hide her grin behind her hand, but she failed miserably. “Aiah, babe, you walked in looking like you were gonna blow up the arcade with your intensity, and now you’re walking out like a—like a sad loser puppy with a bear twice your size.”

“I’m not sad!” Aiah protested, hugging the bear tighter, as if the thing was a shield. “I just—look, I was winning! I was killing it! And then this thing—” she shook the bear’s arm for emphasis, “—was just there, okay? It’s not my fault!”

Sheena raised a brow. “You mean to tell me, you tried to distract yourself from a girl by going to an arcade, and you came out with the physical embodiment of her in stuffed toy form?”

Aiah froze, bear still in her grip. “Shut up,” she muttered again, but weaker this time.

The silence stretched on for a few beats, the two younger girls just staring at her while she stood there, hair slightly messy from all her intense gaming, clinging to a giant pink bear like she’d lost a custody battle. The more they stared, the more her face heated up. She couldn’t take it.

“Fine!” she finally blurted, throwing her head back dramatically. “Yes, okay, it reminded me of her! Happy? Are you guys proud of yourselves?!”

Sheena made a noise that sounded half like a snort and half like choking. Jhoanna just pressed her lips together, shaking her head slowly like she was witnessing a tragedy unfold.

Aiah stomped her foot, which only made the whole thing worse.

“I’m doomed,” she muttered, dragging her feet to the bench and plopping down beside them, the bear squished awkwardly between her and Sheena. “Totally, completely doomed. I can’t even go to an arcade without being reminded of Stacey. What’s wrong with me?”

The two didn’t answer. Just sat there, looking at her with that mix of pity and amusement only younger friends could master. The kind of look that screamed, you’re pathetic, but we still love you anyway.

Aiah buried her face in the bear’s fuzzy head, groaning into the cotton stuffing. “This is the worst. Plan one is an epic fail.”

“Epic,” Sheena echoed, leaning back.

Jhoanna hummed. “Yeah, like a cosmic level fail.”

“Shut up,” Aiah mumbled again, her voice muffled by the bear’s fur.

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy this time—it was just ridiculous. Aiah sat there slumped, dragging her feet like she was the most tired human alive, clutching a bear that was the exact shade of the girl who ruined her life, while her two best friends watched on like it was a sitcom.

And honestly? It kind of was.

…

Second plan: karaoke.

If the arcade didn’t work, maybe yelling their lungs out into cheap microphones in a neon-lit box would. That was Sheena’s idea, anyway. “Sing it out,” she’d said, dragging Aiah and Jhoanna down the street until they found a place with hourly rates and walls thin enough to hear people murdering Whitney Houston next door.

So there they were, cramped in a tiny room with sticky floors and a touchscreen machine older than Aiah’s college ID. The mic covers smelled vaguely like disinfectant—or maybe just sadness. But Aiah didn’t even care.

She was slouched in the corner, scrolling halfheartedly through the machine, pretending she was picking songs, but really just not. Her brain was still pink, her chest still weird.

And the ice creams? Yeah, that was Jhoanna’s fault. She’d ordered them “for fun” because who eats ice cream in a karaoke bar at noon? Now, ten minutes in, Aiah was already on her third cup, spoon digging in like she was unearthing treasure.

Sheena grabbed the mic first. “Okay, listen. No one’s leaving until we scream a full December Aveenue song. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Jhoanna nodded, flipping through the songbook.

Aiah, mouth full of rocky road, only hummed. She wasn’t planning to sing. Her voice was too busy betraying her in other ways—like babbling endlessly about a certain model she couldn’t shut up about.

Sheena launched into “Bulong,” voice cracking gloriously. Jhoanna clapped along, cheering, while Aiah just sat there with her ice cream, spoon dangling, eyes glazed over like a war veteran.

And then—mid-chorus, mid-mess—Aiah spoke up. Loudly. Clearly.

“Stacey would kill this song.”

Both heads snapped toward her.

She didn’t notice. She just shoveled another spoonful into her mouth, nodding like she’d just cracked the code of the universe.

“No, but seriously. Her voice? I bet it’s, like, so fitting for this song, you know? Like—like when someone reads you poetry but then yells at you to pass the salt. That kind of voice.”

Sheena choked on her own laugh mid-lyric, mic squealing. “Dude. We’re literally trying to distract you. That’s the whole point.”

“I am distracted!” Aiah argued, waving her spoon dramatically, chocolate ice cream threatening to fly. “This is me being distracted! If I wasn’t distracted, I’d be thinking about how—ugh—her hair probably smells like fresh laundry or something, and that’s even worse. At least here I get to imagine her singing December Avenue while I eat ice cream, okay?!”

Jhoanna blinked, leaning against the wall. “You sound drunk.”

Aiah slammed her spoon down on the empty cup. “I’m not drunk! I haven’t even had soda! This is just me, raw and unfiltered!”

Sheena snorted, switching the mic to Jhoanna who was wheezing now. “Raw and unfiltered, huh? Babe, you’ve eaten like, what, four ice creams already? You’re sugar-drunk.”

“Sugar doesn’t make me drunk,” Aiah huffed, already reaching for the fifth cup like she had something to prove. “It just amplifies my emotions.”

“Which is worse,” Jhoanna muttered under her breath, but Aiah heard it.

“Shut up!” she snapped, but there was no bite. She was already halfway through vanilla swirl, looking pitiful, like a heartbroken child at a birthday party gone wrong.

The karaoke machine switched songs, with INDIGO (with u) by Maki appearing on the screen. Perfect. Totally what they needed.

Aiah perked up instantly, slamming her spoon down again.

“Okay, okay—wait. This one. This one is so Stacey-coded.”

“Oh my God,” Sheena groaned, sinking into the couch.

But Aiah didn’t stop. She grabbed the mic with ice-cream-sticky fingers and belted the first verse like her life depended on it. Off-key, too loud, way too passionate.

She even closed her eyes, clutching the bear they’d brought along from the arcade like it was a person.

When the chorus hit, she pointed the mic at her friends, like she was daring them to join in. Neither did. They just stared, dumbfounded.

“Aiah,” Jhoanna finally said, slow and deliberate, “you’re embarrassing us in a soundproof room.”

“I’m expressing my truth!” Aiah shouted back, before dramatically whisper-singing the bridge.

By the time the song ended, she collapsed back onto the couch, hair sticking to her forehead, spoon back in her mouth like nothing happened. Sheena and Jhoanna exchanged looks, silent agreement passing between them: this was hopeless.

“So,” Aiah mumbled around her spoon, “plan two is also a fail.”

“Big fail,” Sheena said immediately.

“Monumental,” Jhoanna added.

But then Aiah smiled, ice-cream-drunk and flushed, mumbling softly, “Still worth it, though.”

Her friends sighed in unison. Plan two was over, and instead of forgetting Stacey, their hopeless, pining friend had basically thrown her a karaoke concert she wasn’t even there for.

And by the end of the day, all three of them were wiped out.

They’d spent hours screaming off-key in that karaoke room, sugar high and headache low, and now as the sun set, the energy had dropped like a stone. Aiah slumped against the table of the diner they’d ended up in, staring at the condensation on her glass of iced tea like it was telling her fortune.

Meanwhile, Sheena and Jhoanna just sat across from her, equally fried.

Sheena rubbed her face, groaning. “I’m tired, man. Like, soul tired.”

“Same,” Jhoanna sighed, stabbing at her fries with zero enthusiasm. “And it’s not even because of karaoke. It’s because of her.”

“Excuse me?” Aiah perked up, glaring weakly. “Don’t blame me, I was vibing. I had fun.”

“You had fun thinking about Stacey,” Sheena muttered.

“You literally sang Maki’s songs to your stuffed toy bear like it was her,” Jhoanna added. “Do you know how traumatizing that is for witnesses?”

Aiah groaned and buried her face into her folded arms. “Don’t remind me. Just let me die.”

Silence stretched for a beat. Sheena and Jhoanna exchanged a look, the kind that meant we need to intervene or she’s doomed forever. Because clearly, no distraction worked. Not ice cream, not karaoke, not even that stupid giant bear clutched to her side like a loyal pink dog.

Sheena leaned back, crossing her arms. “Okay. So. New strategy.”

Aiah peeked one eye open. “No. I don’t trust your tone.”

But Sheena ignored her, turning to Jhoanna. “What if…” she dragged it out, watching her girlfriend’s face.

Jhoanna caught on instantly. “Oh no. Don’t say it.”

“Say what?” Aiah asked, sitting up now, suspicious.

Sheena smirked. “Blind date.”

Aiah choked on her iced tea. “Excuse me?”

“Think about it,” Sheena pressed, leaning forward. “If you meet someone else, maybe spark with them a little, then boom—you’ve got an actual distraction that isn’t arcade bears or December Avenue slash Maki. Real human interaction.”

Jhoanna frowned, playing devil’s advocate. “But what if she doesn’t spark with them?”

“Then it’s even better,” Sheena said, snapping her fingers. “She’ll know what disappointment feels like up close. And she’ll realize Stacey isn’t the only person alive who can make her brain pink.”

“Pink?” Aiah muttered, glaring again. “Why are you quoting me like that? Don’t use my metaphors against me.”

Sheena grinned. “Because it’s true. Your whole personality right now is bubblegum daydream. We’re just trying to save you.”

Aiah slumped back, groaning. “This is the dumbest plan. Ever.”

But Jhoanna tilted her head, considering. “Actually… it’s not that dumb. If she sparks, good. If she doesn’t, also good. Either way, we get her out of her own head for a night.”

“Exactly!” Sheena clapped her hands once, triumphant. “See? You get it.”

Aiah narrowed her eyes. “Do not team up on me. I didn’t ask for this.”

“You literally begged for a distraction two days ago,” Sheena shot back.

“That’s not the same as ‘throw me to the wolves on a blind date’!”

“It’s literally the same,” Jhoanna said, shrugging.

Aiah opened her mouth, closed it, groaned again, and dropped her forehead to the table with a soft thunk.

The two girlfriends shared a look over her. They were tired, sure, but not tired enough to give up on her. And the truth was, they couldn’t really stand seeing their usually self-sufficient, self-love-preaching friend melt into a puddle of longing every time something pink passed by her.

Finally, Sheena reached over and patted Aiah’s head like she was a sulky child. “Come on. Worst case, it’s awkward and you get a free meal. Best case, you forget Pink Brain Girl for a while. Either way, you win.”

Aiah groaned into the table. “I hate you both.”

“You love us.”

“No.”

“Yes,” Jhoanna said simply, stealing one of her fries.

Aiah sat up slowly, face tired but resigned. She looked between them, the two schemers in her life, and sighed. “Fine. But if this blind date ends with me crying in a bathroom stall, both of you are paying for my therapy.”

“Deal,” Sheena said instantly, grinning.

“Deal,” Jhoanna echoed, though her tone was more cautious.

Aiah leaned back, arms crossed, still sulking. “I swear, this is gonna be a disaster.”

The other two didn’t deny it. They just exchanged another look, already plotting in silence. Because if plan three was a blind date—it might just be chaotic enough to work.

…

The next morning, Aiah woke up with her phone buzzing beside her pillow. A couple of notifications blinked up at her, and one was from Sheena and Jhoanna’s group chat.

Still half-asleep, she cracked one eye open, squinting at the screen. Her brain was still fogged with dreams—pink-tinted, as usual—and she had to blink a few times before she remembered. Oh right. The whole “blind date” debacle.

She sat up, hair a total mess, and typed with one thumb.

Aiah: when’s this stupid schedule anyway?

She hesitated for a second, then added:

Aiah: i need to clear stuff, you know.

It was true. Even if she’d been canceling some things lately thanks to her Stacey problem, she was still technically a freelance photographer, and jobs didn’t wait just because she was caught up in dumb pining.

Her phone chimed almost instantly—Sheena was definitely awake too early for someone who hated mornings.

Sheena: next week. maybe friday night.

Sheena: keep ur calendar free miss girl

Then Jhoanna:

Jhoanna: she’s free too.

Aiah frowned.

Aiah: who’s she again??

Sheena answered before Jhoanna could.

Sheena: duh. the model. her name’s stacey too. u already know that.

Aiah’s stomach did a little twist. Right, right. They’d said it was their friend Stacey. Lovesick Stacey. The one who apparently cried in the group chat with them about dying alone. A lovesick mess. A model.

But not her Stacey. Not the sunlit, pink-bursting Stacey she had photographed. She clung to that. The universe wasn’t that cruel.

Still, her fingers hovered over the keyboard.

Aiah: right. yeah. i remember.

She set her phone down on the bed and just stared at the ceiling for a long while.

Next week.

Friday night.

Her first blind date.

Her chest tightened in a way that wasn’t comfortable. Aiah had never done this—never wanted to. She was the self-love poster child, the girl who said no politely, who smiled and went home after parties instead of sneaking off with someone. She didn’t do this whole “sparks” thing.

So why was she sweating already at the thought of sitting across from someone she didn’t know, trying to—what—flirt? Date? Pretend she wasn’t broken in the head over some other Stacey?

She flopped back onto her bed and dragged her pillow over her face. “I hate this,” she muttered into the fabric.

The more she thought about it, the more jittery she felt. Her chest was tight, her brain was running loops. She had a whole week to overthink this.

A whole week of wondering what Stacey (not hers) looked like, what she’d say, if she’d be too awkward to even make eye contact.

She rolled onto her side and grabbed her phone again, scrolling up through the chat. Right. They really did say her name was Stacey. That couldn’t just be coincidence, right? Two Staceys, both models, both close to her orbit somehow?

No, no. Different. Totally different.

Her Stacey was sunshine. Their Stacey was chaos. No way they were the same person.

But the pit in her stomach didn’t go away.

She got up eventually, dragging herself to the kitchen to make coffee, but even then her hands shook when she poured the hot water. She muttered to herself like a madwoman. “It’s fine. Just dinner. Just dinner. It’s not like you’re getting married.”

The kettle whistled, snapping her out of her thoughts. She poured too quickly and almost burned herself. Great. Perfect start.

The whole day, the nervousness just clung to her. Like static electricity on her skin. She’d try to distract herself by editing photos, but every time her cursor hovered over a soft pink tone, her brain supplied Stacey.

And then she remembered. Next week. Blind date.

She ended up slamming her laptop shut at one point, groaning into her hands.

This wasn’t her. She wasn’t supposed to care. She wasn’t supposed to spiral over dinner with some stranger. She was supposed to be the one rolling her eyes at people who cried about being single, not the one losing her mind because her friends shoved her into the deep end of romance she never signed up for.

And yet.

Friday night loomed in her head like a deadline.

Her first.

Her stomach wouldn’t stop flipping.

…

DAY 1

Monday did not come gently for Aiah.

She was rushing across campus with her camera bag slung over her shoulder, hair still damp from a too-quick shower, when her sneaker caught on the uneven pavement outside her building. One second she was upright, the next she was gracelessly stumbling forward, arms windmilling like some cartoon character.

“Shit—” she hissed as she barely caught herself before kissing the ground. A couple of students snickered nearby, and she straightened, dusting off her jeans with what she hoped looked like dignity.

Inside, though, she was fuming. Perfect. Just perfect. Tripping before her Monday morning class like the universe had marked her forehead with a big fat LOSER IN LOVE.

By the time she got to class, she was still scowling. Her professor was already mid-lecture, going on about design composition, while Aiah slid into her seat, hoping to disappear. She cracked open her notebook, pen in hand, but her brain refused to cooperate.

Instead of focusing on the slides up front, her pen drifted across the page, doodling little shapes. Circles. Stars. A messy blob that accidentally looked like curly hair.

Then, without realizing, she shaded it pink with her highlighter and her stomach sank. Of course. Her brain had found another way to ambush her.

The professor’s voice droned in the background until suddenly it sharpened. “Miss Arceta.”

Her head shot up like she’d been electrocuted. “Y-Yes?”

A ripple of laughter moved through the room. The professor sighed, unimpressed. “Daydreaming again? Care to share with the class what’s so fascinating in your notebook?”

Her face flamed. She quickly snapped her notebook shut, shaking her head. “Nothing, sir. Sorry.”

“Focus,” he said flatly, before moving on.

Aiah sank into her chair, covering her face with her hand. Second time this month. At this rate, she’d be known as that one third-year who couldn’t pay attention to save her life. And all because of one stupid model who had no idea she existed outside of one photoshoot.

The rest of class blurred by, her pen tapping aimlessly against the desk while her head stayed far, far away. When it was finally over, she shoved her things into her bag and bolted out the door.

The walk home wasn’t much better. Every corner of campus reminded her of how slow time moved when she wanted it to go faster. Students chatted about exams, projects, their weekend plans, and all Aiah could think was: five more days. Five more days until this blind date nonsense.

When she finally got back to her apartment, she kicked off her shoes and collapsed onto her bed without even changing clothes. She stared at the ceiling, phone clutched loosely in her hand, and exhaled loudly.

Four days left.

That was all that separated her from sitting across some stranger named Stacey who may or may not be chaotic, may or may not be cute, may or may not even show up. Her friends swore it was good for her, that she needed this, but all it did was make her stomach feel like it was performing gymnastics.

She rolled onto her side, glaring at the little calendar pinned on her wall. She’d circled Friday in red earlier, half as a joke, but now it glared back at her like a taunt.

“Countdown to doom,” she muttered, dragging a pillow over her face.

Her phone buzzed with a message from Jhoanna, but she ignored it. She couldn’t even bring herself to open their chat, because she knew exactly what it would be: another reminder, another “don’t bail on us,” another “this’ll be fun, promise.”

Fun. Right. If fun meant tripping on sidewalks, zoning out in class, and counting days like a prisoner marking walls.

She closed her eyes, clutching the pillow tighter. Maybe if she just slept through the week, she’d wake up and it would be Friday already. Or maybe she’d wake up and it would all be canceled, and she could go back to pretending she didn’t care about anyone, ever.

But the pit in her stomach whispered otherwise. Friday was coming, whether she liked it or not.

…

DAY 2

Tuesday started off no kinder than Monday.

Aiah had convinced herself that yesterday was just a fluke. A bad day. Everyone got those, right? Surely today would be better. But no. The universe seemed to have her on some private blacklist, determined to make her week leading up to the blind date as humiliating as possible.

First disaster struck before she even reached her building. She was scrolling through her phone, half-reading an email from a professor about project revisions, when her foot caught the edge of a step. Down she went, stumbling forward with a choked gasp.

“Not again—!” she hissed, catching herself on the stair rail. A couple of freshmen nearby looked at her with wide eyes, like they’d just witnessed a tragedy narrowly averted. Aiah straightened, forcing out an awkward laugh. “I’m fine. Totally fine.”

Her knee throbbed. Totally not fine.

By the time she got to class, she was already grumpy. She sat through lecture trying not to think about the sting in her leg or the fact that she’d already embarrassed herself before 9 AM. When the class ended, she decided a quick snack would fix her mood.

Big mistake.

She walked to the vending machine, fed it a crumpled bill, and tapped the button for her favorite chocolate bar. The machine whirred, made a clunking sound… and then nothing. The snack stayed in its little prison, dangling just out of reach.

“Oh, come on,” she muttered, giving the glass a light tap. Nothing. She hit it harder. Still nothing. She crouched down, glaring at the coil as if intimidation would convince it to drop her chocolate.

“Don’t do this to me,” she whispered. “Not today.”

It did this to her.

Her money was gone, her snack was trapped, and she stood up with her hands on her hips, muttering curses under her breath. A student walked past and gave her a sympathetic smile. Aiah scowled. She didn’t want sympathy. She wanted her damn chocolate.

She sulked all the way out of the building, chewing on the bitterness of betrayal by machine. She decided to just head home after that, maybe nap the bad vibes away. But the universe wasn’t done. Oh no.

She flagged down a tricycle to get home faster, sliding into the sidecar with a sigh of relief. At least she didn’t have to walk. She leaned back, letting the warm afternoon breeze hit her face. Maybe things were finally leveling out.

Then, halfway down the road, the tricycle coughed. Jerked. Slowed.

“No way,” Aiah muttered, sitting up straighter.

But yes way. The tricycle sputtered to a stop right in the middle of the road. Other vehicles honked as they swerved around them. Aiah pinched the bridge of her nose.

The driver hopped off, scratching his head. “Wait, ma’am, I’ll push it to the side.”

Aiah climbed out, clutching her bag, watching in disbelief as he rolled the tricycle toward the curb. She couldn’t even be mad at him—he looked just as exasperated as she felt.

She pulled out her phone, opened the group chat with Sheena and Jhoanna, and typed furiously.

Aiah: today’s cursed. tripped. vending machine ate my money. trike ran out of gas mid-road. if i die this week it’s the universe telling me to skip the blind date.

Within seconds, Sheena replied:

Sheena: LMAOOO not the trike giving up on u 💀💀💀

Jhoanna: …or maybe the universe is testing u. building ur resilience.

Aiah rolled her eyes so hard she swore she saw her brain. Resilience, her ass. This was just bad luck strung together like pearls on a cursed necklace.

She ended up walking the rest of the way home, grumbling the entire time. By the time she unlocked her apartment door, she was sweaty, irritated, and swearing vengeance against vending machines everywhere.

She threw her bag onto the couch and collapsed beside it, covering her face with both hands. “Tuesday, you’re a bitch,” she muttered.

The worst part? It was only Tuesday. She still had three more days of this nonsense before the blind date. At this rate, she wouldn’t even make it there alive.

…

DAY 3

Wednesday greeted Aiah with the same kind of cruelty she was starting to expect. By now, she wasn’t even surprised anymore. If anything, she woke up bracing herself, muttering at her reflection in the mirror: Just don’t trip today. Please. That’s the bar.

Naturally, she tripped.

It wasn’t even spectacular—no grand fall, no scraped knees. Just a small stumble on the uneven pavement on her way back from campus, her ankle twisting at the worst angle before she caught herself on a lamppost.

Aiah stayed there, frozen, palm pressed flat against cold metal, eyes squeezed shut as she breathed through the pulse of embarrassment.

Some guy passing by slowed down, clearly ready to ask if she was okay. Aiah straightened too fast, waved her hand like she was shooing a stray cat. “Fine, fine, go ahead, don’t mind me.”

The guy nodded slowly, walked off, and Aiah kept going, muttering under her breath. “Third day in a row. Jesus Christ. I should just start wearing knee pads.”

By the time she made it back to her apartment, sweat stuck to her back and all she wanted was to flop into bed, turn on the fan, and forget her body existed. Except fate had different plans.

The hallway was dark. Not the cozy kind of dim, but pitch black. The emergency light flickered weakly near the stairwell, buzzing like a mosquito. When she reached her unit, the keypad beeped faintly as she punched in her code, but the usual hum of her fridge, the low buzz of electricity, the faint glow from her router—gone.

“Brownout,” she whispered flatly.

She dropped her bag, dragged herself to the couch, and sat there with her elbows on her knees, staring at nothing. “Of course it’s a brownout. Why wouldn’t it be a brownout?”

Her phone battery was at 23%.

Aiah groaned and threw herself back on the couch, staring at the ceiling fan that wasn’t moving. “If my blind date is supposed to save me, then they better be carrying backup generators.”

Two hours. That’s how long she sat there, sticky with heat, tossing her phone from hand to hand, glaring into the void. She tried napping but the air was too heavy.

She tried singing to distract herself, but her own voice annoyed her. At some point, she pressed her face into a pillow and whispered, “Just kill me.”

Finally, mercifully, the lights flickered back. The fridge hummed alive, the router blinked, and Aiah bolted upright. “Yes! Civilization!”

She scrambled for her small electric heater—the one thing she was counting on for a proper hot shower to rinse off the day’s misery. Plugged it in, turned the dial.

Silence.

She turned it off. Turned it back on. Waited. Still silence.

Aiah crouched down, shaking it lightly. “No. No, no, don’t you dare.”

The heater made one pitiful sound, like a sigh, then went completely dead.

Aiah sat back on her heels, staring at it. The silence pressed in harder than the brownout had.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said, voice cracking. She tugged the plug out, shoved it back in, tried every socket. Nothing. Heater gone.

Her head dropped into her hands, and she laughed—loud, bitter, and just a little desperate. “Three days. Three days of this. The universe wants me dead before I even meet fake-Stacey.”

No heater, no hot shower, a streak of humiliations behind her, and the blind date looming closer every day—Wednesday cemented it. She wasn’t just unlucky. She was doomed.

…

DAY 4

Thursday was suspiciously quiet. Too quiet, actually.

Aiah woke up expecting the universe to pull another fast one on her. Maybe she’d trip on the bathroom tiles, maybe her toothpaste would explode, maybe a jeepney would splash muddy water right on her while she crossed the street. She braced for it—shoulders hunched, nerves on edge—but none of it came.

Classes went smoothly. No professor called her out. Her notes were neat for once, doodles limited to the corner of the page. Lunch didn’t spill on her clothes, her tricycle ride was uneventful, and even the vending machine in the lobby of her building spat out her iced tea with no resistance.

By 5 PM she was sitting on her couch, sipping that iced tea, staring at her stuffed pink toy like it held the secrets of the world. “Weird,” she muttered. “Too weird. Is this what peace feels like?”

For the first time all week, she didn’t feel like the butt of a cosmic joke. It was almost refreshing. Like the universe was giving her one day to breathe before tomorrow, before the blind date, before everything crashed and burned again.

She thought about it as she scrolled through her phone, the pink toy squished under her arm. Maybe it was a sign. Maybe Friday would actually turn out good. Six in the evening—that’s when they scheduled her date with this Stacey, the model, the supposed distraction from the real Stacey she couldn’t get out of her head.

Sheena and Jhoanna promised it’d be chill, no pressure. Just dinner, just laughs, just a night out.

Maybe, Aiah thought, it’d be fine.

She let herself believe it, even just for an hour.

But lying in bed later, staring at her ceiling fan, the panic kicked in.

Her brain whispered the truth she’d ignored for nearly the entire week.

You don’t have anything to wear.

Aiah bolted upright. “Shit.”

She scrambled to her closet, yanking it open like it had answers. Shirts. Jeans. Some old hoodies. Dresses she hadn’t touched since that one company dinner years ago. She pawed through hangers, her stomach sinking lower with every flick of fabric.

“This is all garbage,” she muttered. “Literal garbage. Why do I dress like a college student who never left high school?”

Technically she was still a college student, but that wasn’t the point. The point was tomorrow she had a date with someone who, according to her friends, was gorgeous. Like, certified model gorgeous. And here she was holding up a shirt with a cracked “JUST DO IT LATER” slogan across the chest.

“Yeah, no. That screams depression, not romance.”

She tossed it onto the bed, moved to the next. A striped button-up. Too stiff. A loose graphic tee. Too sloppy. A floral blouse her aunt gave her two birthdays ago. Too auntie.

Her arms dropped, and she groaned into the pile of clothes. “Kill me. I’ll just go naked. That’s a statement, right? Bold. Avant-garde.”

The stuffed pink toy sat in the corner of the bed, staring at her with its stitched smile. Aiah glared back at it. “Don’t judge me. You don’t know what it’s like.”

Her phone buzzed—Sheena sending memes. She ignored it, too deep in despair. “Tomorrow’s supposed to be the good day. The one day I don’t embarrass myself. And now I’m gonna show up looking like I dressed straight out of a clearance bin.”

She flopped onto her back, arms splayed out, surrounded by shirts and jeans like a chalk outline. The ceiling fan spun lazily above her, mocking.

“What even counts as date clothes? Do I do casual? Classy? Cool-girl effortless? God, I can’t pull off effortless. I’m literally full of effort and still failing.”

The panic bubbled higher. Her mind flicked back to that model’s face—the real Stacey, the one she’d shot with, the one who ruined her brain. She imagined her sitting at some chic café table, perfect hair, perfect outfit, pink aura glowing, while Aiah walked in wearing… what? Cargo pants?

A groan ripped out of her throat. “I’m doomed.”

Still, she wasn’t about to text the group chat for help. Sheena would clown her, Jhoanna would send a thirty-paragraph pep talk, and neither would solve the closet crisis in front of her.

So Aiah did what she always did when the panic threatened to drown her: she pulled the pink stuffed toy closer, buried her face in its plush, and whispered, “Please don’t let me bomb tomorrow. Please. Just once.”

It didn’t answer, obviously.

But she stayed like that anyway, clutching it tight, surrounded by the wreck of her wardrobe, heart racing faster the closer Friday crept.

…

Tomorrow came and, despite all the dramatics of the night before, Aiah ended up dressing—normal.

Jeans. White shirt. Sneakers. Her usual university fit. Nothing extraordinary, nothing tragic either. Just safe. She convinced herself it was fine. She was fine. Totally not nervous. Why would she be nervous? It was just another Friday. Just another day.

The morning rolled by easy. She even joked with a classmate, ate lunch without choking, and scribbled notes like she was a functioning student again.

But at exactly four in the afternoon—when she was already feeling smug that her week of unluckiness had turned around—her groupmates decided to drop a bomb.

Ping. Ping. Ping.

Her phone lit up with messages.

Colet: Hey Aiah, can you handle the write-up for our project? Deadline’s at 7 PM. Sorry, we just found out.

She froze. “Seven? As in tonight seven?”

Her other groupmates replied with a smiley.

Her soul left her body.

There went the peace. There went the universe’s mercy. Of course it wouldn’t let her off easy today. Of course it had to dangle a good day in front of her just to rip it away.

By the time she got home, she had completely forgotten about the blind date. All she could see was her laptop screen, her open notes, and the hellish blank document staring back at her.

She muttered to herself as she typed, words clunky, brain fried. “Okay… intro… analysis… conclusion… God, why do professors think we’re machines? Why do groupmates think I’m Google Docs incarnate?”

She shoved chips in her mouth, crumbs falling on her keyboard, barely noticing. Time slipped like sand through her fingers. Every time she glanced at the clock, it screamed louder. 5:00. 5:30. 6:00.

And then, 6:15.

Something in her chest twinged, but she ignored it. The deadline was too close, her hands too sweaty. She typed like her life depended on it, brain in pure survival mode.

At 6:40, she was still editing.

At 6:50, she was still formatting citations.

At 6:59, she hit send.

And only then, when she sagged back against her chair, breathing like she’d run a marathon, did her brain finally remember.

The date.

Her heart plummeted.

“Oh, shit.”

She slammed her laptop shut, nearly knocking over the empty chip bag. “Shit, shit, shit.” She grabbed her phone, the pink stuffed toy falling off her bed in the process. Missed calls. Messages.

Sheena: Where are you?

Jhoanna: Don’t tell me you forgot.

She did. She absolutely did.

Aiah groaned into her palms. Her project was submitted, sure, but her chance to show up like a normal human being on a date? Gone.

She checked the time again. 7:10.

If she sprinted, maybe she could still—

But no. She stared at her reflection in the black screen of her laptop. Messy hair. Stained shirt. Crumbs on her cheek. She looked like a raccoon who had lost a fight to a bag of chips.

There was no salvaging this.

She collapsed onto her bed, limbs heavy, brain fried, muttering, “I’m the worst. Literally the worst.”

The pink stuffed toy, still on the floor, seemed to glare up at her like it agreed.

Aiah cursed at herself until her throat ran dry.

She ditched someone. She actually ditched someone. What kind of idiot does that? Not even by accident—well, okay, technically by accident, but it still counted.

The date had been set, she’d agreed to it, she’d even panicked about outfits for God’s sake, and then what? Completely forgot? Buried herself in a project and let the time slip away like it was nothing?

She rolled on her bed, smothering her face into her pillow, muffling a long groan that turned into a strangled yell.

Whoever that girl was—Stacey, right?—she was probably gone now, long out of the restaurant, probably swearing off blind dates for life because she had the misfortune of meeting her, Aiah, the world’s biggest loser.

The guilt gnawed at her chest. She didn’t even know the girl, hadn’t seen her face, hadn’t heard her voice—and still, the weight of standing someone up settled like a brick in her stomach.

It felt so cruel. Like she’d played with someone’s time, someone’s night, their effort to even show up.

“God, I’m a terrible person,” she muttered, throwing an arm over her eyes.

And the worst part? The absolute worst part? She was supposed to let this girl be a distraction. A rebound before she could spiral too deep into her obsession with the model Stacey.

Yeah, that sounded awful now that she said it in her head. She wasn’t going to use someone—that wasn’t who she was—but she couldn’t deny that part of the reason she agreed was so her friends would stop worrying, and maybe she could trick her brain into moving on.

It just made the guilt taste worse.

Now she wasn’t just a disaster, she was a hypocrite too. The self-love queen who couldn’t love anyone, couldn’t even treat someone with the most basic courtesy of showing up.

Her hand reached blindly down to the floor until her fingers brushed soft pink fur. She dragged the stupid oversized bear up onto the bed and hugged it tight, burying her face into it like she could suffocate from embarrassment and die right there.

The irony of it wasn’t lost on her. A pink bear. Pink. Always back to pink. And in her head—of course—wasn’t the faceless girl she’d ditched tonight, but the other one. The one she did know.

The model.

That Stacey.

Her sunshine smile. The way her eyes turned into crescents when she laughed. The softness of that pink fabric spread under her during the shoot, the sunlight catching her hair just right.

Aiah squeezed the bear harder, groaning into its plush.

“Fuuck...”

That Stacey girl she ditched—different Stacey, she reminded herself, different, don’t be dramatic—was supposed to save her from this spiral. And she couldn’t even make it to dinner. She couldn’t even try.

Now, instead of feeling relieved, she just felt like garbage.

The guilt and the yearning twisted together in her chest until she couldn’t tell them apart anymore. She wanted to apologize. She wanted to rewind time.

She wanted to—what, run out into the night, find the poor girl she ditched and beg for forgiveness?

But no, she was frozen here. Face pressed into a pink bear, stuck in her own mess.

“Ughhhhhh,” she groaned, dragging out the sound like it could stretch into the walls.

Her phone buzzed somewhere on the bed, but she didn’t pick it up. She couldn’t face Sheena or Jhoanna right now. Couldn’t face anyone.

Not when the only thing looping in her brain was that she let someone down. Not when she couldn’t stop thinking about the other Stacey anyway.

God. She was hopeless.

…

Saturday was gray from the start.

The sky wasn’t cloudy, but Aiah swore it felt heavier somehow. She dragged her feet to class, sat through the lecture with her chin propped on her palm, and barely scribbled a note.

The words swam, and her professor’s voice was background noise. All she could think about was the pit still lodged in her chest.

By the time class ended, she had half a mind to go straight home, crawl under her blanket with the pink bear, and disappear. But of course, Sheena and Jhoanna were waiting right outside the gates, standing like they had planned a whole ambush.

The moment Aiah spotted them, her stomach dropped.

“Don’t you dare run,” Sheena said, pointing a finger like she was a teacher catching a kid about to bolt.

Jhoanna just grabbed Aiah’s wrist with her usual sunny smile that didn’t quite hide the sharpness behind it. “Cafe. Now.”

Aiah groaned. “I don’t want—”

“Nope. No arguments,” Sheena cut her off.

They dragged her down the street, ignoring her half-hearted resistance, until she found herself sitting slumped in the corner booth of their usual cafe.

Her bag sagged beside her, her glasses fogged a little from the air conditioning, and her soul wanted to sink through the floor.

Sheena ordered their drinks while Jhoanna leaned across the table, staring. Not even subtle, just full-on staring like she could bore holes into Aiah’s forehead until she confessed.

Aiah busied herself by peeling the edge of a tissue from the holder.

“You know why we’re here, right?” Jhoanna finally asked.

“No,” Aiah muttered. “I just got kidnapped and dragged.”

Sheena came back, plopping down two cups and sliding Aiah’s in front of her. “Liar. You didn’t even reply to our messages last night.”

Aiah froze, hand gripping the tissue tighter.

They knew. Of course they knew.

Sheena leaned back, crossing her arms.

“You ditched her.”

The tissue ripped in Aiah’s hand.

Jhoanna rested her chin on her palm. “She was spamming crying emojis in the group chat. You know how hard it is to comfort her when she’s like that? Maloi and Mikha kept sending memes, and she kept replying with more crying emojis. It was like a flood.”

Aiah groaned and buried her face in her hands. “Don’t remind me.”

Sheena raised an eyebrow. “Don’t remind you? You’re the one who left her hanging.”

“I had a deadline!” Aiah said, voice muffled into her palms.

“Yeah, and you also had a date,” Sheena shot back.

Jhoanna reached over and tugged her hands down gently. “Hey, we’re not mad. Well… maybe a little mad. But mostly, we want to know what’s going on in that head of yours. Because right now, you’re sitting there like someone ran over your cat.”

“I feel like someone did,” Aiah muttered.

Sheena rolled her eyes. “You don’t even have a cat.”

“That’s not the point,” Aiah grumbled.

The drinks arrived, and for a moment, the table went quiet except for the sounds of straws unwrapping and cups clinking. But the silence wasn’t comfortable—it was loaded, waiting for her to crack.

Finally, Aiah sighed, slumping further into the seat. “Fine. I ditched her. I forgot the time. I didn’t mean to, but I still did. And now she probably thinks I’m the worst person alive. Which, fair, because maybe I am.”

Jhoanna reached out to pat her arm. “You’re not the worst person alive.”

“Sheena might disagree,” Aiah mumbled.

“Oh, I definitely do,” Sheena said, sipping her drink. “But you’re not irredeemable.”

Aiah groaned again and dropped her forehead to the table. “Don’t try to make me feel better. I ditched a perfectly nice girl who just wanted dinner. That’s unforgivable.”

Jhoanna giggled softly, but it wasn’t mean. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I am dramatic,” Aiah muttered into the wood.

The pink bear from last night flashed in her mind. The guilt tightened in her chest again, and she muttered, “She’s probably never going to want to see me again.”

The two girlfriends exchanged a look over their drinks, one of those silent couple-telepathy exchanges that Aiah hated because it always meant they were planning something behind her back.

She lifted her head just enough to squint at them. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Sheena asked, too innocent.

“Whatever you’re thinking.”

“We’re not thinking anything,” Jhoanna said, sipping her drink.

“Liar.”

They just smiled at her, and Aiah groaned again, slumping even lower into the booth until she practically melted into it.

The worst part? She couldn’t even deny it. She’d ditched someone. Someone who had probably put effort into showing up. Someone who had been waiting. And all Aiah had done was sit at home hugging a stupid pink bear, daydreaming about someone else entirely.

The guilt sat heavier, and for the first time, she admitted it out loud, voice small.

“I feel like crap.”

Sheena blew out a long sigh, the kind that rattled through her nose, while Jhoanna stirred her iced latte like it had personally offended her. They both looked at Aiah, then at each other, then back at Aiah.

“So,” Sheena started, voice flat, “do you actually want to be free of that model girl or not?”

Aiah sat up a little, rubbing at her temples like her head was pounding. “Yes. Obviously. Why do you think I even agreed to that blind date in the first place? I’m… I’m desperate, okay?”

Jhoanna raised a brow, lips twitching. “Desperate. Coming from the self-love queen herself. Wow.”

Aiah groaned, dragging her hands down her face until she looked like a melted candle. “Don’t rub it in. I just—yes. I want her out of my head. I’ve never been this distracted in my life. My grades, my work, my health—dead. All because some girl smiled at me once like the sun cracked open just for her.”

Sheena and Jhoanna shared another look, a whole silent conversation happening between them in two seconds flat. Jhoanna tilted her head. Sheena shrugged. Both of them seemed to agree on something without words.

“Okay,” Sheena said slowly, “so… technically…”

“Technically what?” Aiah snapped, suspicious already.

Jhoanna leaned forward, chin on her palm, her grin lazy. “Technically, setting you up on that blind date worked.”

Aiah blinked. “What?”

“Think about it,” Sheena said, lifting her cup like she was making a point. “You were so wound up about pink-sunshine-model-girl-whatever for days, right? Couldn’t focus, kept spiraling, doodling hearts in your notes like a middle schooler—”

“I didn’t—!”

“Shut up, you did,” Sheena cut her off. “But the second we said ‘blind date,’ suddenly you were panicking about clothes, panicking about the day, panicking about deadlines, and not once did you mention her. Not even once.”

Jhoanna nodded, smiling like she had the receipts. “You spent an entire week counting down to Friday. Nervous wreck, sure, but hey—you weren’t thinking about her. You were thinking about Stacey-the-blind-date instead.”

Aiah froze, mouth opening, then closing again.

Oh, no. They were right.

She flopped back against the booth, throwing her arm dramatically across her face. “You guys are evil. Evil!”

“Smart,” Sheena corrected, smirking.

“Geniuses,” Jhoanna added.

Aiah peeked at them from under her arm. “So what, you’re gonna… what. Try again? Set me up with another stranger so I can flake and feel like garbage again?”

Sheena tapped her straw against her cup. “Not another stranger. The same one. We’ll just reschedule.”

Aiah sat up so fast she nearly knocked her drink over. “What? No! I ditched her once already—she’s not gonna want to see me again!”

“You don’t know that,” Jhoanna said calmly, like it was the most reasonable thing in the world. “She seemed really excited last time. She spammed crying emojis because she was sad, not because she hated you. That’s… kind of hopeful, don’t you think?”

Aiah dragged both hands through her hair, groaning. “No. No, no, no. You can’t just—ugh!”

Sheena leaned in, eyes sharp. “Do you want to keep moping around like a ghost? Or do you want to try and actually move on from your sunshine model obsession?”

Aiah glared at her but had no comeback.

Because the truth was, yeah, thinking about the blind date had distracted her. For days. It had worked. And maybe… maybe if she actually went through with it, it could work better.

She collapsed back into the booth again, hugging her drink like it was the only stable thing in her life. “Fine. Whatever. You guys win.”

Jhoanna clapped her hands together like a little kid. “Reschedule it is!”

Aiah groaned into her cup, already regretting agreeing, but deep down, she knew they were right.

Sheena slammed her palms down on the table like some dramatic announcement was about to be made. “Alright. Enough moping.”

Aiah lifted her head, mid-sip of her iced coffee, unimpressed. “Excuse me? I’m thriving in my misery. Let me rot in peace.”

“Nope.” Sheena slid out of the booth in one fluid, terrifyingly determined motion, then pointed at Aiah like she was calling her to court. “You’re getting up.”

“Why?”

“Shopping.”

Aiah choked on her coffee, coughing until Jhoanna shoved a napkin at her. “Shopping? Right now?”

“Yep.”

“No—absolutely not. First of all, we don’t even know if Stacey—” she stumbled over the name, cheeks warming just a little, “—that Stacey even wants to reschedule with me. She’s probably blocking my number as we speak.”

“You don’t even have her number,” Jhoanna deadpanned, sipping her latte with zero sympathy.

“Exactly!” Aiah flung her arms out like that proved her point. “So why waste money? Why waste energy? Why risk my dignity in fitting rooms when this could all be useless?”

“Because last time,” Sheena cut in, already yanking Aiah’s bag off the chair, “you literally had nothing to wear. You almost showed up in your dusty lab coat. And if we hadn’t lent you clothes before that photoshoot, you’d have gone looking like someone’s exhausted auntie.”

“I am someone’s exhausted auntie,” Aiah muttered.

“No, you’re not,” Sheena snapped, grabbing her wrist. “You’re a single twenty-something who’s going to have a decent wardrobe if it kills me.”

And just like that, she started dragging her out of the booth.

Aiah flailed. “Wait—no, hold on—let me finish my drink!”

“I’ll hold it!” Jhoanna chirped, already sliding Aiah’s cup to her side like she’d claimed custody of it.

Aiah gave her a betrayed look. “You traitor.”

“Think of me as your emotional support barista,” Jhoanna said, sipping her own latte while holding both cups in one hand. “Now go. Get up. March.”

Sheena tugged harder, practically hauling Aiah across the cafe floor. Aiah dug her heels in, sliding dramatically like a cartoon character resisting her fate.

“Help me!” she wailed at the barista behind the counter. “Blink twice if you think this is illegal!”

The barista blinked once, clearly just confused.

“She’s fine,” Sheena assured them, tightening her grip like she was wrangling a toddler. “She just doesn’t know what’s good for her.”

“I do know what’s good for me!” Aiah yelled, twisting like she might actually throw herself onto the floor. “What’s good for me is staying home in my pajamas, ordering three pints of ice cream, and never facing social interaction again!”

“You did that last week,” Jhoanna reminded her, strolling casually behind them like this was the most normal field trip ever. Both iced drinks balanced expertly in her hands, she didn’t even spill a drop.

“And it was great!” Aiah barked back, wriggling in Sheena’s grip.

The other customers in the cafe were definitely staring now—one guy had his phone half-lifted like he was about to record a viral TikTok. Sheena shot him a death glare, and he immediately lowered it.

“Why do I even hang out with you people?” Aiah muttered, still half-dragged, half-walking as Sheena steered her toward the door.

“Because without us, you’d be rotting alone in your room talking to your stuffed bear,” Sheena said, matter-of-fact.

“His name is Takusa, and he listens!” Aiah snapped.

Jhoanna nearly choked on her latte laughing. “Takusa? Oh my god. You didn’t tell me that.”

“It’s private!”

“It’s hilarious,” Sheena corrected, pushing open the cafe door with her shoulder. “Now shut up and move, drama queen.”

Aiah stumbled outside, still whining. “You’re wasting my precious youth dragging me into consumerism.”

“You wasted your youth when you ditched someone who could’ve been your soulmate,” Jhoanna shot back, breezing past with the drinks like she was untouchable.

“That’s slander,” Aiah hissed.

“That’s truth,” Sheena said, tugging her down the sidewalk.

And just like that, the three of them became a spectacle on the street—Aiah in the middle like a prisoner of war, Sheena hauling her forward with grim determination, and Jhoanna walking behind sipping her drinks like she was filming a reality show in her head.

Passersby turned their heads. A kid pointed and whispered something to his mom. Aiah groaned into her hands.

“This is how my reputation dies,” she muttered. “Dragged out of a cafe by my so-called friends, with a frappuccino hostage situation in play.”

“Your reputation was already dead the moment you tripped on campus three days in a row,” Sheena said.

Aiah gasped like she’d been stabbed. “That was gravity’s fault!”

“Gravity doesn’t hate anyone that much,” Jhoanna said, sipping calmly.

“Yes, it does! Gravity has a personal vendetta against me!”

Sheena and Jhoanna exchanged another look, both of them smirking.

“See what I mean?” Sheena said. “If we don’t buy her clothes, she’s gonna end up marrying her stuffed bear out of spite.”

“Takusa would treat me right,” Aiah said under her breath.

Jhoanna laughed so hard she almost spilled the drinks.

…

The mall trip was chaos from the moment they stepped inside.

Aiah had hoped, prayed even, that maybe Sheena and Jhoanna would get distracted by a sale on eyeliner or bubble tea or literally anything else. But no. Sheena marched straight for the clothing stores like a soldier on a mission, and Jhoanna followed, humming happily with her iced coffee still in hand.

“You’re both insane,” Aiah muttered, dragging her feet like she was being taken to the gallows.

“You’re insane for not owning anything decent,” Sheena shot back, spinning on her heel and pointing dramatically toward the first store. “Go. In.”

“Do I look like your puppet?” Aiah asked, folding her arms.

“Yes,” Sheena said.

And that was that.

The next hour was pure torture disguised as retail therapy. Sheena kept piling clothes into Aiah’s arms until she could barely see over the mountain of fabric. Jhoanna, meanwhile, sat comfortably outside the dressing rooms like she was a judge on some twisted fashion competition, sipping her drink and occasionally calling out, “Spin! Spin around so we can see!”

Aiah grumbled every time she stepped out, arms crossed, clearly not even trying to sell it.

“This is ridiculous,” she muttered, glaring at her reflection. “I look like a tax accountant who lost her way to a meeting.”

“You look fine,” Sheena said, nodding approvingly.

“Fine? Fine? That’s the worst word in the English language.”

“Okay, you look hot then.”

Aiah blinked, stunned silent for about half a second before scoffing. “You’re just saying that so I’ll buy it.”

“Exactly,” Sheena said.

Meanwhile, Jhoanna leaned back in her chair and clapped once, deadpan. “Ten out of ten. Very professional. You’ll distract yourself so much you’ll forget your own name.”

“Distract myself from who, huh?!” Aiah yelled, pointing an accusatory finger at her, but both Sheena and Jhoanna ignored her.

Every time she tried to argue, Sheena shoved another outfit into her arms, practically throwing her back into the dressing room like a stage mom.

By the fifth round, Aiah was half-dizzy, muttering curses under her breath as she peeled off yet another layer. She caught herself in the mirror, hair sticking up, face red, looking like someone who’d been through an emotional battle.

When she came out, Sheena clapped her hands together with finality. “Perfect. We’re getting that one too.”

“No,” Aiah said immediately.

“Yes.”

“I already have five—”

“Six now.”

“—clothes in this stupid bag, and I am not spending a single peso more.”

“Too late.” Sheena was already walking to the cashier.

Aiah froze. “Wait. What do you mean too late? Sheena. Sheena. Did you just—”

“She paid while you were changing,” Jhoanna said casually, swirling the last bit of ice in her cup.

Aiah’s jaw dropped. “You paid?!”

“Think of it as an investment,” Sheena called over her shoulder.

“In what, my humiliation?!”

“No, in your future.”

“What future?!”

“The one where you don’t ditch your soulmate again because you were too busy working on a deadline while wearing ratty pajamas.”

Jhoanna nodded solemnly. “Can confirm. You’re tragic, bestie. This is for your own good.”

Aiah groaned into her hands, stomping her foot like a toddler. “You guys are evil. Evil! Pure evil!”

“Evil with taste,” Jhoanna said.

By the end of the mall tour, Aiah was limping under the weight of two shopping bags stuffed to bursting, while Sheena walked beside her looking smug and Jhoanna trailed behind, now sipping on a new drink she’d picked up somewhere along the way.

“Five sets,” Aiah muttered darkly. “Five sets. I came here with nothing but hope and dignity, and you stripped me of both.”

“You had neither to begin with,” Sheena said cheerfully.

“Yeah, what dignity?” Jhoanna chimed in.

Aiah gasped, clutching her bags like shields. “You know what? One day when I’m famous, when they’re writing articles about me, you two are going to be the villains in my tragic backstory. I’ll say, ‘It all started when my so-called friends dragged me to the mall and bought me clothes against my will.’”

“Perfect,” Sheena said. “Then people will know we saved your life.”

“You didn’t save it! You ruined it!”

They ignored her again, strolling toward the exit like this was just another regular day. Aiah trudged behind them, muttering a list of insults under her breath.

Somewhere between “traitors” and “capitalist pigs,” she caught her reflection in one of the shop windows—bags in both hands, hair messy, pouting like a sulky child.

And she hated to admit it, but for a second, just a second, she didn’t look half bad.

They stepped out of the mall, bags weighing down Aiah’s arms, when the universe decided to mess with her. Right there, plastered across a giant glowing billboard above the street, was her.

Stacey.

The shot was unmistakable. The soft light, the fabric, the exact angle Aiah remembered from the shoot. It was her photo. Her work. Her muse.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Aiah muttered, stopping dead in the middle of the walkway. Her throat closed up like someone had just shoved a brick down it. She blinked once, twice, and then suddenly—tears.

Actual, stupid, unstoppable tears.

“Wait. Wait. No. No, no, no.” She put the bags down and wiped at her face, but it was too late. The floodgates had opened.

Sheena and Jhoanna turned around at the same time, instantly deadpanning.

“…Why are you crying?” Sheena asked, flat.

“I don’t know!” Aiah shouted, voice cracking. “She’s just—she’s right there! Look at her! Big! Huge! She’s everywhere! And—and I took that photo! I took it with my own cursed hands! I cursed myself!”

Pedestrians were glancing over now, trying not to stare at the grown woman weeping like she’d just seen her long-lost lover in the middle of Ayala.

Jhoanna, sipping the third drink she’d somehow acquired that day, just sighed into her straw. “Stop, you’re crying in front of Jollibee.”

“I’m aware!” Aiah snapped, voice wobbling, pointing helplessly up at the billboard. “Look at her! She’s smiling! Why is she smiling like that? Who gave her permission?”

Sheena groaned, grabbed one of Aiah’s arms, and started dragging her forward. “Alright. Okay. That’s enough poetic crying in public. Get a grip, old lady.”

“I’m not old!” Aiah said, tripping over her own shopping bag as she resisted, tears still rolling down her cheeks. “I’m just—emotionally compromised!”

People were staring openly now, some whispering, others pretending not to see. Jhoanna followed with all the shopping bags Aiah had abandoned, shaking her head.

“Don’t mind her, everyone,” she announced casually. “She just found out her boyfriend’s cheating on her with her thesis. Happens all the time.”

Sheena barked out a laugh but kept hauling Aiah by the arm. “Perfect cover story.”

“I hate both of you!” Aiah wailed, voice echoing down the street. “I’m crying for art! For love! For—for the pink fabric!”

“You sound like you’re drunk,” Sheena muttered, half-carrying her now.

“I’m sober!” Aiah declared dramatically, nearly stumbling into a lamppost. “Sober and ruined!”

“Tragic,” Jhoanna said, sipping.

Sheena finally stopped dragging and just slung Aiah’s arm over her shoulder like she was carrying home someone blackout wasted. “God, you’re heavy.”

“I’m full of feelings!” Aiah cried. “Of course I’m heavy!”

Somewhere in the middle of the chaos, a little kid pointed at the billboard and then at Aiah. “Mommy, look! That lady’s crying ‘cause she saw the pretty ate.”

The mom yanked the kid along quickly while giving Aiah the look people give to street preachers.

Jhoanna snorted into her drink, nearly choking. “Oh my God. This is embarrassing.”

Sheena gave Aiah’s forehead a firm poke. “Listen. You’re not allowed to cry in public billboards anymore. Or in malls. Or on sidewalks. Or anywhere.”

“I can’t help it,” Aiah sniffled, voice going smaller now, still glancing back at the glowing image of Stacey’s smile. “She’s just… she’s everywhere. I’m doomed. Doomed!”

Jhoanna and Sheena exchanged a long-suffering glance over her hunched form.

Then, with the practiced coordination of people who’d done this too many times before, they grabbed her bags, her other arm, and finally dragged her down the street like two handlers pulling along an oversized golden retriever who didn’t want to leave the park.

Behind them, the billboard stayed lit, Stacey’s crescent-eyed smile looking like it knew something they didn’t.

And Aiah, despite being physically yanked away, kept glancing over her shoulder like she’d left a piece of her soul glowing twenty feet above traffic.

The second Aiah collapsed into her bed—bags dumped by the door, her body aching like she’d gone to war instead of shopping—her phone buzzed.

She groaned, rolling over to grab it, half-expecting it to be some random classmate asking if she could take their “candid” photos for a project again. Instead, the group chat with Sheena and Jhoanna lit up.

Sheena: tomorrow.

Jhoanna: cleared it. 6 pm. restaurant.

Sheena: don’t be late this time.

Aiah blinked. Sat up. Stared.

Aiah: excuse me???

Aiah: tomorrow??? like TOMORROW tomorrow???

Aiah: as in the day right after today???

The typing bubbles popped up instantly.

Sheena: yes grandma. tomorrow.

Jhoanna: sheena’s right. schedule’s tight. next week she’s booked. tomorrow’s your chance.

Aiah’s jaw dropped. Her fingers flew.

Aiah: bro wtf I thought we said next week?? I’m not ready!!

Aiah: I literally just cried at a billboard like some telenovela extra.

Aiah: TOMORROW IS TOO SOON.

Sheena wasted zero seconds.

Sheena: cry in the restaurant then. romantic effect.

Aiah made a strangled noise and flopped back onto her pillow. She could feel her soul leave her body.

Aiah: do you two hate me.

Jhoanna: no. we love you.

Sheena: exactly. that’s why tomorrow.

She gritted her teeth, shoving her face into her blanket like maybe she could suffocate the panic away. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. They couldn’t be serious.

Her phone buzzed again.

Jhoanna: look. you’ll be fine. you have clothes now.

Sheena: plural. clothesSss.

Jhoanna: and you won’t ditch this time. we’ll make sure.

Aiah groaned so loudly the neighbor’s dog started barking. Clothes or not, she felt like she was being thrown into a gladiator ring with no shield. She texted back, fingers shaking.

Aiah: …I’m not prepared. mentally. spiritually. emotionally. physically.

Sheena: lol then prep rn. meditate or something.

Jhoanna: light a candle.

Aiah threw her phone across the bed, sat up, and dragged both hands down her face. Tomorrow. As in less than twenty-four hours. As in she was supposed to be normal, casual, charming in front of someone who made her cry at public billboards.

“Jesus Christ,” she muttered to herself, staring at the ceiling like the answers might be written there. “This is a set-up. This is how I die. Not even tragically. Just embarrassingly.”

Her phone buzzed again. She dared to look.

Sheena: wear the black shoes tomorrow.

Jhoanna: and pls eat something before going so you don’t faint halfway.

That was it. Her fate was sealed. They weren’t budging.

Steam curled around the bathroom mirror, fogging it until Aiah could barely see her own reflection. She dragged a towel over her face, water dripping from her hair, and let out the kind of groan that sounded like it came from her very soul.

Tomorrow. The word echoed in her head like an alarm she couldn’t snooze.

She shuffled back into her room, still toweling off, and eyed the neat pile of clothes waiting on her chair. Sheena and Jhoanna had made her pick them earlier, practically forcing her to stand in front of the dressing room mirror until she muttered a reluctant “fine.” And now here they were. Her supposed armor for the big night.

Aiah stood there, dripping onto the floor, arms crossed. Just staring.

Five minutes passed.

Ten.

She sighed, shoulders slumping like she’d lost a fight. “Whatever,” she muttered, finally dropping onto her bed.

The pile of fabric didn’t blink, didn’t shift, didn’t suddenly provide courage. It just sat there, silently mocking her.

Tomorrow, she was going to make it up to that poor girl. The one she ditched last time. The other Stacey. Not her Stacey—God forbid her brain even tried to spin that coincidence into something else.

No, this one was just a blind date her friends set up. Just someone who deserved, at the very least, not to be stood up twice in a row.

That was it.

She wasn’t going to use her. Wasn’t going to treat her like some rebound experiment to exorcise the model from her head. She refused to be that person. No matter how much Sheena teased, no matter how many jokes Jhoanna cracked about her turning into a lovesick disaster, Aiah wasn’t cruel.

But still. She had to admit—quietly, in the silence of her room—that part of her was desperate. Desperate to shut her brain off, even for one night. Desperate to not see pink in every corner of her day.

She pulled the stuffed toy from beside her pillow and hugged it tight against her chest. Its soft fur pressed under her chin as she whispered, “This isn’t about her. Tomorrow isn’t about her.”

The bear didn’t argue. Good. She didn’t have the energy for backtalk from plush toys tonight.

Aiah leaned back, eyes locked on the ceiling again. She’d show up tomorrow. She’d smile, she’d eat dinner, she’d at least pretend to be normal.

Maybe the girl would be funny. Maybe she’d talk enough to fill in Aiah’s silences. Maybe, if she was really lucky, she’d forget about pink crescents for a few hours.

Her phone buzzed on the bedside table. Another message from the group chat.

Sheena: don’t overthink. just show up.

Jhoanna: yup. one step at a time.

Aiah let out a long breath, setting the phone face down.

One step at a time. Fine. Tomorrow, she was going to take that step. For once in her life, she was going to stop sulking, stop crying under billboards, and just… try.

Even if her heart wasn’t in it. Even if she still carried a pink ghost in her chest.

Tomorrow, she was going to try.

…

Sheena lay sprawled across her bed, one leg hanging off the edge, her phone glowing in the dark room. She was supposed to be asleep—had an early call the next morning—but the group chat was too loud. Notifications popped like firecrackers every few seconds.

Stacey: i swear if i don’t see her tomorrow i’m going to combust

Stacey: like literally. smoke. ashes. no trace of me left

Maloi: dramatic. again.

Mikha: can u combust AFTER u treat me to ramen

Stacey: NO THIS IS SERIOUS. I NEED HER. ASAP.

Sheena pinched the bridge of her nose. This was, what? The third time this week Stacey had announced her impending death-by-romantic-angst? The girl was chaos in human form. She lived for the melodrama, clung to it like it gave her oxygen.

Still, this was different. The Stacey in the chat tonight wasn’t just joking around or fishing for attention. She was desperate. Clawing at the screen like a drowning woman begging for air.

Stacey: i NEED this blind date to work out.

Stacey: pls. pls. pls. tomorrow. not next week. tomorrow or i’ll actually just disappear from the face of the earth.

Sheena chewed her lip, her thumb hovering over the keyboard.

Across the screen, Jhoanna was already typing.

Jhoanna: lol desperate much?

Maloi: oh she’s done for.

Mikha: bet 500 pesos she’ll cry AT the date too.

Stacey spammed crying emojis, then wrote:

Stacey: u guys don’t get it. i have to. otherwise she’ll never leave my head.

Sheena’s gaze flicked toward the corner of her room where her shopping bags from earlier sat. She thought of the silent, frozen face across the table, the way someone else had stared at clothes like they were a battlefield. That same faraway look, as if a ghost had crawled inside and refused to leave.

Yeah. They were really doing this. They were setting up two people who couldn’t get each other out of their heads after one stupid, fateful meeting.

Jhoanna’s message popped up again.

Jhoanna: tmrw’s fine. booked next week anyway.

Sheena: agree. better sooner than later.

Stacey reacted with twenty heart emojis, then another flood of dramatic stickers.

Sheena tossed her phone onto her chest and laughed quietly to herself. What a mess. What an absolute mess. She wasn’t sure if this was a good idea or the dumbest scheme they’d ever pulled, but either way, tomorrow was going to be something.

And if the universe was already laughing, well—fine. Sheena would laugh too.

…

Aiah jolted awake to the shrill ringtone blaring right beside her ear. For a second she thought it was her alarm, but no—she hadn’t even set one. She cracked an eye open, groaning like the world had just declared war on her. The screen glared back: Sheena calling.

“The hell,” she muttered, voice croaky, before swiping to answer.

“Finally,” Sheena’s voice came through, way too loud for morning. “Get up. Get dressed. You’ve got a date today.”

Aiah sat up halfway, her hair sticking out in five different directions, eyes narrowed at nothing. “What?”

“The date. The blind date. It’s at three,” Sheena said, as if this was normal, casual, an everyday occurrence like saying “good morning.”

Aiah blinked at the ceiling. “Sheena. It’s—” she checked her clock, “—eleven. Eleven in the morning.”

“Yeah, which means you’ve got four hours. Enough to shower, eat, panic, get dressed, panic again, and leave.”

Aiah flopped back onto her bed with a groan, holding the phone over her face. “You can’t just reschedule people’s lives for them like this. Who does that?”

“Me,” Sheena said cheerfully. “Now up. Don’t make me come over there.”

Aiah shut her eyes, willing herself back to sleep, hoping if she ignored her, Sheena would vanish. But then—

“Oy. I know you’re still lying down.”

“How do you even—”

“Because I know you. Get your ass up, or I’m telling Jhoanna to call you too. You think I’m loud? Wait till she gets on the line.”

Aiah sat up so fast she nearly dropped the phone. “No, no, I’m awake. Don’t. Don’t bring her into this.”

“That’s what I thought.” Sheena chuckled, the smugness practically dripping through the speaker. “Eat breakfast. Or lunch. Or whatever. Just don’t show up looking like you’ve been hit by a truck, okay?”

“I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck,” Aiah muttered.

“Yeah, well, hide it with concealer. Bye.”

Click. Call ended.

Aiah stared at the black screen of her phone, mouth open. “Unbelievable.”

She dropped the phone on her lap and sat there for a long moment, groaning into her hands. Three o’clock. That was less than four hours away. She hadn’t mentally prepared, hadn’t rehearsed her lines, hadn’t even thought about what she’d do if the girl actually… showed up.

And then there was the other problem. The clothes.

She glanced over at the neat pile Sheena and Jhoanna had bullied her into buying yesterday. Five sets. Maybe more. All untouched, folded too perfectly. The sight of them made her stomach twist.

Aiah flopped back on her bed dramatically, dragging the blanket over her head like the world could disappear if she hid long enough. “Why me?” she whispered to no one.

Of course, the blanket didn’t solve anything. The clock still ticked. The sun still shone through her curtains. And Sheena’s voice still echoed in her head: Don’t make me come over there.

Aiah threw the blanket off with a grunt and shuffled toward the bathroom like a zombie. “Fine. Fine, I’ll do it. Happy now, universe?”

The shower blasted her awake, and she spent longer than usual just standing there, letting the water hit her face. When she finally got out, the clock read 12:15.

“Shit,” she hissed, rushing to towel her hair. She hadn’t even eaten yet. Her stomach growled in protest, like, Hello? Feed me before you ruin everything.

She ran to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and stared. Empty. Except for a sad slice of cheese, half a tomato, and one lone egg.

“…You’ve got to be kidding me.”

So she made the world’s saddest sandwich, scarfed it down like it was her last meal, and tried to convince herself it was enough.

By the time she sat in front of her mirror, blow-drying her hair, it was past one. She stared at her reflection—puffy eyes, lips pressed into a thin line. She tried on one expression after another. Smile. Too fake. Half-smile. Creepy. Blank face. She looked like she was about to scold someone.

“This is hopeless,” she groaned, dropping her head into her hands.

Her phone buzzed again. A message from Sheena.

Sheena: don’t be late.

Sheena: and pls, don’t wear your disaster jeans.

Aiah glared at the screen. Disaster jeans? They were comfortable! Reliable! What was wrong with them?

Another buzz.

Jhoanna: listen to her. or i’ll drive you myself.

Aiah froze. No. Anything but that.

She jumped off her chair, practically tripped over her own feet, and marched to the pile of new clothes. “Fine. Fine!” she shouted, even though no one could hear her. She ripped one of the bags open and threw the first thing she grabbed onto the bed. No overthinking, no time to fuss. Just wear it.

She checked the clock again. 1:45.

Her pulse spiked. She still had to get ready, call a tricycle, maybe a jeepney after that, and pray traffic wasn’t hell today.

She collapsed onto the bed for a moment, staring at the ceiling. “This is ridiculous,” she muttered. “Absolutely ridiculous.”

Her phone buzzed again. Sheena.

Sheena: reminder. 3pm. don’t bail.

Aiah threw a pillow at her phone.

She was really doing this.

At exactly two thirty, her phone buzzed again. She glanced at the notification and saw the message from Sheena with a string of emojis and then, finally, the address.

Her eyes widened.

“What the hell—” she muttered, double-checking the street name, the landmarks, the whole thing. This wasn’t a block away. This wasn’t even just across the district. This was practically a city away.

She shot back a reply:

Aiah: You’ve got to be joking.

But Sheena only sent a thumbs-up emoji.

Aiah stared at her phone like it had personally betrayed her. Then she glanced at the time. 2:32. Her stomach sank.

She shoved everything she needed into her bag, barely locked the door behind her, and bolted down the stairs of her apartment. Outside, the heat slammed into her like a wall. She winced but kept moving, flagging down the first jeepney she spotted.

She climbed in, squeezing herself between two people who clearly did not want company. She muttered a soft “excuse me,” then sat, clutching her bag to her chest.

The jeepney rattled forward, slow as molasses. Every bump on the road made her bounce slightly, her nerves jangling along with it. She pulled out her phone, checking the time again. 2:38. Not good. Not good at all.

Her mind was spiraling. A city away? Who in their right mind schedules a blind date at a place that far? Were Sheena and Jhoanna crazy? Did they hate her? Was this some kind of elaborate prank where the real goal was just to see her suffer?

She squeezed her eyes shut, leaning her head back against the metal railing. “Oh my God,” she whispered. “This is insane.”

Her seatmate gave her a quick side-eye before turning away again. She ignored it.

The jeepney stopped every five seconds to pick up more passengers, and Aiah’s leg bounced furiously. She was chewing on her lip, half convinced she was going to bite it raw. The traffic wasn’t helping either—cars and motorcycles honking left and right, pedestrians crossing even when the light was red.

She checked her phone again. 2:45.

Her heart sank.

She tried to distract herself, pulling up her notes app, but all she could think of was the poor girl probably sitting at the restaurant already. Maybe she was checking her watch. Maybe sipping nervously on some overpriced iced tea. Maybe wondering if she’d been stood up again.

Aiah buried her face in her hands. “I can’t believe this. I’m going to be late again. I’m actually the worst person alive.”

The jeepney jolted forward suddenly, and her head smacked lightly against the steel bar behind her.

“Ow—” she hissed, rubbing the spot. Great. As if she didn’t have enough problems. Now she’d show up with a bruise on her skull too.

By the time they reached the next terminal, the jeepney driver announced the end of the line. Aiah jumped out, checked the map again, and nearly screamed. She still had to transfer.

“This is a nightmare,” she muttered, clutching her bag tighter. She scrambled onto another jeepney, breathless and sweating, trying to ignore the way her shirt clung to her back.

The new ride felt even slower. She swore every traffic light turned red just for her. By 2:53, she was gripping her phone like a lifeline, watching the minutes tick closer to three.

Her heart was hammering. She could already imagine Sheena’s smug voice: Don’t be late. And Jhoanna’s disappointed sigh. And worse—the face of the girl waiting for her, slowly realizing Aiah wasn’t coming again.

She shook her head. No. Not this time. Even if she had to run the rest of the way, she was going to make it.

At 2:57, the jeepney slowed to another stop.

Aiah’s patience snapped. She shoved her fare into the driver’s hand, muttered a rushed “thanks,” and jumped out before it even fully parked. She broke into a half-jog down the street, weaving through the crowd.

Her bag bounced against her side, her hair sticking to her neck. Her lungs burned, but she didn’t care. All she knew was that she had three minutes left and still hadn’t reached the place.

She pulled her phone out again, checked the map, and almost cried. She was still at least ten minutes away.

“Are you kidding me?” she groaned, stomping her foot once on the pavement. The people around her gave her odd looks, but she didn’t care.

She was late. Again. And she wasn’t even there yet.