Archive of Our Own ^beta

The envelope was heavy. Cream-colored, textured, with her name written in familiar, looping calligraphy that used to doodle hearts on the margins of her accounting notes.

Ms. Aiah Arceta.

It sat on my coffee table like a paperweight holding down the rest of my life. Three days na ‘yang nandiyan. Three days ko na ring tinititigan, hinihintay na baka magbago ‘yung laman kapag tinitigan ko nang matagal. Baka maging “Happy Birthday” invitation lang. Baka “Come to my grand opening.”

But no. I knew what it was. Even before I broke the wax seal—gold, pressed with initials that weren't mine—I knew.

Binuksan ko na rin sa wakas, my fingers trembling slightly. Inside was a thick card with gold leaf embossing.

Together with their families,

Jhoanna Christine Robles & Miguel Alfonso Villareal

Request the honor of your presence...

I let out a dry, humorless laugh. Napailing na lang ako habang binabasa ‘yung date. Next month. Agad-agad?

"Jhoanna..." I whispered to the empty air of my condo. "Funny mo dyan."

You even invited me? Talaga ba? After everything? The audacity was almost impressive if it wasn't so heartbreaking. Alam kong ikakasal ka na. Balita ko naman sa common friends natin. The whole batch knows. How could they not? You’re Jhoanna Robles. You’ve always been the center of gravity in every room you walk into.

And now, you’re inviting me to watch you gravitating towards someone else. Towards him.

I tossed the invitation back onto the table. It slid across the glass surface, hitting the coaster where my cold coffee sat.

I’m obviously not going.

As if naman kaya kong umupo sa church pew, watch the doors open, and see you walking down the aisle in white—wearing the dress we used to joke about, listening to the songs we used to play in my car—tapos sasalubungin ka ng lalaking hindi naman alam kung paano timplahin ‘yung kape mo sa umaga nang tama.

I took a sip of my own drink. It was bitter. Cold. Just the way I felt right now.

Funny enough, coffee was always our thing. Or rather, your thing that I learned to love because I loved you.

Napapikit ako. Here comes the memory. It’s unbidden, intrusive. Like a pop-up ad you can’t close.

Third year college. Taft Avenue.

It was raining hard that afternoon. The kind of Manila rain that floods the streets in minutes and makes getting a Grab impossible. We were stuck under the shed of the Henry Sy building, waiting for the downpour to stop.

"Aiah, gusto ko ng kape," you whined, tugging at the sleeve of my hoodie. You were wearing your uniform, but you had my ID lace around your neck for some reason I couldn't remember.

I looked at the sheets of rain falling like a curtain. "Jho, ang lakas ng ulan. May vendo machine naman sa loob."

"Ayoko ng vendo coffee! Lasang tubig na may kulay," you argued, pouting. That distinct Jhoanna Robles pout that usually got you whatever you wanted. "Gusto ko sa SB. Sa tapat."

"Tatawid pa tayo? Baha na oh," I pointed at the street. Cars were splashing water everywhere. "Pa-deliver na lang tayo if you really want."

"Matagal 'yun! Tsaka gusto ko maglakad. Ang init sa loob, masarap sa labas kasi mahangin," pangungulit mo.

I rolled my eyes, annoyed. I was stressed about our finals, my laptop was heavy in my bag, and I just wanted to go home and sleep. "Ang arte naman. Kape lang eh. We could have it delivered straight to the lobby, hindi pa tayo mababasa."

You stopped tugging my sleeve. You stepped in front of me, blocking my view of the rainy street. You looked at me with those eyes—dark, expressive, and dangerously captivating.

"Aiah," you said softly, completely ignoring my annoyance.

You reached out and took my hand. Your palm was warm against my cold skin. You interlaced our fingers, squeezing tight.

"Don't let go, okay?" you whispered, your voice cutting through the noise of the rain and the traffic. "I'm yours."

Natigilan ako. Whatever argument I had died in my throat. My heart hammered against my ribs, loud enough that I was scared you’d hear it over the thunder.

"I'm yours," you repeated, smiling that lopsided smile that always made my knees weak. "Kaya tara na? Hawak lang ako sa'yo. Hindi ako bibitaw."

So we ran. We ran across Taft Avenue, splashing through puddles, soaked to the bone within seconds. You were laughing the whole time, pulling me along, your grip on my hand never loosening. Not even for a second.

We arrived at the coffee shop shivering, dripping wet, and breathless. But when you looked at me, hair plastered to your forehead, grinning like we just won a championship, I knew I was a goner.

I’m yours.

Those two words anchored me for years. Even when things got tough, even when we fought, even when the world started asking questions we weren't ready to answer—I held onto that.

Dumilat ako. Back to the present. Back to the cold condo unit. Back to the invitation on the table with the groom's name: Miguel.

Why, Jho?

I stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the city lights of BGC. It was a stark contrast to the chaotic charm of Taft, but it felt lonelier.

Why did you say that to me if you didn't mean it forever? Why did you hold my hand so tight that day only to let go now?

My phone buzzed on the counter. I glanced at it.

From: Jhoanna

Uy, nakuha mo na invite? Hope you can make it, Aiah. It wouldn't be complete without my best friend.

Best friend.

The words tasted like ash. Best friend. That’s the safe label, isn’t it? That’s the box you shoved me into when the questions became too hard, when your parents started asking about your future, when the reality of "us" became too heavy for you to carry.

I didn't reply. Instead, I opened Instagram. I shouldn't, but I'm a masochist apparently.

Your story was up. It was a repost from your engagement shoot. You and Miguel, standing on a cliffside, looking perfect. Cinematic. Standard.

He was holding your waist. You were laughing, head thrown back, looking radiant.

But then I zoomed in. Habit na siguro. Or maybe I was looking for cracks in the perfection.

My breath hitched.

On your right hand. Not the ring finger on the left where the diamond from Miguel sat heavy and proud. But on your right ring finger.

A simple, silver band with a small wave design.

You should really stop wearing the ring I gave you.

Binigay ko 'yan nung second anniversary natin. Before everything fell apart. Before you decided that a life with a man was easier than a life with me. Before you told me you wanted a family—a specific kind of family that I, biologically, couldn't give you in the traditional sense.

“Gusto ko ng normal, Aiah. Gusto ko ng payapa,” you had said during the breakup. “I want to be a mom. I want a husband. I want to give my parents grandchildren without complications.”

I’m sorry I couldn’t give you the family you wanted. I’m just a girl.

Pero bakit suot mo pa rin ‘yan?

Does Miguel know? Does he know that the ring you wear on your other hand is a promise ring from your "best friend"? Does he know that every time you look at that wave design, it’s supposed to remind you of the time we went to La Union and promised to be each other's calm in the chaos?

Or maybe it doesn’t mean anything to you anymore. Maybe accessory na lang siya. Maybe nakalimutan mo na kung saan galing ‘yan.

But I know you, Jhoanna Robles. You don’t do things by accident. You are sentimental to a fault. You keep movie tickets from five years ago. You keep dried flowers.

So why?

Why invite me? Why wear the ring? Why torture me like this?

Napaupo ako sa floor, leaning against the glass window. The city blurred as my eyes watered.

I remembered the letter. The one inside the shoebox tucked deep in my closet, underneath the winter coats I never use.

“If I needed proof that I have loved, it would be you. If anyone asks how I developed my habits, I’d say I got them from you because I am everything that I love, and you’re that.”

I realized then that I was still everything you loved. Your mannerisms—the way you tilt your head when you're thinking, the way you drink your coffee black now, the way you listen to indie bands you used to hate—those are all pieces of me that you kept.

You kept the habits. You kept the personality traits. You kept the ring.

But you threw away the person.

I looked at the invitation again. Jhoanna & Miguel.

"Funny mo talaga, Jho," I whispered, wiping a stray tear. "Sobrang funny mo."

I picked up my phone. I knew I shouldn't go. Whatever peace I’ve managed to build over the last two years creates a fragile glass house, and seeing you get married would be throwing a boulder right through it.

But the ring. That damn ring in the photo.

It was a question mark at the end of a sentence I thought was already finished.

If I go... if I see you... will you finally take it off? Or are you waiting for me to ask you to keep it?

—-

Turning down an invitation should be easy. You tick "Decline," seal the envelope, send it back, and move on with your life. Or, in the modern world, you ignore the Google Form link until the RSVP deadline passes and hope the bride gets the hint.

Pero hindi naman normal na bride si Jhoanna. At hindi naman ako normal na guest lang.

After two days of radio silence, my phone became a war zone. Not from Jho directly, but from our college barkada.

Group Chat: Jho’s Road to Mrs. 💍

Created by: Colet

Colet: Hoy @Aiah, buhay ka pa ba? Ikaw na lang kulang sa headcount for the bridal shower.

Maloi: Oo nga, Aiah! Don’t tell me magpapaka-busy ka na naman sa work? Minsan lang ikasal si Boss Jho!

Stacey: Seen mo naman kami, mima. Jho’s asking if you’re free this weekend for fitting. Sabi niya ikaw daw bahala sa oras.

Fitting? Para saan? I wasn’t part of the entourage. I made sure of that years ago when we broke up. I distanced myself enough to be demoted from "The One" to "College Friend," skipping the "Best Friend" tier entirely—or so I thought.

I muted the group chat. Ang sakit sa mata basahin nung group name. Road to Mrs. Road to hell, kamo.

I was about to put my phone down when a name flashed on the screen.

Calling: Jhoanna Robles...

My thumb hovered over the red button. Decline. Just decline.

Pero marupok ako. Or maybe, masochist nga talaga ako. Before I could convince myself otherwise, I slid the icon to answer.

"Hello?" My voice was raspy. I hadn't spoken to anyone all morning.

"Aiah!" Jhoanna’s voice was too bright, too cheerful. Whatever awkwardness I was feeling, she seemed immune to it. "Grabe, ang hirap mong hagilapin. Are you mad at me?"

Yes. No. I don’t know.

"Busy lang, Jho," I lied smoothly. "You know how it is. Audit season." (It wasn't).

"Sus. Audit season daw, eh nakita ko story ni Sheena kasama ka nag-coffee yesterday," she chuckled. That laugh used to be my favorite sound. Now it sounded like nails on a chalkboard. "Anyway, can we meet? Please? Sandali lang. I need to give you something."

"Nagpadala ka na ng invite, Jho. Nakuha ko na," I said, trying to keep my tone flat.

"Not that," she insisted. "May iba pa. And I can't just send it via courier. Kailangan ibigay ko sa'yo personally. Please, Aiah? For old times' sake?"

Old times' sake. That phrase was a trap.

"Saan?" I asked, defeated.

"Yung dating spot? Sa may Taft? I miss the lasagna there."

Of course. She wanted to meet where it all started. Where we held hands in the rain. Funny mo talaga, Jhoanna.

—-

Two hours later, I was walking into the café, regretting every life choice that led me here.

She was already there, seated at our usual corner table near the window. And god, it was unfair. Even under the harsh fluorescent lights, Jhoanna looked breathtaking. She was wearing a simple white linen dress, her hair tied back in a messy bun, looking every bit the glowing bride-to-be.

Before I could retreat, she looked up and waved. Her eyes lit up in a way that made my stomach turn.

"Aiah! Here!"

Naglakad ako palapit, conscious of every step. Unlike her light, airy vibe, I was dressed in dark slacks and a black blouse, looking like I was attending a funeral. Which, in a way, I was.

"Hi," I said, taking the seat opposite her.

"Hi yourself," she grinned, pushing a cup toward me. "Americano, one pump of white mocha. Tama?"

I stared at the cup. She still remembered my order. "Yeah. Thanks."

"So..." Jhoanna leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands. "Kumusta ka na? It’s been, what? Six months since we last saw each other? Nung birthday ni Gwen?"

"Six months," I confirmed. Six months of healing that just evaporated the moment I sat down. "I'm okay, Jho. Working. Surviving."

"You look good," she said softly, her gaze scanning my face. "Payat ka lang ng konti. Are you eating well?"

"Jho, please," I cut her off. I couldn't handle the small talk. Not when the elephant in the room was wearing a diamond ring. "Ano 'yung ibibigay mo? I have a meeting in an hour."

Another lie. But I needed an escape route.

Jhoanna’s smile faltered a bit. She sat up straighter, clasping her hands on the table.

And there it was again.

The silver wave ring. On her right hand.

Seeing it in a picture was one thing; seeing it in person, moving as she fidgeted, was another. It gleamed mockingly at me. Why are you wearing that? Does Miguel know that ring represents a promise you broke? That ring was supposed to mean ‘Wait for me.’ It was supposed to mean ‘I’ll come back to you.’

"Diretsahan na nga," Jhoanna let out a nervous breath. She reached into her tote bag and pulled out a small, rectangular box. Not a ring box. Longer. Like a jewelry case.

She slid it across the table.

"Open it."

I hesitated. "Ano 'to?"

"Just open it, Aiah."

With trembling fingers, I lifted the lid.

Inside was a bracelet. Not just any bracelet—it was a corsage made of preserved blue hydrangeas and white baby’s breath, attached to a silk ribbon. And beside it was a card that read: Maid of Honor.

My blood ran cold.

I looked up at her, wide-eyed. "Jho... what is this?"

"I want you to be my Maid of Honor," she said, her voice hopeful, oblivious to the cruelty of her request.

I laughed. It came out broken, incredulous. "Are you serious?"

"Seryoso ako, Aiah," she said, reaching for my hand across the table. I instinctively pulled away. She looked hurt but continued. "Ikaw 'yung kilala ko nang lubusan. You know me better than anyone. Better than my sisters, better than Colet... maybe even better than Miguel."

"Exactly," I snapped, my voice rising slightly. Some students at the next table glanced at us. I lowered my volume but kept the intensity. "I know you better than him. That’s the point, Jhoanna. I’m your ex. Or did you forget that part?"

"You’re my best friend first," she countered, her eyes pleading. "Bago naging tayo, magkaibigan tayo, 'di ba? Can’t we go back to that? Gusto ko nandoon ka sa tabi ko. Gusto ko ikaw 'yung mag-aayos ng veil ko. Gusto ko ikaw 'yung hahawak ng bouquet ko."

"Gusto mo," I repeated, shaking my head. "It’s always about what you want, ‘no? Gusto mo ng kape kahit baha. Gusto mo ng pamilya. Gusto mo ng best friend sa kasal mo."

"Aiah..."

"Did you ever stop to think about what I want?" I looked her dead in the eye. "Did you ever think about how humiliating this is for me? To stand beside you while you marry someone else? To hold your bouquet while you say vows to a man?"

"I thought... I thought okay na tayo," she whispered. "It’s been two years, Aiah. Naka-move on ka na, 'di ba?"

Naka-move on ka na, 'di ba?

The question hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.

If I said no, I’d look pathetic. I’d be the bitter ex who couldn't let go. The girl who was still hung up on a woman who was clearly happy with a man.

If I said yes, I’d be lying.

"Of course," I lied through my teeth. My chest felt like it was being crushed. "Of course, okay na ako."

"Then do this for me," she pressed, sensing my hesitation. "Please? Miguel knows about us. He’s okay with it. He knows how important you are to me."

"He knows?" I scoffed. "Does he know everything? Does he know about the letters? Does he know why you wear that ring on your right hand?"

Jhoanna froze. She looked down at her hand, as if realizing for the first time that she was still wearing it. Her thumb brushed over the silver wave pattern.

"Sanay na ako eh," she murmured, avoiding my eyes. "It’s... it’s just a habit."

"A habit," I echoed.

If anyone asks how I developed my habits, I'd say I got them from you.

Ang sakit. Sobrang sakit. To be reduced to a habit. Like biting your nails or drinking coffee in the morning. I was just something she got used to, something she forgot to discard.

"Just a habit," she repeated, looking up at me again. "Aiah, please. I need you there. I can't imagine getting married without you."

I stared at the 'Maid of Honor' card.

This was insane. This was masochism in its purest form.

But looking at her—looking at the desperation in her eyes—I realized something. She wasn't doing this to hurt me. She was doing this because she was selfish. Innocently, destructively selfish. She wanted to keep every part of her life intact. She wanted the husband, the family, and the soulmate. She didn't want to lose me, even if keeping me meant breaking my heart all over again.

And because I was stupid, because I was Aiah Arceta who crossed flooded streets for her...

"I’m not going to be your Maid of Honor," I said firmly.

Jhoanna’s face fell. "Aiah..."

"But," I interrupted, standing up. I couldn't stay here any longer. The air was too thin. "I’ll go. I’ll attend. As a guest. Don’t ask me for anything else."

"Talaga?" Hope surged back into her expression.

"Yeah. Just... stop wearing that ring, Jho," I said, my voice cracking slightly. "If you’re going to marry him, commit to him. Don’t drag a piece of me to the altar."

I didn't wait for her response. I turned around and walked out of the coffee shop, leaving my untouched Americano and the open jewelry box on the table.

Once I was outside, under the heat of the Manila sun, I finally let the tears fall.

Funny mo, Jho. Funny mo talaga.

You invited me. You asked me to be your Maid of Honor. You’re still wearing my ring.

And the worst part? I’m going. Not to celebrate you. But to see if you can actually go through with it while looking at me.

Because if you can say "I do" to him while wearing the ring I gave you... then maybe, just maybe, that’s the closure I finally need to hate you.

—-

They say alcohol is a truth serum. But in my experience, alcohol is just a magnifying glass for the things you’re trying desperately to ignore.

The venue was a reserved function room in a high-end bar in Poblacion. Dim lights, expensive gin, and the sound of indie pop filling the air. It was a joint Despedida de Soltera and Bachelor’s Party. Modern daw. Practical. Just like Jhoanna wanted.

I stood by the bar, swirling the ice in my third Negroni. Maloi and Sheena were on the karaoke machine, belting out "Torete" like their lives depended on it. The irony wasn't lost on me.

"Aiah! Buti nakarating ka!"

I turned to see Colet walking towards me, holding a beer. She looked at me with that knowing gaze—the kind that said she knew exactly why I was standing in the darkest corner of the room.

"Required attendance, 'di ba?" I forced a smile. "Supportive friend kuno."

Colet sighed, leaning against the bar counter. "You know you didn't have to come. Sabi ko naman kay Jho na baka busy ka. She was... persistent."

"She always is." I took a sip. The bitterness of the Negroni sat heavy on my tongue. "Nasaan siya?"

Colet pointed with her bottle towards the center of the room.

And there she was. Jhoanna.

She was wearing a white silk dress that hugged her frame perfectly, a stark contrast to the dark, moody interior of the bar. Beside her was Miguel.

I watched them. I watched how Miguel’s hand rested comfortably on the small of her back. I watched how he whispered something in her ear that made her throw her head back and laugh. Not the polite laugh she gives clients, but the genuine, crinkly-eyed laugh that I used to cause.

Ang sakit.

It wasn't just jealousy. It was the realization that she looked happy. That she could be happy without me. That the narrative I built in my head—that she was secretly miserable and pining for me—might just be a lie I told myself to survive.

"He looks... nice," I muttered, almost choking on the word.

"Miguel? He is," Colet admitted, sounding almost apologetic. "He’s an architect. Mabait. Pasensyoso. Sobrang alaga kay Jho. Honestly, Aiah... he’s a good guy."

Of course he is. Because Jhoanna wouldn't settle for less. She wanted the perfect life, the perfect family. And to have that, she needed the perfect man.

Not me. Not just a girl.

"Excuse me lang, Colet. Need air," I said abruptly. I couldn't stand hearing about how great he was.

I pushed past the crowd, navigating through bodies until I reached the balcony area. It was humid outside, the Manila heat clinging to my skin, but at least it was quiet.

I leaned over the railing, staring at the chaotic traffic below. I lit a cigarette—a habit I picked up after the breakup. Jho hated smoking. Isa pa 'to sa mga bagay na alam kong ayaw niya, pero ginagawa ko pa rin.

"Hindi ko alam na naninigarilyo ka na."

I didn't flinch. I knew that voice. Even amidst the noise of the city, I’d know it anywhere.

I turned around. Jhoanna was standing by the glass door, looking at me with a mix of concern and something else I couldn't place.

"Marami kang hindi alam, Jho," I said, exhaling a plume of smoke away from her. "It’s been two years."

She stepped closer. The city lights reflected in her eyes. She looked ethereal, like a ghost haunting me before I was even dead.

"I'm glad you came," she said softly. "Akala ko ii-indianin mo ako eh."

"I said I'd come. I keep my promises," I replied, the words dripping with venom. Unlike you.

Jhoanna flinched visibly. She crossed her arms, rubbing her shoulders as if she was cold. That was when I saw it.

She was still wearing the ring.

Even tonight. Even with Miguel inside. Even at her Despedida. The silver wave ring was still on her right hand, glinting under the balcony lights.

I stared at it. I couldn't look away.

"Why?" The question slipped out before I could stop it.

"Huh?"

I pointed at her hand with my cigarette. "That. The ring. Sabi ko sa'yo tanggalin mo na 'yan. Why are you still wearing it, Jho? Are you trying to insult me?"

Jhoanna looked down at her hand, covering the ring with her left palm—the one bearing Miguel’s diamond. "Hindi, Aiah. It’s not like that."

"Then what is it like?" I stepped closer, invading her personal space. The alcohol gave me courage I didn't have two days ago. "Does Miguel know that ring is from me? Does he know that when we bought that in La Union, you promised that we’d figure it out? That you’d fight for us?"

"Aiah, tama na..."

"No, tell me," I demanded, my voice breaking. "Bakit suot mo pa rin? Kung masaya ka na sa kanya, kung ikakasal ka na bukas, bakit hawak mo pa rin 'yung nag-iisang bagay na nagkokonekta sa ating dalawa?"

Jhoanna looked up at me, her eyes welling with tears. "Kasi ito na lang 'yung meron ako!"

Her voice cracked, loud enough to startle me into silence.

"Ito na lang, Aiah," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I gave you up. I chose this path. I chose the normal life. I chose the family my parents wanted. I chose peace."

She took a shaky breath, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"But I can't... I can't let go of everything. I kept the habits. I drink my coffee black now because of you. I listen to The 1975 because of you. I fold my clothes the way you taught me." She clutched her right hand to her chest. "And this ring... wearing this makes me feel like I didn't completely erase who I was when I was with you. Kasi nung tayo? That was the happiest I’ve ever been."

My heart shattered. It didn't break; it disintegrated.

"If you were so happy," I whispered, tears falling from my own eyes now, "why wasn't I enough?"

Jhoanna reached out, her hand hovering near my face but not touching. "You were enough, Aiah. Sobra-sobra ka pa nga. But the world... the world isn't built for us. Or maybe I’m just too weak to fight it. Hindi ako katulad mo na matapang. I wanted the easy way out."

"And is it easy?" I asked. "Is it easy pretending to be someone else?"

"Miguel is good to me," she deflected, looking away. "He loves me."

"But do you love him?" I asked the forbidden question. "Do you love him like you loved me?"

Jhoanna closed her eyes. A tear fell from her lashes. She didn't answer.

And that silence was louder than any scream.

Before I could push further, the glass door slid open.

"Love? Nandiyan ka lang pala," a deep voice called out.

Miguel stepped onto the balcony, looking dapper in his polo. He smiled warmly when he saw me, completely oblivious to the tension that was thick enough to choke on.

"Oh, hi! You must be Aiah," Miguel said, extending a hand. "Jho talks about you all the time. Best friend, right?"

I looked at his hand. Then I looked at Jhoanna, who was frantically wiping her tears, composing herself into the perfect bride-to-be in a split second.

Best friend.

I took Miguel’s hand. It was firm, warm. "Hi, Miguel. Congrats."

"Thanks! Are you okay? Parang ang seryoso ng usapan niyo ah," he chuckled, wrapping an arm around Jhoanna’s waist, pulling her close.

Jhoanna leaned into him, her body betraying her words. She fit there. She looked safe there.

"Wala lang 'to, love," Jhoanna said, her voice steady, her mask back on. "Nag-re-reminisce lang. Dami naming pinagdaanan ni Aiah eh."

"I bet," Miguel smiled at me. "Well, pasok na tayo? They’re starting the toasts. Gusto ka nila marinig, Aiah. Since you know Jho best."

I felt like vomiting. A toast. They wanted a toast from me.

"Sure," I said, my voice hollow. "Susunod ako."

Miguel led Jhoanna back inside. But before the door closed, Jhoanna looked back at me one last time. Her eyes were pleading, apologetic, and full of a love she had no business feeling anymore.

I dropped my cigarette and crushed it under my heel.

You know me best.

Yeah, Jho. I do. I know that you’re a coward. I know that you’re compromising. And I know that tomorrow, you’re going to walk down that aisle and ruin three lives: yours, his, and mine.

I looked at my reflection in the glass door.

I should leave. I should run away and never look back.

But the prompt on the invitation burned in my mind. Request the honor of your presence.

Funny mo, Jho. You want me to witness your "happy ending"? Fine.

I’ll watch you marry him. But I’m not doing it for you anymore. I’m doing it to remind myself why I should never, ever let anyone hold my hand and say "I'm yours" unless they’re willing to burn the world down to keep it.

I pushed the door open and walked back into the noise.

—-

San Agustin Church was suffocating.

Maybe it was the scent of expensive lilies mixed with old incense, or maybe it was the fact that half of the people in the pews knew exactly who I was and why my presence here was a walking tragedy.

I sat in the fourth row, left side—the bride’s side. Kasama ko ang barkada. Colet was beside me, her leg bouncing nervously, occasionally glancing at me as if checking if I was about to explode or faint. Maloi was unusually quiet on my other side, clutching a pack of tissues.

"Okay ka lang?" Colet whispered, leaning in.

I stared straight ahead at the ornate altar. "Mukha ba akong okay?"

"Pwede pa tayong umalis," she offered. "Kunwari sumama pakiramdam mo. I’ll drive you home."

"No," I said, smoothing out the fabric of my dress. I wore emerald green. Not black, because that would be too dramatic. Not red, because that would be too loud. Green. The color of moving on, or envy, depending on how you looked at it. "Tatapusin ko 'to."

The organ started playing. Everyone stood up.

First came the entourage. The flower girls, the bridesmaids in their sage green gowns. They all looked happy. Excited.

Then, the heavy wooden doors creaked open.

The music swelled. “Ikaw at Ako” by Johnoy Danao.

Funny. That was on my playlist for us. I used to play that when I drove her home to Laguna. Ikaw at Ako. Tayo’y pinagtagpo. Now, it was her walking song to someone else.

Jhoanna Christine Robles stood at the entrance, silhouetted against the bright afternoon light from outside.

For a moment, my heart stopped. Literal na tumigil.

She was breathtaking. There was no other word for it. The gown was classic—a sweetheart neckline, long lace sleeves, a train that pooled around her like a cloud. Her hair was down in soft waves, framed by a veil that shimmered under the church lights.

She started walking.

Slowly. Gracefully.

She was looking at Miguel, who was waiting at the altar, wiping a tear from his eye. He looked like the happiest man on earth. And why wouldn't he be? He was winning the lottery.

As Jhoanna got closer to our row, time seemed to slow down. It was a cliché, I know, pero ganoon talaga ang pakiramdam. The world blurred, and the only thing sharp and focused was her.

Then, she looked away from Miguel.

She looked at the guests. She scanned the faces.

And then her eyes found mine.

Whatever mask she was wearing—the blushing bride, the happy fiancée—slipped for a fraction of a second. Seeing me there, standing four rows back, witnessing this... I saw a flash of pain in her eyes. Or maybe an apology. Or maybe just acknowledgement.

But my eyes didn't stay on her face.

Automatic na bumaba ang tingin ko sa kamay niya holding the bouquet of white tulips.

Her right hand.

It was bare.

The silver wave ring was gone.

Napangiti ako nang mapait. There it was. The answer.

Kagabi, nagmakaawa ako. Or rather, nagalit ako. I told her to stop wearing it if she was going to marry him.

And she listened.

Tinanggal na niya. She finally took it off. The last physical tether to "Aiah and Jhoanna" was gone. Whatever bravery she had in keeping that ring, whatever silent rebellion she was holding onto—she surrendered it today.

She was fully his now.

She passed by me, the scent of her perfume—vanilla and something floral—lingering in the air for a second before fading.

I watched her back as she reached the altar. I watched her parents give her away. I watched Miguel take her hand—the hand I used to hold to cross the street—and guide her up the steps.

Umupo kami. The ceremony began.

It was a blur of prayers and readings. I felt numb. Parang nanonood lang ako ng pelikula na alam ko na ang ending pero umaasa pa rin ako sa plot twist.

“If anyone has any reason why these two should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

The priest paused. The silence in the church was deafening.

My hands clenched into fists on my lap. Gusto kong tumayo. Gusto kong sumigaw.

Me! I wanted to scream. Ako 'yung rason!

Because she promised me first. Because she wrote me letters saying I was everything she loved. Because she held my hand in the rain and told me she was mine.

Because she doesn't look at him the way she looks at me when she thinks no one is watching.

But I remained seated. I held my peace. Because that’s what "just friends" do. We sit, we smile, and we let the love of our lives make a mistake because they want a "normal" life.

Then came the vows.

Miguel went first. He promised to protect her, to provide for her, to be the father of her children. Standard. Sweet. Safe.

Then it was Jhoanna’s turn.

Her voice trembled slightly as she spoke into the microphone.

"Miguel..." she started, taking a deep breath. "I never thought I’d be standing here today. I used to think that love was... complicated. That it was a storm."

I flinched. Storm. That was us.

"But you showed me that love can be quiet," she continued, looking up at him. "That it can be peaceful. You taught me that I don't always have to fight to be understood. Thank you for giving me a home. Thank you for giving me the certainty I’ve always crave."

Certainty. Peace. Quiet.

Everything I couldn't give.

"I promise to be your constant," she said, a tear escaping her eye. "I promise to build a family with you. I promise to love you, not just with my heart, but with my habits. I will learn to love what you love. I will be your best friend."

If anyone asks how I developed my habits, I'd say I got them from you.

She was recycling parts of herself. She was taking the capacity to love that she learned from me, and she was gifting it to him.

Ang daya. Ang daya-daya mo, Jhoanna.

Binubuo mo 'yung pagkatao mo kasama ako, tapos ibibigay mo 'yung finished product sa iba?

"I promise to choose you," she finished, her voice breaking. "Every day. Even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard. I choose you."

The priest smiled. "Do you, Miguel Alfonso, take Jhoanna Christine..."

"I do."

"Do you, Jhoanna Christine, take Miguel Alfonso..."

There was a pause. A split second longer than necessary.

I held my breath.

"I do," she said.

And just like that, the gavel dropped.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Miguel lifted her veil. He leaned in.

I looked away.

I couldn't watch that. I could handle the walking, the vows, the ring being gone. But seeing his lips on hers? Seeing the final seal of their contract?

I stood up abruptly.

Colet grabbed my wrist. "Aiah, saan ka pupunta? Recessional pa lang."

"CR lang," I choked out, pulling my hand away.

I practically ran towards the side exit, my heels clicking loudly against the marble floor. I pushed the heavy side door open and stumbled out into the humid Manila air.

The sudden quiet outside was jarring.

I walked to the side of the church, near the garden, and leaned against the old stone wall. My chest was heaving. I couldn't breathe.

It’s done.

She’s married. She’s Mrs. Villareal now.

Funny, 'di ba? The girl who swore she was mine is now legally bound to a man who probably doesn't even know she hates the texture of onions or that she cries when she watches dog videos.

I slid down the wall until I was crouching on the grass. I buried my face in my hands.

Alam ko naman, Jho.

I know why not me.

Because I can't give you his name. I can't give you the biological children you want without "complications." I can't give you the picture-perfect Christmas card that your parents can brag about to their friends.

I’m just a girl.

And in this story, the girl doesn't get the girl. The girl gets the lesson. The girl gets the trauma. The girl gets the invitation to watch.

Inside, the church bells began to ring. Loud, joyous, celebratory.

It was the sound of a new beginning for them.

And the sound of a funeral for me.

I reached into my purse and pulled out a small velvet pouch. I opened it. Inside was the silver wave ring—not hers, but mine. The matching pair to the one she used to wear.

I looked at it one last time.

"Funny mo, Jho," I whispered to the empty garden. "Sobrang funny mo."

I stood up, walked over to a trash bin near the gate, and hovered my hand over it.

But I couldn't drop it.

Marupok pa rin. Tanga pa rin.

Instead, I put the ring back in my purse. I wiped my tears, fixed my makeup using my phone camera, and took a deep breath.

I had to go back inside. Whatever happens next—the reception, the speeches, the awkward congratulations—I had to endure it.

Because Jhoanna was right about one thing. Habits are hard to break.

And loving her? Surviving her?

That was the hardest habit of all.

—-

The reception was held in a grand ballroom that smelled of expensive floral arrangements and roasted beef. It was the kind of wedding you see in magazines—crystal chandeliers, a five-tier cake, a live orchestra playing instrumental versions of pop songs.

Everything screamed permanence. Everything screamed tradition.

I found my seat at Table 8, labeled "DLSU Friends." Kasama ko sila Maloi, Colet, Stacey, Sheena, Gwen, at Mikha. It was the designated 'safe zone,' or so I thought.

"Inom, Aiah," Mikha slid a glass of red wine toward me the moment I sat down. No questions asked. She knew exactly what I needed.

"Thanks," I muttered, downing half of it in one go.

"Dahan-dahan lang, teh," Maloi whispered, leaning close. "Baka mamaya agawin mo yung mic sa host at kumanta ka ng 'Jopay' dyan."

I let out a dry chuckle. "Don't worry. I'm on my best behavior. I'm just here for the food."

A lie. I wasn't hungry. The sight of the lechon being carved at the buffet station made my stomach turn.

The program started. The host was lively, making jokes that landed well with the older crowd. Then came the AVP—the montage of their lives.

Baby pictures of Miguel. Baby pictures of Jhoanna.

Then, the college years.

My breath hitched as photos flashed on the giant LED screen. There were group photos of our barkada. Field trips. Thesis defense.

And then, a photo from our third year appeared. It was a candid shot from a chaotic Christmas party. Everyone was laughing, looking at the camera. But in the corner of the frame, if you looked closely, you could see Jhoanna looking at me instead of the lens.

And you could see my hand resting on her knee under the table.

Napapikit ako. Did she check these photos? Did she know that evidence of "us" was being projected on a twenty-foot screen in front of her husband’s conservative family?

"Gagi, muntik na 'yun ah," Stacey whispered to Colet, thinking I didn't hear.

"Shh," Colet hissed.

The lights dimmed, and the spotlight focused on the center of the dance floor.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let us welcome the newlyweds for their first dance!"

Jhoanna and Miguel walked to the center. Jhoanna had changed into a second gown—lighter, sleeker, something easy to move in. Miguel took her hand and placed his other hand on her waist.

The music started. “The Way You Look Tonight.”

Classic. Safe. Boring.

I watched them sway. Miguel whispered something to her, and she giggled, burying her face in his chest. It looked picture-perfect. It looked like the ending of a Disney movie.

Pero habang pinapanood ko sila, hindi ko mapigilang mag-analyze.

Is she leading? Miguel has two left feet. Jhoanna used to complain about how hard it was to dance with guys who couldn't follow rhythm. “Buti pa tayo, Aiah, smooth,” she used to say when we’d slow dance in my condo living room at 2 AM.

I watched her guide him subtly. A shift in weight here, a squeeze of the hand there. She was adjusting for him. She was making him look good.

I am everything that I love, and you’re that.

Is she thinking of me while she teaches him how to sway? Or has she successfully reprogrammed herself?

"Ang ganda niya, 'no?" Sheena said dreamily, resting her chin on her hands. "Parang prinsesa."

"Oo," I replied softly. "Bagay sa kanya."

And it was true. Happiness looked good on her, even if the source of that happiness wasn't me. Peace looked good on her.

Tapos na ang sayaw. The applause was thunderous. They sat at the presidential table, looking like royalty.

Then came the speeches.

The Maid of Honor was her cousin, Ate Yna. She talked about how Jhoanna was a dreamer, how she always wanted to be a mother, how she played "wedding" with her dolls when she was five.

"Jho always knew what she wanted," Ate Yna said, raising her glass. "She wanted a love that felt like home. A love that was sure. And Miguel, thank you for being that certainty for her."

I gripped the stem of my wine glass so hard I thought it would snap.

Certainty. Again with that word.

Implicitly, it meant I was the uncertainty. I was the risk. I was the Phase.

Then, the Best Man. Miguel’s frat brother. He cracked jokes about Miguel being "under de saya" already. The crowd laughed.

"But seriously," the Best Man said, tone shifting. "Pare, you’re a lucky man. Jhoanna is amazing. She’s smart, she’s driven, and she has this... I don't know, this depth to her. Parang ang dami niyang layers. Good luck figuring them all out!"

Napangiti ako nang mapait.

Good luck indeed.

You’ll never figure them all out, Miguel. Because half of those layers were built by me. Half of her jokes, her taste in music, her coping mechanisms—they’re copyrighted by Aiah Arceta.

You’re marrying a mosaic, and you don't even know who provided the tiles.

"Does anyone else want to give a message?" the host asked, scanning the room. "Open mic for friends!"

The table went silent. Everyone looked at me. Not just my table, but half the room who knew. The air grew thick with tension.

Tumayo ka, Aiah, a voice in my head dared. Stand up and tell them about the rain in Taft. Tell them about the letters. Tell them why she drinks her coffee black.

My heart pounded against my ribcage. I could feel Jhoanna’s eyes on me from the presidential table. She looked terrified.

She was holding her breath.

I stood up.

Everyone froze. Colet’s eyes widened. "Aiah..."

I picked up my wine glass. The microphone runner started jogging towards me, but I waved him off. I didn't need a mic. My voice was steady enough.

I looked directly at the couple.

Miguel looked confused but welcoming. Jhoanna looked like she was about to faint. Her hand clutching the table cloth.

I raised my glass.

"To Jhoanna," I said, my voice carrying over the low murmur of the crowd.

Jhoanna stared at me, her eyes glistening.

"And to Miguel," I added, shifting my gaze to the groom. "They say that love is about finding someone who makes you a better person. Looking at Jhoanna now... I can see that she’s become the person she always wanted to be."

I paused. The lump in my throat was painful, but I swallowed it down.

"Miguel, take care of her," I said, my tone bordering on a warning but masked as a blessing. "She likes her water room temperature, never cold. She gets migraines when she’s stressed, so massage her temples, not her neck. And when she’s quiet... don't force her to talk. Just hold her hand."

Like I did.

"Congratulations," I finished, tilting the glass towards them. "To a lifetime of... peace."

I downed the wine.

The room erupted in applause. People thought it was sweet. Thoughtful. A best friend giving tips to the groom.

But Jhoanna knew.

I saw a single tear roll down her cheek before she quickly wiped it away and turned to Miguel, forcing a smile as he kissed her temple, whispering thanks.

I sat down. My legs felt like jelly.

"Grabe ka, Aiah," Mikha whispered, pouring me another drink. "Akala ko magkakagulo."

"Sayang outfit ko kung magkakagulo," I joked weakly.

The dinner continued. The party got louder. The booze flowed freely.

Around 9 PM, the formal program ended and the "party" part began. The lights dimmed further, the DJ started playing upbeat songs. People flocked to the dance floor.

I remained seated, nursing my fourth glass of wine. I was planning my exit strategy. Maybe I could slip out now? Nagawa ko na 'yung required appearance. Nag-toast na ako. Quits na kami.

I checked my phone to book a Grab.

Suddenly, a shadow fell over my table.

I looked up.

It was Jhoanna.

She was alone. No Miguel. No bouquet. Just her, in her wedding reception dress, looking down at me with an expression I couldn't read.

The music was loud—Dancing Queen by ABBA was blasting—so she had to lean in.

"Can we talk?" she asked.

My friends at the table suddenly found the ceiling very interesting. Colet pretended to text. Maloi busied herself with dessert.

I looked at my phone screen. Searching for driver...

I cancelled the booking.

I stood up, facing her. "Saan?"

"Sa garden," she said. "Please."

She turned and walked away, weaving through the dancing crowd.

I watched her for a second. This was it. The confrontation. The closure. Or maybe just another round of torture.

I grabbed my purse.

Funny mo, Jho, I thought as I followed her. Ikaw ang ikinasal, pero bakit parang ako 'yung hinihintay mo?

I walked out of the ballroom and into the cool night air of the hotel garden, following the white dress disappearing into the shadows.

The garden was quiet, save for the distant thumping of the bass from the ballroom and the chirp of crickets hidden in the bushes. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of sampaguita and the impending rain that threatened to fall all evening.

Jhoanna was standing by the stone railing, looking out at the hotel pool below. The water shimmered blue, reflecting the moonlight. Without the veil, and with her hair slightly loosened from the party, she looked less like a bride and more like the girl I used to know.

Except she wasn’t. She was Mrs. Villareal now.

I stopped a few feet behind her. I lit a cigarette, the click of the lighter sharp in the silence.

Jhoanna turned around. She watched the smoke curl from my lips.

"You really should stop that," she said softly. Her voice was tired.

"And you should really go back inside to your husband," I countered, taking a drag. "Why are we here, Jho?"

She wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing the silk of her dress. "Thank you. For the speech."

I scoffed, blowing smoke to the side. "It wasn't for you. It was for him. Para alam niya kung ano pinasok niya."

"Still. You didn't cause a scene. You didn't..." She trailed off.

"Didn't what? Object? Scream 'It should be me' like in the movies?" I laughed, a dry, humorless sound. "Funny mo dyan. Isn't that what you were afraid of? Kaya mo ako inimbitahan? To see if I'd ruin your perfect day?"

"No," she insisted, taking a step toward me. "I invited you because I wanted you to be here. Because... because it felt wrong to celebrate the biggest day of my life without the person who shaped half of it."

"Shaped half of it," I echoed bitterly. "Is that what I am to you? A distinct phase? A character development arc?"

"Aiah, please."

"I saw your hand," I cut her off. I looked pointedly at her right hand, now bare, clutching her left arm. "You took off the ring."

Jhoanna looked down. She flexed her fingers, as if they felt phantom weight. "You told me to. Sabi mo, if I’m going to marry him, I should commit. So I did."

"Good," I nodded, though my chest felt like it was caving in. "Good for you."

Silence stretched between us again. I took another drag, watching the ember glow orange.

"Masaya ka ba?" The question slipped out. It was the only question that mattered.

Jhoanna looked at me. Her eyes were dark, reflective pools. She didn't answer immediately. She looked up at the sky, blinking back tears.

"I have peace, Aiah," she said finally. "Miguel... he’s safe. He’s kind. Whatever storm is inside me, he calms it down. He doesn't make me question things. He doesn't make me fight for my place."

"And I did?"

"We were a hurricane, Aiah," she whispered, tears spilling over. "Masaya, oo. Sobrang saya. But it was exhausting. Fighting my parents, fighting society, fighting the constant fear of 'what if.' With him... I just have to be."

"You just have to be a wife," I said flatly. "A mother. The things you couldn't be with me."

She flinched. "Alam mo naman 'yun."

"Alam ko naman," I repeated the words. "I know I couldn't give you the family you wanted. I know I’m just a girl."

"Don't say it like that," she pleaded, reaching out to touch my arm. I stepped back, avoiding her touch.

"Like what? Like it’s a tragedy?" My voice rose, cracking. "Because it is, Jho! It is for me! You get to choose 'peace' and 'safety' and leave me here wondering why my love wasn't enough to make you brave."

"You were enough!" Jhoanna cried out, her composure finally breaking. "You were everything! Why do you think I kept the ring? Why do you think I listen to your music? Why do you think I look for you in every crowd?"

She stepped closer, her face inches from mine. I could smell the champagne on her breath.

"I said it in my letter," she sobbed. "If anyone asks how I developed my habits, I'd say I got them from you because I am everything that I love, and you're that."

I froze. Hearing those words again from her voice cracked something in me I didn’t know could still break.

"I am made of you, Aiah," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Every part of me that is good, every part of me that knows how to love... galing sa'yo 'yun. Miguel gets the wife, yes. He gets the future. But you? You have the blueprint. You built me."

"I don't want to be the blueprint, Jho," I said, tears streaming down my face now. I dropped the cigarette and crushed it under my heel. "I wanted to be the one living in the house."

Jhoanna let out a choked sob and covered her mouth.

"Pero wala eh," I continued, wiping my cheeks aggressively. "You made your choice. You chose the white picket fence. You chose the easy route."

"I'm sorry," she wept. "I'm so sorry, Aiah."

"Don't apologize," I said, my voice hardening. "It makes it cheap."

I looked at her. Really looked at her.

She was beautiful. She was heartbroken. She was married.

And she was a stranger.

Because the Jhoanna I loved—the one who ran in the rain, the one who promised she was mine—wouldn't be standing here in a wedding dress crying over her ex. She would have grabbed my hand and run away with me.

But that Jhoanna was gone. This woman in front of me was Miguel’s wife.

I reached into my purse. My hand brushed against the velvet pouch where my ring was.

For a second, I thought about giving it to her. Leaving it with her as a final burden. Here, take the pair. Keep the memory.

But then I realized... why should I?

Why should I give her another piece of me to keep as a souvenir? She had enough. She had my habits. She had my heart. She didn't deserve the ring.

I pulled my hand out, empty.

"Go back inside, Jhoanna," I said, my voice quiet, final. "Hinihintay ka na ng asawa mo."

"Aiah..."

"Go," I commanded, turning my back to her. "Before I do something stupid like beg you again. Just go."

I heard her sniffle. I heard the rustle of her gown.

"I will always love you," she whispered. "In every habit. In every cup of coffee. You’re there."

"I know," I said to the darkness. "That’s my curse. And it’s your punishment."

I heard her footsteps retreating. Slow at first, then faster, until the sound of the glass door opening and closing signaled she was gone.

I was alone in the garden.

I walked over to the pool. I looked at the dark water.

I took the velvet pouch out of my bag again. I opened it and took out the silver wave ring. My ring.

"Don't let go, okay? I'm yours," I whispered the memory to the water.

Funny.

I lifted my hand and threw the ring.

It didn't make a big splash. Just a small plop, and then ripples that distorted the reflection of the moon.

It sank to the bottom. Gone.

I took a deep breath. The air felt a little lighter. Not happy. Not healed. But lighter.

I wasn't going to wait for the reception to end. I wasn't going to say goodbye to the barkada.

I turned around and walked towards the exit gate of the garden, away from the hotel, away from the party, away from Mrs. Villareal.

As I walked to the street to hail a cab, a light drizzle started to fall.

Of course. Uulan pa.

But this time, I didn't run. I didn't look for a hand to hold.

I just walked in the rain, letting it soak me, letting it wash away the scent of her perfume that clung to my clothes.

I’m just a girl.

But tonight, I’m a girl who finally let go.

The End.