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“Another successful album, Ms. Liora. How does it feel?” one reporter asked as the doors of the gala swung open.
Camera flashes bloomed around her like sudden light. Liora paused, the practiced smile slipping into place as easily as muscle memory.
“It’s incredibly fulfilling,” she said. “Masaya akong nakakapaglabas ng musikang may napupuntahan—na may nakakaantig ng puso ng mga nakikinig.”
“Ms. Liora, Ms. Liora—” another voice cut in, louder, more playful. “Eh yung puso niyo po, may nagpapatibok na po ba?”
Liora let out a small laugh, the kind that always made headlines feel warmer than they were. “Yes,” she answered simply. “Matagal na.”
The crowd reacted instantly—gasps, teasing cheers, hurried whispers already forming theories that would trend before midnight. Though she's long made it clear that she was in fact, in a relationship, the fans still seem to be intrigued to know who her partner is. Liora kept walking, her smile unchanged, her eyes bright with something only she understood.
Hindi pa rin natatanong yung laging tanong, she thought as microphones continued to follow her steps.
Almost on cue, someone cleared their throat.
“Liora,” a reporter called, voice careful, deliberate. “Will you ever reveal who Hinirang Tala really is?”
Liora slowed, turning just enough for the cameras to catch the tilt of her head, the quiet confidence in her gaze.
“I guess,” she said lightly, punctuating it with a wink, “you’ll just have to find out.”
Hinirang Tala. The name that is credited as songwriter for all of Liora's songs. The same name that everyone is curious about.
The public speculated and created theories here and there. Some said that it may be a collective of writers, while others suggested that she hired a retired poet, or that it was just a marketing tactic to keep people talking.
They weren't wrong when they swore it was a ghostwriter hiding under the comfort of the fake name.
But they never guessed that it was Justine Rana all along.
Justine Rana did not belong to the kind of world that invited loud speculation. She existed outside it by design—an award-winning journalist, incisive, ethical to the point of discomfort. Her byline carried weight in rooms where voices were usually raised, but she guarded her private life the same way she would her work.
It wasn’t that they were hiding. It was simply enough that the truth lived where it mattered.
So when Liora finally came home, shedding the noise of the night at the door, she found Justine exactly where she always seemed to be when the world grew too loud—at their piano.
The lights were dim, the city humming faintly beyond the windows. Justine sat with her back straight, fingers moving gently over the keys, lost in a melody only she could hear. Liora stopped just behind her, quiet as breath, content to remain unseen for a moment longer, admiring the woman who never asked to be watched and yet had always been her favorite sight.
But it didn't take long before Justine stopped playing and looked over her shoulder.
“How long have you been standing there, Leonora?” She asked.
“Not long. But long enough to witness kung gaano ka kaganda, Tin.” Leonora said while making her way beside Justine and pressing a gentle kiss on her cheek.
“Nako nambola pa. I saw what you did earlier by the way.”
“What did I do?”
“You answered that one question, yung kung may nagpapatibok na ba sa puso mo. You know that your fans are gonna lose it.”
“Let them. I don't see anything wrong with what I said. Matagal mo naman na talagang pinapatibok puso ko diba?”
Justine felt her face heat up, “Ewan ko talaga sa'yo, Leonora,” she took another look at her finace. “At wala ka pa bang balak magpalit niyang dress mo? Maybe something more comfortable?”
“Ganito muna ako. Ganito muna tayo. Please?” Leonora says, to which Justine could only nod.
Within the four walls of their shared condo unit, it wasn't Liora, the OPM singer who could serenade anyone who listens to her songs. Neither was it Justine Rana, the well-respected journalist that could make the nation listen when she speaks.
It was only Leonora and Tintin, that much was enough.
Later, they decided to move to their couch. Leonora made herself comfortable while laying down beside Justine, although still in the dress she wore to the gala.
They sat like that for a while, sipping wine, the silence stretching comfortably between them.
Eventually, Leonora spoke again. “Do you ever think about how long we’ve been doing this?”
Justine blinked. “Drinking wine on a couch?”
“Baliw. I meant us.” Leonora clarified.
Justine let out a quiet breath. “What about us?”
“I don't know. Siguro for starters, does it not bother you that the world doesn't know na ikaw ang nagsusulat ng songs ko?”
Justine shook her head. “No.”
Leonora studied her face. “Not even a little?”
Justine considered it. “Hindi naman ako nagsusulat para sa kanila. Lahat ng sinulat kong kanta, lahat ‘yun para sa’yo. If they want someone to thank, then they should thank you.”
“Thank me?” Leonora said. “They thank me all the time. But the songs that they hear me sing? ‘Di naman nila maririnig ‘yun kung hindi dahil sa’yo diba?”
Justine smiled faintly. “I created the songs, sige sabihin na nating ganon. Pero you made them come to life. ”
Leonora felt something warm and tight bloom in her chest.
“Well, pano naman yung iba?” Leonora pressed. “Bukod pa sa Hirang Tala, our lives are far from normal. Yung isa opm artist, yung isa journalist.”
“It sounds complicated but I wouldn't have it any other way,” Justine grins. “Kahit abnormal pa yung buhay natin.” They could only laugh at that.
With a few more glasses of wine and giggles shared by the two, Leonora found herself on the floor, her back against the couch.
Now with a guitar resting in her lap that she found sitting at the corner of their living room, Justine watched as Leonora tuned the instrument, fingers sure and gentle.
“Tutugtog ka?” Justine asked. Leonora nodded.
“Makikinig ka ba.”
“Lagi. I always listen.”
Leonora smiled and began to play. The song was new. Unreleased, quite unfinished. Something they've been working on together.
It was about choosing someone over and over, even when no one was watching. About loving quietly in a world that demanded spectacle.
When the song ended, there was silence.
Then Justine said, “The bridge needs work. May mali eh. Narinig mo rin ba?”
Leonora laughed. “I did. Akala ko ako lang.”
“It's a bit rushed, you need to breathe,” Justine continued. “But I think the lyrics need work too.”
Leonora nodded thoughtfully. “Help me fix it?”
“Always. Anything for you."
Leonora set the guitar aside and turned toward her. “You know,” she said softly, “we're not waiting on anyone or anything anymore.”
Justine met her gaze. “I know.”
Leonora reached out, thumb brushing over Justine’s knuckles. “I’m ready.”
Justine smiled, eyes warm and steady. “So am I.”
They leaned into each other, foreheads touching.
Outside, the city continued on, unaware, maybe unconcerned. But inside their small home, where the world can't touch them, two women sat wrapped in the quiet certainty of a love that had never needed permission.
Not secret.
Just patient.
And when the world finally caught up—they would be ready to let it in. To let it listen to the song they've written and sang for so long.