Chapter Text
“Okay,” Christine said, tapping the edge of her recorder. “Nagr-record na yung camera, Ate Ayi.”
Maraiah smiled and nodded. There was a brief pause, long enough for the hum of the café around them to fill the space.
Maraiah and Christine belonged to an eight-member girl group—Bloom. They have been the kind of group that has always been a little louder than the rest of the industry. Bright, deafening, and colorful.
But after all the history they’ve left behind, after all the years they’ve worked together, they finally decided to disband. It happened quietly—no scandals, no explosive headlines. Just contracts ending, dreams shifting shape, and a lot of tears shed.
The rest of the girls figured it out like they once did. Maraiah stepped into modeling with the same discipline she used for dance, her body becoming language. Christine chose journalism, choosing stories over spotlights, truth over applause.
Christine glanced down at her notes. “So,” she continued, voice professional again, “Tell me, how does your career in modelling differ from when you were a part of Bloom?”
“Well, they’re completely different things, alam mo yun? I suppose Bloom taught me about performance and a love for the kind of family we found and built over all those years. But modeling is a craft, one that has taught me about listening.”
Christine paused. “Listening?”
“To myself,” Maraiah clarified. “To what my body could and couldn’t do anymore.”
Christine smiled faintly as she wrote. “You talk about your body like you respect it.”
“It should be respected, it allows us to do a lot of things,” Maraiah said simply.
There was a small clink as Christine set her pen down. “That’s nice. How about routines? Meron ka ba before shoots?”
Maraiah nodded. “I run. Same route. Same pace. If I rush it, the shoot feels rushed too.”
Christine glanced at her watch. “You ran this morning.”
Maraiah raised an eyebrow. “You noticed.”
“You always come in warmer when you’ve run,” Christine said. “Less guarded. Kahit dati pa.”
Maraiah laughed softly. “That’s true. I’d rather let myself move. I run, I swim, I model…”
“Bakit?”
Maraiah shrugged. “Because if I stop moving, I overthink.”
Christine hummed, jotting something down. “That’s not going into the article.”
“Why not?”
“Because that part’s yours,” she said easily, then looked up. “Hindi mo kailangan ipaliwanag lahat sa mundo, Ate Ayi.”
Maraiah smiled at that. It was small, but it lingered. “Do you always separate things like that? What goes in print and what doesn’t?”
Christine leaned back in her chair. “Hindi lahat, hindi lagi. Facts should still be reported, whether about a friend or not, because news is news and I respect that as much as you respect your body.”
Ayi nods with a knowing smile, “Pero?”
“I won’t use all the things you say just because you’re comfortable telling those things to me. Sinabi mo ‘yun sa akin, hindi sa mundo, and I know that. My job is to tell the world what they need to know, not what they want to believe.”
“You sound the same, Chin. Like the leader that cared for me—for all of us back then.”
“Hindi naman tumigil yung pagmamahal and pagaalala ko sa inyo dahil lang natapos na yung mga kontrata natin.”
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It never was. They fell into this familiar rhythm of quiet moments where neither of them rushed to fill the space.
“Same time next week?” Maraiah asked.
“Of course, let’s tell the world who Maraiah Arceta is,” Christine winked. “Pero it’s not up to them. Kumbaga kapag tumakbo tayo, susundan kita. In your pace, your terms.”
By the time Christine packed up her recorder, she realized she hadn’t asked half of what was on her list.
While Maraiah realized she’d already started looking forward to the next interview—not because of the article, but because of the voice that asked the questions.
Years passed. Careers settled. Public curiosity softened.
They fell in love slowly, properly, when the noise finally faded.
Eventually, they left the limelight altogether.
What they built afterward was quieter, sturdier. A home. A kitchen that always smelled like toast in the morning. A small family of three that tried very hard to be ordinary—and succeeded more often than not.
Then Chanelle Amara arrived like a small storm. They called her Chinee.
She was four now—round-cheeked, loud-laughing, stubborn in the way that her mothers also were.
“Chinee!” Shee screamed from the other end of the phone, which startled the toddler. Ever since Chinee was a baby, her ninangs demanded that they get to call her at least twice every week. Something about “hindi niya pwedeng makalimutan kung anong itsura ng magaganda niyang ninang.” So just like last week, all six of her ninangs joined their group video call.
“Niyang Shee! Hewow!” Chinee replied with the same energy.
“Hi, my bebe!” Shee lit up. “Who’s your favorite ninang?”
“It’s Niyang Maya, right?” Maya intervenes playfully as she sticks her tongue out at Shee. “I’m her favorite niyang!”
Chinee tapped her finger on her cheek like she was thinking. “All of you! I wuv my niyangs!”
“Nako po, Ayi, mukhang kasing kulit ni Chin ah,” Colin joked.
“Anong ako? Baka si Ayi kamo. Ang ligalig nga, palaging naggagagalaw.” Christine shot back.
“Binalik mo pa sa’kin. Magkapangalan na nga kayo, magkasing-kulit pa.” Maraiah replies.
“Yang Cowin, what’s kulit?”
“You!” Maraiah says while pinching their daughter’s right cheek. “You’re makulit!”
“Does that mean pwetty? I’m pwetty, mom!” Chinee declares, and the girls laugh.
“Eh kayo Ate Ayi, kumusta naman kayo? Lalo na mukhang lumilikot na ‘yang bulinggit niyo o!” Sace asks with a small giggle.
“Oo nga, anong feeling na may dalawang Ate Chin? Hindi ba masakit sa ulo?” Shee questions with a teasing smirk.
“Edi ang ingay lagi ng bahay niyo, Ate Ayi?” Gwy added, laughing as she enjoyed the scene on her phone.
“Yang, no!” Chinee adds while shaking her head. “Chinee not masakit sa uwo and no no ingay! That’s Mimi.”
“O sa bata na nanggaling ‘yan ah!” Sace laughs.
“Your daughter just snitched on you, Chin,” Milo giggled as she had been doing nonstop since the call started.
“Ikaw kanina ka pa tawa ng tawa jan, Milo ha. Kapag talaga nagkita tayo lagot ka sa’kin.” Christine jokingly scolds and then turns to look at Chinee to tickle her sides “At ikaw na bata ka, kung ano anong sinasabi mo ha. Buyoy naman!”
“I’m not buyoy!”
“Buyoy! My cute-cute buyoy!” Christine says as she peppers kisses on their daughter’s cheek.
When their call ended, the three girls stayed as they were, sitting cross-legged on the floor, basking in each other’s presence. But amidst the silence, Maraiah and Christine look at their child knowingly. The child’s curiosity could be felt in the air as she fiddles with her fingers.
“Mom?” Chinee asked once while Maraiah stretched. “Why you always move?”
Maraiah paused, smiling. “Because my body likes it. And because it makes me feel strong.”
“Why you wanna be stwong?”
“So I can carry you,” Maraiah said easily, scooping her up with one arm.
Chinee squealed. “Again! Again!”
As Chinee’s curiosity toward Maraiah’s lifestyle grew, her parents made it a point to teach her to keep her body healthy and physically active. Every weekend, they went to the park near their house. It had tall trees that filtered the sunlight and a long path perfect for running. Maraiah jogged. Christine walked. Chinee did both—sometimes sprinting, sometimes stopping abruptly to stare at ants.
Saturday mornings were their favorite, except something felt different this morning.
Breakfast stretched lazily, Christine flipped pancakes while Chinee swung her legs at the table.
But their child’s curious brain does not seem to stop.
“Mi,” Chinee said suddenly, syrup smeared on her chin. “What’s a boyfwend?”
Maraiah froze mid-sip of her coffee.
Christine blinked once, then calmly placed another pancake on Chinee’s plate. “A boyfriend is… someone you like a lot.”
Chinee giggled. “Like you like Mom?”
“Yes,” Christine said without hesitation. “Kind of like that.”
Maraiah shot her a look. “Chin.”
“O bakit?” Christine replied innocently.
“Love naman. Why are we talking about this?” Maraiah asked, lowering her voice. “She’s four.”
“Chinee asked, so Mimi answers,” Christine smiles. “Hayaan mo na, curious lang yung bata, love.”
“Where did you hear ‘yang boyfriend-boyfriend na ‘yan, Chinee?” Maraiah asks.
“Yang Sace!” Chinee answers with a big smile.
“Of course, what did I expect?” Maraiah says, more to herself than to her girls, as she takes another sip of her coffee.
“So… girls like boys and they have a boyfwend? What about giwfwend?”
Christine chuckled at their daughter’s remark. “Some people like boys. Some people like girls. Some people like both. And some people don’t like anyone that way.”
Chinee nodded but tilted her head. “Can I have one?”
Maraiah nearly choked on her coffee. “No.”
Christine hid her smile behind her mug. “Maybe when you’re much, much older.”
“How old?”
Christine thought. “Hmm… maybe when you’re as big as Mom and Mimi.”
“If I dwink milk, will I be as tall as Mom and Mimi and have boyfwend?”
The questions didn’t stop. They followed them out the door, into shoes being put on and water bottles being packed. Maraiah walked faster than usual, hands shoved into her pockets, trying not to roll her eyes at her daughter's questions.
At the park, Christine stood by the path while Maraiah stretched near one of the tallest trees.
Chinee bounced in place. “Mom wuns fast.”
“She does,” Christine agreed.
Maraiah straightened suddenly. “Hey,” she said, an idea forming. “How about this?”
Both of them looked at her.
“If you run faster than me,” Maraiah said carefully, “you can have a boyfriend.”
Chinee’s eyes widened. “Weally?”
“Yes,” Maraiah said, already knowing she’d win.
Chinee jumped up and down. “I can wun fast!”
Christine raised an eyebrow at the exchange. “Ayi, kapag ‘yan napikon ha.”
“No, Mimi! I’m not pikon. I can wun!”
“Okay,” Christine says with a sigh. “From that tree to me.”
She took her place at the other end of the path.
“On three,” Christine said. “One… two… three—go!”
Maraiah bolted immediately, legs eating up the distance.
At first, Chinee laughed, her little feet pattering behind her. Then she noticed the gap growing; her mom was already halfway there.
Her laughter caught in her throat, then she stopped.
The crying came fast and loud, echoing through the park.
Maraiah skidded to a stop, turning around. She was still smiling—until she saw Chinee standing there, arms crossed, tears streaming down her face.
“Oh,” Maraiah breathed, panic replacing amusement. She ran back. “Hey, hey, Chinee—”
She knelt, arms open, but Chinee stepped back.
“No,” Chinee sobbed.
Maraiah’s chest tightened. “I’m sorry, baby—”
Chinee turned and ran straight into Christine’s arms.
Christine scooped her up immediately, rocking her gently. She looked at Maraiah, sensing the building tension between her wife and child.
Chinee buried her face in Christine’s shoulder, refusing to look at Maraiah.
They walked home quietly. Chinee stayed pressed against Christine the whole way.
At home, Maraiah hovered, unsure, guilt heavy in her stomach. She was thinking of ways to make it up to the four-year-old.
When an idea finally hit her, it was in the form of vanilla ice cream and Chinee’s favorite sprinkles.
They sat at the table, Chinee’s eyes red but dry, which made Maraiah’s heart tighten.
Although slowly, the ice cream worked. By the time spoons were clinking at the bottom of their cups, Chinee finally spoke.
“Mom run too fast,” she muttered.
“I know,” Maraiah said softly. “I’m sorry, baby. Mom shouldn’t have done that.”
Chinee reached for her mom’s hand. “I’m sowy fow not pansining you, mom,” she says while jutting her bottom lip out. “Was Chinee bad?”
“No, you weren’t bad. You were just being makulit. I was being makulit too.”
Christine watched as the moment unfolded with a fondness that settled deep in her chest.
“Bati na kayo?” She asked.
Chinee looked at both her parents. “I don’t need boyfwend,” she declared.
“Is that so?” Christine asked.
“Yes, because I have mom and mimi!” she shouted as she reached over to hug her mothers.
“We love you, baby,” Maraiah says.
“Mom, mimi,” Chinee looks up at them. “What about giwfwend?”
Mariah could only groan while Christine laughed at their daughter’s antics.
They’ll compromise later; those boyfriends or girlfriends could wait.
At the end of the day, her moms would always slow down if Chinee couldn’t keep up, whether it’s when they run during the weekends or just another day that they’re trying to figure out. No matter how hard the days are, they would go through it on their own terms, in their own time, at their own pace. It’s the rules of their race—like it always has been.