Chapter Text
The studio air was always cold, but the atmosphere between Table 4 and Table 5 was blistering.
"Your line weights are inconsistent, Lim," Aiah remarked, not even looking up from her own perfect floor plan. "Masyadong madiin. It looks amateur."
Mikha didn't skip a beat, her mechanical pencil scratching rhythmically.
"And your layout is boring, Arceta. Safe choices don't win competitions. But then again, you’ve always been afraid of taking risks."
Aiah finally turned, her eyes narrowed. "I’m not afraid of risks. I’m afraid of wasting time on messy concepts. Something you seem to specialize in."
"At least my designs have a soul," Mikha countered, leaning back and finally meeting Aiah’s gaze. "Hindi puro aesthetic lang. Unlike someone I know."
"Anong sabi mo?" Aiah stepped closer, her heels clicking sharply on the tile.
"Sabi ko, maganda ka lang," Mikha teased, her voice dropping an octave. "Pero ang boring ng gawa mo."
Aiah’s face flushed—half anger, half something else she couldn't name. She leaned over Mikha’s table, forcing Mikha to look up. "Bawiin mo 'yun, Mikhaela. Or I’ll make sure your plate gets the lowest mark in peer evaluation."
"Gawin mo," Mikha challenged, her eyes dropping to Aiah’s lips for a split second. "I'd love to see you try."
The air between them felt thick, like they were breathing in static. The proximity was dangerous; Aiah could smell Mikha’s citrus cologne, and Mikha could see the tiny gold flecks in Aiah’s eyes. They stood there, inches apart, until a classmate cleared their throat, breaking the spell. Aiah pulled back instantly, smoothing her skirt.
"Focus, Lim. Second place suits you," Aiah snapped, though her hand was trembling as she reached for her T-square.
Aiah didn't just walk back to her table; she retreated, her heart hammering a rhythm that had nothing to do with her deadline. She gripped her T-square so hard her knuckles turned white, staring at her floor plan until the lines blurred into a mess of black ink. She could still feel the phantom heat of Mikha’s breath against her skin and that brief, devastating glance Mikha had spared for her lips.
"Bwisit," Aiah whispered under her breath, aggressively erasing a perfectly fine line just to have something to do with her hands.
Across the aisle, Mikha wasn't doing much better. She had turned back to her board, but her rhythm was gone. The "citrus and expensive shampoo" scent of Aiah was still clinging to her senses. She risked a glance toward Table 4.
Aiah was tucked behind her drafting board, her hair falling forward like a silken curtain, hiding her face. But Mikha noticed the way Aiah’s foot was tapping incessantly—a nervous habit Aiah only had when she was genuinely rattled.
Got you, Mikha thought, a small, triumphant smirk tugging at her lips.
The rest of the afternoon was a game of silent observation. Every time Mikha stood up to go to the plotter, she felt Aiah’s eyes follow her movement. Every time Aiah reached for a fresh sheet of tracing paper, Mikha would lean back just enough to catch a glimpse of the curve of Aiah's neck.
By 6:00 PM, the studio started to empty out. Jhoanna passed by Mikha’s desk, pausing to look at the half-finished model.
"Uy, Mikha, una na kami ni Stacey. Massive 'yang project niyo, ah. Kaya pa?"
Mikha nodded, not taking her eyes off the facade she was cutting. "Kaya pa, Jho. Una na kayo."
"Ikaw, Aiah? Hindi ka pa uuwi?" Stacey called out from the door.
Aiah didn't look up, her voice steady but a bit too fast. "In five minutes. Tatapusin ko lang 'tong stair section."
As the heavy studio doors clicked shut, leaving the two of them in absolute silence, the atmosphere shifted again. It wasn't just cold anymore; it was electric. The bickering was over, replaced by the heavy, unspoken reality that they were now alone.
Mikha dropped her cutter and stood up, the screech of her chair echoing. She walked toward Aiah’s table, stopping just far enough to be polite but close enough to be felt.
"Stair section, huh?" Mikha noted, looking at Aiah’s board. "You’ve been working on that same step for thirty minutes, Arceta. Is it the design that's giving you trouble, or are you just waiting for everyone to leave?"
Aiah finally looked up, her mask of perfection slipping just enough to show the frustration underneath. "Shut up, Lim."
"Make me," Mikha countered, her voice low and steady. She didn't move an inch, her gaze fixed on Aiah.
Aiah rolled her eyes, but her heart was betraying her. "Whatever, Lim. Just... help me with this. My T-square is acting up, and I need to double-check the alignment of this terrace."
"The perfectionist is asking for help? Record-breaking," Mikha teased, but she moved closer.
She reached for the long, acrylic T-square at the same time Aiah did. It was a split-second mistake. Mikha’s large, warm hand landed directly on top of Aiah’s cold, slender fingers, pinning them against the drafting board.
Neither of them pulled away.
The studio suddenly felt way too small. Mikha could feel the slight tremor in Aiah’s hand. Aiah, on the other hand, felt like the heat from Mikha’s palm was spreading up her arm, making it hard to think.
"Lim," Aiah whispered, her voice losing its usual sharp edge.
"Arceta," Mikha replied, her thumb grazing the side of Aiah’s hand—a slow, deliberate movement that wasn't an accident anymore.
Mikha leaned in closer, until she was hovering over Aiah’s shoulder. The scent of citrus and vanilla mixed in the air, thick and intoxicating. For a second, Aiah tilted her head just a fraction, her eyes flickering down to Mikha’s lips, then back to her eyes. The "static" between them was deafening.
Just as the gap between them was about to vanish, the heavy sound of the security guard’s keys jangling in the hallway echoed through the door.
Clank. Clank. Clank.
Aiah snapped her hand back as if she’d been burned, her face turning a deep shade of crimson. She quickly gathered her pens, her movements frantic. "I-I have to go. My Grab is outside."
Mikha stayed where she was, her hand still resting on the cold surface of the T-square where Aiah’s hand had been a second ago. She let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. "Yeah. Me too."
"See you tomorrow, Lim," Aiah said without looking back, her heels clicking faster than usual as she bolted out of the studio.
The Next Day
The atmosphere the next morning was tense for a different reason. The Architecture building felt smaller, the air thicker, as everyone crowded into the lecture hall for the Capstone briefing.
Aiah was already seated in the front row, looking perfectly poised as usual. But Mikha, walking in with her hoodie pulled up, noticed how Aiah’s hand gripped her coffee cup a little too tightly when Mikha sat just two rows behind her.
"Arceta and Lim."
The room went dead silent when the Professor announced the pairing. Jhoanna and Stacey slowly turned to look at Mikha, their eyes wide. Everyone knew that putting them in one team was like mixing oil and fire.
Mikha let out a sharp, dry laugh. "Nice," she muttered.
Aiah didn't move for a long time. Then, she slowly stood up, gathered her things, and walked toward the back where Mikha was seated. She stopped in front of Mikha’s desk, her shadow falling over Mikha’s sketchbook.
"Table 5," Aiah said, her voice professional but laced with an edge. "8 PM tonight. Since you’re so fond of 'taking risks,' Lim, you better bring your A-game. Because I’m not failing this because of your 'soulful' but messy concepts."
Mikha looked up, a slow, challenging smirk forming. She leaned back, making no effort to move her legs to let Aiah pass. "8 PM. Don't be late, Arceta. I'd hate to start the 'soulful' part without you."
______________________________________________________________
The first night of their partnership was a disaster before it even began. The studio’s Wi-Fi was down, and the university’s server was undergoing maintenance. To make matters worse, Aiah’s laptop had decided to die right as they were about to start the 3D rendering.
"This is ridiculous," Aiah groaned, slamming her palms against the table. "Paano tayo makaka-render nito? The deadline is in three weeks and we haven't even finished the structural skeleton."
Mikha sighed, sliding her own laptop—a heavy-duty gaming rig—to the center of the table. "We use mine. Pero kailangan nating mag-share. I only have one mouse and the screen is small for two people."
Aiah hesitated. To share a laptop meant sitting side-by-side. Not just near each other, but shoulder-to-shoulder. "Fine. Whatever works."
She dragged her stool next to Mikha’s. The moment she sat down, the air between them shifted. Mikha could feel the warmth radiating from Aiah’s arm. They were so close that every time Aiah breathed, Mikha could see the slight rise and fall of her chest out of the corner of her eye.
"Okay, move the cursor to the left," Aiah directed, her voice a bit breathy.
"Wait, I’m trying to snap the lines," Mikha countered, her hand steady on the mouse.
As they worked, the professional barrier started to melt. Aiah leaned in closer to see the small details on the screen, her hair brushing against Mikha’s shoulder. Mikha froze for a second, the scent of vanilla hitting her like a freight train.
"Mikha, yung column... mali yung alignment," Aiah whispered, reaching out. Instead of taking the mouse, her hand landed on top of Mikha's again, just like the night before.
This time, nobody pulled away.
Mikha stopped clicking. She turned her head, and because they were sharing the tiny screen, Aiah was already right there. Their noses were inches apart. The glow from the laptop monitor cast a soft, blue light on Aiah’s face, making her eyes look even deeper.
"Aiah," Mikha murmured, her voice thick with the frustration of the past few months. "Are we actually going to work, or are we just going to keep doing this?"
"Doing what?" Aiah challenged, though her voice was trembling.
"This," Mikha said, tilting her head just a fraction. "Yung bigla kang lalapit, tapos bukas hindi mo na naman ako kilala. yung 'pull' mo na akala mo hindi ko napapansin."
Aiah’s gaze dropped to Mikha’s lips, her grip on Mikha’s hand tightening. The "Academic Rivalry" felt like a lifetime ago. Right now, it was just two people in a dark studio, exhausted and dangerously attracted to each other.
"Maybe I don't want to push you away tonight," Aiah whispered, her honesty finally breaking through.
Mikha didn’t move. She didn’t even blink. The blue light from the laptop screen cast sharp, cold shadows across her face, making the intensity in her eyes look almost predatory.
"You don't want to push me away tonight?" Mikha repeated, a bitter edge to her voice. "Bakit, Aiah? Kasi tayo lang ang tao rito? Kasi walang makakakita?"
Aiah flinched, her hand starting to slide off Mikha’s, but Mikha flipped her hand over and caught Aiah’s fingers, locking them together.
"Answer me," Mikha demanded, her voice dropping to that low, raspy tone. "Is this going to be like the Rooftop? Remember that night after the Midterm Gala? Kasi ako, hindi ko makalimutan."
The mention of the rooftop sent Aiah’s mind spiraling back.
(Flashback)
The ballroom was humid, smelling of expensive perfume and wine. Aiah was the center of attention in that backless champagne-colored silk dress, her smile perfect and practiced. But every time she caught Mikha’s eye—Mikha, who looked devastatingly sharp in a black tailored suit—the air in her lungs felt thin.
They didn't dance. They just watched each other like predators until the noise became too much. Aiah had slipped through the fire exit, needing to breathe, needing to escape the "Golden Girl" persona.
The air on the rooftop was bitingly cold. Aiah was leaning against the ledge, her heels held in one hand, her bare feet pressing against the freezing concrete.
"Sumunod ka talaga?" Aiah had asked without looking back, her hair whipping around her face.
"Safe choices don't win competitions, 'di ba?" Mikha stepped closer, her voice steady. "And leaving your own gala early is a big risk, Arceta."
Aiah turned, her face flushed from the gin and the biting wind.
"I'm tired, Mikha. I'm tired of pretending I don't see you. I'm tired of the bickering."
Mikha stopped just inches away. The city lights of Makati were glowing behind Aiah like a halo. "Then stop pretending. Sabihin mo sa akin kung ano talaga ang gusto mo."
Aiah’s breath hitched. She reached out, her fingers ghosting over the lapel of Mikha’s suit before sliding up to the nape of her neck. "Gusto kong manalo sa'yo," she whispered, her voice trembling. "But more than that... I want to know if you feel the static, too."
Mikha didn't answer with words. She stepped into Aiah's space, her hand finding the small of Aiah’s back, pulling her flush against her. The silk of Aiah's dress felt like water under Mikha's palms. For an hour, the rivalry was dead. There were no grades, no rankings. Just the warmth of their bodies against the cold night. Aiah had leaned up, her nose brushing Mikha’s jaw, her scent of vanilla and champagne intoxicating.
"If you do this... there’s no going back," Aiah had breathed against Mikha's lips.
"I don't want to go back," Mikha whispered.
But just as Mikha leaned in to finally seal the moment, Aiah’s phone vibrated violently on the ledge. The bright screen lit up—Mom Calling. The spell shattered. Aiah snapped her eyes shut, the fear of disappointing her mother and the deans rushing back. She pushed Mikha back so hard she almost stumbled.
"No. I—I can't. They're waiting," Aiah scrambled to put her heels back on, her face turning back into ice. "Lasing lang tayo, Mikhaela. This was a mistake. Let's just pretend this never happened. Strictly professional, please."
The memory of the morning after the Midterm Gala flashed vividly in Mikha’s mind. She had barely slept that night, her lips still tingling from the heat of their almost kiss on the rooftop. She had walked into the studio the next morning with a pounding heart, clutching a coffee she bought specifically for Aiah—white mocha, no whip, exactly how Aiah liked it.
She saw Aiah at Table 4, looking as pristine and perfect as ever. Mikha approached her, a nervous, hopeful smile on her face.
"Hey," Mikha had said softly, placing the coffee on Aiah’s desk. "About last night—"
Aiah didn't even look up from her sketchbook. She didn't smile. She didn't even acknowledge the coffee. "Lim, can you move? You're blocking the light, and I need to finish this perspective drawing."
Mikha froze. "Aiah, yung sa rooftop. We were—"
"We were tired, Mikhaela," Aiah cut her off, her voice loud enough for their classmates to hear, her tone dripping with professional coldness. "Lasing tayo and the air was thin. Kung anuman yung akala mong nangyari, it was just the alcohol talking. I’d appreciate it if we kept things strictly professional from now on. Ayaw ko ng distractions."
Aiah then picked up the coffee and handed it back to Mikha without a single glance. "And I don't drink white mocha anymore. Give it to Jhoanna or something."
Mikha had stood there in the middle of the crowded studio, feeling small, rejected, and completely humiliated. She watched as Aiah went back to work, her hands steady as if she hadn't just shattered the most vulnerable moment Mikha had ever shared with another person.
(Back to Present)
"We were up there for an hour, Aiah," Mikha’s voice was a harsh whisper, snapping Aiah back to the dark studio. "Sabi mo pagod ka na mag-pretend. I could feel you trembling. Tapos kinabukasan, you treated me like I was just another line on your floor plan that needed to be erased. Do you have any idea how much that hurt?"
Aiah finally looked up, her eyes glassy. "Natakot ako, okay? Takot na takot ako."
"Sa alin? Na baka masira yung 'Golden Girl' image mo?"
"Hindi!" Aiah snapped, a tear finally trailing down her cheek. "Natatakot ako kasi you’re the only one who can make me lose focus. One look from you and I forget the rubrics, I forget the deadline... I forget everything. If I let you in, Mikha... I lose control. And I’ve worked too hard to stay on top."
Mikha’s expression softened, her thumb instinctively brushing away the tear. The anger was gone. "You don't have to choose between being on top and being with me, Aiah. I'm not here to take your spot. I'm here to be the one holding you up while you're there."
Aiah’s breath hitched. She looked at Mikha’s lips, then back at her eyes.
"Don't push me away tomorrow," Mikha pleaded. "Please."
Aiah’s breath hitched, and for a split second, that familiar look of panic flickered in her eyes. She started to pull her hand back, her body tensing as if she was already planning her exit strategy, already drafting the excuse she’d use in the morning.
"Mikha, I... I can't. The project, our grades—" Aiah stammered, her gaze darting toward the door.
But this time, Mikha was ready. She didn't let go.
Instead of letting Aiah retreat into her shell, Mikha stood up, her movement swift and decisive. She stepped between Aiah and the exit, trapping her against the drafting table. She didn't touch her roughly; she simply placed her hands on the table on either side of Aiah’s waist, effectively caging her in.
"No," Mikha said, her voice like gravel. "Hindi ka tatakbo ngayon, Maraiah. Hindi mo ako iiwan sa ere kagaya nung sa rooftop."
"Mikha, please," Aiah whispered, her back pressed against the edge of the table, her hands clutching the blueprints behind her. "Kailangan nating tapusin 'to. The professor is expecting—"
"The professor isn't here. It’s just us," Mikha cut her off, leaning down until they were eye-level. "Stop using architecture as an excuse to hide. Look at me."
Aiah tried to look down at Mikha’s chest, her breathing becoming shallow and erratic. The sexual tension was no longer just a spark; it was a wildfire. The studio was dark, the blue glow of the laptop casting long shadows against the walls, and the only thing Aiah could feel was Mikha’s overwhelming presence.
"Tignan mo ako, Aiah," Mikha commanded softly.
Slowly, Aiah lifted her gaze. Her eyes were wide, filled with a mix of terror and an intense, burning want that she could no longer calculate away.
"You're not going to be a 'mistake' tomorrow," Mikha promised, her voice dropping to a whisper as she leaned in even closer, her nose brushing against Aiah’s.
"Because I’m not letting you go until you admit it."
"Admit what?" Aiah breathed, her lips almost touching Mikha's with every word.
"Na mas importante 'to kaysa sa kahit anong plate na dina-draft natin. Na mahal mo rin ako, kahit gaano mo kagustong manalo laban sa akin."
Aiah let out a shaky, broken sob—a sound of total surrender. She stopped fighting. She reached up, her fingers finally tangling in the hair at the nape of Mikha’s neck, pulling her down.
"Bwisit ka talaga, Lim," Aiah whispered against her lips. "I hate how much I want you."
And then, she didn't push. She pulled.
Aiah closed the gap, her lips crashing into Mikha’s with all the desperation she had been bottling up since that first day at Table 4. It was messy, it was fierce, and it was the most honest they had ever been with each other.
The kiss was a total collapse of their defenses. It was fierce and desperate, a release of months spent pretending they didn't feel the static every time their knees brushed under a desk.
When they finally pulled apart, both were breathless, the blue light of the laptop reflecting in their dark, blown-out pupils. Aiah was still gripped onto Mikha’s hoodie, her knuckles white.
"Hindi ka na tatakbo?" Mikha whispered, her forehead resting against Aiah's.
"I can't," Aiah breathed, a small, tired smile finally breaking through. "Wala na akong lakas tumakbo, Mikha."
They didn't stop working, but the energy in the studio had completely shifted. They spent the rest of the night side-by-side, but this time, the proximity was intentional. Mikha would be drafting, and Aiah would rest her chin on Mikha’s shoulder just to see the screen. Every now and then, Mikha would lean over to steal a kiss from Aiah’s temple or her jaw, making Aiah giggle—a sound so rare and soft that Mikha felt like she had just won a competition more important than any Dean’s List.
They were more productive than ever. The ideas flowed because they weren't fighting each other anymore; they were building something together.
The Saturday Test
By Saturday night, the project was almost complete, but the real test was looming. Mikha had spent the whole week being "professional" in public to see if Aiah would revert to her old ways. She wanted to know if the "studio Aiah" was the same as the "classroom Aiah."
As they reached the final stretch of their 3D model, the studio was once again empty. Mikha decided to push one last time—not with anger, but with silence. She put her noise-canceling headphones on and focused entirely on the model, ignoring the way Aiah kept glancing at her.
The "pull" finally broke Aiah.
"Mikhaela!" Aiah snapped, snatching the headphones off Mikha’s head. Her eyes were wide, looking frantic. "Are you seriously ignoring me? Kanina ko pa tinatanong kung okay na ba yung texture ng glass."
Mikha finally looked at her, her face unreadable. "I’m giving you exactly what you asked for, Aiah. Space. Professionalism. Isn't this how you wanted us to be in front of everyone?"
"Hindi ganito," Aiah whispered, her voice trembling. "You're acting like I don't exist since Monday. Pag nasa hallway tayo, tinitignan mo lang ako na parang stranger. Nasasaktan ako, Mikha."
"Kasi baka pag lumapit ako, itulak mo na naman ako," Mikha said, standing up to face her. "I was waiting for you to make the move, Aiah. I wanted to see if you’d actually stand by me or if 'lasing' na naman ang excuse mo."
Aiah stepped into Mikha’s space, pinning her back against the drafting table. She grabbed the lapels of Mikha’s hoodie, her eyes glassy with tears. "Bwisit ka. I was waiting for you! I was so scared na baka nagbago ang isip mo kaya hindi mo ako kinakausap."
"I would never change my mind about you," Mikha promised, her voice softening as she cupped Aiah’s face. "I just needed to know if you were ready to be 'us' hindi lang pag tago, kundi pati pag may nakakakita."
Aiah let out a shaky breath and leaned her forehead against Mikha’s chest. "I'm ready. I don't care about the grades as much as I care about this. Seryoso ako, Mikha."
Mikha let out a low groan of relief, lifting Aiah onto the edge of the table, scattering their tools everywhere. The kiss that followed was even more intense than the first—it was a seal of a promise.
"Sigurado ka na ha?" Mikha gasped against her lips. "Because on Monday, I’m not letting go of your hand."
Aiah wrapped her legs around Mikha’s waist, pulling her as close as humanly possible. "Then don't. Hold it as tight as you want."
Monday morning came, and the studio doors swung open at 8:00 AM. Jhoanna, Stacey, and Maloi walked in, expecting to see the usual war zone at Table 5.
Instead, they saw Mikha and Aiah standing shoulder-to-shoulder, looking through their final render on one laptop. When they noticed the group, Mikha didn't look away. Instead, she slowly reached down and interlaced her fingers with Aiah’s, lifting their joined hands onto the table for everyone to see.
"Anong nangyari?" Stacey asked, dropping her bag in shock. "Bakit hindi kayo nagsisigawan? And why are you holding hands?!"
"We finished the project," Mikha said with a smirk, her thumb stroking the back of Aiah’s hand. "And we decided to stop wasting time on things that aren't this."
Aiah leaned her head on Mikha’s shoulder, looking at her friends with a proud, tired grin. "Actually, I’m still better than her. But now, she’s mine, so technically, I win twice."
The "Academic Rivals" were officially dead. The Architecture department’s new power couple had finally arrived, and for once, nobody was looking at the grades... they were looking at the two girls who had finally found their perfect alignment.
The morning of the final presentation was the moment of truth. Professor Reyes, a strict veteran architect who had witnessed three years of Mikha and Aiah’s legendary "cold war," was prepared for a disaster. He expected two separate designs or, at the very least, a presentation full of passive-aggressive bickering.
What he got was the exact opposite.
Professor Reyes adjusted his glasses, looking at the two girls standing at the front of the hall. "Arceta, Lim. Proceed with your final plate."
Aiah took the lead, her voice steady and professional. But as she spoke, Mikha didn't just stand there—she moved in perfect sync. When Aiah reached for the pointer, Mikha was already handing it to her. When Mikha took over the technical structural explanation, Aiah stepped back and watched her with a look of pure, unhidden pride.
But the real shock came during the Q&A.
"The balcony design seems... risky," Professor Reyes noted, leaning forward. "Whose idea was this? Lim’s 'soulful' touch or Arceta’s 'calculated' precision?"
Mikha and Aiah glanced at each other. Without missing a beat, Mikha reached out and casually rested her hand on the small of Aiah’s back—a gesture so intimate and natural that a few students in the front row gasped.
"It was a joint effort, Sir," Aiah answered, her voice softening as she leaned slightly into Mikha’s touch. "We realized that you can't have structural integrity without a bit of soul. And you can't have a soul without a strong foundation."
Professor Reyes froze. His pen hovered over his grading sheet. He looked at their hands, then back at their glowing faces. The two girls who used to sit on opposite sides of the room, throwing daggers with their eyes, were now practically radiating a united front.
"I see," Reyes cleared his throat, sounding genuinely baffled. "I expected a building, not a... metamorphosis. You two are actually... working together?"
"More than just working, Sir," Mikha added with a playful smirk, her hand sliding down to firmly interlace her fingers with Aiah’s right on top of the podium.
The sound of Reyes’s pen dropping onto the table was audible in the silent hall. His eyes widened behind his spectacles. "In my twenty years of teaching, I have never seen a rivalry end in... this." He paused, looking at the "lip-gloss smudge" on the penthouse model he had noticed earlier, then back at them. "Well. I suppose the friction was... productive."
He scribbled a massive 'A' on their rubric, still shaking his head in disbelief. "Just... try to keep the 'collaborative energy' out of the drafting storage room next time. Dismissed."
The first date between Mikha and Aiah wasn’t just a simple dinner; it was a high-stakes "competition" to see who could claim the title of the better girlfriend. Since they spent years trying to outdo each other’s GPAs, they naturally brought that same chaotic energy to a dimly lit rooftop bistro in Makati.
"I picked the place, so obviously, I’m paying, Lim. That’s the rule," Aiah said firmly, smoothing out her leather jacket. They were walking toward a hidden spot with a breathtaking view of the city—the kind of skyline that reminded them of the gala, but this time, the air felt warm.
Mikha smirked, her hands shoved deep into her pockets as she maintained that effortless, cool stride. "Rules are meant to be broken, Arceta. Besides, I already called ahead and gave them my card. So technically, I’ve already won this round."
Aiah stopped dead in her tracks, her jaw dropping as she glared at Mikha. "You did what? Mikhaela! That is cheating! Hindi pa nga tayo nakakaupo, gumaganyan ka na!"
"It’s called being efficient," Mikha teased, stepping closer to pull Aiah toward her by the waist. "Don't be a sore loser, babi."
The bistro was bathed in warm amber lights that made Aiah’s skin look like silk. For the first thirty minutes, they actually tried to be a "normal" couple. Pero hindi talaga mawala yung pagiging competitive nila. When the menus arrived, it turned into yet another challenge.
"I bet I can guess your order," Aiah challenged, leaning across the table, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "If I’m right, you admit that I’m the better girlfriend."
"And if you’re wrong?"
"Then I’ll let you pick the movie later. At hindi ako magrereklamo kahit action film pa 'yan," Aiah winked, her confidence peaking.
Mikha leaned in, her gaze dropping to Aiah’s lips—the same lips she had been pining for since their late-night studio sessions. She reached out, her fingers slowly tracing the back of Aiah's hand. "Deal. Pero dagdagan natin. The loser has to carry the other person's heavy-ass portfolio for the entire week."
Aiah’s eyes widened. "Challenge accepted."
The rest of the dinner was a beautiful kind of chaos. They argued over the best architectural style for their future dream house—Aiah wanted Modern Minimalist, while Mikha insisted on Industrial. But this time, the "rebuttals" ended in soft laughter instead of cold, biting glares.
When the dessert arrived—a single molten lava cake with two spoons—Aiah finally turned serious. She took Mikha’s hand, her thumb gently stroking Mikha’s knuckles.
"Alam mo, I really hated you before," Aiah whispered, her voice soft and vulnerable. "Because you were the only one who could make me feel like I wasn't perfect. It was so frustrating."
Mikha squeezed her hand, her gaze softening into something deep and protective. "I didn't hate you. I was just frustrated kasi I thought the only way to get your attention was to be your rival. I didn't think I could just... be yours."
Aiah smiled, that radiant "Golden Girl" smile that used to drive Mikha crazy, but now it just felt like home. "Well, you don't have to worry about that anymore. Pero for the record, I’m still the one with the higher GPA."
"For now," Mikha countered with a wink, leaning in to steal a bite of the cake. "But I’m definitely the one with the better girlfriend."
Aiah laughed, leaning in to close the gap for a sweet, lingering kiss that tasted like chocolate and victory. "Fine. You win that one, babi."
The day of the Graduation Ceremony was the final score on the board. The Architecture department was buzzing with one question: Who would take the top spot?
In a department where Mikha and Aiah had traded the #1 and #2 ranks for years, the final GPA was a matter of millimeters.
The sun was hot as the graduating class lined up in their black robes and caps. Mikha was busy trying to fix Aiah’s hood, her fingers nimble but her face focused.
"Stop moving, babi. Tabingi yung hood mo," Mikha muttered, though her eyes were soft.
Aiah laughed, adjusting Mikha’s collar in return. "Nagmamadali ka lang kasi you want to hear the announcement. admit it, babi. You’re nervous."
"I'm not nervous about the rank," Mikha countered, pulling Aiah closer by the waist of her robe. "I'm nervous because if you win, I have to treat you to that expensive steakhouse in BGC for a whole month."
"Then prepare your wallet," Aiah winked.
The Dean stood at the podium, the gold medals glinting in the sunlight. The crowd went silent as he cleared his throat.
"This year, the race for the top honors was the closest in the history of this university. Only 0.001 separated our top two graduates."
Jhoanna and Stacey, sitting behind them, were holding their breath. Mikha reached out under the cover of their long robes and tightly squeezed Aiah’s hand.
"Our Magna Cum Laude and the recipient of the Excellence in Design award... Mikhaela Janna Lim."
The crowd erupted. Mikha stood up, her stoic mask finally breaking into a proud grin. She looked at Aiah, who was clapping the loudest, her eyes brimming with tears. As Mikha walked up to the stage, she felt a sense of peace. Being second to Aiah didn't feel like losing—it felt like everything was exactly where it should be.
"And now, our Class Valedictorian and Summa Cum Laude... Maraiah Queen Arceta."
Aiah floated to the stage. When she received her medal, she didn't just look at the crowd; she looked directly at Mikha, who was standing at the side of the stage.
The Valedictory Speech
Aiah stood at the mic, her gold medals clinking. She looked at her parents, then at the professors, and finally at Mikha.
"They say that architecture is about building structures that can withstand the test of time," Aiah began, her voice clear. "For a long time, I thought that meant being the strongest, the best, and the most independent. I thought that to win, someone else had to lose."
She paused, her gaze landing on Mikha.
"But I learned that the most beautiful structures are those built through collaboration. I found a rival who challenged my every move, who made me question my 'safe choices,' and who eventually became my foundation. So, to my partner—in design and in life—this win isn't just mine. It’s ours."
The crowd cheered, but Mikha and Aiah were in their own world.
After the ceremony, Professor Reyes approached them, shaking his head with a smile. "Summa and Magna. I suppose I should have seen that coming. Congratulations, you two."
"Thank you, Sir," they said in unison.
"So, who’s the boss now?" Reyes teased.
Mikha wrapped an arm around Aiah’s shoulder, kissing her temple in front of everyone. "Technically, she’s the Valedictorian. So she gets to pick the firm we work for."
Aiah leaned into the touch, showing off her Summa medal with a playful smirk. "Calculated victory, Lim. Pero don't worry, you’re still the only one allowed to check my blind spots."
As the sun set on their college years, the "Academic Rivals" left the campus not as competitors, but as legends. They had started with a 0.5 pencil line between them, and they ended with a life they had designed together.