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The afternoon sun hit the large glass windows of the university’s main coffee shop, but inside, the atmosphere at the corner table was pure chaos.
"I'm just saying, it scientifically makes no sense," Stacey said, leaning across the table and pointing a fry at Mikha.
"Mikha, you literally use a maximum of five words per day when talking to the rest of the human race. How did you bag the campus sunshine?"
Mikha didn't look up from her iPad. She was leaning back in her chair, her wireless headphones resting around her neck. She took a slow sip of her iced Americano, perfectly nonchalant, completely unbothered by the interrogation.
"I don't know," Mikha replied flatly. Exactly three words.
"See?!" Maloi threw her hands up, turning to the rest of the group.
"That’s what I’m talking about! Last week, the captain of the football team tried to ask her for a spare pen, and Mikha just stared at him until he walked away in fear. She looks like she breathes ice."
"She’s just introverted," Colet muttered, though she was amused, leaning against Jhoanna who was busy watching the exchange like a referee.
Right on cue, the glass door of the cafe chimed. The heavy, intimidating aura surrounding Mikha didn't just fade. It evaporated the exact second Aiah walked through the door.
Aiah was practically glowing, her bright smile instantly drawing eyes from three tables away. She caught sight of their group and waved, rushing over with her tote bag swinging.
"Hi, sorry I'm late! My professor ran over time," Aiah sighed, immediately sliding into the booth right next to Mikha.
The transformation was instantaneous. Mikha’s posture softened. She dropped her iPad onto the table, her eyes tracking Aiah’s every move with a gentleness that none of their friends ever received. Without a word, Mikha reached over, took Aiah’s heavy tote bag, and placed it safely on the floor. Then, she reached out and gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind Aiah’s ear.
"Did you eat yet, babi?" Mikha asked. Her voice was entirely different now. Low, smooth, and incredibly soft.
"Not yet," Aiah pouted slightly, leaning her weight naturally into Mikha’s side.
"I only had a biscuit this morning."
Mikha didn't even hesitate. She reached into her own jacket pocket, pulled out a small strawberry wafer bar she had specifically bought earlier, and placed it in Aiah's hands. She even opened the wrapper for her first.
Sheena groaned dramatically from across the table.
"Lord, I have seen what you do for others."
"Okay, wait, back to the investigation," Jhoanna interrupted, pointing a pen at the couple.
"Aiah, you need to settle a debate for us. Because this silent girl over here refuses to give us details."
Aiah blinked, mid-bite of her wafer, looking incredibly cute.
"What debate?"
"Who asked who out first?" Gwen asked, leaning forward, genuinely curious.
"Like, who actually made the first move? Did Mikha suddenly gain the courage to speak a full sentence, or did you have to adopt her like a stray cat?"
Mikha and Aiah paused. They looked at each other. Mikha raised an eyebrow, a tiny, rare smile playing at the corner of her lips. Aiah hummed, tilting her head as if genuinely trying to remember.
Then, in perfect synchronization, both of them just shrugged.
"What do you mean you shrugged?!" Maloi shrieked, earning a shush from the barista at the counter.
"You can't just shrug at a relationship milestone! Who said the words 'will you be my girlfriend' first?"
"Nobody, really," Aiah giggled, leaning her head comfortably against Mikha’s shoulder. Mikha automatically shifted so Aiah could rest better, her hand coming up to gently rub Aiah’s arm.
"It just... happened."
"That is legally frustrating," Stacey sighed, tossing her hands in the air.
"Explain the 'it just happened,' please. For our peace of mind."
Aiah smiled, looking up at Mikha, who gave her a small nod, giving her permission to tell the story.
"Well," Aiah started, her voice warm.
"Last semester, we always ended up at the exact same hidden table in the library during finals week. Mikha was always there first. She never said a single word to me for the first three weeks."
"Classic," Colet whispered.
"But," Aiah continued, nudging Mikha playfully,
"She always kept the chair next to her empty. Even when the library got super crowded and people asked to sit there, she’d just place her bag on it and look at them with her signature cold stare. But the moment I walked in? She’d immediately move her bag to the floor."
Mikha looked away, a faint pink tint dusting her cheeks, though her expression remained otherwise cool.
"And then one night, the aircon in the library was freezing," Aiah said softly, her eyes shining with affection.
"I was shivering while typing my thesis. Mikha didn't say anything. She just stood up, took off her favorite oversized hoodie, draped it over my shoulders, and went back to typing her own paper. It still smelled like her fabric softener."
"Oh, so she has moves," Sheena teased, nudging Mikha’s leg under the table.
"Then, on the last day of exams," Aiah said, reaching down to intertwine her fingers with Mikha’s on top of the table, "we were walking out of the campus gates. It was raining. Mikha only had one small umbrella. She held it entirely over me, letting her own shoulder get completely soaked. I just grabbed her free hand, and she squeezed it back. We walked all the way to my dorm like that. We never really asked each other out. We just never stopped holding hands after that day."
The table went completely silent for a moment, the sweetness of the story heavy in the air.
"Wow," Jhoanna finally broke the silence, tapping her pen.
"So you're telling me Mikha bagged the prettiest girl on campus through sheer, silent telepathy?"
Mikha finally looked up from Aiah’s face, looking directly at Jhoanna. She lifted her iced coffee in a mock toast, her eyes teasing.
"Actions," Mikha said, her voice dripping with casual confidence as she squeezed Aiah's hand tighter, "speak louder than words."
"Get out," Maloi laughed, throwing a crumpled napkin at her.
"Get out of our sight, you smooth creature!"
Aiah just laughed, a bright, musical sound that filled the corner of the cafe, while Mikha happily let herself be dragged into her sunshine's warmth, completely unbothered by the rest of the world.
The next evening, the rain was pouring hard against the glass of the university’s student lounge. Inside, the couch in the far corner had practically been claimed as MikAiah territory.
Mikha was sitting with her legs stretched out, her iPad resting against her thighs as she reviewed some architectural blueprints for her major. Aiah was curled up right beside her, her head resting heavily on Mikha’s chest, completely engrossed in a novel. Mikha’s left arm was draped securely around Aiah’s waist, her thumb unconsciously making slow, soothing circles against Aiah’s side.
To anyone walking past, they looked like a moving painting of pure, undisturbed peace.
That was until the heavy glass doors of the lounge swung open, and the rest of the circle walked in, bringing their signature loud energy with them.
"I knew we’d find them here," Jhoanna said, shaking her wet umbrella before locking it into the stand.
"Look at them. It's like a scene from a romance drama, and we’re the uninvited comic reliefs."
"Correction, you guys are the comic reliefs," Colet corrected, dropping her backpack onto an empty armchair.
"I am just here for the free couch space."
Aiah peeked over the top of her book, her eyes crinkling into a warm smile.
"Hi, guys! Did your afternoon class get dismissed early too?"
"Professor Ramos didn't even show up," Stacey groaned, sinking into a beanbag chair.
"We waited for thirty minutes just to get an email. But anyway, more importantly Mikha, why are you wearing a band-aid on your thumb? Did you finally get into a fight with the architecture drafting tables?"
Mikha didn't even look up from her screen.
"No."
"Then what happened?" Maloi asked, leaning over the back of the couch, trying to peek at Mikha's hand.
"Don't tell me you hurt yourself opening a door."
"She got it from a stray cat," Aiah answered for her, a fond, teasing tone in her voice. She reached up and gently touched the edge of the cartoon-patterned band-aid on Mikha’s thumb.
"Tell them what happened, Mikhs."
Mikha shifted slightly, clearing her throat, her cheeks turning a very faint shade of pink.
"It's nothing."
"It's not nothing!" Aiah laughed, turning to face the group to tell the story properly.
"Yesterday, after our block went to the park, we saw a tiny ginger kitten trapped behind the trash bins. It was wet from the rain and Hissing at everyone who came near. A whole crowd of students was just standing there taking videos."
"And let me guess," Sheena chimed in, grinning.
"Our nonchalant princess over here actually did something?"
"She didn't even say a word," Aiah said, her voice softening as she looked up at Mikha.
"Mikha just handed me her phone, walked right past the crowd, and knelt in the mud. The kitten was terrified and scratched her right away. But Mikha didn't even flinch. She just took off her cap, gently scooped the kitten into it, and brought it straight to the campus clinic."
"Wow," Gwen said, genuinely impressed.
"The girl who refuses to hold the door open for human beings is a savior for stray cats."
"I hold doors open," Mikha muttered, finally looking up, her eyes narrowing playfully at Gwen.
"Just not for you."
"Ouch," Gwen laughed, putting a hand over her heart.
"But really, the best part," Aiah continued, giggling as she nudged Mikha’s shoulder, "was when the clinic staff asked for a name to put on the rescue form. Mikha looked the vet straight in the eye and completely deadpan said, 'His name is Sunshine Junior.'"
The student lounge erupted into immediate laughter.
"Sunshine Junior?!" Maloi shrieked, clutching her stomach.
"As in, named after Aiah? Oh my god, Mikha, you are absolutely whipped. You cannot convince me otherwise."
"You're a softie, Lim," Colet teased, kicking the edge of the couch.
"Admit it."
Mikha let out a tiny, defeated sigh, but the small smile breaking across her lips gave her away completely. She didn't bother denying it. Instead, she just tightened her grip around Aiah, pulling her a little closer into her side.
"He looked like her," Mikha said softly, her voice barely above a whisper, meant mostly just for Aiah.
"Bright and loud."
Aiah’s heart practically melted. She wrapped both arms around Mikha’s neck, hiding her face in the crook of Mikha’s shoulder to hide how fiercely she was blushing. "Mikhs, stop it. The girls are watching."
"Let them watch," Mikha replied casually. She reached up with her uninjured hand, gently running her fingers through Aiah’s hair, completely tuning out the dramatic groans and fake gagging noises coming from Stacey and Maloi across the room.
To Mikha, the world could be as loud and chaotic as it wanted to be. But as long as she had her sunshine right next to her, she didn't need to say a single word to be perfectly content.
The heavy downpour against the glass windows of the campus library felt different this time. It wasn’t the cozy, rhythmic rain they usually studied to; it felt suffocating.
For the first time since they had known each other, the space between Mikha and Aiah felt incredibly wide.
The issue wasn't a screaming match. It wasn't an explosive fight. It was a silent, creeping friction that had been building up for a week. Aiah had been drowning in her final-year thesis, her anxieties skyrocketing, while Mikha was buried under a high-stakes architecture model competition that required her to stay in the drafting studios until 3:00 AM every night.
They were both exhausted. And when two people are exhausted, silence stops being a comfort and starts looking like a wall.
Aiah stared blankly at her laptop screen, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. She hadn’t typed a single sentence in twenty minutes. Her chest felt tight, the pressure of deadlines mixing with a sudden, painful insecurity. Does Mikha even want to be here right now? Or am I just a chore on her schedule?
Across the table, Mikha was meticulously cutting a piece of balsa wood. Her movements were precise, but her jaw was tightly clenched. She knew Aiah was stressed. She could hear the rapid, uneven tapping of Aiah's foot under the table. Mikha wanted to reach out, but her mind was completely fried, unable to find the words to fix whatever was wrong. She felt inadequate hating the fact that her usual silence wasn't enough to magically make Aiah smile today.
Unable to take the heavy atmosphere any longer, Aiah abruptly closed her laptop. The sharp snap of the plastic screen echoed softly in the quiet room.
Mikha stopped cutting. She looked up, her dark eyes tired but alert.
"I'm going back to the dorm," Aiah whispered, her voice thick. She didn't look at Mikha as she began shoving her papers haphazardly into her tote bag. Her hands were shaking slightly. "The Wi-Fi here is bad anyway."
"Aiah," Mikha said. It was just her name, but it sounded heavy with unspoken plea.
"It's fine, Mikhs. Really," Aiah said, a bit too quickly, finally looking up. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears.
"You should finish your model. You don't have to walk me. I know you're busy."
Before Mikha could even put her drafting knife down, Aiah swung her bag over her shoulder and walked away, her footsteps hurrying toward the exit.
Mikha sat frozen for exactly three seconds. The silence in the library suddenly felt deafening, completely empty without Aiah’s warmth next to her. The thought of letting Aiah walk home alone, crying in the rain, sent a sharp, agonizing pang straight to her chest.
Fck the model, Mikha thought.
She didn't even pack her things. She just grabbed her jacket and sprinted out of the library, pushing past the heavy doors into the cold, stormy evening.
She caught up to Aiah just under the covered walkway near the science building. Aiah was walking fast, her head ducked down, wiping her cheek with the back of her hand.
"Aiah! Stop," Mikha called out, panting.
Aiah stopped, but she didn't turn around. Her shoulders were tense.
"Mikha, please go back. You're going to ruin your project deadline. I'm just stressed, okay? I don't want to deal with this right now."
"Deal with what?" Mikha asked, stepping closer, her voice cracked with a rare vulnerability.
"With me?"
Aiah finally turned around, her eyes red, tears finally spilling over.
"With the silence, Mikha! Sometimes... sometimes I don't know what you're thinking. I'm trying to figure out if you're upset with me, or if you're tired of me, or if you just don't care. You never say anything!"
The words hit Mikha like a physical blow. She stood there in the damp air, her hands curling into fists inside her pockets. To the rest of the world, her nonchalance was a shield. But hearing that it was hurting the only person she loved broke something inside her.
Mikha took two long strides forward, closing the distance between them. She didn't hesitate. She reached out and pulled Aiah firmly into her arms, tucking Aiah’s head underneath her chin, holding her so tightly as if Aiah might disappear if she let go.
"Let go, Mikhs—" Aiah protested weakly, her hands pushing against Mikha's chest.
"No," Mikha said, her voice fiercely stubborn, burying her face in Aiah's wet hair.
"I'm not letting go."
Aiah’s resistance lasted only a second before she collapsed against Mikha, her fingers gripping the fabric of Mikha’s jacket as she let out a quiet sob.
"I'm sorry," Mikha whispered, her voice trembling. For someone who hated speaking, the words poured out of her like an open floodgate.
"I'm so sorry, babi. I'm just tired, and my brain freezes, and I don't know how to say the right things to make your stress go away. I hate seeing you sad and knowing I can't fix it with words."
Mikha pulled back just enough to frame Aiah’s face with both of her hands, forcing Aiah to look into her eyes. Mikha’s gaze was intense, completely stripped of her usual cool indifference.
"I am never tired of you," Mikha said, each word deliberate, heavy with absolute certainty.
"Never. If I'm quiet, it's because being next to you is the only time my mind finally shuts up. You're my peace, Aiah. Don't ever think I don't care."
Aiah sniffled, looking at the fierce sincerity in Mikha's eyes. The icy knot of insecurity in her chest completely melted away, replaced by the familiar, grounding warmth that only Mikha could give.
"You should have just said that earlier," Aiah mumbled, a tiny, watery smile finally breaking through her tears.
"I'm stupid," Mikha admitted softly, leaning down to press her forehead gently against Aiah's.
"But I'm trying."
Aiah let out a soft laugh, wrapping her arms securely around Mikha’s waist, burying her face back into her shoulder.
"I know. I'm sorry too. I was just overwhelmed."
"I know," Mikha murmured, her hand returning to its favorite place, soothingly stroking Aiah’s hair.
"Let's go home. I'll make you hot chocolate. No laptops allowed."
"What about your architecture model?" Aiah asked, looking up.
Mikha just shrugged, a small, genuine smile returning to her face as she wrapped her arm around Aiah’s shoulder to keep her warm.
"It can wait. You're more important."
The walk back to the dorm was quiet, but it was no longer the heavy, suffocating silence from before. It was their silence, the soft, comfortable kind where everything they needed to say was felt in the tight, unbreakable grip of their intertwined hands.
The next morning, the sun finally broke through the storm clouds, casting a warm, golden light across the campus grounds. Inside the girls' shared apartment, the kitchen smelled like burnt toast and brewed coffee.
"If you burn one more slice, Colet, I am revoking your kitchen privileges permanently," Jhoanna yelled from the living room, where she was surrounded by a mountain of readings.
"The toaster is broken, okay? It has a personal vendetta against me!" Colet shouted back, aggressively scraping the black char off a piece of bread with a butter knife.
The front door clicked open, cutting the bickering short. Maloi and Stacey walked in, carrying a large cardboard box between them. Behind them were Mikha and Aiah. Mikha was carrying a heavy bag of cat food over one shoulder, while Aiah carefully cradled a tiny, sleeping ginger kitten against her chest.
"We have arrived with the prince!" Maloi announced dramatically, kicking the door shut behind her.
Sheena and Gwen immediately sprinted out of their rooms at the mention of the kitten. Within seconds, the entire circle was huddled around the dining table, watching the small ball of fluff blink open its bright green eyes.
"Oh my gosh, look at his tiny pink nose," Sheena squealed, completely forgetting about her assignment.
"He really does look like a miniature lion."
"Don't get too attached to him yet," Stacey warned, setting down a plastic litter box.
"The vet said he needs to stay in a quiet environment until his scratches heal. Which means he cannot stay in our chaotic dorm."
Aiah looked up, her eyes wide and pleading as she turned toward Mikha. She didn't say a single word. She just tilted her head, pouted her lip slightly, and pointed a finger at the sleeping kitten, then back to Mikha.
The entire room went dead silent. The girls all turned their heads to watch Mikha's reaction.
Mikha stood there with her hands in her pockets, looking completely stoic. For a solid five seconds, she just stared at the kitten, then at Aiah's ridiculously adorable face. She let out a long, slow sigh, the tough exterior crumbling instantly.
"Fine," Mikha muttered, her voice dropping into that quiet, soft tone she reserved only for one person.
"He can stay in my room. I'll take care of the feedings."
"Yes!" Aiah cheered, throwing her arms around Mikha’s neck and giving her a tight hug.
"Thank you, Mikhs! You're the best."
Mikha’s arms automatically wrapped around Aiah’s waist, holding her close, completely ignoring the fact that their five friends were literally gagging and making kissing noises right next to them.
"Unbelievable," Colet said, shaking her head as she leaned against the counter.
"The girl who locks her door so none of us can enter her room is casually letting a stray cat move in."
"Correction," Jhoanna smirked, crossing her arms.
"She’s letting Aiah’s cat move in. There’s a very big difference."
"Whatever," Mikha said flatly, though the tip of her ears turned a bright crimson. She gently untangled herself from Aiah, reached into the box, and carefully lifted the tiny kitten by the scruff of its neck, placing it securely against her leather jacket.
The kitten immediately let out a tiny purr and curled into Mikha’s chest, completely content.
"Look at that," Maloi laughed, pointing at them.
"Two nonchalant creatures completely defeated by one sunshine girl."
Aiah just beamed, leaning her head against Mikha’s shoulder as they walked toward Mikha's room to set up the kitten's new space. The heavy, suffocating rain from the night before was completely forgotten, replaced by the warm, chaotic, and loud comfort of the people who knew them best.
The drafting studio was deathly quiet, save for the rhythmic, aggressive scratching of Mikha’s mechanical pencil against a massive sheet of tracing paper. It was 2:00 AM. Heavy dark circles hung under her eyes, her hair was a messy nest, and her fingers were stained with ink and graphite.
She was running on two hours of sleep, a dangerous amount of black coffee, and pure, toxic stress. Her major architecture plate was due in less than eight hours. To make matters worse, her phone had been buzzing with hostile text messages from her family all night reopening old wounds, demanding answers she didn’t have, and suffocating her with a pressure she couldn’t escape.
Mikha felt like a ticking bomb. Her mind was a chaotic blur of structural dimensions and family arguments.
The heavy wooden door of the studio creaked open softly.
"Mikhs?" Aiah’s voice was a gentle, hesitant whisper.
Mikha didn't look up. She kept her eyes glued to her T-square, her jaw clenching tighter.
"What are you doing here, Aiah? It’s late."
"I brought you midnight snacks!" Aiah said, her voice instantly shifting into her signature, bright sunshine tone. She walked in carrying a paper bag, her smile radiating warmth that usually melted Mikha’s defenses in a second.
"You weren't answering your phone, and I know you haven't eaten a real meal since lunch. Look, I got the toasted siopao you like—"
"I'm not hungry," Mikha muttered, her voice tightly coiled, her hand trembling slightly as she drew a precise line.
"But Mikhs, you need to eat to stay awake," Aiah insisted gently, stepping closer to the drafting table. She didn't notice the dangerous tension in Mikha’s shoulders. Wanting to comfort her, Aiah reached out, intending to gently ruffle Mikha’s hair.
"And you need to take a five-minute break, okay? Just look at me for a bit, you're going to give yourself a headache—"
Aiah’s hand accidentally brushed against the top edge of Mikha’s long ruler.
The ruler slid, jarring Mikha’s hand, causing the sharp ink pen to tear right through the fragile tracing paper—instantly ruining four hours of meticulous, irreplaceable work.
Something snapped inside Mikha. The exhaustion, the toxic texts from her family, and the ruined plate collided all at once.
"Can you just leave me alone?!" Mikha roared, slamming both her palms flat against the wooden table.
The sudden, violent crash echoed like a gunshot in the empty room.
Mikha glared up, her eyes wide, wild, and breathing heavily.
"I said I’m not hungry! Just stop bothering me! You’re always hovering, always trying to fix things, and I just need you to shut up and leave me the hell alone for once!"
The silence that followed was deafening.
The bright, cheerful smile on Aiah’s face froze, then shattered completely. She took a sharp step back as if she had been physically struck. Her eyes, usually full of life, widened in pure shock and immediate hurt. The paper bag in her hands wrinkled under her suddenly tight grip.
Mikha stood there, her chest heaving, the adrenaline slowly leaving her system. As the echo of her own harsh words faded, reality crashed down on her.
She looked at Aiah. She saw the way Aiah’s bottom lip trembled. She saw the sudden, heavy tears welling up in her eyes, reflecting the harsh fluorescent lights of the studio. Aiah looked incredibly small, fragile, and deeply hurt.
Mikha had never, ever raised her voice at her.
"A-Aiah..." Mikha’s voice cracked, the anger instantly vanishing, replaced by a cold, sickening dread. She took a step forward, reaching out a trembling, ink-stained hand.
"Babi, wait. I didn't mean—"
Aiah didn't let her finish. She bit her lip, forcing back a sob. She didn't say a single word. She just turned around and bolted out of the studio, the heavy wooden door swinging shut behind her with a dull thud.
"Aiah!" Mikha yelled, her voice breaking completely.
Mikha stood at the open doorway of the studio, her hand still gripping the cold brass handle. Her heart was hammering against her ribs, a sickening mix of adrenaline and pure regret pooling in her stomach. She looked down the long, empty corridor. The sound of Aiah’s hurried footsteps had already faded.
Her first instinct was to run after her. To drop everything, pull Aiah into a hug, and beg for forgiveness until her voice gave out.
But then her eyes drifted back to the drafting table. The torn tracing paper sat under the harsh fluorescent light, a brutal reminder of the deadline screaming at her. If she ran now, she wouldn't finish. If she didn't finish, this massive weight would keep hanging over her head, and she wouldn't be able to give Aiah her full, undivided attention to fix this properly.
Mikha needed this plate gone. She needed her mind completely clear.
With shaking fingers, she pulled her phone out of her pocket. Ignoring the toxic, unread notifications from her family group chat, she scrolled rapidly and hit speed dial.
It rang twice before a sleepy, rough voice answered.
"Lim, it is two in the morning," Colet growled, her voice thick with slumber.
"If this isn't an emergency, I am going to personally break your T-square tomorrow."
"Colet," Mikha choked out. Her voice was raspy, stripped entirely of her usual cool, unbothered tone.
The line went completely silent for a second. Colet shifted in her bed, her tone instantly dropping the playful annoyance, realizing something was seriously wrong.
"Mikha? What happened? Are you okay?"
"I... I messed up, Col," Mikha whispered, leaning her forehead against the doorframe, closing her eyes tightly.
"My plates got ruined, my family is breathing down my neck, and I just... I snapped. Aiah came to the studio to bring me food, and I shouted at her. I told her to leave me the hell alone."
"You what?" Colet’s voice sharpened, a mix of disbelief and protective anger flaring up.
"Mikha, are you insane? You shouted at Aiah? She stayed up late just to make sure you were eating!"
"I know! I know, okay?" Mikha hit the back of her head against the doorframe in frustration, tears of anger and exhaustion finally stinging her own eyes.
"I know I'm an idiot. She ran out crying. I want to chase her, Col, I really do. But if I leave now, I fail this major subject. I need to redo this entire plate from scratch right now so I can be completely free tomorrow."
Mikha took a deep, shaky breath, swallowing the lump in her throat.
"Please. Can you... can you check on her? Go to our apartment. Just comfort her for me. Don't let her feel alone tonight. Please."
Colet let out a long, heavy sigh on the other end of the line. She was furious at Mikha, but she could hear the absolute desperation and self-loathing in her friend's voice.
"Fix your plates, Mikha," Colet said, her tone stern but grounding.
"Redo it perfectly, pass it, and don't you dare look at another blueprint until you've made things right with your girl. I’m getting up now. I'll take care of Aiah."
"Thank you. Truly," Mikha muttered.
"Don't thank me yet. I’m still going to punch your arm when I see you," Colet replied flatly before hanging up.
Back at the apartment, the quiet click of the front door opening cut through the silence. Aiah walked into the dark living room, her shoulders trembling as she finally let out the heavy, agonizing sobs she had been holding back during the entire walk home. She dropped her tote bag on the floor, curled up on the edge of the sofa, and buried her face in her hands.
The harsh words kept echoing in her mind. You’re always hovering... I just need you to shut up.
Ten minutes later, the front door unlocked again. Aiah flinched, thinking it was Mikha, but the warm, familiar scent of Colet’s oversized hoodie filled the room.
Colet didn't ask any questions. She didn't turn on the bright ceiling lights. She walked straight to the couch, tossed a soft blanket over Aiah, and sat down right next to her, pulling the crying girl into a firm, protective embrace.
"I've got you," Colet whispered softly, gently rubbing Aiah's back as Aiah cried into her shoulder.
"Let it all out. I'm here."
"She... she was so angry at me, Col," Aiah choked out, gripping Colet’s sleeve. "I just wanted to help."
"I know, Aiah. I know," Colet said quietly, her eyes dark with a mix of sympathy for Aiah and frustration toward Mikha.
"She’s a complete idiot right now, drowning in structural plates and heavy family drama. But she called me. She was crying, too. She's staying behind to finish everything tonight so she can face you tomorrow without any distractions. Let her finish her battle there, okay? For tonight, just rest. I’m not leaving your side."
Aiah didn't reply, her grip tightening on Colet as she slowly let the warmth of her friend comfort her, while miles away in the lonely drafting studio, Mikha taped down a fresh sheet of paper, her eyes burning with exhaustion and determination to win back her sunshine.
By 7:30 the next morning, the apartment's group chat was already blowing up.
Knowing she couldn't keep the group in the dark, Colet texted Jhoanna, Maloi, and Stacey, telling them to meet her at the campus kiosk near the grand grandstand before classes started.
When Colet arrived, the three girls were already waiting, holding cups of takeout coffee. The moment they saw Colet’s serious expression, the casual morning chatter completely died down.
"Okay, what happened?" Jhoanna asked immediately, her leader instincts kicking in.
"Your text sounded like an emergency. Is Aiah okay?"
Colet ran a hand through her hair, letting out a sharp breath.
"Aiah is sleeping back at the apartment. I gave her some tea and stayed until she finally passed out around 4:00 AM. Mikha snapped at her last night at the drafting studio. Hard."
Maloi’s jaw dropped.
"Wait, what? Mikha? As in, the girl who would literally lay down in a puddle so Aiah’s shoes don’t get wet?"
"She was completely pushed to her limit," Colet explained, leaning against the wooden railing of the kiosk.
"You guys know her family has been texting her nonstop this week about the inheritance disputes. Pair that with her major plates getting ruined right before the deadline. Aiah went there to bring her food and try to comfort her, and Mikha just... lost it. Shouted at her to leave her alone and shut up."
"Oh my god," Stacey whispered, setting her coffee down on the table, her face dropping.
"Aiah must have been devastated. She was so excited about buying those toasted siopaos for her."
"She was," Colet nodded grimly. "She came back to the dorm completely sobbing. Mikha called me right after it happened. She sounded like she was having a panic attack herself, but she made the choice to stay behind and finish the plates from scratch so she wouldn't have any academic baggage hanging over her head today."
"I get that Mikha was stressed, but that doesn't give her the right to take it out on Aiah," Jhoanna said, her voice stern, though her eyes held a trace of worry for both of them. "Aiah only ever operates on pure love and good intentions."
"Exactly," Maloi chimed in, crossing her arms, her usual bubbly energy replaced by a protective anger.
"We love Mikha, but she really messed up this time. Aiah’s been drowning in her own thesis stress too, but she still chose to think about Mikha first. I feel so bad for her."
"Mikha knows she’s an idiot. She was crying on the phone when she begged me to go comfort Aiah," Colet said, wanting to make sure they knew Mikha wasn't unbothered.
"She should be presenting her model to the panel right about now. Once she’s done, she’s coming straight back to the apartment to apologize."
Stacey sighed, checking her watch.
"Should we go over to the apartment to be there when Mikha arrives? Just in case?"
"No," Jhoanna interjected firmly, holding up a hand.
"As much as we want to protect Aiah, this is between the two of them. If we all crowd the living room, Mikha is going to clam up, and Aiah won't be able to say what she truly feels. We need to let Mikha face the consequences of her words alone."
"Jho is right," Colet agreed, checking her own phone. "Let’s give them space. But the moment Mikha steps out of that apartment, if she hasn't fixed this properly, we are definitely stepping in."
The girls all nodded in unison, a silent pact made. They finished their coffee in a heavy, anxious silence, their minds completely divided between their upcoming lectures and the storm brewing back at the apartment.
The air inside the College of Architecture jury room was freezing, but Mikha’s palms were sweating as she stood before the long panel table.
Three senior professors stared intently at her final model, their faces completely unreadable. The presentation board behind her was pristine, featuring perfectly rendered blueprints and flawless ink cross-sections—the result of a frantic, sleepless marathon. Her eyes burned, her fingers were raw, and the constant buzzing of her phone in her pocket from her family was a dull, annoying vibration she forced herself to ignore.
"The structural integrity of the cantilever is impressive, Ms. Lim," the head juror said, tapping his pen against his clipboard.
"Especially considering the complexity of the materials. But your zoning layout feels a bit rushed in the southwest quadrant."
Mikha tightened her grip on her laser pointer. Usually, she would defend her design choices with sharp, calculated logic. But today, her brain felt like mush. Every time she looked at the model, she didn't see architectural lines, she saw the image of Aiah’s face shattering into tears, the paper bag of food left on the edge of the desk, and the echo of her own voice screaming at the person she loved most.
The guilt was a heavy stone sitting on her chest, making it hard to breathe.
"I apologize, sir," Mikha said, her voice gravelly and exhausted, but steady.
"I had to completely redesign and redraw the layout from scratch starting at two o'clock this morning due to a technical error. I prioritized the primary load-bearing structures to ensure the main design concept remained viable."
The jurors exchanged a look. One of them slowly nodded, impressed by the honesty and the sheer work ethic required to pull off a complete redo in a matter of hours.
"Well, the execution is still remarkably clean given the timeframe," the head juror noted, writing a final grade down on his rubric.
"Your resilience is noted, Ms. Lim. You are dismissed. Excellent work."
"Thank you, panel," Mikha muttered, bowing her head slightly.
The moment she stepped out of the jury room and the heavy wooden doors clicked shut behind her, the professional posture collapsed. Mikha slumped against the concrete wall of the hallway, letting out a long, ragged breath. Her knees felt weak from the absolute lack of sleep and the crushing emotional weight she had been carrying for the last seven hours.
She pulled her phone out of her pocket.
There was a text from Colet sent an hour ago: 'She’s awake. She’s quiet. Come home, Lim. Now.'
Mikha didn't even bother packing up her presentation boards or changing out of her ink-stained clothes. She shoved her phone into her pocket, grabbed her backpack, and sprinted down the campus steps, ignoring the curious looks from passing students.
The battle with her grades was officially over. Her plate was submitted, and her family’s texts were completely muted. She had no more distractions, no more excuses, and no more deadlines hanging over her head.
As she ran past the university gates toward the apartment, her heart hammered violently against her ribs. She was terrified of what she would find behind that front door, but she was ready to face whatever consequence Aiah had for her—ready to do whatever it took to bring her sunshine back.
The walk up the apartment stairs felt like a march to a gallows. Mikha stood outside the front door, her hand hovering over the doorknob. Her fingers were trembling. She closed her eyes, taking one last deep breath to brace herself before slowly turning the key.
The apartment was dead silent.
The curtains were drawn, letting in only a dim, muted glow of the morning sun. The living room was empty, but the paper bag of toasted siopao from last night was sitting neatly on the kitchen counter—untouched, a physical reminder of her cruelty.
Mikha dropped her heavy backpack by the door, her boots making a quiet thud on the floor. She walked down the short hallway toward Aiah’s bedroom, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs. The door was slightly ajar.
Mikha pushed it open with a soft click.
Aiah was sitting on the edge of her bed, her knees pulled up tightly against her chest. She was wearing one of Mikha’s old, oversized t-shirts. Her long hair was tied back in a messy bun, and her eyes were visibly swollen and red from crying. She was staring blankly out the window, looking incredibly small and fragile. The usual vibrant, radiant sunshine that followed her everywhere was completely gone.
Hearing the door, Aiah didn't flinch. She slowly turned her head, her exhausted, dark eyes meeting Mikha’s. There was no anger in her expression—just a profound, crushing sadness that cut Mikha deeper than any scream or lecture ever could.
Mikha froze at the doorway. Seeing the damage she had caused firsthand made a lump form instantly in her throat.
"Aiah..." Mikha’s voice was barely a whisper, completely cracked and heavy with unshed tears.
Without a word, Mikha walked over and sank straight to her knees on the floor right in front of Aiah's bed. She didn't try to sit next to her. She stayed lower, looking up at Aiah with an expression of pure, unadulterated self-loathing and desperation.
"Babi, please," Mikha choked out, the tears finally spilling over her cheeks, cutting through the ink stains on her face.
"I'm so sorry. I am so, so sorry."
Aiah looked down at her, her chest heaving as a fresh wave of tears welled up in her own eyes. Seeing Mikha like this. Disheveled, crying, and completely stripped of her usual cool armor hurt her, too.
"Why did you say those things, Mikhs?" Aiah whispered, her voice trembling violently.
"I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I stayed up late because I knew you were struggling. You didn't have to scream at me to shut up."
"I know. I'm an idiot, Aiah. A complete, selfish idiot," Mikha said, her hands gripping the edge of the mattress, resisting the urge to touch Aiah because she felt like she didn't deserve to yet.
"My family... they wouldn't stop texting me about the court cases and the money, and then my plate ripped, and my brain just short-circuited. But that is never an excuse. I took all my toxic garbage and I threw it at the one person who only ever gives me love."
Mikha reached up, her shaking, raw fingers gently, hesitantly hovering near Aiah’s knee.
"I didn't mean any of it. I swear to you. I love your voice. I love how you hover. I love everything about you. When I told you to leave, it felt like I was tearing my own heart out."
Aiah let out a quiet, shaky sob, the wall of hurt finally breaking down. She slowly lowered her legs from her chest and reached down, her warm, soft hands covering Mikha’s cold, ink-stained ones.
"You scared me, Mikha," Aiah whispered, more tears falling down her cheeks.
"You looked at me like you hated me."
"Never," Mikha said fiercely, stepping up onto her knees to close the distance, carefully wrapping her arms around Aiah’s waist and burying her face directly into Aiah’s lap. She held onto her like a lifeline, her shoulders shaking as she let out all the pent-up exhaustion and guilt.
"I could never hate you. I'm so sorry I hurt you, babi. Please. Tell me what to do. Punch me, yell at me, anything. Just please don't look at me like you're going to leave."
Aiah sat quietly for a moment, listening to the muffled, desperate cries of the girl who rarely ever showed weakness to anyone else. Slowly, the innate warmth in Aiah’s heart took over. She brought her hands up to Mikha’s head, her fingers gently threading through Mikha's messy red hair, smoothing down the tangles.
"I'm not leaving," Aiah said softly, her voice carrying a gentle but firm weight.
"But you need to talk to me, Mikha. When things get heavy with your family or your school, you can't just lock me out until you explode. We're a team, remember?"
Mikha sniffled, lifting her head from Aiah’s lap. She looked up, her eyes red and pleading, but a tiny spark of relief washing over her.
"I remember. I'll talk. I promise. No more silent walls."
Aiah wiped a tear from Mikha's cheek with her thumb, a small, weary, but genuine smile finally returning to her lips.
"Good. Now go take a shower. You smell like coffee, stress, and ink. Then you’re going to sleep for a whole day."
"Can I sleep here?" Mikha asked quietly, her voice reverting back to that soft puppy tone, her eyes completely fixated on her sunshine.
Aiah let out a soft, breathy laugh, the heavy atmosphere in the room completely dissipating.
"Yes, Mikhs. You can sleep here. But only after you wash your face."
Mikha finally let out a breath she felt like she’d been holding since 2:00 AM, squeezing Aiah’s waist one more time before standing up. The storm had finally passed, and the sun was safely back where it belonged.
It was close to seven in the evening when the front door of the apartment clicked open.
Colet walked in first, holding a plastic grocery bag filled with takeout containers. Behind her, Jhoanna, Maloi, and Stacey filed in quietly, their usual loud chatter replaced by anxious, hushed whispers. They had spent the entire afternoon texting each other, counting down the hours until they could check if the storm between their two friends had finally cleared.
"Do you think they’re still fighting?" Maloi whispered, clutching her chest dramatically.
"What if the apartment is divided by a literal chalk line right now?"
"Shh, keep your voice down," Jhoanna commanded, adjusting her glasses.
"Colet said Mikha was going to sleep all day. They’re probably just resting."
Colet set the food down on the kitchen counter, her eyes immediately drifting to the hallway.
"The lights in Aiah’s room are on. Let's just peek in. If they’re sleeping, we leave the food and go."
The four girls crept down the hallway in a single-file line, treading as softly as possible. The door to Aiah’s room was slightly ajar, throwing a warm, amber slice of light onto the wooden floorboards.
Colet reached the door first, leaning her head forward to peek through the gap.
She froze.
Her jaw went completely slack, and her eyes widened into dinner plates. Before she could make a sound or back away, Jhoanna and Maloi bumped into her back, pushing the bedroom door wide open with a sharp, loud creak.
The scene inside the room was absolutely not the quiet, fragile domestic healing session they had anticipated.
Aiah was sitting completely backward on Mikha’s lap, her legs wrapped tightly around Mikha’s waist. Mikha was sitting up against the headboard of the bed, her freshly showered, damp red hair completely messed up where Aiah’s fingers were aggressively gripping it.
They were caught in a deeply intense, breathless, and incredibly heated make-out session.
The air in the room was thick, heavy with the sharp, clean scent of Mikha’s body wash mixed with Aiah’s vanilla perfume. Mikha’s large, ink-stained hands were firmly planted under the hem of the oversized t-shirt Aiah was wearing, her fingers digging possessively into the bare skin of Aiah’s lower back, pulling her flush against her chest. Aiah’s head was tilted back, her lips parted as Mikha kissed her way down from Aiah's jawline to the sensitive skin of her neck, leaving a trail of deep, lingering burns. Aiah let out a soft, ragged gasp, her chest heaving against Mikha's.
They were so utterly consumed by each other, drowning out the rest of the world to make up for the painful distance of the night before, that they didn’t even notice the door swing open at first.
"Oh my god," Maloi squeaked out, her voice cracking at a ridiculously high pitch.
The sound shattered the bubble instantly.
Mikha’s head snapped up toward the door, her dark eyes completely wild, heavy-lidded, and dark with interrupted adrenaline. Her lips were visibly swollen and bitten red. Aiah flinched, her face flushing an instant, furious crimson from her cheeks down to her neck. She immediately buried her face directly into the crook of Mikha’s neck, hiding from the mortifying view of their friends.
Without missing a beat, Mikha’s protective instincts flared. With one swift, smooth movement, she pulled the thick duvet up with her left hand, throwing it completely over Aiah’s back to shield her from their staring friends, while her right arm kept Aiah securely pinned against her chest.
Mikha glared at the doorway, her jaw tight, breathing heavily as she leveled the four girls with a cold stare that could kill.
"Get. Out," Mikha growled, her voice incredibly deep, raspy, and dripping with raw irritation.
"We are leaving! We are legally leaving right now!" Stacey shrieked, instantly covering her eyes with both hands and turning around on her heel.
"Holy mother of—okay, closed door policy! From now on, full closed door policy!" Jhoanna yelled, her face bursting into a panicked blush as she grabbed Maloi by the collar of her shirt and dragged her backward out of the room.
Colet was the last to move. She stared at Mikha, utterly stunned, before a smirk slowly crept onto her face. She reached out, grabbed the brass doorknob, and gave Mikha a mock salute.
"Glad to see the communication issues are fully resolved, Lim," Colet teased loudly before pulling the door shut with a firm, solid click.
Inside the room, the sudden silence rushed back. Aiah slowly peeked out from under the duvet, her face still burning hot as she looked at Mikha.
"Mikhs, I am never looking them in the eye again," Aiah groaned, hiding her face in her hands.
Mikha let out a low, rough chuckle, the irritation completely vanishing the moment she looked back down at her girl. She reached up, gently pulling Aiah’s hands away from her face, her thumb caressing Aiah’s flushed cheek.
"Let them talk," Mikha whispered softly, her eyes dropping back down to Aiah's lips.
"Where were we, babi?"
Aiah couldn't help the bright, breathless smile that broke across her face, wrapping her arms back around Mikha’s neck as Mikha leaned back in, erasing the last traces of the storm with the sweet, overwhelming warmth of her sunshine.
It took exactly twenty minutes, a lot of deep breathing, and a frantic adjustment of clothes before Mikha and Aiah finally emerged from the bedroom.
When they walked into the dining area, the atmosphere was thick with comedic tension. The takeout containers were open, steam rising from the pancit and lechon kawali, but nobody was eating. The four girls were sitting in a row, staring straight ahead like a panel of judges.
Aiah walked in first, her face still slightly pink, but she immediately assumed her default sunshine persona.
"Wow, smells good! Thanks for buying dinner, guys."
"Oh, don't thank us," Stacey said, not looking up as she carefully twirled her fork.
"We just wanted to make sure you were properly nourished. Clearly, you've been working up an appetite."
Maloi bit her lip, physically vibrating as she tried to hold back a burst of laughter. She stuffed a piece of lumpiang shanghai into her mouth to keep herself quiet.
Mikha walked in right behind Aiah, completely back to her nonchalant, cool self. She wore a clean gray hoodie, her hands stuffed in her pockets, her expression entirely deadpan. She didn't say a word as she pulled out a chair for Aiah, waited for her to sit, and then took the seat right next to her.
"Pass the rice, Colet," Mikha said flatly, her voice still a little deeper than usual.
Colet slowly slid the plastic bowl of rice across the table, her eyes locked on Mikha’s neck.
"You missed a spot with your collar, Lim."
Aiah instantly choked on her water.
Mikha didn't even flinch. She casually reached up with one hand, adjusting the hood of her sweater to cover the faint red mark blossoming near her collarbone. She looked directly at Colet, her dark eyes completely unbothered.
"Thanks."
"You guys are legally insane," Jhoanna sighed, slamming her chopsticks down on the table, though she couldn't help but smile.
"Last night, Colet calls me at 2:00 AM saying Mikha is having a crisis and Aiah is crying. We spend the whole day worrying, and then we walk into a live-action romance novel."
"It was a very intense reconciliation," Stacey added, nodding solemnly.
"The grip strength alone was terrifying."
"Stacey, stop it!" Aiah covering her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking as she laughed.
"We were just... talking."
"Is that what the kids call it these days? Talking?" Maloi teased, finally exploding into laughter.
"Mikhs, I didn't know you had it in you. The blanket throw? The growl? I thought you were an architecture major, not an action star."
Mikha scooped a generous portion of lechon kawali onto Aiah’s plate first, then took some for herself. She finally looked up at the group, a small, arrogant, but completely fond smirk playing at the corner of her lips.
"I told you guys," Mikha said casually, taking a slow bite of her food.
"Actions speak louder than words."
The entire table erupted into a mix of loud groans, thrown napkins, and hysterical laughter. Colet shook her head, muttering about how smooth Mikha thought she was, while Jhoanna just shook her head in disbelief.
Aiah leaned her head against Mikha’s shoulder under the table, her hand finding Mikha’s knee and squeezing it gently. Mikha immediately dropped her fork, intertwining their fingers securely in her lap. The teasing of their friends was loud and chaotic, but inside their own quiet bubble, the warmth was absolute.