Archive of Our Own

The first time Aubrey asked Maraiah for something, it was raining so hard the street outside the laundromat looked like it had given up on being a street.

It was not even pretty rain. Not the cinematic kind that made people look soft under yellow lights or gave lovers an excuse to stand too close beneath one umbrella. It was Manila rain at its most inconvenient, thick and gray and impatient, throwing itself against the glass door of Spin City Laundry like it had a personal complaint against everyone inside. The gutter outside had clogged twenty minutes ago. A plastic cup floated past the entrance, followed by a leaf, then a slipper that made one woman at the folding table whisper, “Ay, kawawa naman yung may-ari,” like the slipper had been kidnapped.

Maraiah was already annoyed before the girl across from her even spoke.

It had been one of those Saturdays that felt like someone had written a list of everything that could irritate her and then checked each item with enthusiasm. Her client had sent revisions at six in the morning with the subject line minor changes, which was a lie because there was nothing minor about redesigning an entire dashboard hero section because it “felt too cold but also too warm somehow.” Her rice cooker stopped working halfway through lunch. Her landlord messaged about the water pressure again as if Maraiah had personally walked upstairs and sabotaged the building’s plumbing. Then, when she finally dragged her laundry outside because the weather app said light rain, the sky split open with the confidence of a scammer.

Now she was sitting on a hard plastic chair inside the laundromat, her laptop balanced on her knees, her clothes spinning behind glass, and her patience thinning by the minute.

Across from her, the girl in the oversized gray shirt looked like she was also having a day.

She arrived twenty minutes after Maraiah, carrying a laundry basket with one hand and an umbrella with two broken ribs in the other. Her hair had been tied into a loose bun that was slowly losing its argument against humidity. Her house slippers were wet. The bottom of her shorts had raindrops on them. When she stepped inside, she looked down at her feet, then at the rain outside, then muttered, “Syempre ngayon pa,” with the exhausted bitterness of someone who had been personally betrayed by the weather, public infrastructure, and maybe God.

Maraiah had looked up because she could not help it.

The girl had looked at her too.

Maraiah smiled politely, because that was what she did when strangers looked at her and she had not yet been given a reason to do anything else.

The girl blinked, expression unreadable, then looked away like politeness was a suspicious object she did not know where to put.

That should have been the end of it.

For the next thirty minutes, they existed near each other without acknowledging it. Maraiah answered comments on a Figma file and tried not to lose her mind over the phrase more premium but still approachable. The girl scrolled through her phone with one foot tucked under her on the chair, occasionally glancing at her washing machine like she expected it to disappoint her. Once, she took out an iced coffee from her tote, saw that the ice had melted into a watery sadness, and whispered, “Kaya mo pa?” to the cup before drinking anyway.

Maraiah pretended not to smile.

Then the power flickered.

Every machine in the laundromat stopped at once.

The lights went out. The dryers groaned into silence. The overhead fan stopped turning. Everyone looked up at the same time, that universal Filipino reflex of people who had been through too many brownouts to be surprised but were still deeply offended.

“Brownout?” a man near the folding table asked, as if anyone inside had a direct line to Meralco.

The attendant behind the counter leaned sideways to peer outside, then sighed. “Saglit lang siguro, sir. Usually bumabalik naman agad.”

Maraiah closed her laptop before the battery could panic. She checked the percentage. Forty-one. Enough for an hour if she lowered the brightness. Not enough for a client who believed vague adjectives were a legitimate design brief.

Across from her, the girl groaned.

“Patay,” she said.

Maraiah looked up before she could stop herself.

The girl was staring at the washing machine where her clothes had stopped mid-cycle. She tapped her fingers against her knee, then looked toward the counter. “Ate, matagal po ba ‘to?”

“Hindi ko po sure, ma’am. Wait lang natin. Babalik din ‘yan.”

“Galing,” the girl muttered, leaning back and covering her face with both hands. “Galing talaga.”

Maraiah lowered her laptop brightness until the screen looked like it was dying quietly. She tried not to listen. She really did. She did not like making strangers feel watched when they were clearly trying not to panic. But the laundromat was small, the rain was loud, and the girl’s distress had a particular shape to it. Not loud enough to be asking for help. Not quiet enough to be okay.

Five minutes passed.

The power did not return.

The girl sat up and looked around. Her eyes landed on Maraiah’s power bank, connected to her phone beside her bag.

Maraiah felt the question before it came.

“Miss,” the girl said.

Maraiah looked at her.

The girl pointed at the power bank. “Pwede maki-charge?”

Maraiah blinked.

“My phone is at two percent,” the girl added quickly, because apparently that was the emergency. Her tone was casual, almost bored, but one hand was already gripping the edge of her phone too tightly.

Maraiah looked down at the power bank. It had two ports. Her own phone was at sixty-three percent. Her laptop was not connected because the cable she needed was sitting inside her drawer at home, which was the exact kind of detail that made her want to walk into the rain and let herself dissolve.

“Sure,” Maraiah said, already pulling the other cable from her pouch. “Type C?”

The girl’s face changed so quickly Maraiah almost smiled. “Yes. Thank you.”

Maraiah handed it over. “Here.”

The girl plugged her phone in, then held it against her chest like Maraiah had given her oxygen. “Life saver ka.”

“Phone lang naman ‘yan.”

“Exactly. Life.”

Maraiah huffed a small laugh despite herself and reopened her laptop. For a few minutes, they sat in the strange dimness of the powerless laundromat, the rain filling every silence while the attendant called someone from the electric company and the man near the folding table complained to no one in particular.

Then the girl said, “Can I ask one more thing?”

Maraiah looked up slowly.

The girl lifted her phone. “Can you hotspot me? Saglit lang. I need to message someone.”

Maraiah stared at her.

The girl stared back.

“Grabe ka naman,” Maraiah said before she could stop herself. “Power bank na nga, hotspot pa.”

The girl’s mouth opened a little, like she had not expected Maraiah to say it out loud.

Then she smiled.

It was not a sweet smile. Not exactly. It was crooked, shameless, and dangerous in the way some people were dangerous because they already knew they could get away with things if they looked at you long enough.

“Please?”

Maraiah should have said no. She had a prepaid plan. She was working. She did not know this girl, and this girl had the audacity of someone who would ask for your charger, your Wi-Fi, your umbrella, and maybe your jacket if she got cold.

Instead, Maraiah sighed, opened her settings, and turned on her hotspot.

“Name is Maraiah’s iPhone,” she said. “Password is one two three four five six seven eight.”

The girl’s eyebrows lifted. “That’s your password?”

“It’s temporary.”

“Sure ka? Parang pang-tita na walang pake sa cybersecurity.”

“Gusto mo ba mag-hotspot o hindi?”

The girl looked down quickly, still smiling. “Gusto po.”

Maraiah looked back at her laptop, but she could feel her own smile betraying her at the corner of her mouth.

The power returned after twelve minutes. The lights flickered back on, the dryers coughed awake, and the washing machines continued as if nothing had happened. The girl unplugged her phone from Maraiah’s power bank but did not return the cable immediately. She typed something first, sent it, then looked up.

“Thank you, Maraiah’s iPhone,” she said.

“Maraiah lang.”

“Aubrey.”

Maraiah nodded once. “Okay, Aubrey.”

Aubrey held the cable out. “I owe you.”

“You don’t.”

“I do. Power bank and hotspot? That’s not nothing.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, wait.” Aubrey picked up her tote from the floor and rummaged through it. She pulled out a small pack of gummies, inspected it like she was making sure it was acceptable payment, then placed it on the empty chair between them. “Here.”

Maraiah stared at the gummies. “Ano ‘to?”

“Payment.”

“I don’t want your candy.”

“It’s not candy. Gummies siya.”

“That is candy.”

“It has vitamins.”

“Does it?”

Aubrey turned the pack around, squinted at the back, then shrugged. “May fruit.”

Maraiah laughed, a real one this time, soft and surprised enough that Aubrey looked up at the sound. For half a second, Aubrey just watched her, and the crooked amusement on her face became something else, something quieter, before she looked away.

“Take it na,” Aubrey said, suddenly casual again. “Para hindi ako may utang.”

Maraiah picked up the gummies because refusing felt like making the moment heavier than it needed to be. “Fine.”

“Good girl.”

Maraiah’s hand froze on the pack.

Aubrey also froze.

For one second, the rain sounded louder than everything else.

Then Aubrey cleared her throat, staring very hard at her washing machine. “I mean. Good. Girl. Like, good. As in buti. Good, girl. Grammar.”

Maraiah pressed her lips together so she would not laugh again.

“Sure,” she said.

Aubrey’s ears had gone red.

That should have been the end of it too.

It was not.

The second time Aubrey asked Maraiah for something, it was two weeks later at the same laundromat. This time, there was no rain, no brownout, and no reasonable excuse for Aubrey to sit beside her except the fact that she wanted to.

Maraiah was folding shirts while half-listening to a podcast about product strategy, and Aubrey arrived carrying an iced coffee, a laundry basket, and the same expression of someone mildly offended by being alive in public. She paused near the entrance when she saw Maraiah, then walked over like the empty chair beside her had been reserved by law.

“Hi, Maraiah’s iPhone.”

Maraiah paused with a shirt in her hands. “You remember me?”

“You saved my phone.”

“I saved your phone battery.”

“Same thing.” Aubrey sat down without asking, placed her drink on the floor, then leaned sideways to inspect Maraiah’s neat pile of folded clothes. “Grabe. Ang ayos mo magtupi.”

Maraiah looked at Aubrey’s basket, where clothes had been thrown together like they had experienced a natural disaster. “Ikaw hindi.”

“Judgmental.”

“Observant.”

Aubrey smiled into her straw. “Can I ask something?”

Maraiah already knew she would regret answering. “What?”

“Can you teach me?”

“To fold?”

“Oo.”

“You don’t know how?”

“I know how. Just not like that.” Aubrey pointed at the pile again. “Yung parang pang-display sa store. Yung pag nakita ng nanay mo, proud siya.”

“My mother would ask why I didn’t iron them.”

“Strict.”

“Practical.”

“Trauma response.”

Maraiah looked at her.

Aubrey lifted both hands. “Observation.”

Maraiah glanced at the washing machine timer. Eighteen minutes before her load finished drying. She could say no. She had every right to say no. She was not obligated to teach a stranger how to fold shirts just because the stranger had dimples and a lazy voice and kept looking at her like she was waiting to see how many requests Maraiah would tolerate before snapping.

“No,” Maraiah said.

Aubrey blinked. “No?”

“I have work.”

“You’re folding laundry.”

“I’m mentally working.”

Aubrey tilted her head. “Mentally?”

“Yes.”

“Grabe, employee of the month.”

Maraiah ignored her and folded another shirt.

Aubrey watched silently for three seconds.

Then she placed one wrinkled shirt on top of Maraiah’s clean pile.

Maraiah looked at it.

Aubrey looked innocent.

“Please?”

Maraiah stared at her long enough to make a point. Then she took the shirt, spread it flat on the table, and said, “Fine. One shirt lang.”

Aubrey smiled.

One shirt became five. Five became a full lesson. By the time Aubrey’s laundry finished, Maraiah had folded half of it while Aubrey sat beside her pretending to learn, asking questions that became more ridiculous the longer they went on.

“Paano pag emotional yung shirt?”

“What does that mean?”

“Like, may attachment issues. Ayaw ma-fold.”

“Ikaw ba yung shirt?”

“Bakit ako?”

“Wala. Observation.”

Aubrey laughed so hard she had to cover her mouth. It was the first time Maraiah saw her face without the bored look or the careful mask of not caring. Her eyes squeezed shut. Her shoulders shook. She looked younger, less guarded, like laughter had caught her before she could organize herself around it.

Maraiah tried not to stare.

She failed.

After that, Aubrey became a recurring interruption.

At first, only on Saturdays. Same laundromat, sometimes around noon, sometimes late afternoon, sometimes with a new drink in hand and an excuse ready even when no one had asked. She would sit near Maraiah if Maraiah arrived first, or leave the chair beside her empty if Aubrey arrived earlier. She never said, “I saved you a seat.” She would just put her tote bag on the other chair and move it when Maraiah came in.

“Occupied ‘to?” Maraiah asked once, already knowing.

Aubrey shrugged. “By my bag.”

“Move your bag.”

“Request agad?”

“Aubrey.”

Aubrey moved it, smiling.

Then Saturdays became random weekdays because Aubrey started messaging.

The first message came at 9:16 on a Tuesday night.

Aubrey: may tanong ako

Maraiah stared at the unknown number for a full thirty seconds before remembering that Aubrey had taken her number “for emergency laundry purposes,” which should have been suspicious because laundry did not usually have emergencies.

Maraiah: sino to?

Aubrey: wow. sakit. power bank girl.

Maraiah smiled before she could stop herself.

Maraiah: ah. pala-request girl.

Aubrey: may name ako

Maraiah: i know. ano tanong?

Aubrey: paano tanggalin yung amoy kulob sa towels

Maraiah sent a paragraph about vinegar, baking soda, drying properly, and not overloading the machine. Aubrey replied with a voice note.

“Grabe, ma’am. May thesis defense ba ‘to? Pero thank you. Try ko. If sumablay, ikaw sisisihin ko.”

Maraiah played it twice.

Then she put her phone face down and told herself it was normal to like someone’s voice. People liked voices all the time. There were podcasts, audiobooks, radio shows. This was not a personality flaw. This was a normal appreciation of sound.

By Friday, Aubrey had asked if Maraiah knew a cheap repair shop for a cracked phone screen, whether fabric conditioner was a scam, if it was weird to eat pancit canton at two in the morning, and if Maraiah could recommend a “serious but not pang-burol” outfit for a client meeting.

Maraiah answered all of them.

She complained every time.

She answered anyway.

“Why do you keep asking me things?” Maraiah asked one Saturday, while they waited for Aubrey’s dryer to finish.

Aubrey did not look up from her phone. “Because you answer.”

“That’s not a good reason.”

“It works.”

“I’m going to stop.”

“No, you won’t.”

Maraiah should have been offended by how confident Aubrey sounded.

Instead, she felt seen in a way that was irritating because Aubrey was right.

She had always been like that. Someone asked, and her body moved toward the answer before her mind finished deciding. Her mother called it helpful. Her college friends called it reliable. Her ex had called it intense near the end, then later, when she was trying to be kind, “too much but in a good way,” which was not actually kind at all if Maraiah thought about it for more than three seconds.

Aubrey asked and Maraiah answered because questions had edges she could hold. Requests had shape. They told her where to stand. They gave her something to do with the anxiety that otherwise ran around inside her, looking for proof that she was either wanted or about to be left.

So when Aubrey asked for things, Maraiah complained.

But she also breathed easier.

At least Aubrey was asking.

At least Aubrey still wanted something from her.

It got dangerous around the second month.

Not dangerous in the dramatic sense. No one confessed under rain. No one slammed doors or cried in taxis. It was worse because it became ordinary.

Aubrey started texting Maraiah when she got home.

Not every night. Just enough nights for Maraiah to start waiting.

Aubrey: home. buhay pa.

Maraiah: congratulations.

Aubrey: grabe ka. walang warmth.

Maraiah: proud of you for surviving edsa.

Aubrey: better.

Then sometimes Aubrey would ask, “Gising ka pa?” and Maraiah would say, “No,” while already sitting up. Sometimes Aubrey would call without warning and say, “Wala lang, naiinis ako,” then spend twenty minutes ranting about a client who wanted an entire content calendar revised because “the captions don’t spark enough curiosity.” Maraiah would listen while washing dishes or lying in bed, phone tucked against her cheek, making small sounds so Aubrey knew she was still there.

Aubrey never said thank you after those calls. Not directly.

She would say, “Okay, bye. Tulog ka na. Pangit ka pag puyat.”

Maraiah would say, “Ikaw nga tumawag.”

Aubrey would say, “Edi sorry.”

But she would not sound sorry. She would sound soft.

Maraiah collected those versions of her without meaning to. Aubrey asking for coffee in the middle of a workday because she was “dying, medically, probably.” Aubrey taking one fry from Maraiah’s plate, then another, then acting offended when Maraiah pushed the whole plate closer. Aubrey pretending not to be cold in the cinema until Maraiah dropped her jacket on Aubrey’s lap. Aubrey borrowing Maraiah’s pen, then forgetting to return it, then showing up the next week with three new pens in the same color because “para di ka magdrama.”

There were warning signs, if Maraiah wanted to call them that. Aubrey had a way of stepping close and stepping back so quickly it made Maraiah dizzy. She would ask, “Can you come with me?” while making it sound like a joke, then become too casual if Maraiah agreed. She would text Maraiah updates about the smallest things, then disappear for hours when something real happened. She could ask for a charger, a snack, a ride, a call, a second opinion on an outfit, but the second Maraiah asked, “Are you okay?” Aubrey’s replies became light enough to float away.

Aubrey: alive naman

Maraiah: that’s not what i asked.

Aubrey: grabe, interrogation.

Maraiah: Aubrey.

Aubrey: pagod lang. promise.

Maraiah learned quickly that Aubrey used “promise” the way some people used curtains.

Not always to lie.

Sometimes just to hide the room.

Still, they kept orbiting closer.

One Thursday, Aubrey asked Maraiah to meet her after work because she needed help buying a gift for her mother.

“Why me?” Maraiah asked over the phone, stepping out of her building with her tote bag on one shoulder.

“Because you look like someone who knows what moms like.”

“That’s not a compliment.”

“It is. You have responsible daughter energy.”

“And you don’t?”

“I have daughter who left home and calls when she needs GCash energy.”

“At least you’re self-aware.”

“Can you come or not?”

Maraiah checked the sky. It was about to rain again. Her feet hurt. Her client had just asked if they could “hop on a quick call” at eight. She should go home, cook dinner, and finish work before the city swallowed the rest of her patience.

“No,” she said.

Aubrey went quiet for half a second. “Okay.”

Maraiah closed her eyes on the sidewalk.

She hated that okay.

“Where are you?” she asked.

Aubrey’s voice brightened immediately, too quickly. “Greenbelt.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Send exact location.”

“Love that about you.”

“Don’t.”

Maraiah found her inside a home store, standing between scented candles and expensive-looking throw blankets. Aubrey had three mugs in front of her, all different shades of blue, and the focused expression of someone trying very hard not to care too much.

“My mom likes blue,” Aubrey said when Maraiah reached her.

Maraiah stopped beside her. “Okay.”

“But not dark blue. She says dark blue makes the house look sad.”

“Okay.”

“And she likes mugs, pero she has too many. But she also keeps using this old chipped one, so maybe she needs a new one.”

“Okay.”

Aubrey looked at her. “Stop saying okay like a therapist.”

“Then stop sounding like you’re presenting a case study.”

Aubrey’s mouth twitched, but it faded quickly. She looked back at the mugs. “She moved back to Bicol last year. I don’t visit enough.”

Maraiah softened.

Aubrey picked up the mug with small painted clouds around the rim. “She says okay lang, but you know. Moms say okay lang tapos it means ten different things.”

“Yeah,” Maraiah said. “They do.”

Aubrey turned the mug in her hands. “Can you choose?”

“No.”

Aubrey glanced at her.

“It’s for your mom,” Maraiah said. “You choose.”

“I’m bad at this.”

“You’re not.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know you’re overthinking it because you care. That already makes it less bad.”

Aubrey looked at her then, expression unreadable, the mug still held between her hands.

“What?” Maraiah asked.

“Wala,” Aubrey said, too fast. “Responsible daughter energy ka talaga.”

Maraiah rolled her eyes. “Clouds.”

Aubrey looked down. “Clouds?”

“The cloud mug. It’s soft. Not sad. Blue but not too blue.”

Aubrey smiled slowly. “See? Kaya kita pinapunta.”

“I said no.”

“Pero nandito ka.”

“Against my will.”

“Sure.”

They bought the mug. Aubrey carried the paper bag like it contained something fragile, which it did, but Maraiah had the distinct feeling it was not just ceramic. They got dinner after, because Aubrey said, “Can you eat with me? Para hindi weird na pumunta ka lang for mug consultation,” and Maraiah said, “No,” then found herself sitting across from Aubrey at a ramen place fifteen minutes later.

Aubrey stole the egg from Maraiah’s bowl.

Maraiah stared at her. “Really?”

Aubrey chewed, shameless. “Quality check.”

“It was mine.”

“Sharing builds community.”

“You are the worst.”

“Pero you came.”

Maraiah should have answered with something sharp.

Instead, she looked at Aubrey’s pleased little smile, the blue mug bag beside her chair, the rain starting again outside the window, and thought, I would come every time if you asked properly.

The thought scared her so much she looked down at her ramen and did not speak for a full minute.

Aubrey noticed.

Of course she noticed. Aubrey noticed everything except the things Maraiah desperately wanted her to notice.

“Uy,” Aubrey said, softer. “Okay ka lang?”

Maraiah forced a smile. “Yes.”

Aubrey studied her. “Promise?”

Maraiah almost laughed at the irony.

“Promise,” she said.

It was not a lie.

Sometimes promise just meant not yet.

The night Aubrey asked Maraiah to come over because of the sink, something shifted.

It was 10:38 PM. Maraiah had already washed her face, changed into an old shirt, and convinced herself that the responsible thing to do was sleep early for once. Her laptop was closed. Her phone was charging. Her body had entered that delicate state where any new request from the universe would feel like violence.

Then Aubrey called.

Maraiah stared at the screen.

“No,” she said as soon as she answered.

Aubrey laughed. “Wala pa akong sinasabi.”

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I need.”

“I know the tone.”

“What tone?”

“Yung may ipapagawa ka.”

Aubrey laughed again. “Can you come over?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Sink lang.”

“Call maintenance.”

“Wala na. Bukas pa daw.”

“Then wait until tomorrow.”

“I can’t wash my mug.”

“Then don’t wash your mug.”

“I only have one favorite mug.”

“Aubrey, I’m not going to your condo at almost eleven because of a mug.”

There was a pause.

Then, softer, “Okay.”

Maraiah hated that okay because it was not the same as the others.

It was small, neat, and withdrawn. Not manipulative. That would have been easier to resist. It sounded like someone folding herself away before she could be told she was asking for too much. It made Maraiah sit up straighter in bed, already angry at herself because she knew exactly what would happen next.

She closed her eyes. “Send me your address.”

Aubrey was quiet for one second.

Then, with completely fake innocence, “Why?”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I really might.”

“Bring plunger?”

“I’m not your handyman.”

“Pero may plunger ka?”

Maraiah looked across her small apartment at the bathroom door. “Unfortunately.”

“Love that about you.”

“Don’t.”

Aubrey’s condo was twenty minutes away. It took Maraiah thirty-five because there was still traffic, because the city refused to sleep, and because she had to stop herself twice from turning around out of self-respect. By the time Aubrey opened the door, Maraiah had already prepared a speech about boundaries, consideration, and how clogged sinks were not emergencies unless something was actively flooding.

Then she saw Aubrey.

She was wearing an oversized cream sweater, soft shorts, and socks with tiny strawberries on them. Her hair was down, a little damp at the ends. She looked bare-faced and sleepy and too relieved for someone who had claimed the only issue was a mug.

The speech died.

“Hi,” Aubrey said.

Maraiah lifted the plunger in one hand. “This is the lowest point of my life.”

Aubrey’s mouth twitched. “Pumasok ka na.”

The sink did need help, but not much. It was a small clog, probably food scraps and bad decisions. Maraiah fixed it in under fifteen minutes while Aubrey hovered near her, passing paper towels and making unhelpful comments.

“Parang attractive pala pag marunong sa plumbing.”

“I’m not doing plumbing. I’m unclogging your sink.”

“Same category.”

“Hindi.”

“Ang serious mo talaga.”

“Because someone dragged me here at eleven.”

“I asked nicely.”

“You said please like a criminal.”

Aubrey leaned against the counter, smiling. “Effective.”

Maraiah looked at her.

Aubrey looked back.

For a moment, the kitchen became too small.

It smelled faintly of dish soap and coffee. The overhead light made everything a little too bright. Maraiah’s hands were damp from washing. Aubrey’s sleeve had slipped over one hand, and she was holding it near her mouth, the edge pressed lightly to her bottom lip like she needed somewhere to put the softness before it became visible.

Maraiah turned back to the sink first.

“All fixed,” she said, clearing her throat. “Try not to destroy it again.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And buy another mug.”

“No. This one is special.”

“Why?”

Aubrey shrugged. “I just like it.”

Maraiah glanced at the mug on the drying rack. It was white with a tiny blue moon painted near the handle. Nothing fancy. A little chipped near the rim.

Aubrey noticed her looking. “My mom gave it to me before she moved back to Bicol.”

“Oh.”

“Hindi dramatic,” Aubrey said too quickly. “She just bought it from some random store. Pero favorite ko.”

Maraiah nodded, careful now. “Then don’t let it sit in a dirty sink.”

Aubrey smiled, but not fully. “Opo.”

Maraiah wiped her hands on the towel and picked up her bag. “I should go.”

“Wait.”

Maraiah paused near the door.

Aubrey looked at the floor first, then at her. “Can you stay for coffee?”

“It’s eleven-thirty.”

“Decaf.”

“You don’t have decaf.”

“I have water.”

Maraiah gave her a look.

Aubrey’s face shifted, the request changing shape before Maraiah’s eyes. It stopped being playful. It became something else, something Aubrey seemed to regret revealing the second it touched her face.

“Just a bit,” Aubrey said. “Kahit ten minutes lang.”

Maraiah should have asked why. She should have said she was tired, because she was. She should have gone home to her own bed, her own unfinished work, her own life that was slowly becoming a hallway leading to wherever Aubrey needed her.

Instead, she set her bag back down.

“Ten minutes.”

Aubrey nodded, almost too fast. “Ten.”

They sat on the floor by the balcony because Aubrey said the couch was “too formal” and the dining chairs were “pang-interview.” Her condo was smaller than Maraiah expected, neat but not warm. The kind of neatness that came from not having enough things to make a mess with. A single couch. A low table. A shoe rack. Two plants, one real and one obviously dying. A small bookshelf with more notebooks than books. A lamp that made the corner near the balcony look softer than the rest of the room.

Aubrey handed Maraiah a glass of water and sat close enough that their shoulders almost touched.

For the first two minutes, neither of them said anything.

Outside, the city blinked and hummed below them. Cars moved like slow red lines. Someone in the building across had left a curtain half-open, blue TV light flickering against the wall.

Then Aubrey said, “I hate nights sometimes.”

Maraiah did not move. “Why?”

Aubrey took too long to answer.

“Ang quiet,” she said finally.

Maraiah looked at her profile, the tired slope of her mouth, the way her fingers tapped against the glass even though she was trying to keep still.

“You could’ve said that,” Maraiah said gently.

Aubrey laughed once, small and dry. “What? ‘Maraiah, punta ka dito kasi ayoko ng tahimik?’ Ang pathetic naman.”

“It’s not pathetic.”

“It is.”

“No.”

Aubrey looked at her then. “You’d come?”

Maraiah’s throat tightened.

She wanted to say yes too fast. She wanted to make it a promise before Aubrey could pull it back. She wanted to be the kind of person someone could call when nights felt too quiet. She wanted that so badly it scared her.

So she said, “I came for a sink.”

Aubrey smiled faintly. “Oo nga.”

“But next time,” Maraiah said, careful, “you can just say the night is too quiet.”

Something opened on Aubrey’s face, then closed.

“Okay,” she said.

Maraiah knew immediately that Aubrey might never do that.

Still, she stayed forty-three minutes.

The first time Aubrey came to Maraiah’s apartment, she asked for salt.

It was a Sunday afternoon, and Maraiah had invited her over with the kind of fake casualness that took twenty minutes to compose. She typed, You can come by if you want. I’m cooking pasta, then deleted it because it sounded too eager. She typed, I made too much pasta, which was not true yet. Then she cooked too much pasta so the lie would become retroactively honest.

Aubrey arrived thirty minutes late with a convenience store bag and a face that looked suspiciously proud.

“I brought contribution,” she said.

Maraiah looked inside. Chips, chocolate, instant coffee, and a single calamansi.

“What is the calamansi for?”

“Vibes.”

“You contributed vibes?”

“And snacks.”

“You’re late.”

“Traffic.”

“You live fifteen minutes away.”

“Internal traffic. Emotionally.”

Maraiah wanted to roll her eyes. She also wanted to pull Aubrey inside by the wrist and ask why she had changed shirts three times before coming, because she could tell. The first outfit Aubrey sent for “approval” had been a black top. The one she arrived in was white. The third option, apparently, had lost to anxiety.

Maraiah did not say any of that. She just stepped aside. “Come in.”

Aubrey’s first request came seven minutes later.

“Can I have salt?”

Maraiah, stirring sauce at the stove, frowned. “For what?”

Aubrey was sitting at the small dining table, opening the chips. “Chips.”

“Chips already have salt.”

“These need more.”

“You’re going to die early.”

“Then you’ll miss me.”

Maraiah nearly dropped the spoon.

Aubrey looked up, realized what she said, and immediately looked back at the chips. “Salt?”

Maraiah opened the cabinet and placed the salt shaker on the table with more force than necessary.

Aubrey smiled like she had won something.

During lunch, Aubrey kept stealing bites from Maraiah’s plate even though she had the exact same pasta in front of her.

“Why are you eating mine?” Maraiah asked.

“Quality control.”

“It came from the same pot.”

“Your plate looks better.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Can I have more cheese?”

“No.”

“Please?”

Maraiah handed her the cheese.

Aubrey grinned. “Thank you.”

Maraiah tried to stay annoyed. It was difficult when Aubrey looked so at home at her table, one knee tucked under her, hair falling over one shoulder, mouth shiny with sauce. It was difficult when Aubrey reached across the table to wipe a speck of pepper from Maraiah’s thumb, then froze as if she had startled herself with the intimacy of it.

“Sorry,” Aubrey said.

Maraiah looked at her thumb, then at Aubrey. “It’s okay.”

Aubrey nodded, too quickly. “Okay.”

There it was again. Retreat.

Maraiah hated how quickly she wanted to chase.

So she did the opposite. She stood and reached for the water pitcher. “Do you want more?”

Aubrey looked relieved. “Yes, please.”

After lunch, Aubrey inspected Maraiah’s apartment like a very rude real estate agent.

“Your place is very you,” she said, standing near the bookshelf.

“What does that mean?”

“Organized. Soft. Slightly intimidating.”

“My apartment is intimidating?”

“Your spice rack is alphabetized.”

“It’s efficient.”

“It’s a cry for help.”

Maraiah threw a dish towel at her. Aubrey caught it badly, laughed, then used it to wipe the table without being asked.

That small thing affected Maraiah more than it should have.

She was used to doing things for people. Not because everyone around her was selfish. Some people were kind. Some were grateful. Some even tried. But Maraiah had become so good at noticing what needed to be done that others rarely beat her to it. She was the one who refilled water. The one who remembered umbrellas. The one who cleaned while saying she did not mind. The one who said, “Okay lang,” because by the time someone asked if she needed help, she had already carried the thing halfway across the room.

Aubrey wiped the table without ceremony, then picked up the plates and brought them to the sink.

Maraiah stared.

Aubrey looked back. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“May dishwasher ka ba?”

“No.”

“Okay. I’ll wash.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

“No, really. I cooked.”

“So?”

“So you don’t have to wash.”

Aubrey frowned at her. “Maraiah.”

“What?”

“Can you sit down?”

Maraiah blinked.

Aubrey pointed to the chair. “Request.”

“You’re requesting me to sit in my own apartment?”

“Yes.”

“That’s stupid.”

“Sit.”

Maraiah sat.

Aubrey washed the dishes badly, using too much soap and splashing water on the counter. Maraiah had to grip her own knee to stop herself from standing up and correcting her. Aubrey glanced at her once, saw the internal war, and smiled.

“Struggling ka noh?”

“Your method is terrible.”

“Pero ginagawa ko.”

“You’re wasting soap.”

“Close your eyes.”

“No.”

“Maraiah.”

“Fine.”

Maraiah closed her eyes, and for two minutes, she listened to Aubrey move around her kitchen. Plates clinked. Water ran. Aubrey hummed under her breath, something low and off-key. The apartment felt different with another person inside it. Not invaded. Not disrupted.

Fuller.

When Maraiah opened her eyes, Aubrey was drying her hands on the towel and looking at her with an expression she quickly replaced with a smirk.

“Good girl,” Aubrey said.

Maraiah pointed at the door. “Out.”

Aubrey laughed so hard she had to lean against the sink.

They kissed for the first time three weeks later.

It happened after a movie night at Maraiah’s apartment, though movie night was generous because Aubrey had spent half of it scrolling through her phone and asking questions every five minutes.

“Sino ‘yan?”

“Her sister.”

“Akala ko patay na sister niya.”

“That’s the other movie.”

“Ang confusing naman.”

“Because you’re not watching.”

“I am.”

“You’re looking at your phone.”

“I can multitask.”

“You asked if the main character was dead ten minutes after she gave a speech.”

Aubrey threw a pillow at her. Maraiah caught it, smug, and Aubrey narrowed her eyes like that was a personal challenge. One second they were arguing. The next, Aubrey was leaning across the space between them, one hand braced against the couch, kissing Maraiah like she had decided thinking about it one more second would ruin everything.

Maraiah forgot how to breathe.

The kiss was not careful. Not exactly gentle. It had the same shape as Aubrey’s requests, sudden and demanding and already half-regretted. But then Maraiah made a sound against her mouth, helpless and startled, and Aubrey softened. Her hand came up to Maraiah’s jaw. Her thumb touched the corner of Maraiah’s mouth like an apology.

When they pulled apart, Aubrey looked terrified.

Maraiah, whose heart had relocated somewhere behind her teeth, whispered, “Hi.”

Aubrey stared at her.

Then she laughed.

It came out shaky, but it was a laugh, and Maraiah loved her a little for choosing that instead of running.

“Hi,” Aubrey whispered back.

They did not talk about it that night.

Or the next morning.

Or the week after.

They kissed again though. In Maraiah’s kitchen while waiting for water to boil. Outside Aubrey’s condo when Maraiah dropped her off after dinner. In the corner of the laundromat like two idiots pretending the washing machines gave them privacy. Once, in an elevator that stopped at every floor, forcing Aubrey to pull away at the sixth with a whispered, “Behave ka,” as if she had not been the one who started it.

They were sweet.

That was the problem.

Aubrey would steal food from Maraiah’s plate, then feed her the last bite without making eye contact. Maraiah would say, “Order your own next time,” while opening the container closer to Aubrey. Aubrey would text, “Can you call me? Bored ako,” and Maraiah would say, “I’m working,” then call five minutes later. Maraiah would send reminders about Aubrey’s deadlines. Aubrey would reply, “Yes, mommy,” and then disappear for three hours, only to send a photo of the finished deck with the caption, “Proud ka?”

Maraiah was always proud.

Too proud.

Stupidly proud.

Aubrey never asked what they were. She did not introduce Maraiah as anything except “si Maraiah” when they bumped into people from her work. She did not stay over unless it was accidental. She did not say she missed her, but she would ask, “Nasaan ka?” at random times like Maraiah had a duty to report her location.

Maraiah told herself not to be needy.

Then she would stare at Aubrey’s messages and count the minutes between replies like a person she would judge if she saw from the outside.

The first real fight came because of chicken soup.

Aubrey got sick on a Wednesday.

She did not tell Maraiah.

Maraiah found out because Aubrey accidentally sent a photo meant for her assistant. It was a blurry picture of her desk with tissue, medicine, and a thermometer in frame.

Aubrey: pakisend kay client yung deck after lunch pls

Ten seconds later:

Aubrey: wrong send

Maraiah stared at the photo, zoomed in like an investigator, then called immediately.

Aubrey rejected the call.

Maraiah called again.

Aubrey rejected it again.

Maraiah: bakit may thermometer?

Aubrey: decor

Maraiah: Aubrey.

Aubrey: fever lang. chill.

Maraiah: how high?

Aubrey: hindi mataas

Maraiah: number.

Aubrey: 38.6 but bumaba na

Maraiah stood from her desk so fast her chair rolled backward and hit the wall.

Maraiah: kumain ka na?

Aubrey: yes

Maraiah: what did you eat?

Aubrey took too long to answer.

Maraiah: Aubrey.

Aubrey: biscuit

Maraiah was already getting her wallet.

Aubrey: wag ka pumunta

Maraiah stopped.

For once, she tried to respect the words.

Maraiah: okay. orderan kita food.

Aubrey: no need

Maraiah: you ate biscuit.

Aubrey: may crackers pa

Maraiah closed her eyes and counted to three.

Maraiah: I’m ordering soup.

Aubrey: ayoko soup

Maraiah: then don’t drink it.

Aubrey: bossy

Maraiah: sick

Aubrey: clingy

That one landed differently.

It should have been teasing. Maybe it was. But Maraiah had been holding back so much of herself that any accusation shaped like wanting too much could cut through her in one motion.

She looked at the word until it blurred.

Maraiah: okay. sorry. rest ka na.

Aubrey replied after three minutes.

Aubrey: uy

Then:

Aubrey: Maraiah

Then:

Aubrey: I was joking

Maraiah did not answer because she did not trust herself not to apologize for being hurt by something she had been trying so hard not to be.

She ordered soup anyway. Arroz caldo, ginger tea, medicine, and extra bottled water from a nearby place. She put Aubrey’s unit number in the delivery notes, added “please leave at door,” then turned her phone face down.

At 7:12 PM, Aubrey called.

Maraiah stared at the screen until it stopped.

At 7:13, Aubrey called again.

Maraiah answered on the third ring because she had no self-respect when it came to Aubrey’s voice.

“What?” Maraiah said, trying to sound normal and failing.

Aubrey was quiet.

Then, softly, “You didn’t come.”

Maraiah sat very still.

“You told me not to.”

“I know.”

“I listened.”

“I know.”

Maraiah rubbed her forehead. “Aubrey, please. I don’t know what answer you want from me.”

Aubrey breathed out through the phone. It sounded tired. Sick. Smaller than usual.

“I didn’t want you to get sick.”

“Then say that.”

“I did.”

“No,” Maraiah said, the hurt sharpening before she could soften it. “You said don’t come. Then you called me clingy when I tried to take care of you.”

“It was a joke.”

“I know. It still hurt.”

Aubrey said nothing.

Maraiah closed her eyes. “Sorry. You’re sick. We don’t have to talk about this.”

“No,” Aubrey said quickly, then coughed. “No, wait.”

Maraiah waited.

Aubrey’s voice came back quieter. “I’m not used to it.”

“To what?”

“People coming.”

Maraiah’s anger faltered.

“I mean, my mom does. Sometimes. But she’s far. My friends are busy. And I’m not good at asking.” Aubrey coughed again, then laughed weakly. “Actually, I’m good at asking for stupid things. Charger, coffee, hatid, ganyan. Pero pag real, hindi.”

Maraiah looked down at her own hands. Her fingers were gripping the edge of her shirt.

“You asked me to come for your sink.”

“Exactly. Stupid thing.”

“The night was quiet.”

Aubrey went silent.

Maraiah’s voice softened despite herself. “That was real.”

“Yeah,” Aubrey whispered. “And I had to pretend it was about the sink.”

Maraiah hated how much she wanted to forgive her immediately. She hated how relief moved in before anger had even packed its things. She hated how the smallest honesty from Aubrey could undo an entire day of hurt.

But she also knew what it cost Aubrey to say it.

So she said, “Drink the soup.”

Aubrey laughed, but it cracked into another cough. “Yes, ma’am.”

“And take medicine.”

“Opo.”

“And next time, don’t call me clingy when I’m trying really hard not to be.”

The silence after that felt alive.

Aubrey said, “Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Trying not to be.”

Maraiah swallowed.

She could lie. She could joke. She could say, “Obviously not, OA mo,” and let them return to whatever safe place they kept building out of half-truths and teasing. But something in her was tired. Maybe it was the client revisions. Maybe it was the five months of pretending Aubrey’s random “Nasaan ka?” did not make her day. Maybe it was the soup she had ordered but did not deliver herself because she had finally tried to honor a boundary and it still somehow hurt both of them.

“Yes,” Maraiah said. “I am.”

Aubrey breathed in.

“Okay,” she said, but it was not enough.

Maraiah knew it was not enough.

Still, Aubrey drank the soup. She sent a photo of the empty bowl an hour later.

Aubrey: happy?

Maraiah replied after letting herself wait two whole minutes, which was embarrassing because she was aware she was doing it.

Maraiah: proud.

Aubrey sent a voice note. Her voice was rough from fever.

“Good. Kasi I suffered through the ginger for you.”

Maraiah smiled at her phone, then hated herself a little less.

For a while, things got better.

Not defined. Not resolved. But better in the way two people could become gentler around the places they had accidentally touched too hard.

Aubrey stopped using clingy as a joke. She still teased Maraiah for checking if she got home, but she started answering properly.

Aubrey: home na. ikaw?

Maraiah would reply with a photo of her laptop, her dinner, or the half-finished mug of tea on her desk.

Aubrey would say, “Pangit ng dinner mo,” and send food.

Maraiah would say, “I didn’t ask.”

Aubrey would say, “Eh ako gusto ko.”

Aubrey’s requests also changed.

They were still constant. Maybe even more constant. But something in them opened.

“Can you stay on call while I clean?”

“Can you tell me if this email sounds passive-aggressive?”

“Can you remind me not to reply to my client while galit ako?”

“Can I lie down sa lap mo? Five minutes lang.”

The last one happened at Maraiah’s apartment on a Sunday afternoon.

Aubrey had shown up with groceries she insisted were not groceries.

“Hindi ‘to groceries,” she said, placing a bag on Maraiah’s counter. “Snacks lang.”

Maraiah looked inside. Eggs, bread, instant coffee, bananas, chips, soup packets, and one pack of strawberries.

“This is groceries.”

“Snacks.”

“Eggs are not snacks.”

“Depends sa mood.”

“Why did you bring these?”

Aubrey opened Maraiah’s fridge without permission, which she had started doing three weeks ago. “Kasi wala kang laman fridge mo last time.”

“I had food.”

“You had soy sauce, half a lemon, and something in a container that looked emotionally unsafe.”

“It was adobo.”

“It was fossil.”

Maraiah crossed her arms. “So you’re stocking my fridge now?”

Aubrey placed the eggs carefully in the tray. “Request ko lang na kumain ka ng maayos.”

Maraiah’s chest did something humiliating.

“You can’t request that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not for you.”

Aubrey glanced back at her. “It is a little.”

Maraiah stopped talking.

Aubrey looked away first and busied herself with the bread.

Later, they ended up on the couch with an old sitcom playing. Aubrey claimed she only needed five minutes because her head hurt. Maraiah was sitting upright with a pillow behind her, and Aubrey slowly shifted until her head was on Maraiah’s lap, as if she had not been planning it the entire time.

“Comfortable?” Maraiah asked, voice dry.

Aubrey closed her eyes. “Medyo matigas thighs mo.”

“Excuse me?”

“Joke lang. Perfect thighs. Ten out of ten.”

“I can push you off.”

“You won’t.”

“Don’t be so sure.”

Aubrey reached blindly for Maraiah’s hand and placed it on her own hair. “Request.”

Maraiah stared at her hand.

Aubrey kept her eyes closed.

Maraiah sighed like this was a burden, like her fingers did not immediately soften against Aubrey’s hair, like her heart was not doing something unbearable beneath her ribs.

“Demanding,” she muttered.

Aubrey smiled without opening her eyes. “Pero ginagawa mo.”

“Against my will.”

“Sure.”

Maraiah ran her fingers through Aubrey’s hair slowly. Once. Twice. Aubrey melted by degrees, the tightness leaving her shoulders, her mouth relaxing, her breathing deepening until she looked almost asleep.

Maraiah looked down at her and thought, with a sudden clarity that hurt:

I love you.

It did not arrive like fireworks. It arrived like recognition. Like coming home and finding the light already on. Like looking at Aubrey’s face, softened by rest, and knowing that love had been building itself quietly in every complaint Maraiah made while doing exactly what Aubrey asked.

She kept stroking Aubrey’s hair.

She did not say it.

Anxious people were not always loud with their love. Sometimes they became very quiet because they knew the cost of being too much. Maraiah had been called too intense once, then too available, then too sensitive, then finally too good, which somehow meant easy to leave because leaving a good person made you feel guilty but not guilty enough to stay.

So she loved Aubrey with her mouth closed.

She loved her through food reminders, and reply drafts, and extra fries, and taking the side of the sidewalk closest to traffic. She loved her by memorizing the brand of detergent that did not make Aubrey sneeze. She loved her by learning that Aubrey got meaner when she was hungry and quieter when she was scared. She loved her by not asking the question that lived under everything.

Until she could not do it anymore.

It happened after Aubrey’s work event.

Aubrey had been anxious about it for two weeks, though she never used the word anxious. She said “naiinis ako,” “hassle,” “ayoko pumunta,” and “sana malason ako mildly,” which Maraiah understood as the same thing with more drama. It was a brand launch for one of Aubrey’s clients, hosted at a small gallery in Makati, and Aubrey had handled the campaign so closely that every detail felt like a personal attack.

The day of the event, Aubrey asked Maraiah to help her choose earrings.

Then shoes.

Then lipstick.

Then whether her blazer made her look “corporate but in a bad way.”

Maraiah answered all of it through video call while sitting at her own desk, trying to finish a build review.

“The black blazer,” Maraiah said for the third time.

“Sure?”

“Yes.”

“Not too serious?”

“It’s a launch event.”

“I don’t want to look like I’m auditing them.”

“Aubrey.”

“What?”

“You look good.”

Aubrey went quiet.

On the screen, she looked down at herself, then adjusted the collar of the blazer. “Good good or polite good?”

Maraiah leaned closer to the screen. “Good good.”

Aubrey’s mouth twitched. “Okay.”

“Wear the small hoops.”

“You said pearl studs kanina.”

“I changed my mind.”

“Demanding mo.”

“You asked me.”

“True.” Aubrey picked up the small hoops. “Can you stay on call while I do eyeliner?”

“I have work.”

“Please.”

“No.”

Aubrey pouted at the screen.

Maraiah stared back.

Aubrey smiled slowly because she knew.

Maraiah groaned. “Fine. Five minutes.”

It was not five minutes.

That evening, Maraiah went to the event because Aubrey asked, though she framed it as a joke.

“Punta ka,” Aubrey said. “Para may kasama akong mang-judge silently.”

“I don’t know anyone there.”

“You know me.”

“Barely.”

“Wow.”

“And I have work.”

“Okay lang,” Aubrey said lightly. “No pressure.”

Maraiah looked at her through the video call.

There it was again. That little withdrawal. That folding away. The request dressed as casual, the need hidden behind a joke, the escape route already prepared.

Maraiah hated it.

Maraiah changed clothes.

The gallery was warm with lights and people trying to sound relaxed while networking. Aubrey moved through the room like she belonged there, smiling at clients, adjusting details, answering questions, touching someone’s arm lightly when she laughed. She was good at it. Too good. The kind of good that made Maraiah proud and unsettled at the same time because she knew how much of Aubrey’s ease was performed.

When Aubrey saw Maraiah near the entrance, her face changed.

Only for a second.

But Maraiah saw it.

Relief. Then happiness. Then control.

“You came,” Aubrey said when she reached her.

Maraiah lifted the small paper bag in her hand. “You forgot to eat.”

Aubrey looked at the bag. “Ano ‘yan?”

“Banana bread.”

“From where?”

“The café near your condo.”

Aubrey’s mouth softened. “You went there?”

“It was on the way.”

It was not on the way.

Aubrey knew it. She took the bag anyway.

“Thank you,” she said, quiet enough that it felt private despite the room.

Maraiah nodded. “Go work. I’ll be here.”

For the next hour, Maraiah stood near a wall with a drink she barely touched, watching Aubrey be brilliant. People leaned toward her when she spoke. Clients nodded. A photographer followed her instructions without argument. She was sharp and charming and completely in control.

Then someone asked, “So is this your girlfriend?”

It was said lightly by a woman in a satin dress holding a glass of wine, one of the client’s PR people, probably. She had seen Aubrey return to Maraiah between tasks, seen the banana bread, seen Aubrey’s hand land briefly against the small of Maraiah’s back when passing behind her.

Maraiah’s body went still.

Aubrey laughed.

Not cruelly. Not mockingly. Just too fast.

“Uy, hindi,” Aubrey said, smiling like the question was funny. “Friend ko ‘to. Moral support.”

Friend.

Maraiah looked at her drink.

It was not a lie.

That was what made it worse.

Aubrey glanced at her quickly, too quickly for anyone else to notice. Maraiah gave a small smile because the room had people in it and she had been trained by life to bleed privately if she could manage it.

The event ended at ten-thirty.

Aubrey was glowing from success and exhaustion, still carrying the banana bread bag though she had eaten half of it during a five-minute break. She looped her arm around Maraiah’s as they stepped outside, the night air humid and smelling faintly of rain.

“Grabe,” Aubrey said, leaning into her for half a second. “I survived.”

“You did.”

“Did I look stressed?”

“No.”

“Liar. I probably looked like I was one inconvenience away from murder.”

“Only to me.”

Aubrey smiled. “Good. At least consistent.”

They walked toward the parking area. Maraiah had booked a car because she did not trust Aubrey to go home alone that tired. Aubrey did not protest. She just leaned against Maraiah while waiting, shoulder warm against hers.

When the car arrived, Aubrey slid in first, then immediately rested her head against Maraiah’s shoulder.

“Sleepy?” Maraiah asked.

“Hindi.”

“Liar.”

“Can you wake me when we’re near?”

“No.”

“Please.”

Maraiah looked down at her.

Aubrey’s eyes were already closed.

Maraiah’s heart hurt so cleanly she almost could not speak.

“Fine,” she whispered.

The car moved through the city. Aubrey’s breathing evened out. Maraiah sat very still, looking out the window while the word friend replayed in her head until it lost meaning and became only a sound attached to an ache.

At Aubrey’s condo, Maraiah woke her gently.

“Brey,” she said, thumb brushing the back of Aubrey’s hand. “We’re here.”

Aubrey made a small sound and sat up, blinking. “Come up?”

Maraiah closed her eyes.

Of course.

Of course Aubrey would ask like nothing had happened. Of course Maraiah’s entire body would want to say yes. Of course this was how she would learn whether she had any boundaries at all.

“No,” Maraiah said.

Aubrey turned to her, more awake now. “No?”

“I’m tired.”

“Okay.” Aubrey pulled back immediately. “Sorry.”

Maraiah hated the apology because it made her want to fix it. She almost reached for Aubrey’s hand. Almost.

Instead, she said, “I need to go home.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

The driver waited silently.

Aubrey opened the door, stepped out, then leaned down slightly. “Text me when you get home?”

The request was so familiar it almost broke her.

Maraiah nodded.

Aubrey closed the door.

Maraiah did not text when she got home.

She sat on her bed still wearing her event clothes, phone in her hand, watching Aubrey’s name at the top of their conversation. There were no new messages for twenty minutes. Then thirty. Then forty-five.

Finally:

Aubrey: home ka na?

Maraiah typed yes.

Deleted it.

Typed sorry.

Deleted it.

Typed I can’t do this.

Deleted it.

Her chest felt too small.

At 12:18, Aubrey called.

Maraiah let it ring.

At 12:19, she called again.

Maraiah answered because the part of her that loved Aubrey was stronger than the part that wanted to survive with dignity.

“Hey,” Aubrey said. “Nakauwi ka na?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t text.”

“I know.”

A pause.

“Are you mad?” Aubrey asked.

Maraiah laughed once, without humor. “I don’t know.”

“Okay.”

That okay again. Folded. Small. Already leaving.

Maraiah pressed her fingers to her eyes. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Shut down before I even say anything.”

Aubrey was quiet.

Maraiah took a breath. “I’m hurt.”

Aubrey did not answer immediately. When she did, her voice had gone careful. “Because of what happened earlier?”

“Yes.”

“The girlfriend thing?”

Maraiah closed her eyes. Hearing Aubrey say it made it worse. “Yeah.”

“I didn’t know what to say.”

“I know.”

“It was work.”

“I know.”

“And I didn’t want to make it weird in front of people.”

“I know, Aubrey.”

“Then why are you mad?”

“Because I knew all of that and it still hurt,” Maraiah said, voice cracking despite her best effort. “Because you ask me to come, and I come. You ask me to stay on call, and I stay. You ask me to wake you when we’re near, and I do. You ask me to take care of you in all these small ways, and I do because I want to. But the moment someone asks what I am to you, I’m just your friend.”

The silence was immediate.

Maraiah wiped her cheek with the heel of her palm, angry that she had started crying. “And I’m not saying you owe me a label because I do things for you. I’m not. I know care doesn’t work like that. Pero Aubrey, hindi ko na alam saan ako lulugar.”

“Maraiah…”

“No, please let me finish. Kasi if I don’t say this now, I’ll take it back to make you comfortable, and I don’t want to do that anymore.” Maraiah inhaled shakily. “I like you. I think you know that. I think I’ve been obvious no matter how hard I try not to be. And I know you care about me too, pero I don’t know if you care enough to choose me in a way na hindi lang pag convenient, hindi lang pag tahimik yung gabi, hindi lang pag may kailangan ka.”

Aubrey’s breath sounded uneven through the phone.

“I don’t want to pressure you,” Maraiah said, softer now. “But I also can’t keep pretending I don’t need anything from you.”

“What do you need?” Aubrey asked.

It should have been a good question.

It scared Maraiah anyway.

“Clarity,” she said. “Not forever. Not promises you’re not ready to make. But honesty. Ano ba ‘to for you?”

Aubrey said nothing.

Maraiah waited.

Each second rearranged something inside her.

Finally, Aubrey whispered, “I don’t know.”

Maraiah nodded, though Aubrey could not see it.

It felt like falling through a floor she had been pretending was stable.

“Okay,” Maraiah said.

“Maraiah.”

“No, it’s okay. That’s an answer.”

“It’s not.”

“It is.”

“I care about you.”

“I know.”

“I do.”

“I know, Aubrey.”

“I just…” Aubrey stopped. Maraiah could almost see her, one hand in her hair, pacing or sitting too still, trying to find a door in a room she had helped build. “I don’t know how to do this.”

“Do what?”

“This. Us. The whole thing where someone starts to matter too much and then suddenly everything I do can hurt them.” Her voice sharpened with panic. “I don’t like feeling like I’m responsible for someone’s emotions.”

Maraiah flinched.

Aubrey realized it immediately. “Shit. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“But you said it.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Maraiah looked at the dark window across her room. Her reflection stared back, tired and too familiar.

“I’m not asking you to be responsible for my emotions,” Maraiah said. “I’m asking you not to act like I’m unreasonable for having them.”

Aubrey was crying now. Maraiah could hear it in the way she breathed, even if Aubrey would rather be hit by a bus than admit it.

“I’m scared,” Aubrey said.

Maraiah’s face crumpled.

There it was.

The thing under all of it.

The thing Maraiah always felt but could not touch because Aubrey kept putting jokes, requests, errands, and sarcasm over it.

“I know,” Maraiah whispered.

“I don’t want you to leave.”

“Then don’t keep putting me where I have to.”

Aubrey made a sound. Small. Hurt.

Maraiah closed her eyes.

“I need space tonight,” she said, because if she heard one more wounded sound from Aubrey, she would fold. “Please.”

Aubrey went quiet for so long that Maraiah thought the call had dropped.

Then, “Okay.”

“Good night, Brey.”

“Maraiah.”

Maraiah held the phone tighter.

Aubrey’s voice broke. “Can you at least text me when you wake up?”

Maraiah almost laughed. Almost cried harder.

Another request.

Even now.

Especially now.

“No,” Maraiah said gently.

Aubrey inhaled.

“I can’t take care of you through this part,” Maraiah said. “Not tonight.”

Aubrey whispered, “Okay.”

This time, Maraiah ended the call first.

She cried after.

Not prettily. Not in a cinematic way. She cried sitting on the edge of her bed with her hands covering her face, shoulders shaking, the tightness in her chest finally tearing open. She cried because she missed Aubrey already. Because she had done the right thing and it felt like cutting off her own hand. Because some part of her still wanted to text, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, ask me again, I’ll say yes this time.

But she did not.

She slept badly.

In the morning, Aubrey had not messaged.

Maraiah told herself that was good.

Then she checked again ten minutes later.

There was still nothing.

For three days, there was nothing.

Maraiah functioned in the technical sense. She answered emails. She joined calls. She pushed a fix to a client site and bought rice because she had run out. She did laundry on Saturday and avoided the chair Aubrey usually claimed with her tote bag. She turned off notifications for Aubrey’s chat, then turned them back on after eleven minutes because the silence was worse when she had chosen it.

Every time her phone buzzed, her body reacted before her mind could stop it.

Every time it was not Aubrey, humiliation flushed through her.

On the fourth day, Maraiah found the pen.

It was under her couch, half-hidden by dust and one missing hair tie. A black gel pen with a tiny moon sticker wrapped around the cap. Aubrey had stolen it, replaced it, then somehow brought it back during one of their Sundays without either of them noticing.

Maraiah sat on the floor, pen in hand, and cried again.

At 9:42 PM, her phone lit up.

Aubrey: can i ask something?

Maraiah stared at the message until her eyes hurt.

The anxious part of her rose so fast it almost knocked the air out of her. Finally. Finally. Finally.

Then the tired part followed.

She typed:

Maraiah: depende.

Aubrey replied after one minute.

Aubrey: fair.

Then:

Aubrey: can we talk tomorrow? in person sana. but if no, okay lang.

Maraiah pressed the phone against her chest.

She hated how much hope still felt like hunger.

Maraiah: where?

Aubrey: laundromat?

Maraiah laughed, then wiped her face.

Of course.

Of course Aubrey would choose the place where she had first asked for something.

Maraiah: okay.

Aubrey: thank you.

Maraiah set the phone down.

Then it buzzed again.

Aubrey: and maraiah?

Maraiah stared.

Maraiah: yeah?

Aubrey: i’m not asking you to make me okay tomorrow. i just want to say things properly.

Maraiah’s throat tightened.

She typed:

Maraiah: okay.

Then she added, because she was still herself:

Maraiah: eat dinner.

Aubrey replied almost instantly.

Aubrey: ikaw din.

Maraiah smiled through the ache.

The laundromat was nearly empty the next afternoon.

It was a weekday, so only two machines were running. The attendant had music playing softly behind the counter, an old love song turned low enough to become part of the air. Outside, the street was damp from earlier rain, and the glass door still had water marks near the bottom.

Maraiah arrived first because arriving early made her feel like she had control over things that were uncontrollable. She brought no laundry. Neither did Aubrey, when she arrived nine minutes later with coffee in both hands and a face that looked like she had not slept properly.

She stopped when she saw Maraiah.

For one second, neither of them moved.

Then Aubrey lifted the drinks. “I brought coffee.”

Maraiah looked at the cups. “Request ba ‘to na patawarin kita?”

Aubrey’s mouth twitched, but her eyes stayed careful. “No. Offering.”

Maraiah nodded toward the chair beside her. “Okay.”

Aubrey sat. Not too close this time. She placed one cup near Maraiah.

“Regular milk,” Aubrey said. “No sugar. Kasi you’re boring.”

Maraiah looked at her.

Aubrey swallowed. “Sorry. Habit.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. I mean. The joke is okay, but I’m trying not to hide behind it every five seconds.” Aubrey rubbed her palms over her jeans. “So. Sorry.”

Maraiah wrapped both hands around the cup. It was warm.

“Thank you,” she said.

Aubrey nodded.

For a while, they listened to the machines spin.

Then Aubrey took a breath.

“I’ve been thinking,” she said.

“Scary.”

Aubrey looked at her.

Maraiah pressed her lips together. “Sorry. Habit.”

Aubrey’s smile was small but real. “Deserve.”

Then she looked down at her coffee.

“I don’t like needing people,” Aubrey said. “I know that sounds obvious, considering everything. Pero I think I didn’t realize how much I was doing it with you.”

Maraiah stayed quiet.

“I ask for small things because small things feel safe. Like, if I ask for charger or coffee or help with a sink, and you say no, okay lang. It’s just a thing. I can joke about it. I can pretend I wasn’t asking for care. But if I ask you to come because I’m scared, or lonely, or sick, and you say no…” Aubrey’s fingers tightened around her cup. “I don’t know. Parang it confirms something.”

“What?”

“That I shouldn’t have asked.”

Maraiah’s anger softened into something sadder.

Aubrey looked at her then. “That’s not your fault. I know that. I made you prove things without telling you there was a test. Ang unfair non.”

Maraiah swallowed.

“And the event,” Aubrey continued, voice shaking slightly. “I called you my friend because I panicked. Not because I think you’re just my friend. Hindi yun excuse. You were standing there after showing up for me, after bringing food, after everything, tapos I made you feel small because I got scared of being seen wanting something.”

Maraiah blinked fast.

Aubrey wiped one thumb under her eye quickly, annoyed at herself. “I’m not good at this. Like, obvious naman. Pero I don’t want to keep being bad at it if ikaw yung masasaktan.”

Maraiah looked at her coffee because looking at Aubrey hurt too much.

“What do you want?” Maraiah asked.

Aubrey laughed quietly, nervous. “Diyan ako nahirapan.”

Maraiah’s chest tightened.

Then Aubrey said, “You.”

Maraiah stopped breathing.

Aubrey looked terrified but did not look away. “I want you. I don’t know all the terms yet. I don’t know how to not panic when things feel serious. I don’t know how to be normal when someone matters this much. Pero alam ko na hindi ka lang convenient. Hindi ka lang someone I call when I need things. You’re…” She stopped, searching for words, then let out a breath. “You’re the person I look for before I even know what I need.”

Maraiah’s eyes filled.

“Aubrey.”

“I know that’s scary for you too,” Aubrey said quickly. “Because I know I’ve been inconsistent. I know I pull you close, then act like nothing happened when it gets too real. And I can’t promise na overnight mawawala yun. But I can promise I’ll stop making you carry the confusion alone.”

Maraiah wiped her cheek.

Aubrey’s hand twitched like she wanted to reach for her, but she did not. Maybe that was the first thing she did right. She waited.

“I need more than sweet,” Maraiah said.

Aubrey nodded immediately. “I know.”

“I need you to tell me when you’re overwhelmed instead of disappearing.”

“I’ll try.”

“No. Not try like bahala na. Try like actually try.”

Aubrey let out a shaky laugh. “Okay. Actually try.”

“And I need you not to punish me for asking questions.”

Aubrey’s face crumpled a little. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

“I’m really sorry.”

Maraiah nodded.

Aubrey looked at her hands. “Can I ask one thing?”

Despite everything, Maraiah almost smiled. “Talaga ba?”

“Last na.”

“You always say that.”

“This one is important.”

Maraiah waited.

Aubrey looked up. “Can I hold your hand?”

Maraiah’s heart cracked open in the gentlest way.

She should have made her wait longer. Maybe. She should have protected her pride, if not her heart. She should have said no because a hand did not fix everything.

But love was not a courtroom where every tenderness had to submit evidence before being allowed.

Maraiah placed her hand between them.

Aubrey took it carefully, like something borrowed.

For a long moment, they just sat there in the laundromat where the machines kept turning and turning, washing ordinary clothes clean.

Aubrey’s thumb moved once over Maraiah’s knuckles.

“I missed you,” Aubrey said.

Maraiah closed her eyes.

There was the request under it, unspoken.

Say it back.

Tell me I did not ruin this.

Make me okay.

Maraiah opened her eyes and squeezed Aubrey’s hand.

“I missed you too,” she said, because it was true, not because Aubrey needed it.

Aubrey’s shoulders dropped.

“But I was also mad,” Maraiah added.

Aubrey nodded. “Okay.”

“And hurt.”

“Okay.”

“And scared.”

Aubrey’s eyes shone. “Okay.”

“Don’t just say okay.”

Aubrey let out a broken little laugh and lifted Maraiah’s hand, pressing her lips to the back of it once. Quick. Soft. Reverent in a way Maraiah felt all the way down to her bones.

“I’ll make space for all of it,” Aubrey said. “Kahit uncomfortable. Kahit gusto kong tumakas. I’ll stay.”

Maraiah looked at her.

“Hindi perfect,” Aubrey said. “Pero stay.”

Maraiah believed her.

Not completely. Not blindly. But enough to begin again.

Aubrey’s version of staying was awkward at first.

She reported overwhelm like someone filing incident reports.

Aubrey: update. gusto ko tumakbo emotionally.

Maraiah: noted. reason?

Aubrey: you asked if i’m free saturday and my brain heard wedding bells and taxes.

Maraiah: i asked if you wanted ramen.

Aubrey: exactly. terrifying.

Maraiah laughed so hard she almost dropped her phone.

They learned each other slowly, which was funny because they had already learned so much by accident. They knew food orders and laundry habits, work moods and sleep schedules, the exact tone Aubrey used when pretending she did not want comfort, the exact tone Maraiah used when pretending she was not anxious.

But being honest was different.

Being honest meant Maraiah had to say, “I need reassurance,” without dressing it up as a joke.

The first time she did, she looked like she wanted to apologize after.

Aubrey noticed.

They were at Aubrey’s condo, sitting on the floor with takeout between them. Aubrey had been quiet for most of dinner because a client had moved a deadline without warning, and Maraiah had spent twenty minutes telling herself not to take it personally. She succeeded for nineteen.

Then Aubrey checked her phone again, sighed, and put it face down.

Maraiah’s stomach twisted.

“Are you mad at me?” she asked.

Aubrey looked up. “Ha? No.”

“Okay.”

Aubrey paused. Then she set her chopsticks down. “Wait. Come here.”

Maraiah frowned. “Why?”

“Request.”

“You request too much.”

“I know. Come here.”

Maraiah moved closer reluctantly. Aubrey opened her arms. Maraiah stared at her.

“What is this?”

“Hug.”

“You hate being hugged when you’re stressed.”

“Sometimes. Not right now.”

Maraiah hesitated.

Aubrey’s face softened. “I’m not mad at you. I’m annoyed sa client ko. I got quiet because I was trying not to reply something rude. I should’ve said that.”

Maraiah’s throat tightened. “Okay.”

“Come here na. Nangangalay na arms ko.”

Maraiah laughed weakly and let Aubrey pull her close.

Aubrey hugged differently when she was trying. Still a little stiff at first, like her body had not been given enough instructions. Then she would exhale and soften all at once, chin resting on Maraiah’s shoulder, hands finding the back of her shirt.

“I like you,” Aubrey said near her ear. “Kahit anxious ka.”

Maraiah pinched her side.

“Ay! Compliment ‘yon.”

“Pangit.”

Aubrey laughed and held her tighter. “I like you. I’m not mad. You’re safe here.”

Maraiah went still.

Aubrey must have felt it because she repeated, quieter, “You’re safe here.”

Maraiah closed her eyes.

Aubrey kissed her temple.

That was how they built it. Not with one perfect conversation, but with many imperfect repairs.

Aubrey still forgot to reply sometimes. Maraiah still spiraled sometimes. Aubrey still made too many requests because wanting had become easier than naming. Maraiah still did things while complaining because complaining was her last defense against being known too well.

But now, when Aubrey asked, Maraiah could ask back.

“Can you come over?” Aubrey said one Thursday evening.

Maraiah leaned back in her desk chair. “Why?”

“Because I made pasta.”

“That’s suspicious.”

“It’s edible.”

“Suspicious.”

“And I want you here.”

Maraiah went quiet.

Aubrey cleared her throat. “That was the real reason, by the way. Pasta is just bonus.”

Maraiah smiled slowly. “Look at you. Communicating.”

“Kadiri. Don’t praise me.”

“Proud ako.”

“Ew.”

“You love it.”

“Medyo.”

Maraiah came over.

The pasta was overcooked, but Aubrey had set the table with two plates and actual napkins. There was a candle in the middle, unlit because Aubrey said lighting it felt “too date-date,” but it was there. Proof of an attempt. Proof that Aubrey had stood in a store aisle and chosen something soft without knowing whether she could survive being perceived as romantic.

Maraiah noticed.

She always noticed.

“Nice candle,” she said.

Aubrey glared. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to.”

“I was going to say it’s cute.”

“Exactly. Shut up.”

Maraiah wrapped her arms around Aubrey from behind while Aubrey stirred sauce at the stove.

Aubrey froze for one second.

Then relaxed.

“Clingy,” she said, but her voice had no bite.

Maraiah pressed her face between Aubrey’s shoulder blades. “Careful.”

Aubrey covered Maraiah’s hands with her own. “Sweet pala. I meant sweet.”

“Better.”

Aubrey turned off the stove and leaned back into her. “Can I ask something?”

Maraiah smiled against her shirt. “Here we go.”

“Can you sleep here tonight?”

Maraiah’s arms tightened.

Aubrey rushed on. “Not because sink. Not because quiet. Not because I’m sick. Gusto lang kita kasama. But if may work ka or ayaw mo, okay lang. Hindi ako magtatampo. I’ll be normal.”

“You are never normal.”

“True. Pero I’ll be decent.”

Maraiah lifted her head. “I can stay.”

Aubrey turned in her arms, expression suddenly too open. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

Aubrey nodded, then smiled. “Okay.”

That night, they brushed their teeth at Aubrey’s small sink, bumping elbows while Aubrey complained that Maraiah took too long and Maraiah complained that Aubrey left toothpaste on the counter like a child. Aubrey lent her an oversized shirt and shorts that barely fit right. Maraiah folded her clothes neatly on the chair. Aubrey looked at the pile and said, “Of course ganyan ka maglagay ng damit,” like she was offended by competence.

In bed, Aubrey lay on her side facing Maraiah, the room lit only by the weak yellow lamp near the wall.

For a while, they did not touch.

Then Aubrey whispered, “Maraiah?”

“Hmm?”

“Can you come closer?”

Maraiah rolled her eyes even though her heart was already moving. “Ikaw kaya lumapit.”

“Request ko nga.”

“You’re so spoiled.”

“By you.”

Maraiah looked at her.

Aubrey looked back, caught and stubborn and shy all at once.

Maraiah moved closer.

Aubrey tucked herself against her like she had been waiting for permission from her own body. Her head found Maraiah’s shoulder. Her hand settled carefully on Maraiah’s waist, not gripping, not trapping, just there.

Maraiah stared at the ceiling, eyes burning.

“You okay?” Aubrey whispered.

“Yes.”

“Sure?”

Maraiah nodded.

Aubrey lifted her head slightly. “Hey.”

Maraiah looked at her.

Aubrey’s voice softened. “You can ask too, you know.”

Maraiah’s chest hurt.

“For things,” Aubrey said. “Not just answers. Not just clarity. Things.”

“I know.”

“No, you know intellectually. You don’t do it.”

Maraiah huffed. “Grabe, therapy?”

“Observation.”

Maraiah smiled despite herself.

Aubrey waited.

Maraiah looked at the collar of Aubrey’s shirt. Her fingers found the hem and held it lightly.

“Can you…” She stopped, embarrassed by the size of her own need. It was not even big. That was the worst part.

Aubrey’s thumb brushed her waist. “What?”

Maraiah swallowed. “Can you tell me this is not too much?”

Aubrey’s face changed.

“Oh, baby,” she whispered.

Maraiah’s eyes filled immediately. “Don’t.”

“Sorry. But also, baby.”

Maraiah covered her face with one hand. “Nakakainis ka.”

Aubrey gently pulled her hand away. “This is not too much. You’re not too much.”

Maraiah shook her head slightly.

“You’re not,” Aubrey said again. “I’m the one who gets overwhelmed, but that doesn’t mean you are overwhelming. Gets mo ba? My fear is mine. Hindi siya proof na sobra ka.”

Maraiah cried then, silently, which made Aubrey panic for half a second before visibly forcing herself to stay.

“Okay,” Aubrey whispered, pulling her closer. “Okay. Cry lang. Hindi ako aalis.”

Maraiah cried harder.

Aubrey held her like someone learning the shape of a promise in real time. Not perfect. A little scared. But there.

The first time Aubrey introduced Maraiah as her girlfriend, she did it too loudly.

It was at a small dinner with Aubrey’s friends, one month after the laundromat conversation. Maraiah had been nervous all day and pretending not to be, which worked on exactly no one.

“You’ve changed outfits four times,” Aubrey said from Maraiah’s bed, lying on her stomach while Maraiah stood in front of the mirror.

“Three.”

“Four. The white top counted.”

“It didn’t fit the vibe.”

“What vibe?”

“Meeting your friends vibe.”

Aubrey propped her chin on her hand. “The vibe is dinner, not embassy interview.”

Maraiah turned. “I want them to like me.”

“They will.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

“What if they don’t?”

Aubrey looked at her for a second, then sat up. “Then I’ll be mad at them.”

Maraiah blinked.

Aubrey said it so plainly. No drama. No teasing. Just fact.

“You would?”

“Oo naman. Girlfriend kita.”

Maraiah went still.

Aubrey froze too, like the word had escaped without clearance.

Then she tried to recover by looking at Maraiah’s closet. “Wear the blue one.”

Maraiah stared at her. “Aubrey.”

“What? It looks good on you.”

“You said girlfriend.”

Aubrey stood, walked over, and took the blue top from the hanger. Her ears were red again, the way they had been that first day in the laundromat.

“I did,” she said.

Maraiah’s voice came out small. “You meant it?”

Aubrey looked at her then, all the jokes gone soft around the edges. “Yes.”

Maraiah pressed her lips together.

Aubrey stepped closer. “Can I call you that?”

Maraiah laughed wetly. “Ngayon mo tatanungin?”

“Consent pa rin.”

“You already said it.”

“Practice run.”

Maraiah wiped under her eye. “Yes.”

Aubrey smiled, relieved and shy and so beautiful Maraiah forgot to pretend she was not staring.

“Okay,” Aubrey said. “Girlfriend.”

Maraiah covered her face.

Aubrey laughed and kissed her fingers.

At dinner, Aubrey lasted eighteen minutes before using it.

They were at a Korean restaurant with three of Aubrey’s friends from college, all loud and funny and terrifyingly observant. Maraiah had just finished explaining what she did for work when one of them, Sam, pointed her chopsticks between Aubrey and Maraiah.

“So paano ba kayo nag-meet? Aubrey refuses to explain properly. Suspicious.”

Aubrey, who had been grilling meat with unnecessary concentration, said, “Laundromat.”

Sam blinked. “That’s it?”

“She gave me hotspot.”

Another friend, Dani, gasped. “Hotspot? In this economy?”

“Exactly,” Aubrey said. “Kaya girlfriend ko na ngayon.”

Maraiah nearly choked on her water.

Aubrey patted her back immediately, alarmed. “Okay ka lang?”

Sam screamed.

Dani slapped the table.

The third friend, Lia, who had been quiet until then, leaned back and grinned. “Finally. Akala namin imaginary ka.”

Maraiah coughed, face burning. “Sorry.”

Aubrey glared at her friends. “See? You scared her.”

“You announced it like a barangay bulletin,” Sam said.

Aubrey looked at Maraiah, suddenly uncertain. “Too much?”

There was genuine concern underneath the joke.

Maraiah smiled at her.

“No,” she said. “Okay lang.”

Aubrey’s shoulders relaxed.

Then she leaned closer and whispered, “Proud lang.”

Maraiah wanted to melt into the table.

Of course it was not linear after that.

Real life did not care that they had finally found a name for each other.

Maraiah still had bills. Aubrey still had clients who texted at midnight and a mother in Bicol who sometimes called asking for money in a voice that made Aubrey feel twelve years old again. Maraiah’s anxiety did not disappear because someone called her girlfriend. Aubrey’s instinct to retreat did not vanish because she had said the word out loud.

One Friday, Aubrey disappeared for six hours after getting bad news about a client terminating a contract.

Maraiah found out from Sam, who messaged, “Is Brey with you? She sounded off earlier.”

Maraiah called twice.

No answer.

She paced her apartment, anger and fear braiding together so tightly she could barely think. Every old wound woke up with a mouth. See? Too much. See? The label did not mean safety. See? She can still leave without telling you.

At 8:03 PM, Aubrey messaged.

Aubrey: sorry. i’m alive. phone died. at baywalk. needed air.

Maraiah stared at the message, hands shaking.

Maraiah: i was worried.

Aubrey replied immediately.

Aubrey: i know. sorry.

Then:

Aubrey: i messed up.

Maraiah wanted to say yes. She also wanted to say come home. She also wanted to say never do that again. She also wanted to be gentle because she knew Aubrey was already punishing herself.

She typed:

Maraiah: do you want me to come?

Aubrey replied:

Aubrey: yes.

Then, one minute later:

Aubrey: but galit ka ba?

Maraiah breathed in.

Maraiah: yes.

Aubrey did not reply for three minutes.

Then:

Aubrey: still come?

There it was.

The real question.

Can you be mad and stay?

Maraiah grabbed her keys.

Maraiah: yes.

She found Aubrey sitting on a low wall near the water, hair loose from its tie, knees drawn up, phone charging from a small power bank that was definitely not hers because Aubrey still forgot to charge the one Maraiah had given her.

The sky was dark. The bay smelled like salt, rain, and the city. Aubrey looked up when Maraiah approached, face guarded and miserable.

Maraiah stopped in front of her.

For a second, neither of them spoke.

Then Maraiah said, “You scared me.”

Aubrey’s eyes filled. “I know.”

“I called.”

“I know.”

“You could’ve borrowed a phone.”

“I know.”

“You could’ve messaged before your phone died.”

“I know.”

Maraiah’s voice broke. “Then why didn’t you?”

Aubrey looked away toward the water. “Because I didn’t want to be seen failing.”

The answer disarmed her.

Aubrey wiped her cheek angrily. “The client dropped the campaign. Big one. The one I was counting on for next month. Tapos tumawag mom ko, may kailangan daw bayaran sa bahay. And I just… I couldn’t go to you and say I’m scared about money because you would help.”

Maraiah sat beside her slowly.

Aubrey laughed once, bitter. “See? Ang labo. Normal people want help. Ako, natatakot.”

“Because help feels like debt?”

Aubrey nodded.

“Brey.”

“I know you won’t make me pay it back.”

“That’s not what I was going to say.”

Aubrey looked at her.

Maraiah tucked her hands between her knees, trying to speak from the part of her that had learned something too. “I was going to say you’re allowed to tell me things without me fixing them.”

Aubrey’s face shifted.

“I want to help because I love you,” Maraiah said, the word slipping out before fear could block it.

Aubrey stopped breathing.

Maraiah froze.

There.

There it was.

Not in a perfect moment. Not under soft lights or after a date. She said it sitting beside polluted water with anger still in her chest and Aubrey’s fear between them.

Maraiah almost took it back.

Then Aubrey whispered, “You love me?”

Maraiah stared at the water. “Unfortunately.”

Aubrey made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

Maraiah looked at her. “That was not the ideal response, I know.”

Aubrey shook her head quickly. “No. No, it’s very you.”

Maraiah’s mouth trembled. “I’m still mad.”

“I know.”

“And I love you.”

Aubrey pressed both hands over her face.

Maraiah waited, heart pounding so hard she felt sick.

When Aubrey lowered her hands, her eyes were red.

“I love you too,” she said, terrified.

Maraiah’s whole body went quiet.

Aubrey laughed through tears, panicking at the softness of her own confession. “I do. I’m sorry. I know I’m supposed to say it nicer, pero my brain is doing fireworks and fire alarm at the same time.”

Maraiah laughed, crying now too. “That’s accurate.”

“I love you,” Aubrey said again, like she needed to hear herself survive it. “And I don’t want to run from you. I still might want to. But I don’t want to.”

Maraiah reached for her hand.

Aubrey took it with both of hers.

“I don’t need you perfect,” Maraiah said.

“I know.”

“I need you reachable.”

Aubrey nodded, crying harder. “Okay.”

“And if you need air, fine. But you text before disappearing.”

“Yes.”

“And you charge your phone.”

“Yes.”

“And you stop using a borrowed power bank like a criminal.”

Aubrey laughed wetly. “It’s Sam’s.”

“I don’t care.”

“I’ll charge mine.”

“You better.”

Aubrey leaned into her shoulder slowly, asking with her body before her words came.

“Can I?”

Maraiah sighed, still crying. “You ask after you’re already doing it.”

“Sorry.”

“Stay.”

Aubrey stayed.

They sat there until the wind got colder and Maraiah’s anger settled into exhaustion. Then Maraiah brought Aubrey home, not because everything was fixed, but because love sometimes meant going home with the problem instead of leaving it by the water to grow teeth.

Later that night, Aubrey stood in Maraiah’s kitchen wearing one of Maraiah’s shirts, watching her make tea.

“I have a request,” Aubrey said.

Maraiah did not turn around. “Of course you do.”

“Can you not say unfortunately next time?”

Maraiah looked over her shoulder. “When?”

“When you say you love me.”

Maraiah’s face softened.

Aubrey looked embarrassed but held her ground. “Kasi I know joke mo yun. Pero request ko lang. No unfortunately.”

Maraiah turned off the stove and walked to her.

Aubrey stood very still as Maraiah cupped her face.

“I love you,” Maraiah said.

Aubrey’s eyes filled again.

Maraiah brushed her thumb along Aubrey’s cheek. “Fortunately.”

Aubrey laughed and cried at the same time, then pulled Maraiah close with both hands like she had finally stopped pretending she did not know where home was.

The months after that became a collection of small recoveries.

Aubrey bought a second mug.

Not a replacement. A second one. She brought Maraiah to the store and spent twenty-three minutes choosing between three designs while Maraiah pretended to be annoyed.

“This one,” Aubrey said, holding up a cream mug with a small painted sun.

“You’re asking me?”

“Yes.”

“For your mug?”

“Our mug.”

Maraiah looked at her.

Aubrey looked away, ears red. “I mean, when you’re at my place.”

Maraiah smiled. “The sun one.”

Aubrey bought it.

At home, she placed it beside the moon mug. Moon and sun. Chipped old favorite and new bright thing. Aubrey stared at them for a little too long.

Maraiah bumped her shoulder gently. “Okay?”

Aubrey nodded. “Yeah.”

“Overwhelmed?”

“Medyo.”

“Wedding bells and taxes?”

“Retirement plan na nga ata.”

Maraiah laughed and kissed her cheek.

Aubrey let her.

Maraiah learned to ask for things too.

At first, they were small.

“Can you call me after your meeting?”

“Can you tell me before you go quiet?”

“Can you hold my hand, kahit saglit?”

Aubrey took each request seriously. Sometimes too seriously, like she was afraid one wrong move would fail a test. Maraiah had to remind her that repair was allowed. Aubrey had to remind Maraiah that asking was not burdening.

They were not instantly healthy. They were just trying.

Trying looked like Aubrey saying, “I’m not ignoring you. I’m overstimulated. Twenty minutes?”

Trying looked like Maraiah saying, “I can give you twenty minutes, but I need you to come back when you say you will.”

Trying looked like Aubrey setting alarms titled reply to girlfriend, don’t be emotionally constipated.

Trying looked like Maraiah laughing so hard at the alarm that she forgot to be anxious.

Trying looked like fights that did not become endings.

One fight happened because Aubrey said yes to too many client revisions and canceled dinner twice in one week. Maraiah tried to be understanding until understanding turned into resentment, which leaked out when Aubrey asked if she could bring her laptop to Maraiah’s place and work there.

“So you want to be with me without actually being with me,” Maraiah said.

Aubrey looked up from her bag. “Ha?”

“Nothing.”

“No, say it.”

Maraiah regretted it immediately. “I’m just tired.”

Aubrey set the bag down. “Of me?”

“No.”

“Of this?”

“No, Aubrey, wag ganyan.”

“Then what?”

Maraiah pressed her fingers to her forehead. “I miss you.”

Aubrey’s face changed.

“You’re here but not here,” Maraiah said. “And I know work is work. I’m not asking you to drop everything. Pero twice na tayo nag-cancel. Then now you’re asking if you can work beside me, and I know I should be grateful kasi at least nandito ka, pero I don’t want to be grateful for scraps.”

Aubrey flinched.

Maraiah’s anger disappeared. “Sorry.”

“No.” Aubrey shook her head. “No, don’t take it back. You’re right.”

“I’m not trying to be unfair.”

“I know.” Aubrey looked at her laptop bag, then at Maraiah. “Can we have dinner first? Phone away. Laptop away. Then I work after, but I’ll sit at the table, not beside you pretending it counts as time.”

Maraiah blinked.

Aubrey looked nervous. “Is that okay?”

Maraiah nodded slowly. “Yes.”

“And Saturday,” Aubrey added. “No work. I’ll tell the client I’m unavailable.”

“You can do that?”

Aubrey grimaced. “I should have done it earlier.”

Maraiah’s throat tightened. “Thank you.”

Aubrey stepped closer. “I don’t want you to feel like scraps.”

“I know.”

“I love you.”

Maraiah closed her eyes for half a second.

It still worked every time.

“I love you too,” she said.

“Can I hug you?”

“You’re learning.”

“Shut up.”

“Come here.”

Aubrey came.

By the time their first year approached, they had become the kind of couple that people thought had always been a couple.

Sam said it once during lunch, watching Aubrey take the cucumber from Maraiah’s plate without asking and replace it with a piece of chicken from her own.

“Grabe kayo,” Sam said. “Parang matagal na kayong kasal.”

Aubrey choked. “Excuse me?”

Maraiah hid a smile behind her drink.

Sam pointed at them. “See? Avoidant freaked out. Anxious one secretly kinilig.”

“I did not,” Maraiah said.

“You did,” Aubrey said, recovering enough to be annoying.

Maraiah turned to her. “Ikaw nga yung muntik mamatay sa word na kasal.”

“Because Sam is cursed.”

“Sure.”

Aubrey leaned closer and whispered, “Kinilig ka?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

“You panicked.”

“A little.”

Maraiah smiled. “Proud of you for surviving.”

Aubrey rolled her eyes but pressed her knee against Maraiah’s under the table.

That night, Aubrey asked Maraiah to come over.

“Why?” Maraiah asked, though she was already putting on shoes.

“May ipapakita ako.”

“Is it a clogged sink?”

“No.”

“A dying plant?”

“No.”

“Client email?”

“Hindi nga. Punta ka na.”

“Bossy.”

“Please.”

Maraiah smiled. “Fine.”

When Maraiah arrived, Aubrey’s condo was suspiciously clean.

Not normal clean. Event clean. The couch pillows had been arranged. The table had no receipts. The dying plant was gone, which meant Aubrey had either finally thrown it away or hidden the body.

Aubrey opened the door wearing jeans and a white shirt, hair down, face too calm.

Maraiah narrowed her eyes. “What did you do?”

Aubrey stepped aside. “Pasok muna.”

“Aubrey.”

“Request.”

“That word has too much power in this relationship.”

“I know. I abuse it.”

Maraiah entered.

On the low table was a notebook.

The sight of it made her stop.

It was one of Aubrey’s notebooks from the shelf, dark green, with a sticker on the corner that said things I will not overthink. Maraiah had seen it before but never opened it. Aubrey was private about notebooks. Not secretive in a suspicious way. Just careful. Her notebooks were where she put words she did not yet know how to say without armor.

Aubrey stood beside her, rubbing her thumb against the side of her finger.

“So,” Aubrey said. “I made something.”

Maraiah looked at her.

Aubrey gestured to the table. “You can open it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Maraiah sat slowly and picked up the notebook.

The first page had a title written in Aubrey’s neat, slightly slanted handwriting.

Things I Asked For

Maraiah looked up.

Aubrey’s face was red. “Read.”

Maraiah turned the page.

The entries started from the beginning.

Power bank. Hotspot. Shirt-folding lesson. Towel smell advice. Phone screen repair shop. Outfit check. Sink rescue. Ten minutes because the night was quiet. Soup even after I said don’t come. Hair touch. Event support. Wake me when we’re near. Hand at the laundromat. Come closer. Stay.

Maraiah’s vision blurred.

There were notes beside some of them.

Power bank: I thought she would say no. She didn’t.

Hotspot: kapal ng mukha ko, honestly.

Sink: not about the sink.

Ten minutes: she stayed forty-three.

Soup: she listened to my no, but still cared. I was unfair.

Event support: I hurt her. I’m still sorry.

Hand at laundromat: first honest request.

Come closer: I wanted to be held and did not die from asking.

Stay: she did.

Maraiah covered her mouth.

Aubrey sat beside her, not too close, giving her room to read.

The list went on.

Tell me I’m not failing. Be mad and still come. No “unfortunately.” Choose the sun mug. Dinner first, work later. Don’t let me disappear. Tell me when you’re anxious. Ask me for things too. Let me love you badly while I learn to do it better.

Maraiah’s tears fell onto her fingers.

At the bottom of the last written page, Aubrey had added:

I thought asking made me weak. Then she kept saying no and doing it anyway, and I realized maybe love is not someone giving you everything. Maybe it’s someone grumbling while making space for the real thing under the request.

Maraiah laughed through tears.

Aubrey smiled nervously. “That line is ugly.”

“It’s not.”

“It’s a little ugly.”

“It’s very you.”

“Rude.”

Maraiah turned the page.

The next page had only one line.

Request: can I keep choosing you, even when I’m scared?

Maraiah looked at Aubrey.

Aubrey’s eyes were wet, but she did not hide.

“I’m not proposing,” Aubrey said quickly, then panicked harder. “Not that I wouldn’t. I mean, not now. Not because I don’t want to, but because I know you’d combust and I’d pass out and Sam would somehow know psychically. This is not that.”

Maraiah laughed, crying harder. “Okay.”

“It’s just…” Aubrey took a breath. “It’s been a year since the laundromat. Almost. And I wanted to tell you that I know I ask a lot.”

“You do.”

“I know.” Aubrey smiled. “But I’m learning to ask better. And I wanted to ask this one properly. Not as a joke. Not as an emergency. Not because the sink is broken or the night is quiet.”

Maraiah held the notebook to her chest.

Aubrey’s voice softened. “Can I keep choosing you?”

Maraiah looked at her, this woman who used to fold herself away at the first sign of need, now sitting beside her with all her fear visible and her hands open.

Maraiah thought of the laundromat rain. The power bank. The gummies. The sink. The soup. The event. The word friend like a bruise. The hand Aubrey asked to hold. The night by the bay. The first I love you, terrified and true. The moon mug and the sun mug side by side.

She thought of all the times Aubrey had asked for care without knowing how to name it.

She thought of all the times Maraiah had given care without admitting she needed some too.

Then she placed the notebook down carefully and held Aubrey’s face in both hands.

“No,” Maraiah said.

Aubrey froze.

Maraiah smiled through her tears.

“I’m kidding.”

Aubrey’s face collapsed. “Maraiah!”

Maraiah laughed, and Aubrey grabbed her wrist, horrified and offended and crying at the same time.

“You’re evil,” Aubrey said. “Sobrang sama ng ugali mo. I was being vulnerable.”

“I know, sorry, sorry.” Maraiah kissed her cheek. “Yes.”

Aubrey glared at her, still crying. “You paused too long.”

“Yes, you can keep choosing me.”

Aubrey sniffed. “Say it nicer.”

Maraiah kissed her other cheek. “Yes, love. You can keep choosing me.”

Aubrey’s anger dissolved immediately, which was unfair and adorable.

“And can I ask something?” Maraiah said.

Aubrey blinked. “You?”

“Yes, me.”

Aubrey straightened like she had been waiting for this. “Okay. Ask.”

Maraiah brushed Aubrey’s hair behind her ear. “Can you let me choose you too? Even when you’re scared, even when you feel hard to love, even when you think asking means you owe me something?”

Aubrey’s mouth trembled.

Maraiah continued, softer. “Because you don’t have to be easy all the time. You just have to stay reachable.”

Aubrey nodded, tears spilling again. “Okay.”

“And charge your phone.”

Aubrey laughed into her hands. “Okay.”

“And stop pretending eggs are snacks.”

“No promises.”

“Aubrey.”

“Fine. Limited promises.”

Maraiah pulled her close.

Aubrey came willingly, arms wrapping around her with none of the old hesitation. Or maybe the hesitation was still there, but love had grown around it, teaching it where to rest.

They sat on the floor beside the low table, the notebook open to the last request, the city moving outside the windows. Aubrey’s face was tucked against Maraiah’s neck, warm and damp with tears. Maraiah held her, one hand in her hair, the other pressed between her shoulder blades.

After a while, Aubrey mumbled, “Can we order food?”

Maraiah laughed. “Wala pa five minutes, may request na naman.”

“I’m hungry.”

“You’re always hungry after emotional conversations.”

“Vulnerable ako. Need carbs.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Pero mahal mo.”

Maraiah kissed the top of her head. “Fortunately.”

Aubrey smiled against her skin.

They ordered noodles and dumplings. Aubrey insisted on paying because it was her “vulnerability dinner.” Maraiah said that was not a thing. Aubrey said it was now. While waiting, they cleaned the table together. Aubrey put the notebook back on the shelf, then changed her mind and placed it beside the moon and sun mugs instead.

“Diyan talaga?” Maraiah asked.

Aubrey nodded. “For now.”

“Why?”

Aubrey looked at the two mugs, then at the notebook. “Para maalala ko na asking isn’t dying.”

Maraiah’s heart softened.

She reached for Aubrey’s hand.

Aubrey took it.

When the food arrived, they ate on the floor because Aubrey claimed the table was “too emotionally charged” and Maraiah claimed that sentence made no sense. Aubrey fed Maraiah a dumpling and called it quality control. Maraiah wiped sauce from Aubrey’s thumb with a tissue and pretended not to notice the way Aubrey went quiet from being cared for in such a small, domestic way.

Later, when they were washing dishes, Aubrey bumped Maraiah’s hip with hers.

“Maraiah.”

“No.”

Aubrey laughed. “Wala pa nga.”

“No.”

“Can you sleep here?”

Maraiah handed her a plate to dry. “I have work tomorrow.”

“From home.”

“My home.”

“Home is a concept.”

“You’re so annoying.”

“Please?”

Maraiah looked at her.

Aubrey tried to look innocent and failed because she was smiling already, because they both knew Maraiah would complain, would sigh, would list reasons why it was impractical, would mention her laptop charger, her skincare, her clothes, the fact that Aubrey stole blankets.

Then Maraiah would stay.

But this time, Maraiah did not pretend for too long.

“Fine,” she said.

Aubrey grinned.

“But you’re lending me a shirt.”

“Of course.”

“And I’m using the sun mug tomorrow.”

Aubrey’s smile softened. “Of course.”

“And if you kick me in your sleep again, I’m going home.”

“I kicked you once.”

“Twice.”

“Fake news.”

Maraiah rolled her eyes and went back to washing.

Aubrey dried the plate beside her, still smiling.

The night moved around them quietly. No grand ending. No music swelling. No perfect version of love where anxious people never needed reassurance and avoidant people never needed air. Just water running over plates, two mugs on the counter, a notebook on the shelf, and Aubrey asking for things in a voice that was learning how to be honest.

When they finally got into bed, Aubrey turned off the lamp, then immediately turned it back on.

Maraiah, already under the blanket, looked at her. “What now?”

Aubrey stood by the switch, embarrassed. “Forgot something.”

“What?”

Aubrey walked back to the bed, leaned down, and kissed Maraiah’s forehead.

Maraiah blinked up at her.

Aubrey’s ears were red again. “Good night.”

Maraiah smiled. “That’s what you forgot?”

“Important.”

“Very.”

Aubrey climbed into bed and pulled the blanket up. This time, she moved closer without asking first, then paused.

Maraiah opened one arm.

Aubrey settled against her with a relieved sigh.

“Baby,” Aubrey whispered.

Maraiah’s heart still reacted to the word, every time. “Hmm?”

“Can I ask one last thing?”

Maraiah closed her eyes. “You’re impossible.”

“Last na talaga.”

“That sentence means nothing from you.”

Aubrey laughed softly, breath warm against Maraiah’s collarbone. Then she grew quiet.

“Can you tell me again?” she asked.

Maraiah’s chest tightened.

She knew what Aubrey meant.

She also knew Aubrey could have pretended it was something else. A joke. A blanket. A glass of water. Another sink. Instead, Aubrey stayed where she was, cheek against Maraiah’s shirt, and asked for the real thing.

Maraiah kissed her hair.

“I love you,” she said.

Aubrey’s arm tightened around her waist.

“Again?” Aubrey whispered.

Maraiah smiled into the dark.

“Ano ka, spoiled?”

“By you.”

“Unfortunately.”

Aubrey lifted her head immediately. “Hoy.”

Maraiah laughed and cupped the back of her head, pulling her closer.

“Fortunately,” she corrected. “I love you, fortunately.”

Aubrey settled again, satisfied.

Outside, rain began to fall softly against the window, not heavy enough to flood streets or trap strangers in laundromats, just enough to make the room feel smaller and warmer. Maraiah listened to it with Aubrey’s weight against her, her own anxiety quiet for once, not gone, but held. Aubrey’s breathing slowed.

Just before sleep took her, Aubrey murmured, “Maraiah?”

“Mmm?”

“Thank you for saying no.”

Maraiah opened her eyes slightly. “To what?”

“To all my requests,” Aubrey said, already half-asleep. “Before doing them anyway.”

Maraiah smiled in the dark.

“You’re welcome,” she whispered.

Aubrey’s hand found hers under the blanket.

No request this time.

Just reaching.

Maraiah held on.