The city was still waking when Iris opened her eyes. Pale sunlight spilled through the curtains of her small apartment, catching on the streaks of paint that decorated her desk and the canvases leaning against every available wall. She lay still for a moment, her mind replaying the way Luna's hand had slipped into hers the night before.
The memory felt unreal, like a fragile dream she might break if she moved too quickly.
Her phone buzzed. A text.
Unknown Number: "Good morning, Iris. – Luna."
Iris stared at the screen, heat rushing to her cheeks. She hadn't even realized they'd exchanged numbers last night in their quiet walk back. She tapped a reply, her fingers trembling.
Iris: "Good morning. Did you sleep well?"
The reply came quickly.
Luna: "Yes. Thank you for yesterday. It was… nice."
Three dots blinked, disappeared, then reappeared.
Luna: "Would you like to meet this afternoon? There's a café near campus. Quiet, not crowded."
Iris's heart leapt. A date. This is a date.
Iris: "Yes. Tell me where and I'll be there."
Before she could bask in her excitement, her phone rang again—this time her mother. Iris sighed and answered.
"Anak, how are you?" Teresa asked warmly. "You sound happy. Something good happened?"
Iris hesitated. She had never been comfortable talking about her private life. "Just… I met someone. A friend."
"A friend? That's wonderful." Her mother's voice carried gentle hope. "Is she kind?"
Iris smiled softly. "Very kind."
"Good. You deserve friends who see you for who you are, anak. Not just your art."
Iris blinked, surprised at her mother's perceptiveness. "Thanks, Ma."
Her father's voice chimed faintly in the background. "Tell her Adrian is planning to visit Manila next week. Maybe you can show him your studio."
Iris bit her lip. The thought of her brother stepping into her cluttered apartment, comparing his polished life to her messy canvases, filled her with unease. But she only said, "Sure, Pa."
When the call ended, she returned to staring at Luna's message, warmth blooming in her chest.
The café was tucked into a quiet street near the university, its walls lined with bookshelves and local art. The scent of fresh coffee beans and warm pastries wrapped around Iris the moment she stepped inside.
Luna was already there, sitting by the window. She wore a simple cream blouse and jeans, her hair falling loose over her shoulders. Yet somehow, she looked radiant—like the sunlight had chosen her as its favorite.
"Iris," Luna greeted, her gray eyes lighting up.
"Hi," Iris managed, nerves fluttering.
They ordered drinks—Iris a caramel latte, Luna a plain black coffee. When they settled into their seats, an awkward silence stretched between them.
Luna broke it first. "I don't usually invite people here. But… I wanted to share this place with you."
"Why me?" Iris asked, genuinely curious.
Luna's lips curved in a soft smile. "Because you paint the stars. And somehow, you make me feel like they're closer."
Iris's chest tightened. "You say things that make it impossible for me to think straight."
Luna laughed softly, a sound Iris wanted to bottle and keep forever.
As the afternoon wore on, their conversation grew easier. Iris talked about her childhood in Batangas—how she used to climb the mango tree in their backyard, how she would stay up late sketching by candlelight during brownouts.
Luna listened intently, asking questions, her chin propped on her hand. But when Iris gently asked about her, Luna hesitated.
"My mother's in France," she said finally. "She teaches music. My father stayed here in Manila, but we don't… talk much. He remarried."
There was a faint shadow in her voice, one that told Iris not to press too hard.
"Do you have siblings?"
Luna shook her head. "Just me. Sometimes I think that's why the stars became my family."
Iris reached across the table, brushing her fingers lightly over Luna's hand. "You're not alone anymore."
Luna's eyes softened. She didn't pull away.
That evening, Iris couldn't resist. She pulled out a fresh canvas, larger than most she used. For hours, she painted—not the stars this time, but Luna.
Her silver-gray eyes, her serene expression, the way she seemed to glow even in silence. Around her, Iris painted constellations forming a halo, as if the universe itself revolved around her presence.
When she was done, exhaustion tugging at her bones, she realized she'd never painted anyone like this before. Not even for commissions. This wasn't art. This was confession.
She snapped a photo, hesitated, then sent it to Luna with a simple message:
Iris: "I couldn't help myself."
Minutes later, her phone buzzed.
Luna: "…I don't know what to say. It's beautiful. You make me look like someone worth remembering."
Iris: "You are."
The typing dots lingered for a long time, then disappeared.
Iris fell asleep with her phone in her hand, dreaming of silver eyes and whispered constellations.
Two days later, Iris was tidying her studio when a knock sounded at her door. She opened it, startled to find Adrian, her older brother.
"Surprise," he said, grinning.
"Kuya! I didn't know you were coming today."
He stepped inside, surveying the cramped apartment, the canvases stacked high. "So this is your kingdom, huh?"
Iris bristled. "It's my home."
He softened, placing a hand on her shoulder. "I'm proud of you, you know. Even if Mom and Dad worry. You're chasing what you love. That's braver than anything I've done."
Her eyes stung. She hadn't expected kindness. "Thanks, Kuya."
Before he left, he noticed a canvas leaning against the wall—the portrait of Luna.
"Who's this?" he asked, smirking. "A muse?"
Iris flushed. "Just… someone important."
Adrian's eyes twinkled. "I like her already."
That weekend, Luna invited Iris to a small night market near the university. The streets glowed with paper lanterns, vendors selling everything from handmade jewelry to steaming bowls of ramen.
Luna led her through the crowd, their fingers brushing until finally, deliberately, intertwining.
They stopped at a stall where an old woman sold star-shaped trinkets. Luna picked one up—a tiny silver pendant. "For you," she said, fastening it around Iris's neck.
Iris touched it, overwhelmed. "Luna…"
"You make me feel seen," Luna whispered. "This is just… my way of thanking you."
The night spun around them—colors, music, laughter—but Iris saw only her.
When they finally sat by the edge of the market, eating skewers and laughing over spilled sauce, Iris thought: This is what happiness feels like.
As they walked home, Luna slowed. "Iris?"
"Yes?"
"If I ever seem… distant, or afraid… it's not because of you. It's because of me. There are things I can't explain yet. But I want you to know—I don't want to lose this. Us."
Iris's throat tightened. She stopped, turned, and cupped Luna's face in her hands. "Then don't. We'll figure it out together."
Luna's eyes shimmered with unshed tears. She leaned forward, her forehead resting against Iris's. For a heartbeat, time stopped.
And when their lips finally met, it was soft, hesitant, but real—like the stars themselves had bent closer just to witness.
The city noise faded. The world disappeared.
Only Iris and Luna remained.