The morning after their kiss, Iris woke with a smile. Her lips still tingled as though Luna's touch lingered there, woven into her skin. She lay in bed, staring at the cracked ceiling of her apartment, replaying the memory again and again.
She'd kissed before—brief, fumbling moments in college that never lasted—but this was different. Luna's kiss had been soft yet deliberate, as though every second carried weight, a promise unspoken.
Her phone buzzed.
Luna: "Good morning, Iris. Did you sleep well?"
Iris's heart flipped. She typed quickly.
Iris: "Better than ever. How about you?"
Luna: "I dreamt of stars. And you."
Iris buried her face in her pillow, muffling a giddy laugh.
That evening, they met again on the rooftop. The city stretched below, restless as always, but up here it felt like their secret kingdom.
Iris brought her sketchpad this time instead of canvas. "Sit still for me?" she asked, pencil poised.
Luna raised a brow. "You want to draw me again?"
"I want to remember you," Iris said simply.
Luna's cheeks flushed faintly, but she nodded and sat cross-legged on the mat. Her hair tumbled over her shoulder, catching the moonlight.
As Iris sketched, Luna watched her quietly. "Do you always look at people like this when you draw them?"
"Like what?"
"Like you're memorizing them with your soul."
Iris's hand faltered. "Only when they matter."
The silence that followed was heavy but tender. When Iris finally set the pencil down, she slid the sketchpad toward Luna.
The drawing was simple yet intimate—her silver-gray eyes rendered with care, her lips soft, her expression caught between mystery and warmth. Around her, Iris had lightly shaded constellations.
Luna touched the page with trembling fingers. "You make me look… alive."
"You are," Iris whispered.
Luna closed the sketchpad gently, then leaned over and kissed her cheek. "Thank you."
But as the weeks passed, Iris began noticing Luna's unease.
One night, Iris painted the constellation Cassiopeia. Luna stiffened, her gaze locked on the canvas.
"What's wrong?" Iris asked softly.
"Nothing," Luna said quickly, but her hands trembled.
Iris set the brush down. "Luna, you don't have to hide from me."
Luna turned away, her voice barely audible. "Some constellations… they remind me of things I'd rather forget."
"What things?"
Luna's jaw tightened. "Another time. Please."
Iris wanted to press, but the raw pain in Luna's eyes stopped her. Instead, she reached for her hand, squeezing gently.
"I'll wait," Iris said.
Luna squeezed back, but her silence lingered like a shadow beneath the stars.
One Sunday, Iris traveled home to Batangas for a family dinner. The familiar smell of adobo simmering in soy sauce and garlic welcomed her at the door.
"Anak!" her mother exclaimed, hugging her tight. "You've lost weight. You're not eating enough!"
"I'm fine, Ma." Iris laughed, pulling away.
Adrian arrived shortly after, his wife and toddler son in tow. The house buzzed with warmth and noise, but Iris felt slightly detached, her mind drifting back to Luna.
At the table, her father asked, "So, Iris, how's your art? Any progress?"
"I've been painting a lot lately," she said cautiously.
Adrian grinned knowingly. "She's been painting someone, actually."
Her mother's eyes lit up. "Oh? You met someone?"
Heat rushed to Iris's face. "Maybe."
"Bring her next time," Teresa said firmly. "We'd love to meet her."
Iris bit her lip, imagining Luna at this table, surrounded by warmth and laughter. Could she fit here? Would she want to?
Her chest tightened with both hope and fear.
Back in Manila, the weather turned stormy. Rain pattered against windows, thunder rumbling faintly in the distance. Iris found herself curled on the couch, sketching Luna from memory when a knock sounded at her door.
Opening it, she found Luna—soaked through, hair plastered to her face.
"Luna! What are you—come in!"
Iris hurried her inside, grabbing towels. Luna stood trembling in the living room, water dripping onto the floor.
"I didn't know where else to go," she whispered.
Iris wrapped the towel around her shoulders gently. "You're always welcome here."
Their eyes met, and the vulnerability in Luna's gaze was like a storm breaking open. Without thinking, Iris pulled her close, holding her against her chest.
Luna clung to her tightly, whispering, "I'm scared, Iris."
"Of what?"
"Of losing this. Of losing you."
"You won't," Iris promised fiercely. "Not unless you walk away."
Luna trembled, then tilted her face upward. Their lips met—deeper this time, urgent, desperate. The kiss carried their fears, their longing, their unspoken promises.
When they finally pulled apart, both breathless, Iris pressed her forehead to Luna's. "Stay tonight. Please."
Luna nodded, her eyes shimmering.
They changed into dry clothes—Luna borrowing one of Iris's oversized shirts. The sight of her, hair damp, shirt hanging loosely on her frame, made Iris's heart ache with tenderness.
They curled together on the couch, blankets wrapped around them. Iris traced idle patterns on Luna's hand, marveling at the way their fingers fit.
"Tell me something true," Iris whispered.
Luna hesitated, then said, "When I was little, my mother told me the stars would always guide me home. But sometimes, I wonder if I have a home to go back to."
"You do now," Iris said softly. "With me."
Luna's breath hitched. She buried her face against Iris's neck, her arms tightening around her.
The storm raged outside, but inside, they found warmth.
In the days that followed, their world expanded beyond rooftops.
They visited an art exhibit downtown, Iris watching Luna's face as she studied each painting with quiet intensity. They wandered through Intramuros, tracing old stone walls with their fingers, sharing ice cream under the sun. They sat in bookstores, shoulders brushing as they read passages aloud.
Every moment felt like discovery, like falling deeper into something that was both terrifying and beautiful.
And yet, sometimes, when Iris caught Luna staring at the sky too long, a shadow crossed her features. A silence Iris couldn't quite penetrate.
But Iris was patient. She would wait.
One evening, as they sat on the rooftop, Iris finally asked, "What are you so afraid of, Luna?"
Luna's eyes glistened under the stars. "Of the past catching up to me."
Before Iris could respond, Luna leaned in, silencing her with a kiss—soft, lingering, almost sorrowful.
The stars whispered above them, carrying secrets neither was ready to face.
But for now, they had each other.
And that was enough.