The next weekend arrived quicker than Iris expected. Her mother had been insistent during their last call: Bring Luna, anak. We want to meet her.
Iris wasn't sure what scared her more—her mother's sharp questions, her father's quiet judgment, or Luna herself stepping into the loud, warm chaos of the Velasco household.
But when Luna said softly, "I'd like to come. If you want me to," Iris couldn't say no.
The bus ride to Batangas was long, but Luna seemed content leaning against Iris's shoulder, eyes closed, listening to the hum of the engine.
"Are you nervous?" Iris asked.
Luna cracked one eye open. "Terrified."
Iris squeezed her hand under the blanket they shared. "Don't be. They'll love you."
"Will they?"
"They will," Iris said firmly. "How could they not?"
Luna smiled faintly, but Iris felt the tension still thrumming in her touch.
By the time they reached the Velasco home, the sun was dipping low, painting the horizon with orange and pink. The small house smelled of garlic and frying fish, laughter spilling out through the open windows.
"Iris!" Adrian called as they stepped inside, carrying his son on his hip. "And this must be…?"
"This is Luna," Iris said, voice soft but steady.
Luna offered a polite smile, bowing slightly. "It's an honor to meet you."
Teresa swept forward before anyone else could speak, pulling Luna into a hug. "So pretty! Anak, you didn't tell me she was this lovely!"
Luna blinked, startled, but returned the embrace. "Thank you, Ma'am—"
"None of that!" Teresa cut in. "Call me Tita Teresa. Or Nanay, if you like."
Everyone laughed, easing the tension.
At the dinner table, dishes overflowed: sinigang na baboy, fried tilapia, and Teresa's special leche flan. Luna sat beside Iris, quietly observing at first, but soon Adrian's wife peppered her with questions.
"So, Luna, where are you from?"
Luna hesitated. "I… grew up mostly in France. But my mother was Filipina. I came here to… reconnect."
"And your family?" Teresa asked gently.
Luna's gaze faltered. "They're… not close. It's complicated."
The room quieted for a beat, but Iris quickly added, "She's been helping me with my art, Ma. She inspires me."
Teresa smiled knowingly, eyes darting between them. "Ah. I can see that."
Later, while clearing plates, Adrian nudged Iris. "She's special, isn't she?"
Iris's cheeks warmed. "Yes."
"Good," Adrian said simply. "Don't lose her."
After dinner, Iris led Luna to the backyard, where a large mango tree spread its branches against the night sky. They sat beneath it, the hum of crickets surrounding them.
"You okay?" Iris asked softly.
Luna nodded, though her fingers twisted in her lap. "They're… warm. Too warm. I'm not used to it."
"That's a bad thing?"
"No," Luna admitted. "It's just… dangerous. To want something you think you can't have."
Iris reached over, brushing her hand against Luna's. "You can have this. You can have me."
Luna's breath hitched. She leaned in, resting her forehead against Iris's shoulder. "You make it sound so simple."
"It is," Iris whispered.
For a moment, the world felt still—just two hearts beating under the mango tree, stars glimmering faintly above.
Later that night, while Iris slept in her childhood room, she woke briefly to find Luna standing by the window, staring at the stars.
"Luna?" she murmured, voice heavy with sleep.
Luna didn't turn around. "Do you believe the stars hold memories?"
"Memories?"
"Like… pieces of who we used to be. Watching us. Waiting."
Iris sat up slowly. "What do you mean?"
Luna's shoulders tightened. "Sometimes I feel like they're whispering things I shouldn't remember. Things I've tried to forget."
"Luna…" Iris reached for her, guiding her back to bed. "Whatever shadows you carry, you don't have to face them alone."
Luna curled into her arms, trembling slightly. "I'm scared you'll hate me if you know the truth."
"I could never," Iris said fiercely. "You're mine, Luna. Shadows and all."
Luna's lips found hers then, desperate and tender, as though sealing the promise.
The following day, after breakfast, Iris dragged Luna out to the beach nearby. The sand was warm, the waves gentle, children laughing in the distance.
They walked barefoot along the shore, hand in hand.
"You look happy," Iris said, watching Luna's eyes soften as she gazed at the sea.
"I am," Luna admitted. "For the first time in a long while."
They splashed water at each other, laughed until their stomachs hurt, then collapsed under a small nipa hut, sharing fresh buko juice.
"Iris," Luna said suddenly, voice serious.
"Yes?"
"If someday… I had to leave, would you follow me?"
Iris froze, straw halfway to her lips. "Why would you leave?"
Luna looked away. "Because the past doesn't let go so easily."
"Then I'll hold on tighter," Iris said, stubbornness flaring. "I'm not letting you go, Luna. Not now, not ever."
Luna stared at her, as though trying to memorize every line of her face. Then she leaned in, kissing her deeply, salt and sweetness mingling between them.
Back in the city, things felt subtly different. Their bond had deepened—woven now into family dinners and seaside laughter, into whispered promises and shared fears.
But the shadows Luna carried hadn't vanished.
One night, Iris found a small notebook in Luna's bag by accident, its pages filled with sketches of constellations, each marked with strange symbols. At the back, a phrase was scribbled over and over:
"The past will find me."
Iris's heart clenched.
She didn't confront Luna yet. Instead, she waited on the rooftop, brush in hand, painting stars.
When Luna joined her, Iris only said, "Promise me one thing."
"What?"
"Whatever happens, don't run alone. Let me run with you."
Luna's silver-gray eyes glimmered in the dark. "I promise."
But her voice wavered.
Sleep didn't come easily for either of them that night. After their whispered talk by the window, Iris thought Luna had finally drifted off in her arms. But sometime past midnight, she felt the girl stir again.
"You're awake," Iris murmured, tightening her hold.
"I'm sorry," Luna whispered. "I didn't mean to disturb you."
"You didn't. Tell me what's in your head."
Silence stretched. Then Luna asked, "Do you ever feel like you don't belong anywhere?"
Iris blinked into the dark. "Sometimes. Especially when my art gets rejected. Or when I'm standing in a room full of people who all seem to know where they're going in life."
"That's different," Luna said softly. "You still have roots. A family. People who'd fight for you." Her voice cracked. "I don't know if I've ever had that."
Iris brushed a hand through her hair, kissing the crown of her head. "Then take root here. With me. With them. You don't have to keep drifting."
Luna trembled, a sound escaping her—half laugh, half sob. She buried her face against Iris's neck, whispering, "You make it sound possible."
"It is possible," Iris said.
The moment was fragile, intimate, and Iris let it linger, holding Luna like something precious she vowed never to let slip away.
The next morning, Iris woke early to the smell of sinangag and fried eggs. She slipped quietly out of bed, letting Luna rest, and padded into the kitchen.
Her mother, Teresa, was already at the stove.
"Morning, Ma," Iris said.
Teresa turned, arching a brow. "Morning. She's still asleep?"
"Yes. Long trip yesterday."
Teresa hummed knowingly. Then, lowering her voice: "She looks like someone carrying a heavy load, anak. Be gentle."
Iris blinked. "You noticed?"
"I'm a mother. I notice everything." Teresa patted her shoulder. "If she's the one for you, stand beside her. No matter what her shadows are."
Iris swallowed, warmth rising in her chest. "I will, Ma."
When Luna finally emerged, the morning sun spilling over her hair, she looked softer somehow—unguarded. She sat beside Iris at the table, close enough their knees brushed.
"Did you sleep well?" Iris asked.
"Better than I expected," Luna said. Her hand slipped beneath the table, brushing against Iris's, a secret squeeze.
Adrian caught it, grinning. "Young love. Don't think we don't see."
Iris flushed crimson. Luna laughed quietly, surprising everyone with the brightness of it.
The Velasco home, small as it was, felt suddenly full—of laughter, warmth, and the beginnings of something Luna had never dared imagine.
That evening back in Manila, Iris brought Luna to the rooftop again. She had set up a blanket, a thermos of hot cocoa, and her sketchbook.
"You've been… planning this?" Luna teased, settling down.
"Maybe," Iris admitted, grinning. "I wanted to make up for the bus ride."
They sat side by side, sipping cocoa, watching the stars emerge. Iris began sketching, glancing at Luna now and then.
"Stop staring," Luna murmured, cheeks faintly pink.
"I'm not staring," Iris said. "I'm… studying my muse."
Luna huffed, but didn't pull away. Instead, she shifted closer, resting her head on Iris's shoulder. "You're impossible."
"And you love it."
A soft laugh. "I might."
Iris turned, brushing her lips against Luna's temple. "Then let me keep proving it to you."
The kiss that followed was gentle at first, tentative, but deepened with every passing second—slow, lingering, tasting of cocoa and quiet longing. Their hands tangled, hearts thudding fast under the stars.
When they finally pulled apart, breathless, Luna whispered, "Every time you touch me, I forget the past for a moment. And that scares me."
Iris cupped her cheek. "Then let's build a future worth remembering."
Luna's eyes glimmered, silver under the night sky. She leaned in again, sealing the promise with another kiss.
Later, as they lay stretched out on the blanket, gazing at constellations, Iris traced patterns in the air.
"That one's you," she said, pointing at a cluster.
Luna arched a brow. "Which one?"
"The brightest one. Always guiding me."
"And you?" Luna asked softly.
Iris smiled. "I'm the one trailing behind, trying to keep up."
Luna turned, pressing their foreheads together. "No. You're the reason I don't fall apart."
The words lodged deep in Iris's heart.
Neither spoke after that. They didn't need to. The silence, filled with unspoken promises and the weight of their closeness, said everything.
And as the stars whispered overhead, Iris knew: whatever shadows loomed, she would fight them all—for Luna.