After the movie, we headed to Mia's place for our sleepover.
But not before making an emergency stop at the convenience store where everyone turned into bargain-hungry lunatics.
"Make the ramen spicy!" Jhay announced, snatching the red packet off the shelf like a samurai.
Yashina reached for a milder one behind his back-and got swatted away like a fly.
She pouted. "My stomach can't handle spice..."
"Then build up your tolerance, queen," Jhay snapped. "This is training camp."
I just laughed and tossed two instant noodles in the basket before he started banning us all from snacks.
We walked back to Mia's still being our usual chaotic selves. Susmita and I carried bags full of chips, drinks, and questionable decisions.
Jhay, of course, was up front, swinging his plastic bag like a purse, strutting ahead like a runway model in a sitcom.
"I swear, one day I'm flicking him straight across the forehead," I whispered.
Once we got to Mia's, Yashina immediately took over the living room and started scanning for something to watch. I followed and slumped beside her on the couch.
The exhaustion was hitting. I remembered I hadn't really been online the whole day. I grabbed my phone and opened Instagram again.
Right at the top-a message from Syron. My stomach did a small flip. I clicked.
@SyronDielle
???
Just that.
Three question marks.
I stared. Then blinked. Then stared again.
The reaction I sent earlier-he must've seen it. Now he was confused. I wasn't sure whether to laugh or be embarrassed. Probably both.
He was online now. And typing.
I stared at the screen, still pretending I wasn't just lying here waiting for a notification. I didn't know if he'd been waiting for me or if it was all just coincidence. Yeah. Right.
I hovered over the Wi-Fi icon, ready to disconnect, when the notification popped up before I could even blink.
@SyronDielle
Are you mad? What did I do?
I rolled my eyes. Ugh. Not this again. I wasn't even sure why I was mad. Was I mad? Annoyed? Irritated? Slightly... unreasonably possessive?
I tossed the blanket over my legs and debated replying. Then another message came in.
@SyronDielle
Why are you ignoring me?
Persistent, huh?
"He's so clingy," I muttered, not realizing I'd said it out loud.
I caught a glance from Yashina out of the corner of my eye-silent, curious. As usual, she didn't say anything. Just watched.
I gave in.
@Cyrenem_
It was just a mistake. I didn't mean it.
Short. Vague. Emotionally distant.
Perfect.
I logged out again, immediately switched to Twitter-because doom-scrolling strangers' trauma was way more peaceful than thinking about whatever this was.
My feed loaded, and right on cue, I saw my friends ranting about their day. Same old chaos.
Jersey was tweeting about cramps and coffee. Jhay posted a thread about "men with no emotional depth." Mia quote-retweeted it with, "Except Kenzo. He gets a pass."
I kept scrolling, half-laughing, half-bitter-until I saw her post.
Claire.
I stopped. It had only been up for one minute. The photo was simple. Candid. Smiles. Filtered just right. Her and the boys.
Kenzo. Chad. Syron.
All together. Their whole group. Looking like the cover of some teen drama Netflix wouldn't even deserve.
The caption was just a heart emoji and the words, "my constants."
I stared at the screen, jaw tightening. I didn't know how close they really were, but seeing them together that often? Constant smiles, inside jokes, shared meals?
Claire was the only girl in the group. Of course the guys took care of her. She was... the kind of girl you looked after. Sweet. Soft. Easy to like.
The kind of girl guys-even Syron-probably fell for without realizing it. I logged out again. Not just from Twitter-from the situation entirely.
I dropped my phone on the table a little too loudly. A few heads turned. Whatever.
Yashina was watching me again. Her expression unreadable. The kind of silence that wasn't curious-it was knowing. I ignored it and reached for the alcohol.
Yes. That alcohol.
I didn't even like drinking. But tonight? Tonight, the feeling of not knowing where I stood was worse than the taste of cheap soju.
The room stilled for a second. I felt it. The shift.
"A miracle?" Mia's voice rang out, half-sarcastic, half-shocked.
I smirked, grabbed a shot glass, and poured.
"Don't act like you've never seen a woman emotionally spiraling before," I said, raising my glass dramatically. They laughed-uneasy, unsure if they should ask.
I didn't give them time. I focused on the flat screen in front of us, like the TV would save me from my own thoughts. And then it happened.
The Showbiz Update segment rolled in. And there it was-her face. That woman.
I was mid-sip. The glass of liquor hovered inches from my lips, but my hand wouldn't move.
"A famous Filipina model in Paris just arrived at Ninoy Aquino International Airport today..."
The voice from the TV felt like a gunshot in slow motion. My fingers tightened around the glass, the chill of the liquor suddenly forgotten.
I heard Jhay laughing beside me-some joke about a K-pop idol-but his voice sounded far away. Muffled. Like I was underwater.
Everything inside me just... locked. My throat went dry. The warmth of the alcohol sat heavy in my chest, refusing to go down.
Why now? After nearly a decade. Ten years.
Ten long years of silence-and now she waltzes back into the country like she'd just been on vacation?
I blinked hard, trying to breathe past the sudden storm building in my chest. Then-my phone rang. The name on the screen made my heart drop even further.
Dad.
I stood up slowly and excused myself, barely hearing the murmur of my friends asking where I was going. My body moved on autopilot.
Out on the veranda, I shut the sliding door behind me. The cold night air slammed into me, sharp and heavy, but not enough to clear the fog in my head.
I stared at the ringing screen for a second longer. Then I answered.
"Dad..." My voice came out hoarse. I cleared my throat. "Yeah. I just saw it."
A gust of wind swept past me, lifting the edges of my shirt. I wrapped my arms around myself, chilled in more ways than one.
I bit my lower lip, hard. He didn't even need to say anything else. I already knew what this was about. I already knew what he wanted.
I closed my eyes and snapped. "I don't want to see her, for goodness' sake." My voice rose without warning, and I quickly glanced over my shoulder.
Through the glass door, I saw my friends still laughing on the couch, completely unaware of the war going on inside me.
Thank God.
I lowered my voice and ended the call before he could say anything more. My fingers trembled as I reopened Twitter, almost hating myself for doing it.
But there she was.
Photo after photo. Front angles. Side angles. Close-ups. Glamorous as ever. Effortlessly radiant. The kind of beauty people liked to worship. The caption was the same across multiple accounts:
"THE Valerie Irene Myoui is back in Manila."
My stomach twisted. The comments were flooding in.
"She still looks like a goddess!"
"Queen behavior."
"She's glowing!"
"Iconic return!"
I couldn't take it anymore. I logged into my dummy account.
@notyoursbae
I hate the fact that you're still breathing.
The message sat there for two seconds. Then it was buried beneath a wave of replies.
Some were angry. Some confused. Some told me to shut up, to mind my own business, to grow up. I didn't care. Not even a little bit. Their voices were nothing to me.
I shoved my phone deep into my hoodie pocket, my hands clenched into fists. And with my chest still heaving and my head spinning, I walked back inside the house like nothing happened.
Smiling, even. As if everything was fine. As if my world hadn't just flipped upside down again. I didn't mention anything to my friends.
We laughed. Ate ramen. Argued over what movie to watch next. But the whole time, my chest felt like it was made of glass. Thin. Brittle. Ready to crack.
At one point, someone passed me the chips, and I didn't even realize I was staring at the screen with clenched fists until Jhay nudged me.
"You okay?"
"Yeah," I lied.
Just tired. Just cold. Just haunted by a woman who had no right to haunt me anymore.
I don't know what hurts more—that she came back... or that part of me still wishes she hadn't.
By the time I got home the next day, my body was running on autopilot. I took a long shower. Scrolled aimlessly. Rewatched the same thirty seconds of a cooking vlog five times without realizing it. Then I saw it.
A sponsored ad on Instagram. A luxury shoe brand. The model?
Valerie Irene Myoui.
I didn't even flinch. I just stared. Her signature smirk. The tilt of her chin. The red heels she was modeling. Those red heels. I don't remember a lot from that day. But I remember those.
I stood and walked to my vanity, wiping under my eyes. No tears had fallen. They never did anymore—not for her. I wasn't sad. I was just... exhausted.
I picked up my phone. Logged into the dummy account. And stared at the hateful comment I posted last night. For a second, I hovered over the delete button. Then I locked my phone and placed it face-down.
Today was the start of University Week, and the universe had the nerve to wake us up with a fun run. If there was anything less fun than running at five in the morning, I had yet to experience it.
I was sitting by the counter at McDonald's, trying to organize the chaos inside my tote bag—phone charger tangled with receipts, a lipstick without its cap, a lone earring—and already regretting my life choices.
Then came Jhay, huffing like he'd just been chased by a pack of stray dogs.
"This freaking fun run! Who thought it was a good idea to run this early? We should be sleeping at this hour!"
Mia followed behind him with an iced coffee in hand, looking way too put together for someone up before sunrise.
"You're whining nonstop and it's just a run," she said flatly as she sat beside me. Jhay shot her a glare. "And when have you ever seen a fun run at noon, Dumbass?"
He raised a hand like he was going to swat her with a fry, but I grabbed his wrist midair.
"It's too early for your drama. Both of you, chill." They grumbled but stopped.
I handed them their food—the only peace offering I could give. Bacon, egg, and hash browns. If this couldn't calm them down, I might have to buy duct tape.
"Eat. Don't fight. I don't want to get a headache before I even start running," I warned, popping a hash brown into my mouth.
They obeyed, muttering under their breath as they tore open their wrappers.
Yashina and Susmita weren't with us. They were already on campus since both of them were JPIA officers and were required to help the SSC. I think they were assigned to the booth games—probably manning a coconut toss or balloon dart game in heels. Classic.
"Honestly, I was planning to fake an asthma attack," Jhay mumbled, mouth full of food.
I rolled my eyes. "You've been saying that since freshman year. You're not asthmatic."
"Not yet," he replied. "But if this run goes wrong, today might be the day."
Mia snorted. "You'll survive. Think of all the crushes running in dry-fit shirts."
He paused like she had just said something life-changing. "Wait. You're right. There's motivation after all."
I gave him a deadpan stare. "Your priorities are beyond repair."