Between the Lines
The days leading up to the final presentation were a relentless grind. Meetings bled into each other, documents and blueprints piled up, and stress hung heavy in the air. But above all of that, the most exhausting thing for Mikha was dealing with Aiah.
Aiah was relentless. Every decision Mikha made, every proposal Terra Firma suggested, Aiah seemed ready to counter it. As if every idea was a personal offense that needed correction. Mikha didn't understand how someone could be so simultaneously brilliant and infuriating.
It didn't help that their teams had started to notice the constant tension. Gwen had smirked during their last joint meeting, nudging Jhoanna when Mikha’s voice rose a little too sharply, and Colet had to stifle a laugh when Aiah fired back, voice steely yet controlled.
One late evening, after most of the team had left, Mikha found herself still in the conference room. The overhead lights cast a cold, fluorescent glow, accentuating the dark circles under her eyes. She rubbed her temples, staring down at the revised plans in front of her — plans Aiah had demanded to be reworked.
Her phone buzzed on the table. Aiah's name flashed on the screen. Mikha’s jaw clenched before she even opened the message.
Aiah: "Still there? Baka gusto mong i-revise ulit, baka sakaling mapaganda na."
Mikha's fingers tightened around her phone. Her exhaustion fueled her irritation, and before she could stop herself, she responded.
Mikha: "At least I actually work on our plans. Not like someone who only knows how to ruin things."
The reply came quickly.
Aiah: "Ay sorry, I thought making sure we don't fail miserably IS my job. If you want a half-baked outcome, go ahead."
Mikha slammed her phone down, the sound echoing in the empty room. She didn't care if someone heard. She was done being patient. With a frustrated huff, she stormed out of the conference room, her pulse a steady, angry drumbeat in her ears.
Astra's team was on the other side of the floor, their section still illuminated. Mikha barely hesitated before barging in, her gaze immediately locking onto Aiah, who was leaning back in her chair, legs crossed and that infuriatingly calm expression on her face.
"Can we talk?" Mikha’s voice was sharp, her tone leaving no room for pleasantries.
Aiah raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "Talk? Or argue? Kasi parang mas prefer mo yung pangalawa."
"Whatever works," Mikha snapped. "I just don't get why you have to nitpick every single thing we do. We’re supposed to be working together, not under you."
Aiah slowly uncrossed her legs and stood, her gaze unwavering. "Oh, so now it's about authority? Newsflash, Mikha, if you actually put in something decent, I wouldn't have to keep revising it."
Mikha's fists clenched. "Decent? Alam mo, Aiah, ang dali mong magsalita kasi lagi kang nasa position na tama. Pero sino ba 'yung sumisira lagi sa mga plano namin?"
"Sumisira?" Aiah scoffed, voice dripping with disbelief. "Ang hirap kasi sa'yo, Mikha, you can't take criticism. You think everything's a personal attack. It's not my fault your team keeps submitting half-cooked ideas."
"Half-cooked?!" Mikha’s voice rose, echoing slightly. "At least my team has the guts to try something new. Hindi puro safe, hindi puro textbook!"
Aiah's expression darkened, her smirk vanishing. "Safe? Textbook? Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize reckless and no directions equals innovative. No wonder we keep redoing your work — it’s practically a mess."
Mikha felt a flash of heat rush up her neck. "Maybe if you stopped acting like you know everything, we'd actually get somewhere. But no — you just love proving everyone wrong, don't you? It’s not collaboration, Aiah. It's your way or nothing!"
Aiah stepped forward, closing the distance between them, her eyes sharp and unyielding. "Kasi kung ikaw lang ang masusunod, we’d be presenting chaos. Do you even think about the consequences of your actions? Or do you just throw things out there, hoping something sticks?"
Mikha refused to back down, her chin tilting up defiantly. "And you’re so scared of failure, you can't see past your own ego! Not everyone wants to live inside your neat, calculated box, Aiah!"
A charged silence fell between them, both of them breathing heavily, the echoes of their words hanging in the air. Mikha’s heart hammered in her chest, her pulse quick and erratic. She expected Aiah to fire back, to throw another condescending remark, but instead, Aiah’s gaze just bored into her, intense and unyielding.
"Maybe I’m tired of picking up the pieces after your team’s mistakes," Aiah finally said, her voice lower but no less fierce. "Maybe I’m tired of pretending like your impulsiveness won’t cost us all in the end."
"Maybe I’m tired of always being the one you look down on," Mikha shot back, her voice trembling but steady. "I'm not beneath you, Aiah. We’re supposed to be equals, but you don't act like it."
The silence that followed was deafening, heavy and charged. Mikha’s breath came in uneven gasps, her heart thundering painfully against her ribs. She hated how vulnerable her voice had sounded, how raw the truth had slipped out.
Aiah's gaze lingered, her expression unreadable. The fire that always burned in their clashes was there, but there was something else now — something darker, deeper, laced between the tension.
"Fine," Aiah finally muttered, stepping back. "If that’s what you think, then maybe we’re better off working separately. Less headaches for both of us."
"Maybe we are," Mikha bit out, her throat tight.
Aiah's eyes lingered for a moment longer, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them before she turned away, dismissing Mikha entirely.
The silence in the room was unbearable. Mikha forced herself to leave, her footsteps sharp and quick against the polished floor. Her mind swirled with anger, frustration, and something else she couldn't quite name.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket as she walked out of the building. She pulled it out, half-expecting another snarky message from Aiah. But it wasn’t. It was a message from Maloi.
Maloi: “Hey, okay ka lang? Long night, huh?”
Mikha forced a tight smile, her fingers typing out a brief, half-hearted response before tucking her phone away. She didn’t trust herself to unravel what she was feeling right now — all the sharp edges left behind from their confrontation, the ache of wanting to prove herself to someone she simultaneously wanted to push away.
Mikha found herself lingering outside the building, the cool night air biting at her skin. She replayed the argument over and over in her head, dissecting every word, every glare, every breathless pause. How could someone so infuriatingly obstinate also make her feel so unsteady?
It wasn’t just the argument that unsettled her. It was the way Aiah’s eyes held hers — intense and unwavering. The way her voice, usually confident and measured, had cracked ever so slightly with frustration. Mikha wanted to hate her, to write her off as a control freak obsessed with being right. Yet, beneath the sharpness, there was a vulnerability she couldn't ignore.
"Argh!" Mikha groaned quietly, running her hands through her hair. "Why is this happening?"
Her phone vibrated again. For a second, she thought — hoped — it was Aiah, maybe to continue their argument or possibly... apologize? But it was Stacey this time.
Stacey: "Girl, stress eating kami nila Maloi. Sama ka na!"
Mikha almost declined, but she needed the distraction. Anything to get her mind off the way Aiah’s gaze had burned into her — a mix of exasperation, judgment, and something else that felt like a dare.
Mikha: "otw."
As she drove off her car, Mikha’s mind drifted to tomorrow. She knew they'd have to face each other again, this time with the weight of their heated exchange pressing down on them. Would it be another battle of wills? Another round of sharp, defensive words? Or would they just pretend like tonight never happened, burying the simmering tension beneath cold professionalism.
Mikha didn't have the answers. All she knew was that despite the fury that Aiah ignited in her, she couldn’t help but crave their clashes — like an unspoken challenge she was both desperate to win and terrified to lose.
Mikha arrived at the café where Stacey, Maloi, and Sheena had already set up a table cluttered with fries, burgers, and milkshakes. The sight should've been comforting, but her mind was still caught in the tangled mess of her confrontation with Aiah.
"Uy, Mikha!" Maloi called out, waving her over. "Grabe, stressed ang lola mo, ha! Spill!"
"Yeah, girl," Sheena chimed in, nudging her. "Ba't ganiyan mukha mo?"
Mikha forced a smirk, sliding into the booth. “Business stuff. Alam niyo na, chaotic as usual.”
She reached for a fry, but her fingers stilled halfway as her mind replayed Aiah’s pointed, searing gaze. What annoyed her most was the way Aiah got under her skin, the way she refused to back down.
“Business stuff or Aiah stuff?” Stacey teased, catching the hesitation in Mikha’s expression.
Mikha shot her a sharp look. “Ano ka ba? She’s just—she’s impossible. That’s all.”
Stacey exchanged a knowing glance with Maloi and Sheena. Mikha’s defensiveness only seemed to amuse them more.
“So, impossible na nakaka-challenge?” Sheena teased. “Or impossible na nakaka-—”
“—asar,” Mikha cut in quickly. “Impossible na nakakaasar. Wala nang iba.”
Her friends erupted in laughter, and Mikha buried her face in her hands, exasperated.
How could she explain the way Aiah got into her head without sounding obsessed?
And why did it feel like Aiah had already won some unspoken battle she didn't even realize she was fighting?
The teasing died down eventually, and the conversation shifted to lighter topics—new projects, weekend plans, the latest office gossip. Yet, even as Mikha laughed along, the thought of Aiah lingered like a thorn she couldn't quite pull out.
Sheena leaned back, her eyes studying Mikha thoughtfully. “Alam mo, Mikha, never ka naman nagagalit nang ganyan. Well, except when it comes to Aiah.”
“Tumpak!” Maloi chimed in, pointing a fry at Mikha. “Parang may special effect siya sa’yo, eh. Nagiging ‘super saiyan’ ka bigla!”
Mikha rolled her eyes, masking the discomfort building in her chest. “She just knows how to push my buttons, okay? Nakakainis na nakakapikon na nakakairita, 'yon lang.”
“Or maybe she’s the only one brave enough to do it,” Stacey muttered, smirking.
Mikha's defense faltered, her mouth opening to respond but no words coming out.
Was that it? Did Aiah's infuriating boldness rattle her because no one else dared to challenge her the same way? Or was there something more insidious—something that thrived in the animosity between them, something Mikha didn't want to name?
"Okay, fine. Enough about Aiah," Mikha said firmly, forcing a grin. "Tell me something else before I lose my appetite."
Maloi obliged, launching into a story about a disastrous presentation she had witnessed earlier that day.
Mikha tried to listen, to laugh at the right moments, but her mind kept straying.
Later, when she finally lay in bed, her phone lit up with a notification — an email from Aiah. For a second, her heart skipped, a mix of dread and anticipation pooling in her stomach. She hesitated, thumb hovering over the notification.
Subject: Next Steps — Joint Campaign
Cold, professional, efficient. Mikha let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. What did she expect — a grudging apology or another provocation?
She clicked on the email, reading through Aiah's formal suggestions and the schedule she proposed. It was practical and logical, typical Aiah. No hints of the storm they'd just weathered.
Mikha typed out a quick response — equally formal, equally composed — before tossing her phone aside.
It was infuriating how Aiah could compartmentalize so easily, keeping business and emotions separate.
Meanwhile, Mikha lay there, her mind tangled in every scathing remark, every charged look.
Sleep didn’t come easily that night. And when it finally did, Mikha's last conscious thought was of Aiah’s face — angry, fierce, and, annoyingly, still beautiful.
/ / /
The following morning, Mikha arrived at the office earlier than usual, determined to shake off the frustration still clinging to her from yesterday. She didn't want to give Aiah the satisfaction of knowing she'd lost sleep over their argument.
As she entered the conference room, she saw Aiah already seated, reviewing the proposals with a poised, unbothered expression. Mikha's irritation flared. Of course, Aiah looked like she had slept peacefully, as if nothing had happened.
“Morning,” Mikha greeted curtly, dropping her bag on the table.
Aiah glanced up, a hint of a smirk curling her lips. “Oh, you’re early. Thought you'd take your time cooling off.”
Mikha narrowed her eyes. “Some of us don’t have the luxury of wasting time.”
“Right,” Aiah replied smoothly. “Some of us actually make use of our time wisely.”
Mikha's fingers tightened around her pen. "Is that what you think na ginagawa mo? Wasting everyone's time with your need to control every single detail?"
Aiah's gaze sharpened, but her expression remained infuriatingly composed. "Or maybe I’m just compensating for someone who refuses to take anything seriously.”
Mikha's jaw clenched. “Just because I don't micromanage every second doesn't mean hindi ako seryoso. Some of us actually trust our team.”
Aiah's eyes glinted. "Or you just can't handle anything that requires real discipline."
The room fell into a tense silence, their stares locked in a standoff. The air was thick with unspoken resentment and unresolved competition.
Mikha’s heartbeat thudded in her ears, her frustration clawing at her throat.
“Look,” she said, voice low and sharp, “I don't care what you think of me, Aiah. But if you’re going to keep undermining me every chance you get, wala tayong matatapos dito.”
Aiah's lips pressed into a thin line, her gaze unyielding. “Then try harder. Maybe then I wouldn’t have to clean up your mess.”
Mikha’s nostrils flared, but before she could snap back, the door opened, and their team members started trickling in for the meeting. Aiah turned away, her expression effortlessly composed as if their argument had never happened.
Mikha's fingers dug into the edge of the table, her anger simmering just beneath the surface. Every encounter with Aiah felt like a battle — one that she refused to lose.
/ / /
The meeting droned on, but Mikha’s mind buzzed with residual anger. She was hyper-aware of Aiah seated across the table — composed, collected, and contributing ideas like their earlier spat hadn’t happened. It grated on Mikha's nerves, the way Aiah could wear professionalism like an armor, while her own irritation simmered just beneath the surface.
Every time Aiah spoke, Mikha found herself on edge, ready to pounce on any misstep. But Aiah didn’t falter — she never did. Her arguments were precise, her delivery confident. It was no wonder the others often deferred to her judgment, even if they found her intensity overwhelming.
"Well, if everyone is on board, we can proceed with Aiah's proposal for the initial phase," Gwen announced, glancing around the table. The team members nodded in agreement.
Mikha’s grip on her pen tightened. Of course, Aiah's proposal got the immediate green light. It felt like every little victory of Aiah's was a reminder of all the times Mikha had come up short.
She knew it was irrational — that her value as a leader shouldn't be measured by Aiah’s standards — but Aiah always made it feel personal.
After the meeting ended, Mikha began gathering her things quickly, hoping to avoid another confrontation. But Aiah’s voice cut through her focus.
"Hey, Mikha," Aiah called out, voice sharp yet steady. “Next time, if you have an issue with my decisions, maybe address it in the meeting instead of sulking.”
Mikha’s head snapped up, her eyes blazing. "Says the person who bulldozes through every discussion like she’s the only one with a brain."
Aiah’s expression didn't waver, but Mikha caught the faint twitch of annoyance. "Or maybe I just know what I’m doing — something you could try learning for a change."
“Wow, thank you, Aiah. I'll make sure to take notes next time you try to run the entire team like your personal project,” Mikha shot back, her words biting.
“Maybe you should,” Aiah replied coolly. “It might help you actually keep up.”
Mikha’s chest burned with frustration, a retort balancing on the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed it back. Instead, she slung her bag over her shoulder and strode out of the room, leaving Aiah behind.
Her footsteps echoed in the corridor, the sound punctuating her fury. She hated how Aiah always had the last word — hated how Aiah got under her skin so easily. Most of all, she hated that no matter how hard she tried to convince herself otherwise, Aiah was a challenge she couldn’t ignore.