They had promised each other that nothing would change.
Six months ago, when Mikha boarded her flight to London, Stacey had kissed her like she was sealing that promise with her lips—soft, lingering, desperate to make it last.
“Video call every night,” Mikha had murmured, forehead pressed against Stacey’s. “Kahit anong mangyari.”
Stacey had smiled through the ache in her chest. “Walang makakapigil sa’kin, Babi.”
And for a while, they meant it.
They found comfort in the glow of their screens—Mikha’s voice a soft lullaby in Stacey’s ear, even when the connection lagged. Stacey would send photos of sunsets from back home, the streets they used to walk together, the coffee shop where Mikha always ordered the same thing. Mikha, in turn, would send voice notes of the rain tapping against her window, the soft hum of a new city that had yet to feel like home.
“When I return home,” Mikha had said one night, voice thick with longing, “gusto kong kumain ulit nang tinola mo. Na-miss ko na ‘yung sabaw.”
Stacey had laughed, warm and familiar. “Akala ko ayaw mo.”
“Well, it’s definitely not my favorite, but...” Mikha had smiled, pressing a hand to her screen like she could reach through it, “it is yours, and I miss you.”
The distance was painful, but they held onto their love like a lifeline. They made plans—counted the days until they’d be together again. Stacey kept a framed photo of them on her nightstand. Mikha played Nothing by Bruno Major on loop, thinking of the way Stacey used to hum along absentmindedly.
They had promised nothing would change.
But promises were easier to keep when love didn’t have miles to stretch across.
It was in the little things.
At first, they blamed it on the time zones.
babi <3: Sorry, Babs. Overtime ako today. Bawi ako bukas, promise.
it's ok
sobrang late na diyan, mikhs. matulog ka na
babi <3: Okay. I love you.
gn. i love you.
The nightly calls were becoming shorter. Messages became less frequent. Good morning texts that used to be filled with sweet nothings were reduced to “gm” and a heart emoji. Stacey would wait, staring at her phone, hoping Mikha would message first.
But her name lit up her screen less and less.
Stacey told herself it was normal. Mikha was adjusting, working hard, making the most of her time in London. And Stacey? She was here—still walking the same busy streets, still drinking the same coffee, still sleeping on the same side of the bed like her girlfriend might magically fill the empty space beside her.
Then, the absence started to feel heavier than the love.
Stacey found herself scrolling through their old messages at night, rereading Mikha’s promises. “Nothing will change.” But things had started to change, hadn’t they? The silence between them had grown longer, heavier.
She tried to keep herself busy. She went out with friends more, tried new restaurants, even picked up hobbies she used to enjoy before Mikha.
But nothing filled the space she had left behind.
And then, there were the photos.
Mikha with her new friends, her new life—smiling in places Stacey had never been, surrounded by people Stacey had never met. She double-tapped, left a heart, and wondered if her girlfriend noticed how much she wasn’t in these moments anymore.
One night, while waiting for Mikha’s call, Stacey lay in bed with their song playing on repeat, the familiar soft hum of the melody filling the quiet spaces of her room.
"Track suits and red wine, movies for two..."
"We'll take off our phones and we'll turn off our shoes..."
She closed her eyes, letting the lyrics sink in, their meaning heavier than before. Mikha used to hum this song under her breath, used to send voice notes of her singing the chorus off-key just to make her laugh. Now, it was just the voice in the speakers—nothing else.
She didn’t realize when she fell asleep, her phone still warm in her hand.
When she woke up, the room was dark, the only light coming from her screen. The song was still playing.
"Dumb conversation, we lose track of time..."
"Have I told you lately, I'm grateful you're mine?"
Her eyes flickered to the notifications.
No missed call. No message.
For the first time in months, Mikha had forgotten.
The realization settled deep in her chest, hollow and quiet. The song continued, filling the silence she didn’t know how to break.
"But there’s nothing, like doing nothing, with you..."
Stacey turned off the music, locking her phone with a soft click before staring at the ceiling.
She didn’t say it. Not yet.
But the thought was already there, waiting to be spoken.
It wasn’t a fight. Not exactly.
It was the slow erosion of us, of always, of I’ll love you no matter what.
Since that night, the calls had stopped coming every day. At first, Stacey told herself it was fine. Schedules get hectic. Time zones were a bitch. But then "every day" became every other day. Then, just a handful of times a week.
And when Mikha did call, it was different.
Five minutes. Ten, if they were lucky. Quick check-ins between meetings, in between rushed meals. No more lazy hours spent talking about everything and nothing, no more falling asleep to each other’s voices.
Then came the missed anniversary.
Mikha had promised to call. Stacey even cleared her schedule for it, planning to stay home, wear her girlfriend’s old hoodie, and pretend just for a little while that distance didn’t exist.
But she never called.
Stacey waited, watched as the clock struck midnight.
Then, a message.
babi <3: I’m so sorry. Work ran late. I’ll call bukas, okay? Love you. Happy anniversary, Babs.
That was it. That was all.
Tomorrow. Again.
Stacey didn’t reply. Not immediately. She let the hurt sit in her chest like an anchor, let herself feel the weight of slowly being forgotten.
When Mikha finally called the next day, Stacey picked up, but the warmth in her voice was gone.
“Are we still okay?” Stacey asked, voice steady but hollow.
Mikha hesitated. That single second of silence said more than words ever could.
“Of course,” Mikha answered, but it didn’t sound convincing.
Stacey closed her eyes. Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me I’m just overthinking. Tell me you still choose me.
Instead, Mikha sighed. “Babs…”
“I feel like I’m the only one trying,” Stacey whispered.
Mikha didn’t answer right away.
And in that silence, they both realized—this could be the beginning of an end.
Mikha sat on her bed, phone in her hands, staring at the screen like it would somehow tell her what to do.
“I feel like I’m the only one trying.”
Stacey’s voice echoed in her head, over and over. She had no answer to it.
Because maybe… maybe it was true.
She never meant for things to get like this. When she left, she promised nothing would change. But things had changed, hadn’t they? Work had become overwhelming. Life in the UK had slowly stopped feeling foreign. She had built routines without Stacey in them. Not because she wanted to, but because she had to.
But none of that mattered if Stacey felt like she was alone in this.
Mikha sighed, leaning back against the wall. She wanted to call. To say sorry. To tell her that she loved her.
But love wasn’t the problem. Distance was. Timing was. Or was it really?
For the first time, she didn’t know if love was enough to fix it.
She unlocked her phone and typed, Are you awake?Can we talk?
And then she hit send.
The video call connected after a few rings. Stacey appeared on the screen, her face tired, her lips pressed together like she was holding something back.
Mikha forced a smile. “Hi.”
Stacey exhaled. “Hey.”
Silence.
It wasn’t like before. Before, they could talk for hours, filling every second with laughter, stories, and stupid inside jokes. Now, the silence was suffocating.
Mikha cleared her throat. “I’m sorry.”
Stacey looked down. “For what?”
For missing our anniversary. For not trying hard enough. For letting this happen to us.
Mikha swallowed. “For everything.”
Stacey let out a soft laugh, but it wasn’t happy. “Mikhs, ano ba tayo?”
Mikha felt her chest tighten. “What do you mean?”
"I mean... tayo pa ba?"
Mikha’s breath caught. “Of course we are.”
Stacey looked at her then, really looked at her. Mikha saw the hurt in her eyes, the exhaustion. The doubt.
“Minsan ‘di ko na alam, eh,” Stacey admitted, voice quiet. “I love you, pero… hindi ko na alam kung babalik pa rin ‘yung dati.”
Mikha felt something crack inside her. Because she felt it too.
“Babi, mahal pa rin kita.” The words came out quickly, desperately. “I swear. Wala kang idea kung gaano.”
“Then show me.” Stacey’s voice broke slightly. “Kasi Mikha, hindi ko alam kung paano pa ‘to ipaglaban kung parang ako na lang ang lumalaban.”
Mikha clenched her jaw. “Hindi totoo ‘yan.”
“Hindi ba? Then bakit parang ako na lang ang naghihintay na magsama ulit tayo?”
Mikha had no answer.
The silence stretched again.
“I love you,” she whispered.
Stacey tightly closed her eyes. “I love you too.”
It should have been enough. But somehow, it wasn’t.
They stayed a little more on the call, neither one knowing what to say next—both waiting for the other to fix something that neither of them knew how to fix.
Then, it happened on a Wednesday night.
Stacey was at home, staring at her phone, debating whether to call Mikha. The distance felt wider than ever before. Messages sent with no urgency, calls that ended too quickly, the slow, painful unraveling of something she once thought was unbreakable.
It was slowly driving her insane.
Then her phone buzzed.
Not from her.
It was a friend’s message, a photo attached.
huy si mikha ba toh? ang cozy nila ah
[Image]
Stacey’s fingers trembled as she clicked the image open.
There, on the screen, was her girlfriend—smiling, caught mid-laugh, sitting too close to someone Stacey didn’t recognize. The kind of closeness that once belonged to her.
Her chest tightened.
It wasn’t outright damning. No hands held, no lips touching. But it was enough. Enough to plant a seed of doubt, to confirm the fear that had been creeping in for months.
She called immediately.
It rang once. Twice. Then Mikha answered.
“Hey-”
“Sino ‘yun?”
Mikha fell silent.
“Sino ‘yung kasama mo sa picture, Mikha?”
Mikha let out a breath. “Babs, it's not what you think—”
“Then tell me what it is!” Stacey’s voice came out raw. “Awa, Mikhs. Parang nababaliw na ako dito, oh.”
Mikha messily ran a hand down her face, leaning against the wall of her London flat. She wanted to explain, to say that it was really just a friend, that it didn’t mean anything. But the truth was, it did.
Because when she saw the photo, when she heard the way Stacey’s voice shook with barely contained hurt, she realized she had let this go too far.
“Hindi ko na alam kung anong nangyayari satin,” Stacey whispered. “Pero Mikha… parang hindi ko na ata ‘to kaya.”
Something inside Mikha cracked.
“So anong gusto mong mangyari?” Her voice came out strained.
A pause.
“I don’t know.”
And that was the problem.
Because neither of them did.
The call ended with no resolution.
And for the first time since Mikha left, Stacey wondered if they had already lost each other.
Stacey wasn’t expecting anyone.
She had spent the past week avoiding her phone, set in DND, ignoring the pit in her stomach, convincing herself that maybe, just maybe, this was for the best. The space growing between them had become too big to fill.
But when she opened the door one night and saw a very familiar figure standing there with a luggage in hand—messy-haired, jet-lagged, and very, very real—her breath caught.
“Mikha?”
Mikha let out a breathless laugh. “Surprise?”
Stacey blinked, her grip on the door tightening. “Bakit ka nandito?” Her voice was quieter than she expected, a surge of emotions creeping through her.
Mikha swallowed, suddenly feeling every single mile she had crossed to get here. “Because I love you. And I refuse to let this be how we end.”
Silence.
Stacey's heart was pounding. The last time they spoke, it ended with I don’t know. The words had haunted her ever since. She should be relieved that Mikha was here, that she had come back, but all she could feel right now was the ache in her chest, the weight of everything left unsaid.
“Mikha…” Stacey exhaled, rubbing her temples. “You can’t just—” she gestured vaguely, “—show up like this and expect everything to be okay.”
Mikha’s face fell, but she nodded. “I know.” Her voice was rough. “Pero hindi ako umuwi just to apologize and expect that you’ll forgive me.”
Stacey scoffed, shaking her head. “So bakit?”
Mikha hesitated. “Because I needed to see you. I needed to remember what it felt like to be here, with you. Hindi ‘yung version lang ng ‘tayo’ na nasa screen. Hindi ‘yung late-night calls na laging nagmamadali.” She looked down, unable to handle Stacey’s intent eyes. “…and I know it was my fault we’ve come to this point, kaya I’m here. I’m here to say sorry, Babi.”
Stacey clenched her jaw. “Mikhs, tiniis ko. I really did, and you know that. Tama, ikaw ang dahilan kung bakit umabot tayo sa ganito.” She briefly closed her eyes, suddenly feeling exhausted. “Pwede namang i-fix eh… Hinintay kita… Pero iniwan mo ‘ko rito habang ikaw—” She cut herself off, suddenly unable to say the words.
Mikha finally looked up. “Habang ako ano?”
She swallowed hard as she looked away for a second. “Habang ikaw ay natututo nang mabuhay nang wala ako.” Her voice cracked at the end.
Mikha felt something sharp twist in her chest.
She took a step closer. “Staks-”
“Ang dali mong nakahanap ng bagong mundo doon,” Stacey continued, voice trembling. "And I just… I didn’t know if I was still a part of it."
Mikha inhaled sharply, her hands itching to hold the woman in front of her. “Of course you were. You are.”
“Then why did it feel like I was the only one fighting for us?” Stacey whispered.
Mikha closed her eyes for a second, guilt pressing down on her ribs. “I don’t have an excuse,” she admitted. “I let the distance become bigger than us. I let myself get swept away by everything new, and I didn’t stop to think na maybe… you felt like you were being left behind.”
Stacey looked away. “I was.”
Mikha exhaled shakily. “And I’m sorry. I’m sorry kasi it took me this long to realize that I was losing you.”
The words hung heavy in the air.
She took another tentative step forward, voice softer now. “But if even a small part of your heart still wants to choose me, sabihin mo lang. Kasi I’m yours—” she took a shaky breath, “Always.”
Stacey squeezed her eyes shut. “Mikha…”
“But also, tell me if it’s too late.” Mikha's voice wavered. “Sabihin mo lang, Babi ko, and I swear I won’t make this harder for you.”
She hesitated, voice breaking as she pushed through the lump in her throat. “No matter what you choose… just know that I will always love you. Kahit hindi mo na ako piliin, kahit masaktan ako, even if I can’t hold you anymore-” She swallowed hard, blinking away the tears welling in her eyes. “Ikaw pa rin.”
The truth was, Stacey had spent so many nights imagining this moment—what she would say if Mikha ever came back. If she would let herself believe in them again.
She opened her mouth. Closed it.
Mikha held her breath, her heart in her throat, waiting as she tightly gripped her luggage’s handle.
Then, in a broken whisper - “Gago ka.”
A beat passed.
Then, Mikha let out a breathless laugh. “I know.”
Stacey shook her head, tears finally slipping free. “Gago ka, pero mahal kita.”
Mikha furrowed her eyebrows, blinking rapidly. “That means—”
“That means you’re coming inside before ako magbago ng isip, tanga.”
Mikha barely had time to react before Stacey was pulling her in—into the familiar warmth of home, into the arms she had missed for too long.
And finally.
Finally, they let themselves hold each other like they never wanted to let go again.
There's not many people I'd honestly say…
I don't mind losing to
But there's nothing, like doing nothing…
With you.