“staks, nasaan yung headset ko?” mikha called out, her tone a mix of urgency and frustration, her brow furrowed deeply and her hands tugging at her disheveled hair. she darted her eyes frantically around the room, shifting piles of clothes and tossing her belongings aside with jerky, impatient movements.
“nandyan lang yun, hanapin mo kasi. puro bibig pinanghahanap eh, try mo maghanap gamit mata mo.” stacey’s busy with her laundry. bullets of sweat are dripping through her forehead, hanging her clothes while waiting for the machine to finish the next load of laundry she will hang.
“damn, i was just asking, you don’t need to be like my mom.” mikha’s already running late for school, she woke up past her alarm. if it wasn’t for stacey waking her up, she’d still be likely sleeping until now. on top of that, she’s going to perform at their school event next week and today is their practice day. even more reason for her to not be late. but going back and forth to find her headset is making her late.
mikha cannot live without music blasting through her ears. every single day, she has her headset on. listening to music from her hundreds of playlist she makes for every mood—every single thing she does on an everyday basis—she has a playlist for it. she’s a walking music library as you may call it.
“basta hanapin mo. nandyan lang yan.”
“why are you always cleaning kasi and moving my stuff?” if there’s one thing mikha hates, it’s someone else moving her stuff around. she places her things somewhere she could easily find, somewhere her eyes can easily spot. different from stacey. completely opposite.
“kung hindi ako maglilinis, edi lahat ng gamit mo nakakalat. ang liit-liit na nga lang ng dorm natin hindi mo pa lilinisin?” at first, mikha hated stacey’s obsessive cleaning. mikha found it unnecessary—irritating, even. but over time, she had to admit it: stacey’s touch made the place feel more like home.
“yeah, yeah. whatever. i’ll be coming home late, don’t wait up.” mikha said, finally spotting her headset tangled in her bed sheets. relief washed over her as she grabbed it.
“nahanap mo na headset mo?”
“yes. nasa bed ko pala.”
“inayos mo man lang ba hinigaan mo?” stacey’s voice carried the knowing tone of someone expecting the answer to be no.
mikha smirked as she slipped on her headset, adjusting the band over her head.
stacey rolled her eyes, an exaggerated movement mikha didn’t catch. “i’m not your mom.”
“then stop acting like one,” mikha retorted, flashing a grin as she locked the door behind her.
mikha doesn’t like change. who wants change, anyway? nobody likes change. especially, mikha lim. change is constant. as the greek philosopher, heraclitus of ephesus, said “the only constant in life is change.” it’s something you can’t predict and prevent from happening and mikha’s aware of it. she can’t control change. she just is not ready for change. she’s happy just the way it is. but when stacey came, three years ago, everything in mikha’s life changed.
stacey is one of those girls that can’t sit still. she’s always doing something—cleaning, organizing, rearranging furniture, or making plans for the weekend. it drove mikha insane at first, the constant bustling around the dorm, the endless cycle of “improvements” even though it’s just the same set of furniture just in different places. mikha thought it was unnecessary. why fix something that wasn’t broken, right?
but stacey was also the type of person who’d notice mikha was having a bad day. she’d wordlessly leave mikha’s favorite snacks on the study table or brew her a cup of coffee just the way she liked it—strong, with two teaspoons of sugar. stacey never said much when she did these things, but mikha could tell it was her way of saying, i see you.
that’s why, despite the eye rolls, the snarky comebacks and occasional arguments over misplaced belongings, mikha couldn’t bring herself to truly hate stacey.
as mikha walked to school, the familiar beats of her favorite song thumping through her headset, she couldn’t help but smile to herself. stacey could be annoying, sure, but she also had a way of grounding mikha. it was an odd balance—mikha’s chaotic, music-fueled world and stacey’s methodical, perpetually-moving one—but somehow, it worked.
by the time mikha reached the campus gates, her thoughts wandered back to stacey. she remembered how stacey once spent an entire weekend assembling a bookshelf for mikha’s growing pile of textbooks and notebooks. or how she stayed up late to help mikha finish a project she’d forgotten about. stacey’s fussing could feel suffocating sometimes, but it was always backed by care.
maybe i should’ve fixed my bed, mikha thought, chuckling to herself. but the thought of stacey’s exaggerated sighs and i-told-you-so looks made her dismiss the idea quickly. as much as she hated stacey’s never ending comments about mikha not organizing her things, she still loved it. she loves the attention stacey’s bringing to her, it makes her feel loved.
as the day wore on and mikha got caught up in practice, she didn’t notice the hours slipping by. it wasn’t until she was packing up her things that she realized it was past eight. her stomach growled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten since breakfast.
when mikha got back to the dorm, the lights were dim, and the sound of soft classical music was playing from stacey’s speaker. the smell of something warm and savory wafted through the room—kare-kare, mikha’s favorite. on the table was a plate, covered with foil, and a sticky note stuck to it.
“eat this. i’m not your mom, but you need to eat. – s.”
mikha grinned, shaking her head. stacey had her ways, and mikha hated to admit it, but she was grateful. the sight of the sticky note warmed mikha’s chest, but it didn’t erase the day’s exhaustion. she pulled out a chair, peeled back the foil, and saw her favorite food, still warm. she sighed, already feeling the tension of the day ease as she took her first bite.
just as she was finishing, the dorm door opened. stacey walking in, carrying a grocery bag and looking more tired than usual. she spotted mikha at the table and raised an eyebrow.
“linisin mo naman yang pinagkainan mo, baka ako pa maglinis nyan ah.” stacey said, her tone sharp but not unkind.
mikha rolled her eyes, picking at the leftovers on her plate. “i literally just finished. give me a second, mom.”
“hindi nga ako nanay mo,” stacey snapped, setting the grocery bag down on the counter. “tsaka you could at least show some appreciation. hindi naman ako yung kalat-kalat yung gamit, kung saan-saan lang nilalagay.”
“i didn’t ask you to cook for me,” mikha shot back, standing abruptly and shoving her chair under the table with a little too much force. “if it bothers you so much, stop acting like you’re responsible for me.”
stacey froze mid-motion, her hand gripping the edge of the counter. “you think i want to do this? do you have any idea how exhausting it is living with someone who doesn’ even try to keep the place livable?”
“alam mo, kung ganun naman pala ako kahirap kasama, bakit di ka na lang umalis?” mikha said, rolling her eyes and grabbing her backpack.
“right. of course, it’s not like you’d notice. god forbid you’d actually care about someone other than yourself for once.” stacey said, her voice rising.
that stung. mikha stopped, turning back to face stacey, her jaw tight. “you don’t get it, do you? i do care. but every fucking time you’re in my face about how i’m doing everything wrong, it makes me feel like nothing i do is ever enough for you.”
“no, ikaw yung hindi maka-gets. everything i do is for us, for this place to make it livable. pero ikaw, hindi mo man lang naiisip yung mga bagay na kailangan mong gawin. it’s always me, mikha.”
“that’s what you want, right? ikaw yung laging nasusunod dito, i can’t do whatever i want. you’re always yapping in my ear. i can’t live like that.”
“mikhs, you failed to see that you do whatever you want, just like you always do. and i’ll keep on forgiving you just like i always do.”
“is that how you think our relationship works?”
“pretty much, yeah.”
“well, that’s just it, then.”
the room fell silent, the tension thick between them. stacey looked away, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. mikha’s throat tightened. stacey’s words hit her like a cold splash of water. she stared at her roommate unsure of what to say, the weight of the argument sinking in. stacey gripped at the counter, avoiding her gaze, her jaw clenched. the air between them was heavy, almost suffocating, the silence louder than the shouting that had just ended.
without a word, stacey grabbed her things and retreated to her side of the dorm, slamming the door shut behind her. mikha stood there for a moment, the silence ringing in her ears. the weight of their argument lingered heavily in the room. she sat back down at the table, her appetite gone now.
as she stared at the empty plate, mikha realized something she didn’t want to admit—not to herself, and definitely not to stacey. she did need her. but she was too stubborn to say it out loud.
weeks had passed, and stacey still wasn’t talking to mikha. mikha barely acknowledged stacey’s presence whenever they were in the same room. they simply walked past each other, like strangers.
deep down, mikha wanted to apologize for everything she had said before, but she didn’t know where to start, when to start, or how to start. after all, she loved stacey—more than anything the world could offer. more than music. more than herself.
stacey’s silence was killing mikha. it wasn’t the loud, angry kind of silence; it was the absence of everything. no more nagging about her unwashed dishes, no more sticky notes with reminders or meals waiting for her after long days. the dorm felt cold, barren, and all the little things stacey used to do—things mikha once found annoying—were glaringly absent.
mikha sat at her desk one evening, staring at her laptop screen. she wasn’t doing any work, though. her playlists weren’t even playing. her headset hung loosely around her neck, like a constant reminder of the comfort she could no longer feel. she glanced at stacey’s side of the room. it was spotless, as always, but the bed was empty. stacey had started staying out late, going who-knows-where, and mikha didn’t dare ask. she didn’t think she had the right to.
it was past midnight when mikha heard the dorm door creak open. she held her breath, pretending to be engrossed in her laptop as stacey stepped inside, setting her things down quietly. mikha caught a glimpse of her—dark circles under her eyes, her usual briskness replaced with something slower, heavier. guilt gnawed at mikha’s insides.
“staks,” mikha said softly, not looking up.
stacey paused, her back to mikha, before continuing to unpack her bag. she didn’t reply.
“i’m sorry.”
the words hung in the air, trembling with vulnerability. mikha wasn’t used to apologizing. she wasn’t used to admitting she was wrong. but right now, nothing mattered more than making this right.
“for what?” stacey finally said, her voice flat, devoid of its usual warmth. she didn’t turn around.
“for being a jerk,” mikha admitted, standing up and walking closer. “for saying all those things that hurt you. for not appreciating everything you’ve done for me. for us.”
stacey let out a humorless laugh, shaking her head. “mikha, it’s not about you being a jerk once. it’s about you never seeing me. never listening. never meeting me halfway.”
“i know,” mikha said quickly. “i know i’ve been selfish. i just—” she hesitated, rubbing the back of her neck. “i’m not good at… at this. at showing i care. but i do, stace. i swear i do.”
stacey turned to face her, arms crossed. her expression was guarded, but there was a flicker of something softer in her eyes. “then why does it feel like i’m the only one who tries?”
mikha felt her chest tighten. “because i’m scared. okay? i’m scared of change. i’m scared of needing someone as much as i need you. and i hate that i make you feel like you’re not enough because you are. you’re more than enough.”
stacey’s lips parted, but no words came out. mikha stepped closer, her voice trembling. “i don’t hate you for cleaning or organizing or nagging. i hate myself for not saying thank you. for taking you for granted. for not showing you that i…” she paused, swallowing hard. “that i love you. i wasn’t done loving you.”
the words felt like a release, a truth she’d been holding back for far too long. stacey blinked, her guarded expression crumbling into something raw and vulnerable.
“mikhs…” stacey began, her voice barely above a whisper. she took a step back, as if the confession had knocked the air out of her. “hindi mo naman kailangan sabihin yan para maayos natin ‘to. isang sorry lang naman kailangan ko eh.”
“i’m not saying it to fix anything,” mikha said earnestly. “i’m saying it because it’s true. because it’s always been true, and i was too stupid and scared to lose you.”
“mikhs, we already talked about this, di ba? i don’t love you like you do. nung umamin ka sa ‘kin last time at sinabi mo na okay lang. okay lang na hindi ko mareciprocate, okay lang kung hindi kita sagutin, na okay lang na…” stacey started sobbing, mikha closed the space between them and hugged her.
“staks, please,” mikha whispered, her voice breaking as she tightened her embrace. “i know what i said back then. i thought i could handle it—i thought just being close to you was enough. but i lied. i don’t think i can keep pretending that all of this is fine, that i don’t want more.”
stacey tried to pull away, but mikha held her tighter. stacey’s sobs quieted, her face buried in mikha’s shoulder. she didn’t push mikha away, but she didn’t fully lean into her either. they stood there, caught in a fragile, tenuous moment.
“mikhs,” stacey finally said, her voice muffled. “ang unfair mo.”
mikha froze.
“this isn’t fair,” stacey continued, pulling back just enough to look at mikha. her eyes were red and glistening. “you can’t just drop that on me after everything. you know i don’t feel the same. i told you that before.”
“i know,” mikha said softly, her heart sinking. “pero hindi ko na kaya itago, staks. it’s killing me.”
stacey shook her head, wiping her tears with the sleeve of her hoodie. “do you even understand how hard it is to live with that? knowing how you feel, knowing i can’t give you what you want? i hate it, mikha. i hate how much i hate myself for not loving you the way you want me to.”
mikha reached out, but stacey stepped back this time, creating a distance that felt colder than any argument they’d ever had.
“you don’t have to hate yourself for that,” mikha said, her voice trembling. “hindi naman kita pinipilit eh. i know that. i don’t want you to feel guilty, staks. i just—” she hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “i just needed you to know. really know. because no matter what happens, i don’t want to lose you. even if this doesn’t change anything.”
stacey stared at her, the weight of mikha’s words hanging heavy in the air. she looked away, her arms crossing defensively as she tried to collect herself.
“we can’t keep doing this,” she said after a long silence. “nasasaktan lang natin yung isa’t-isa, mikha. you keep waiting for something na hindi ko maibigay. and i keep hoping na hindi na kita masaktan ulit, pero wala. ganun pa rin pala, nasasaktan pa rin kita.”
“you’re not breaking my heart, stacey. you’re in it,” mikha said, taking a step forward. “you always have been. and i know i can’t force you to stay or feel something you don’t. but don’t think for a second that you’re the bad guy here. you’re just...you. and that’s all i’ve ever wanted.”
stacey’s lips quivered, her walls cracking. “why do you make it so hard to walk away?”
“because i don’t want you to,” mikha admitted. “i’ll take whatever you can give, stacey. even if it’s just this—just us, as we are now. but if you need space, if you need to leave, i won’t stop you. i just…” her voice faltered. “i just want you to be happy. kahit hindi sakin, staks. kahit hindi ako yung rason nang pagiging masaya mo, tatanggapin ko.”
stacey’s tears spilled over again, and for a moment, mikha thought she might walk out. but instead, stacey stepped forward and hugged mikha tightly, her arms trembling.
“i don’t know what to do,” stacey whispered.
“you don’t have to decide now,” mikha murmured, stroking stacey’s hair. “just stay. even if it’s just for tonight.”
“mikhs, hindi tama eh.”
stacey's words hung in the air, heavy with unresolved emotions. she pulled away slightly, her hands lingering on mikha’s arms as if unsure whether to let go completely or hold on a little longer. her eyes searched mikha’s face, a mixture of confusion and longing flickering in her gaze.
“it’s not about what’s right,” mikha said softly, her voice steady despite the confusion inside. “it’s about what we feel. and i know this isn’t easy for you. it’s not easy for me either. but maybe we don’t need to have it all figured out right now.”
stacey closed her eyes, shaking her head slightly. “i’m scared too, mikha. scared of hurting you. scared of messing this up even more than i already have.”
“you haven’t messed anything up,” mikha reassured her, taking a deep breath. “if anything, you’ve made my life better. you’ve made me better. and i don’t want to lose that. i don’t want to lose you.”
a silence settled between them, thick with the weight of everything they’d said—and everything they hadn’t. stacey glanced toward the door, her lips pressed into a thin line, as though debating whether to stay or go. mikha’s heart clenched at the thought of her leaving, but she stood her ground, determined not to push stacey into anything she wasn’t ready for.
“i don’t know if i can be what you need me to be,” stacey admitted finally, her voice breaking.
mikha smiled sadly, her eyes softening. “you don’t have to be anything other than who you are. that’s all i’ve ever wanted.”
stacey looked at her, something shifting in her expression—an unspoken understanding, a fragile thread of connection that neither of them wanted to break. she exhaled slowly, her shoulders relaxing just a little.
“i’ll stay,” stacey said, her voice barely audible. “but i don’t know what this means, mikhs. i don’t know if i can give you more than what we have now.”
mikha nodded, her chest tightening with a bittersweet mix of relief and resignation. “that’s enough for me, staks. just having you here is enough.”