Christmas felt like a stranger this year. The house was decorated, the carols played on repeat, and the smell of cinnamon and roasted ham lingered in the air. Yet none of it reached me. The joy of the season, the warmth I once felt—it was all a distant memory.
Something was missing.
Her. Us.
The weight of the memories pressed down on me. I missed her—so much it hurt. The way she used to grab my hand during Christmas games, the sound of her laugh echoing louder than the music, the way she'd help me hang ornaments and call my all pink decorating "charmingly barbie-fied."
But now, she wasn't here.
Downstairs, the familiar hum of Christmas carols played as my family prepared for the evening. The clatter of pots and pans mixed with laughter and chatter, but none of it seemed to reach me. It was like watching the world through a frosted window—close but unreachable.
I curled up on my bed, scrolling through my phone. Post after post from friends filled my feed: couples smiling in matching sweaters, captions like "Merry Christmas, love" or "My everything under the tree this year." Each post felt like a dagger to the heart.
"Stacey, stop," I muttered to myself, my voice trembling as I put the phone aside. Tears threatened to spill, but I clenched my fists. I couldn't let myself spiral. Not today.
Desperate for distraction, I went downstairs and threw myself into helping with the preparations. I helped arrange platters of food, set the table, and joked half-heartedly with my younger cousins. It wasn't enough to quiet the ache, but it kept me busy.
By 6 PM, relatives began arriving in droves, their laughter filling every corner of the house. I hugged everyone and smiled, even though my chest felt hollow.
Eventually, I excused myself to get ready. Upstairs, I opened my closet and froze. Hanging there, untouched for a year, was the dress I'd made with her last Christmas. The fabric shimmered faintly under the dim light, and just seeing it brought back a flood of memories.
We'd spent hours sewing it together, laughing over the mess we made. She'd teased me for being a perfectionist, but I remembered how she'd kissed my cheek and told me it was the most beautiful dress she'd ever seen.
I hesitated, my fingers brushing the fabric.
"Just for tonight, Stacey," I whispered to myself. "One last time. Then you'll let go."
I slipped into the dress, its soft material hugging me like a bittersweet memory.
The evening kicked off with games and performances, my family bringing their usual chaos and joy. For fleeting moments, I laughed along with them, even if my heart remained heavy.
"Time to open gifts!" My mother called, clapping her hands together as everyone gathered around the tree.
One by one, presents were passed around and unwrapped. The kids squealed with delight at their new toys, while the adults exchanged thank-yous and hugs. When it seemed like every gift had been handed out, Grandma noticed something tucked beneath the branches.
"Wait! There's one more," she said, crouching to retrieve a small envelope.
She held it up, grinning. "'To Miss Fashion.'"
The room erupted into teasing laughter. My family had given me that nickname ever since I started designing clothes.
Smiling faintly, I took the envelope. But as soon as my eyes landed on the handwriting, my heart stopped. I knew it instantly.
It was hers.
Later, when the party began to wind down and everyone drifted off to bed, I slipped away to my room. Sitting on my bed, I stared at the envelope for what felt like hours before finally opening it.
"To Miss Fashion,
I want you back, Stacey. I want us back.
– Gwen Apuli"
The words blurred as tears filled my eyes. Just last year, Gwen had written me a letter that ended everything. She'd broken my heart with her words, shattering the life we'd built together. And now, here she was, asking to mend it.
A soft knock on my door startled me.
"Stacey, someone's here to see you," my uncle said quietly.
Confused, I opened the door—and there she was.
Gwen stood there, her dark hair slightly damp from the snow outside, her hands shoved into her coat pockets. Her eyes, nervous yet hopeful, met mine.
"Merry Christmas, Stacey," she said, her voice soft but steady.
For a moment, all I could do was stare. Then, without thinking, I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around her.
Her warmth, her scent, the familiar way her arms held me—it was like coming home.
She stroked my hair gently, her voice trembling as she whispered, "I'm so sorry. I miss you. I miss us. I never stopped loving you."
Tears streamed down my face as I pulled back to look at her. "I missed you too," I choked out. "I... I want us back, Gwen."
Relief washed over her face, her smile breaking through the tension like sunlight after a storm.
We spent the rest of the evening with my family. Gwen fit back in so effortlessly, it was like she'd never been gone. She laughed with my cousins, helped my mother clear plates, and even joined in a silly karaoke session.
Later, when my uncle brought out a tray of drinks, the teasing started again.
"Gwen, kaya mo bang uminom? Shot ka na!"
"Uy, baka magalit si Stacey!" someone joked, grinning at me.
Gwen smirked at me, raising an eyebrow. "What do you think?"
I rolled my eyes but smiled. "Fine. Just one."
She barely finished her drink when my phone buzzed with a text from my mom.
"Tita said you should stay over, Gwen" I announced, trying not to laugh at her wide-eyed reaction.
"She said what?" Gwen asked, nearly choking on her sip of water.
I showed her the message, and she laughed nervously, rubbing the back of her neck. "Looks like I'm staying with my baby tonight," she murmured, her cheeks turning pink.
The next morning, I woke early to prepare breakfast. My mother helped me, humming a Christmas carol as we worked.
When Gwen finally wandered into the kitchen, her hair adorably messy, she greeted my mother with a sleepy "Good morning."
I placed a bowl of soup and a cup of hot chocolate in front of her. "You had fun last night, didn't you?" I teased.
She grinned sheepishly. "Maybe a little too much."
After breakfast, I grabbed my keys and handed Gwen the helmet she'd left behind last year.
"You kept this?" she asked softly, her fingers brushing over it.
"Of course," I replied. "No one else deserves that seat but you."
Her cheeks flushed, and she climbed onto the back of my pink scooter.
We rode to a secluded beach we used to visit—a place where time seemed to stand still. The waves lapped gently at the shore, and the salty breeze carried the faint cry of seagulls.
"It's beautiful," Gwen murmured, staring out at the horizon.
I turned to her, my heart swelling. "Yeah. It is."
She looked at me then, her expression shifting to something softer. Before I could say anything, she leaned in and kissed my cheek.
"What was that for?" I asked, my hand flying to my burning face.
"You're blushing," she teased, her grin playful.
Her expression turned serious as she took my hands in hers. "Stacey, this is my promise. From now on, I'll keep choosing you. I'll keep loving you. I'll never leave again."
Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a small box and knelt down, opening it to reveal a delicate silver ring.
"Let's try again?"
Tears filled my eyes as I nodded, barely able to speak. "Yes."
She slipped the ring onto my finger, and in that moment, the weight I'd been carrying all year melted away.
This Christmas, she didn't just give me her heart—she gave me back my joy, my hope, and a future I never thought I'd have again.
Merry Christmas, indeed.