Chapter Text
Maloi Ricalde was three drinks deep and dangerously close to texting her ex girlfriend, Colet Vergara.
She was sprawled across her friend Stacey’s couch like heartbreak personified: makeup smeared, mascara streaked down one cheek, eyeliner uneven in a way that would’ve made her scream on a normal day. But this wasn’t a normal day. Her lipstick had faded into a blurry outline around her mouth, like a kiss that never landed right. One boot dangled from her foot while the other had been abandoned somewhere near the front door, along with her dignity.
The room smelled like popcorn, gin, and girl perfume, the kind of scent you could only get from a half-hearted girls’ night turned intervention.
Taylor Swift’s “I Forgot That You Existed” was blaring from the Bluetooth speaker Stacey kept on the TV shelf, and Maloi had decided it was the perfect war cry. She screamed the lyrics like they owed her something.
“‘AND I THOUGHT THAT IT WOULD KILL ME, BUT IT DIDN’T!’” she belted, voice cracking mid-note, one hand raised like she was invoking spirits, the other clutching her third glass of pink gin like it was a lifeline.
Her friends, Aiah, Gwen, and Stacey sat cross-legged on the floor, watching her with the solemn patience of soldiers who had done this dance before. This was Maloi’s third meltdown this month. Second this week.
“Fuck you, Vergara!”
“Girl,” Gwen said gently, “ang ingay mo. Jusko, rinig na rinig ka ng mga kapitbahay ni bebi.”
“Oh please. I’m thriving.” Maloi slurred, then faced her friend. “’Di ba, Staks? Tingnan mo ako. Look at me. I’m glowing. Radiating! My aura is purple or some shit.”
“More like red flags,” Aiah muttered, sipping from her tumbler.
“Ha! Red flag? Ako pa? Excuse me, I was the best thing that ever happened to her.” Maloi sat up, chest puffed like she was delivering a TED Talk. “I gave her my whole self. Alam niyo ba ’yon? All of me. The messy, clingy, chaotic, loyal version of me. Binigay ko ’yon lahat.”
She placed a dramatic hand on her chest, the ice in her glass clinking as it tilted. “And what did I get? Iniwan ako ni gago! She even deleted our photos . Grabe, deleted! Hindi man lang archive. That’s even worse.”
“Oh eh bakit parang tatawagan mo na?” Stacey asked quietly, already reaching for Maloi’s phone.
Maloi pulled it away. “Hindi! What the fuck, no. I would never. She doesn’t deserve me. Look at me now. I’m healed. I’m in my reputation era.”
“Isn’t that the one where Taylor burned everything down?” Aiah asked.
“Exactly!” Maloi cackled, then downed the rest of her drink in one long gulp.
The laughter didn’t last long.
Her hand lingered on her phone. Colet’s name glowed from the blocked contacts list, still there, still untouched, still taunting . Her chest throbbed like she’d been holding her breath for months.
It’s been two months since they officially broke up and she hadn’t texted her. Not once. (There were drunk calls, sure. But Colet never answered so she will never admit it.) She had written messages. Typed and deleted. Saved notes. Ranted in her private stories, soft-launched new hair and new nails and new girls in the background, all for one pair of eyes she wasn’t even sure were watching.
The thought made her stomach turn.
Colet used to tell her that she’s too intense. She used to whisper it after sex. After fights. After Maloi cried too loud, loved too hard, broke too fast.
“You feel too much, Yves.”
So what? So fucking what if she did?
“I should get over her, no?” Maloi said suddenly, the words trembling as they left her mouth. “I mean she’s nothing special.” Lies. She’s everything to her. “Hindi naman siya magaling.” Another lie. She’s amazing in literally every way possible. “Hindi siya… hindi siya warm. Parang robot nga minsan. Laging logical. Laging kalmado ba? Ewan. Nakakainis.”
She waited. No one agreed.
She scoffed. “Tangina, why does she still have this grip on me?”
No one had an answer.
Maloi sat back against the couch again, gaze unfocused. Her eyes landed on the ceiling fan spinning slowly above, and for a second, the room faded replaced by memories that rushed in like poison.
Colet’s laugh. The way she tied her hair with a pen. The way she wiped Maloi’s tears with her sleeves. The way she used to whisper “Gago ako pero love mo ako di ba?” when they were curled up under the covers.
Maloi blinked hard. She couldn’t cry. Not tonight.
“I don’t miss her,” she said flatly.
Silence.
“I don’t.” she repeated.
None of her friends corrected her. But no one agreed either.
Maloi sat up again, rummaged through her bag, and pulled out her old tube of lipstick. She looked at herself in Stacey’s mirror across the room, wild hair, swollen eyes, bruised ego, and applied the red with trembling hands.
“Post ko ’to,” she mumbled. “She needs to see me like this.”
Stacey couldn’t help but laugh at her ridiculousness. Aiah didn’t even argue.
“You’re so fucking stupid, Loi.” Gwen whispered, not unkindly.
Maloi ignored them all. She posed for a selfie: head tilted, lips parted just enough to look careless. Posted it to her story with the caption: “Miss me yet?”
She tossed her phone down after and closed her eyes.
Her throat burned.
Her heart still belonged to someone who didn’t even look back.
And that, more than anything, pissed her off.
It started at a bar, like all bad decisions pretending to be love.
Maloi wasn’t even supposed to be out that night. She had a deadline due the next day, two unread Canvas notifications, and a headache blooming behind her eyes like something rotten. But Stacey had other plans.
“Girl, you need to get laid or get drunk. Literally just pick one.” Stacey said, already smearing lip gloss onto her mouth in their shared dorm mirror.
Maloi groaned, face buried in her pillow. “I’m literally dying sa daming gawain, Staks.”
“You’re so dramatic.” A pause. “Come on. One drink lang. Swear.”
She should’ve said no. She knew that now. But something about the numbness in her chest made her want to feel something . Anything.
So she said yes.
The bar was the kind of place where the music felt like it was coming from inside your skull. A neon blur of sweat, spilled liquor, and broken hearts pretending they weren’t. Maloi nursed a watered-down gin tonic, elbows on the sticky counter, scrolling through her own Instagram feed like it’s a hobby.
Then she saw her.
Across the room, in a loose black button-down half-tucked into low-rise jeans, laughing with two friends and a glass of whiskey in one hand, was Colet Vergara. The kind of girl who looked like the problem and the solution in one. Her earrings caught the light. Her lipstick was bitten off in the middle. Her smirk was something between a dare and a promise.
She didn’t even glance at Maloi. But that was all it took.
Something in Maloi shifted like gravity changed direction and pointed only to her.
“She’s so my type it’s disgusting,” Maloi muttered, her fingers tightening around her glass.
Stacey looked up, followed her gaze, then sighed. “No. Not another one like that , Maloi. Jusko! Di ka pa ba nadala sa ex mo?”
But Maloi was already on her feet, heart thudding like a stupid, hopeful drum.
She slid into the empty stool beside Colet like it had been waiting for her.
“Hi,” Maloi said, smiling like she hadn’t rehearsed this in her head five times. “Is it just me, or did the room get hotter when you walked in?”
Colet didn’t even turn fully at first, just glanced sideways, unimpressed. Then, slowly, she faced her. Arched one perfect brow.
“Ganyan ba talaga linyahan mo,” she said, voice smooth as melted ice, “o lasing ka lang?”
Maloi grinned. “Depends on what will make you notice me.”
A pause.
Then Colet laughed. A short, low sound like she hadn’t meant to be charmed, but was. Maloi watched her closely, like staring long enough could teach her how to be that effortlessly magnetic.
“Colet Vergara.” she said, holding out her hand.
“Maloi.” Colet shook it. Their palms met, warm, dry, lingering.
Maloi felt it then. The click. The shift. The quiet knowing: This is going to ruin me.
And still, she smiled.
They stayed at the bar counter too long. Tequila shots. Stolen glances. Maloi leaned closer with every laugh. Colet didn’t move away. She asked about Maloi’s ribbon tattoo. Maloi made something up. She asked about Colet’s ex. Colet rolled her eyes and changed the subject.
Eventually, Colet stood.
“Dance with me.”
It wasn’t a question. Her tone didn’t allow for refusal, sharp but low, soaked in want. Maloi looked up from her half-empty drink, blinking once, then twice, like she hadn’t heard right. But she had. Colet was already walking backward, hand extended, waiting.
Maloi followed like she didn’t have a choice. Like her feet were no longer her own. Like some invisible thread had already pulled her halfway there.
The dance floor was a haze of bodies and red light, pulsing like a heartbeat. The bass throbbed through the floor, up her calves, into her chest. Colet moved like the music came from inside her, not following the rhythm but controlling it, bending it around her with each twist of her hips, each fluid wave of her arm. She didn’t have to try. She just was.
Maloi followed, clumsy at first, her limbs uncertain, thrown off by how good Colet looked like this, bathed in crimson, eyes half-lidded, hair falling over one shoulder like she meant for it to. But Colet turned and pulled her in by the hips, their bodies pressing together. Maloi inhaled sharply. Everything clicked into place like something inevitable.
They moved together, heat rising, chests brushing, breaths mingling. Colet’s hand didn’t just rest on her hip. It held her there, firm and possessive, like she belonged. Maloi’s hands found Colet’s shoulders, then her waist, then lower, unsure and eager at the same time.
“You always this intense?” Colet asked, voice right against her ear, lips grazing her skin. The question was nearly swallowed by the bass, but Maloi caught it. She felt it more than heard it, the curl of a smirk behind it, the challenge.
Maloi laughed, breathless. “Only when I want something.”
“Oh yeah?” Colet’s voice dropped, a glint in her eye. “And what is it you want?”
Maloi stared. The red light carved shadows across Colet’s cheekbones, flickered in her lashes. She looked unreal, beautiful and dangerous and close enough to burn.
“You.” Maloi said.
And that was it.
Colet didn’t speak. She leaned in and kissed her, hard, like she’d been waiting all night. No hesitation. No testing the waters. Just yes. Just finally.
Maloi swore the entire room fell silent. Her knees nearly gave out from the force of it, from the way Colet kissed like she was making a promise or a threat. Maloi’s fingers curled into Colet’s shirt, knuckles white, like she was holding on for dear life or trying not to fall.
The rest blurred. She didn’t remember leaving the club. Didn’t remember who called the Grab or what time it was. Just fragments: Colet’s hand brushing hers in the backseat, their thighs pressed together, lips grazing at a red light like they couldn’t wait until they got home. Colet whispered something then, a soft string of words into Maloi’s neck, too low to catch, but it lingered in her skin like smoke. Like a spell or a warning.
Colet’s apartment was warm and soft around the edges, scented with vanilla candles and something floral that lived in her sheets. A half-finished painting leaned against the wall, colors still wet. Books were scattered on the floor like she’d been looking for one and gave up halfway. Maloi had just enough time to register the space, to think, this is where she lives, this is where she sleeps, this is where she touches people like this , before Colet shoved her gently against the door and kissed her again.
They kissed like they were starving. Like every second lost was a second they’d never get back. Maloi moaned against her mouth, surprised by her own need. Colet’s hands were on her waist, then up her back, then under her shirt, tracing the edges of her ribs like they were reading her. Maloi gasped and laughed at the same time, and Colet bit her bottom lip in response, then smiled against her collarbone like she’d won something.
They made it to the couch, eventually, clothes messy, minds messier. They collapsed in a tangle, Colet half on top of her, their legs braided together, skin still burning, breath shallow.
Maloi looked up at the ceiling, then at her. Something in her chest ached, uncoiled. “Tell me something real.” she said, soft, almost shy. Not because she needed it, but because she wanted it, something true, even if it hurt.
Colet blinked, head resting on her arm. Her eyes flicked over Maloi’s face, something unreadable in them. Then she shrugged. “You’re cute when you’re like this.”
Maloi groaned. “I’m not cute.”
“You are,” Colet said simply. “I think you’re always cute.”
Maloi frowned, trying not to smile. “Sabi ko nga, I’m not.”
Colet looked at her for a long moment. The kind of silence that feels too full. Then she said, voice low, even:
“You’re gonna break your own heart with me.”
The words dropped like a stone. Honest. Heavy.
Maloi didn’t answer. She just leaned in and kissed her again. Not rough this time, but slow and tender. Like if she kissed her gently enough, it wouldn’t be true.
After that night, it was obsession.
Not love. Not yet. But something louder. Messier. Louder than logic, messier than pride.
They texted constantly, paragraphs about nothing at all. Updates on what they had for lunch. Snarky reactions to tweets. Colet would send blurry selfies from class captioned “Miss me, loser?” and Maloi would grin like a dumbass in the middle of her bio lab, fingers already typing, “Always.”
They called each other between classes just to fill the space. Colet’s voice became Maloi’s favorite sound especially when she was tired and raspy and half-annoyed, muttering “Antok na ko pero I wanna talk to you lang” at 2 a.m., when they should’ve both been asleep.
They met at cafés and never studied. Maloi would bring her laptop and open a blank Word doc just for show, but Colet would steal her attention within minutes dragging her earphones out, doodling on her notes, resting her chin on Maloi’s shoulder just to whisper, “You’re not really gonna work, right?”
Maloi would sigh. Pretend to protest. But then close her laptop anyway.
They spent entire afternoons in Colet’s apartment, eating snacks in bed, rewatching Colet’s comfort movies with one leg thrown over Maloi’s, their phones forgotten between the sheets. Maloi started skipping lectures. “Just this once,” she’d say. But it became every time Colet needs her. She’d lie there, eyes half-closed, listening to Colet rant about thesis deadlines, her annoying professor, her cousin’s pregnancy, her parents fighting again.
Maloi didn’t always understand. But she always listened.
Because Colet let her close.
And that was rare.
They fought, even then.
Over little things.
Misread texts. Missed replies. That time Colet didn’t like Maloi’s IG story fast enough. That night Colet turned her phone off and Maloi spiraled, imagining the worst.
They’d go silent for two hours. Maybe three.
Then it would break with something stupid. A screenshot of a cat meme. A knock on the dorm window at midnight because Colet “got bored” and brought fries.
And just like that, they’d be back to kissing each other breathless on the couch, fries cold and forgotten on the floor.
Maloi always said sorry first.
Even when it wasn’t her fault. Especially when it wasn’t her fault.
She didn’t mind.
Because Colet’s hands in her hair felt like home.
Because Colet would whisper “Don’t stay mad at me” in that sleepy, vulnerable voice, the one that cracked just a little when she was tired, and Maloi’s anger would dissolve like sugar in coffee.
Because Colet calling her baby while half-asleep and pulling her closer under the covers made her forget the sharp edges. The silences. The fact that sometimes, Maloi felt like she was always chasing someone who was walking away.
And every time she tried to leave, on the nights she cried in the bathroom after Colet ghosted her for hours, or when she saw Colet like someone else’s tweet with too many heart emojis, or when Colet laughed a little too hard at her expense in front of friends, Colet would pull her back in with one line:
“Ayaw mo na sa’kin, baby?”
She said it so casually. Like it wasn’t a weapon.
And Maloi, heart on the floor, eyes puffy, still aching, would melt. Every time.
“Gago ka,” she’d whisper, not meeting her eyes. Voice trembling.
Colet would smirk. Softly. “Alam ko. Pero love mo ako, diba?”
And just like that, it was okay again.
Just like that, Maloi would fall all over again.
Because even when it was wrong, it felt real.
And real was better than nothing.
They weren’t even official. They never talked about labels.
But Colet would hold her pinky tight at crowded parties. Would introduce her to people like “this one’s mine.” And Maloi would laugh like that was romantic. Like it wasn’t already a ticking clock.
Because when you’re starved for affection, even crumbs feel like feasts.
Back in the present, curled up on Stacey’s couch, Maloi blinked hard. The sting behind her eyes came sudden, sharp.
She remembered that first night too vividly, the tequila burn, the beat drop, Colet’s lipstick smudged across her own mouth.
Even back then, Colet knew she wouldn’t stay. But Maloi didn’t care. Maloi let her in anyway.
Because the only thing worse than getting burned was never feeling the fire at all.
“Tangina. I fucking hate her. I’m so getting back at you, Colet Vergara.”
“Tara na, Loi. Sumama ka na,” Aiah groaned as she yanked open the curtains in Maloi’s room. “You’re seriously skipping Mikh’s party?”
Maloi, curled up on the bed in an oversized hoodie (she won’t be admitting who’s the owner of the hoodie) she hadn’t washed in three days, flinched at the sunlight. “Bakit ba kasi ang kulit mo? I already told you, ayoko.”
“You need to get back out there. Mingle! You’re single, remember?”
“Wow, thank you for the reminder,” Maloi deadpanned, pulling the hood over her head like armor. “Besides, hindi ba kaibigan ni Mikhs ‘yung ex kong gago? Baka makita ko pa dun.”
She didn’t say Colet’s name. She hadn’t in weeks. Not out loud. But God, did she think it.
Aiah is inviting her to go to her friend’s party. She knows Mikha, not as much as Aiah but she knows her just enough to know that Colet is a friend of Mikha. She will definitely be at her party and Maloi doesn’t want to admit but she’s afraid to see her.
Or worse see her with someone else. Laughing. Glowing. Making someone else feel like they’re the only girl in the room.
Maloi’s stomach twisted at the thought.
She couldn’t let Colet do that to her. Not again.
Not unless she did it first.
She sat up, eyes sharp now. “Fine. I’ll go.”
Aiah blinked. “Wait, what?”
“But you’re finding me a plus one.”
“…what?”
“I’m not going there alone. No fucking way.”
“Girl, I’m literally going with you. Plus andun din si Staks at Gweny.”
Maloi shook her head, standing now, suddenly energized. “Nope. I want someone with me. Someone hot. Someone she’ll hate. ”
Aiah squinted at her. “Maloi…”
Maloi smirked, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Find me someone na pagseselosan niya. Yung tipo ng itsura na kapag nakita niya, mapapamura siya sa inis. I want her to see what she lost.”
Aiah sighed, almost pitying. “Loi, is this really worth it?”
Maloi shrugged. “If I see her nangangalaiti sa selos, then yeah. It’s worth every second.”
The apartment felt quieter than usual, but Colet wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. Two months since the breakup officially but the silence between her and Maloi was louder than any fight they’d ever had. She didn’t know how to unpack all the anger and hurt without it turning into another argument, another game neither of them could win.
She’d spent weeks replaying everything in her head: the way Maloi stormed out that night, how she’d clung and begged, and how Colet, stubborn as ever, shut her out with a coldness that cut deeper than she liked to admit. She wanted to be the calm one, the steady rock, but inside, her thoughts twisted in loops of jealousy and frustration.
Colet had tried ignoring Maloi’s social media storms, but it was impossible to pretend she wasn’t watching. The thirst traps, the petty captions, the selfies dripping with fake confidence — all screamed “look at me” louder than words ever could. And maybe that was the problem. Maloi wasn’t just showing off to the world; she was daring Colet to look, to care, to chase.
But Colet wasn’t chasing. Not like before.
She remembered the nights she’d lie awake, scrolling through Maloi’s tagged photos, the memories of them laughing, fighting, loving, unraveling. The sharp sting when Maloi’s phone slipped on the table and Colet caught a glimpse of a message, something innocent to anyone else, but to her it was a dagger.
She knew she’d been obsessive, too. Quiet, calculating. Waiting for Maloi to make a mistake, to slip up, to come crawling back. But she also held back, afraid that if she showed too much, she’d lose whatever little control she still had.
Her friends saw the version of Colet that laughed easily, stayed cool, made clever jokes. But they didn’t know about the nights she spent writing poems no one would ever read, about the voice memos she left unsent, about the way her chest tightened when she saw Maloi’s name pop up on her phone and she didn’t answer.
Tonight was the party. A chance to reclaim some part of herself, or maybe to stir the pot enough to see if Maloi was still paying attention. So she slipped on the emerald green dress (Maloi’s favorite, not that she’d admit it), smoothed down her hair, and told herself she was going to move on. Even if it killed her.
However, as much as she hated to admit it, part of her still wanted Maloi. Not the chaos, not the screaming fights, but the girl behind it all, loud, messy, impossible to ignore.
Colet exhaled, slipped on her jacket, and stepped out. Tonight wasn’t just about appearances. It was about staking a claim, in her own quiet way.
Colet swears she didn’t start it.
Not really. Not when you trace it back.
Maloi was the one who flinched first. Who hesitated when Colet reached for her hand in public. Who stopped texting good morning. Who posted that stupid mirror selfie with a caption like “getting back to me.”
As if Colet hadn’t spent months dragging her out of her spiral. As if she wasn’t the one who carried every version of Maloi, clingy, cruel, needy, numb, and still kissed her goodnight like she wasn’t burning out.
So no. She didn’t start it. She just refused to lose.
And maybe that’s where she went wrong.
Because Colet doesn’t fight fair. She fights to finish. To be right. To win.
It’s laughable how Maloi paints her now—this cold, manipulative ex with sharp eyeliner and a God complex. But Maloi? Maloi knew exactly which wires to cut.
She had a sixth sense for making Colet spiral. One glance across the room, one unread message, one “k.”
She didn’t need to raise her voice, she just had to walk away.
So when Colet sees her again, glowing, grinning, flirting , it’s like everything she’s been suppressing detonates at once.
She hadn’t even planned to go to that party. She only showed up because her friends begged. Said she’d feel better getting out, meeting new people.
Healing, they said.
But healing flies out the damn window the moment she sees Maloi on the other side of the room, in black dress and red lipstick, with someone else’s hand on her waist.
Laughing. Fucking laughing.
Colet freezes mid-step. The plastic cup in her hand creaks from how hard she’s gripping it.
“What the actual fuck,” she mutters.
Mikha follows her gaze. “Shit. Is that—”
“Don’t,” Colet snaps. Her heart’s already pounding like it wants out of her chest. “Don’t say her name.”
But she’s watching.
Watching Maloi lean into that girl like it’s effortless. Like she hasn’t spent the past month crying on her bathroom floor. Like Colet didn’t mean anything.
That’s when it clicks.
Maloi didn’t come to have fun.
She came to perform.
She came to be seen.
She came for her.
Colet downs the rest of her drink. Doesn’t even taste it. She tells herself she’s not going to cause a scene. Not going to crack. But then Maloi glances her way.
Their eyes meet across the room, and Colet swears the smugness in Maloi’s face is enough to make her see red.
Because of course she sees her.
Of course she wanted her to.
And now Maloi’s laughing again, except now it’s louder, more theatrical. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear like she’s being watched. Like she wants to be watched.
And Colet? Colet snaps.
She crosses the room like a hurricane, pretending her legs aren’t shaking, pretending this isn’t the worst idea she’s had in weeks.
Maloi notices.
Of course she fucking does.
She straightens up, like she’s bracing for impact. Her arm drops from the other girl’s shoulder, like she already knows what’s coming.
Colet stops in front of them, smile tight, jaw even tighter.
“So this is who you downgraded to?”
Aiah tenses beside Maloi. The other girl stiffens, confused, already sensing the mess.
Maloi’s smile falters just for a second but that’s all Colet needs.
That flicker of discomfort. That tiny flash of guilt.
Bingo.
“Colet.” Aiah says, warning in her voice.
But Colet’s already walking away, turning her back like she didn’t just detonate a bomb.
She expects Maloi to stay behind.
She doesn’t.
A hand wraps around her wrist, warm and familiar in the worst way. It halts her mid-step, spins her halfway back.
Maloi’s eyes are on fire. “Ano bang gusto mong mangyari, Colet?”
Like she doesn’t already know.
Colet scoffs, shakes her hand free. “Nothing. Just think it’s cute how fast you replaced me.”
“You fucking left, Colet.” Maloi snaps, voice low but trembling. “You always leave.”
“And you always make me,” Colet fires back.
They stare at each other, chest to chest now, the air around them tight as a loaded gun. The music inside fades into background noise. None of it matters anymore. It’s just them. It’s always just been them.
“I’m not doing this with you here,” Maloi says, voice raw. “Not in front of everyone.”
“Then come outside, Yves.” Colet replies, the name slipping from her mouth like a dare.
Maloi doesn’t argue. She just turns and walks, and Colet follows like she always does.
Because she wants more. She wants the fight. She wants Maloi angry, flushed, alive.
They end up on the balcony again. Like they always do when things get too loud. The door clicks shut behind them, and the second it does, they both crack.
“Gago ka talaga,” Maloi breathes.
Soft. Familiar. So painfully real.
Colet closes her eyes. That’s the sound she’s been chasing. That little rupture in Maloi’s voice that means you still care.
Out here, it was just them, like it always ended up being. Like it always would be, no matter how many times they tried to leave each other behind.
She looks at her, God , really looks at her. The smudged eyeliner, the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the way her lip trembles when she’s trying not to cry.
And Colet? She smiles. Twisted and desperate and so fucking in love it makes her sick.
“Pero love mo ako?”
And Maloi doesn’t answer. Doesn’t blink. Doesn’t breathe.
Just stares at her like she’s both the blade and the bruise.
Because she is.
And Colet? She laughs. Just once, low and bitter.
Because of course it ends like this. Of course it always does.
See, here’s the thing: Colet doesn’t know how to love without keeping score.
She counts the I love yous. Tallies every ignored call. Remembers every time she had to beg for softness.
She acts like letting go is easy. Posts stories that scream unbothered even when she’s crying over a song Maloi once sent her. Scrolls past Maloi’s selfies like her heart isn’t folding in on itself.
Tells everyone she’s over it.
But then one look. One touch. One balcony and a thousand unsaid things.
And she’s right back here.
Chasing a girl she swears she doesn’t want. Bleeding for a love she swears didn’t kill her.
She doesn’t want Maloi back.
She just wants to be the scar that never fades. And if that makes her cruel, fine. Maloi taught her how.
She wants proof that she mattered.
Because if Maloi can move on this fast, can smile with someone else, can pretend like she’s fine…
Then what the fuck did Colet break herself for?
What the fuck was all that pain for?
If Maloi’s healed, then Colet must’ve been the only one hurting.
And that?
That’s a story Colet Vergara refuses to accept.
Not without a fight anyway.