Chapter Text
The moment Aiah steps off the plane, the air hits her like a damp towel pressed to her face—thick with salt, soft with humidity, carrying the faintest hint of coconut husk.
“Welcome to paradise,” Sheena announces at her side, spreading her arms like a tour guide.
“Paradise?” Aiah deadpans, shifting her backpack higher on her shoulder. “Feels more like someone left the steamer on.”
Sheena laughs, sharp and quick, the same way she does in the booth when callers tell ridiculous stories. “Give it ten minutes. You’ll get used to it.”
They shuffle toward the modest terminal building of Sayak Airport, which looks less like an airport and more like a big shed with ambition. Aiah drags her suitcase across the cracked tiles, resisting the urge to compare it to Mactan-Cebu International. This isn’t a city hub—it’s an island crossing. Temporary, she reminds herself. One month. Assist with the launch of the new sister station, make sure Sheena doesn’t burn the booth down, and get out.
As they push through the sliding doors into the arrivals area, the first thing Aiah sees is a tricycle piled high with surfboards, like some absurd, unstable birthday cake. The driver leans casually against the handlebar, cigarette dangling from his lips, while two tourists wrestle their backpacks into the sidecar.
The second thing she sees is a couple—barefoot, sunburnt, impossibly happy—sharing a banana cue on a stick. The caramelized sugar cracks between their teeth, golden shards catching the light as they laugh into each other’s faces like the rest of the world doesn’t exist.
Aiah groans. “Oh, for god’s sake.”
Sheena follows her gaze, lips curving. “What?”
“Look at them. Even the street food’s in pairs.”
“It’s literally just a banana.”
“No,” Aiah insists. “It’s two bananas. Skewered together. The universe has a sick sense of humor.”
“Or it’s lunch.” Sheena elbows her playfully. “You’re just bitter.”
“I’m not bitter,” Aiah mutters, though the sour twist in her chest betrays her. She tugs her suitcase forward. “I’m realistic.”
Sheena raises her brows, clearly unconvinced, but doesn’t press. Instead, she waves toward a man holding up a piece of cardboard with their names scribbled across it. “That’s us.”
The van that picks them up smells faintly of gasoline and salt, its windows cracked open to let the breeze slip through. As they leave Del Carmen, the narrow road winds through coconut trees, their fronds swaying in the breeze like a welcome parade. Aiah leans against the window, cheek in her palm, watching the landscape unspool.
Small houses painted in sun-faded colors. Children chasing a ball across the paved road, scattering at the honk of the van. Chickens pecking lazily at the edge of a sari-sari store.
Then the road bends closer to the coast, and she catches her first glimpse of it: the ocean.
It stretches out like an endless sheet of hammered glass, light catching on its surface in shards. Farther out, waves break in steady rhythm, white smudges against blue.
Sheena notices her staring and grins. “You have that look.”
“What look?”
“The one tourists get. Like the sea’s never seen you before.”
Aiah rolls her eyes. “I grew up in Cebu. We have beaches too, you know.”
“Yeah, but not like this.” Sheena’s grin turns sly. “This one? It’s gonna ruin you for all the others.”
Aiah refuses to give her the satisfaction of a reply. Instead, she pulls out her phone and opens the notes app. She types a single line: The sea is louder here, even when it’s quiet. Then she snaps the phone shut like she’s been caught.
Once, she would’ve spun that line into a poem, maybe even submitted it to a magazine. But that was years ago. A whole lifetime, it feels like. Now she doesn’t write. She just… gets through.
The van jolts as they hit a pothole, snapping her out of her thoughts. Sheena chuckles. “Hold on. It’s a bumpy thirty minutes to General Luna.”
“Great,” Aiah mutters. “Thirty more minutes of paradise.”
By the time they reach the town, the sun is already dipping low, throwing long shadows across the road. Scooters buzz past them, two, sometimes three people squeezed onto a seat, hands tangled, heads pressed together as if the island itself encourages intimacy.
Everywhere Aiah looks, there are pairs. Couples sharing halo-halo on a plastic table. A group of surfers waxing each other’s boards, laughter rising like spray. Even the stray dogs seem to travel in twos, noses pressed into the same discarded styrofoam box.
Sheena nudges her, smirking. “Still think the universe isn’t teasing you?”
Aiah drags a hand down her face. “I hate love. I hate it. I hope it doesn’t come anywhere near me.”
“Careful,” Sheena sing-songs. “The island hears things. And it always has tricks.”
Aiah doesn’t answer. She keeps her eyes on the horizon where the ocean meets the sky—and for one treacherous second, she thinks: what if Sheena is right?
The van drops them at a small guesthouse tucked behind a line of coconut trees. Its sign is hand-painted in peeling blue letters—Luna’s Rest. The building itself is simple: bamboo slats, wide windows, hammocks swaying lazily on the veranda.
“Cute,” Sheena says as she drags her suitcase up the steps.
“Small,” Aiah counters, eyeing the way one of the hammocks groans when the wind pushes it.
Inside, the air smells faintly of pandan leaves and sea breeze. The receptionist, a girl barely out of college with a wide smile, greets them like old friends. “Welcome, Ma’ams! You’re checked into Room 3. Two beds, one fan, one view of the coconut tree.”
“One coconut tree?” Aiah repeats.
The receptionist beams. “The best one.”
Sheena elbows Aiah before she can say something sarcastic. “We’ll take it. Thank you.”
Their room is small, but clean. Two single beds with thin cotton sheets, a chipped wooden dresser, and a single window that looks out—sure enough—onto a solitary coconut tree. A rooster struts beneath it like he owns the place.
Sheena flops onto her bed, arms spread wide. “Home sweet home.”
Aiah sets her suitcase down carefully, as though the floor might collapse under too much weight. She pulls the curtains back, stares at the rooster until it crows.
“Don’t even think about strangling it,” Sheena warns without opening her eyes.
“I wasn’t,” Aiah lies.
Later, they head back out in search of food. The streets of General Luna glow with low orange bulbs strung above stalls. Smoke curls up from grills, carrying the scent of skewered pork, barbecued chicken, and of course—banana cue.
Aiah doesn’t even bother hiding her groan this time when she spots another couple sharing one, their fingers sticky with sugar as they wipe them on each other’s shirts.
“Banana cue again?” Sheena teases, buying two sticks before Aiah can stop her.
“I’m starting to hate bananas,” Aiah mutters, taking hers anyway.
They eat as they walk, dodging scooters and laughing kids. A group of teenagers races past on longboards, one nearly clipping Aiah’s side.
“Hoy!” She snaps, jumping out of the way.
The boy just laughs, calling over his shoulder: “Watch out!”
Sheena chokes on her banana cue. “Did you hear that? Even strangers are in on it!”
“I swear, this island has it out for me.”
By the time they circle back to the guesthouse, the streets are quieter. A few guitars strum from open porches, voices rising in song. Aiah slows her pace without meaning to, drawn to the sound. For a second she thinks about how easy it must be to live like this—music carried on salt wind, people gathered without pretense. Then she shakes her head, hard.
Temporary. She’s only here a month. No use romanticizing it.
Inside their room, Sheena collapses onto her bed with a satisfied sigh. “Day one, done. Tomorrow we meet with the station manager. Get ready to charm the whole island, DJ Aiah.”
Aiah snorts. “I’ll leave the charming to you.”
Sheena props herself up on her elbows, grinning. “Oh, come on. You’re good at it too. Remember that caller from Cebu? The one who said your voice made her believe in love again?”
“That was a prank call.”
“Was it?” Sheena’s grin widens. “Or was it fate?”
Aiah throws a pillow at her.
Much later, when the fan hums softly and Sheena’s breathing evens out, Aiah lies awake. The rooster outside has gone quiet, replaced by the steady hiss of waves somewhere beyond the trees.
She rolls onto her side, phone in hand. Her notes app is still open from earlier.
The sea is louder here, even when it’s quiet.
She stares at the line for a long time before adding another: Maybe it’s laughing at me too.
Her thumb hovers over the delete button, then slips instead to save. She shuts her phone, presses it face-down on the bedside table, and closes her eyes.
But the sound of the ocean seeps through anyway—persistent, patient, like it has all the time in the world.