we were never really friends : a mikhaiah au

eight

After deciding to skip lunch with the other members of BINI, Aiah rushed straight to Mikha's condo, feeling an urgent need to confront the tension between them. Nervously entering the building, her heart pounded with each step towards Mikha's unit. She hesitated briefly before pressing the button of the elevator for Mikha's floor unit, unsure of what awaited her behind the door.

The elevator ride felt painfully slow, each floor passing like an eternity until finally, the doors opened to Mikha's floor. Aiah stepped out quietly, her mind racing with a mix of apprehension and determination. She made her way down the hall to Mikha's door, even though she had her own key, she hesitated and knocked softly.

When Mikha opened the door, her eyes were red and puffy from crying. Aiah's heart sank at the sight of Mikha in such distress, but she knew she had to face this moment.

"Hey," Aiah greeted softly, her voice filled with concern.

"What are you doing here?" Mikha's voice was guarded, a mix of surprise and wariness.

"Can I come in?" Aiah asked tentatively, hoping for a chance to talk.

Mikha didn't respond verbally but stepped aside, silently allowing Aiah to enter. They settled on Mikha's sofa, an obvious tension hanging in the air between them.

"Why are you here, Aiah?" Mikha's voice was soft but tinged with frustration.

Aiah tried to lighten the mood, "Wow, no 'ate'?"

Mikha remained quiet, her gaze fixed somewhere in the room. Aiah sighed inwardly, her attempt to ease the atmosphere falling flat.

"I'm sorry," Aiah began softly, her tone sincere.

"For what?" Mikha's voice was clipped, guarded.

"I know I haven't been much help," Aiah admitted, her words heavy with regret.

"It's okay. It's not your responsibility," Mikha responded, her tone softening slightly.

Aiah persisted, "I'm sorry anyway."

Mikha shook her head gently, her expression a mix of resignation and sadness. "I said it's okay."

"It's not," Aiah insisted quietly.

Mikha sighed, her frustration evident. "It is."

"It's not, Mikha," Aiah pushed gently, her own emotions bubbling up.

"I said it is. Bakit ba ang kulit mo?" Mikha's frustration edged into her voice, her hands trembling slightly.

Aiah felt a pang of guilt seeing Mikha like this. Soft sobs escaped Mikha's lips, and Aiah's heart broke. Without thinking, she closed the distance between them and pulled Mikha into a hesitant embrace. Mikha, torn between needing solace and grappling with unresolved feelings, leaned into Aiah's touch, her body trembling with the weight of unspoken words and shattered expectations.

In that moment, as they held each other in silence, Aiah sensed Mikha's tears dampen her shoulder. The air thickened with the heaviness of their shared sorrow, the unspoken words echoing louder than any spoken apology. Aiah's mind raced, searching for the right words to mend what felt irreparably broken between them.

"Mikha," Aiah finally whispered, her voice a fragile thread in the quiet room. "I'm sorry."

Mikha didn't respond, her breath hitching with each suppressed sob. Aiah tightened her embrace, offering a silent reassurance that she was there, despite the turmoil that hung heavy in the air. She wished she could rewind time, erase the misunderstandings that had driven them apart, and find a way to mend the fractured bond between them.