by KB Meniado

Image by Наталья Маркина on Pexels. (All photos and videos on Pexels can be downloaded and used for free).

Chapter One – Final Boarding Call

Some would say four hours of flight time is short.

I’m not one of them.

Sure, I’ve taken longer flights before, but four hours is still long enough to make me very aware of the hum of the plane engine and the many directions my thoughts can take in a flying metal tube.

I plan to sleep through this late-night flight, but first, I will go through my photo gallery and cling to that wonderful week in Hong Kong and Macau with friends—birthday celebrations, endless dim sum, and too many photos and steps I’m not quite ready to move on from yet. We just said goodbye at the lounge less than thirty minutes ago, after all.

I could’ve flown home with everyone. My sister Robbie would’ve loved that—especially with the promise of egg tart pasalubong. But multiple flights and more time in the air just weren’t for me. I’d gotten used to flying in and out of Davao instead of connecting via Manila.

So I chose the more practical route: Hong Kong straight to Singapore.

I’m attending a three-day People & Purpose Summit, where I’ll be presenting on community impact starting the day after tomorrow. I founded Super Capable five years ago, a program that trains and places senior citizens in hospitality roles—from cafes and museums to tourist information centers and hotel lobbies.

The cabin fills as carry-ons go up, and toddlers discover just how loud they can be. At least one of them is giggling, not crying. Not yet.

I pull my face mask over my nose. I never quite kicked the habit, especially on planes. It keeps the germs out and, well, my dignity mostly intact if I end up sleeping with my mouth open in Seat 20C.

Aisle. Always. I like having easy access to the lavatory and the comforting illusion that I can leave whenever I want, even though we’re about to spend the next four hours inside a pressurized cabin.

The seats beside me—20B and 20A—are still empty. I try not to get my hopes up.

My phone vibrates.

Lili: Land safely! ❤️

Kam: Siya piloto, mhie?

Kam: Amping, dzae!

Alex: HAHAHAHAHA

Lili: 🙄😂

Me: is sending a photo

Me: I think I get the whole row 😌

Alex: You just jinxed yourself

Me: Saba pls

Me: Safe travels to all! Msg when we land :))

As I send a separate “Boarded na. Update later!” to my family group chat, the overhead speakers crackle to life. Flight announcements always sound like they’re coming from underwater. The rest of it dissolves into static, and a few more passengers hurry down the aisle.

I switch my phone to airplane mode, adjust my seatbelt, and allow myself one last moment of satisfaction at the empty seats beside me.

Then footsteps stop beside my row.

“Excuse me?”

I stay still.

“I think that’s mine,” he says, gesturing toward the window seat. “20A. My seat was reassigned at check-in.”

It can’t be that voice. Too familiar.

I look up—and my stomach drops.

Because it’s Ezra Castillo.

My ex-boyfriend. The one I thought I’d end up with. It’s been four years.

He just stares. Then:

“…Vienne?”

Well. This flight just got longer.

Chapter Two – Seatbelt Sign On

Those eyes. That face—even with the mask on.

Vienne Flores.

Four years later. Long enough that I should’ve stopped replaying how things ended. 

I just didn’t expect the next time I’d see her to be on this flight. But here she is.

A passenger behind nudges their suitcase into the aisle, and Vienne unbuckles her seatbelt and steps aside for me to take the window seat.

20B is empty. Flights to Singapore are often full.

“Thanks,” I say, settling into my seat.

It takes her a second. “You’re welcome.”

I slide my backpack under the seat in front of me, a practiced motion after years of airports. My work in data science takes me all over, helping companies make sense of messy data. This Hong Kong leg is routine by now. After a stop in Singapore, I’ll be heading home to Australia.

I buckle in. I had planned to work through this flight, to avoid distractions and maybe squeeze in a nap before we land.

Instead, I’m aware of her. It shouldn’t matter anymore, but I wonder why she’s on this flight.

She catches me watching her.

“What?” she asks, her voice muffled behind her mask.

“Nothing,” I answer too quickly.

Her eyes narrow for a fraction. “Che.”

We both freeze. I haven’t heard that in years.

Then she laughs softly. “Sorry. Slip of the tongue.”

I smile. “All good.”

Outside, Hong Kong blurs through rain-streaked windows and scattered lights. The plane pushes back from the gate as the safety demonstration begins.

Then the captain comes on:

“Estimated flight time: three hours and forty-eight minutes.”

It pulls me back: Cebu. Bantayan Island. The last time Vienne and I traveled together.

A week neither of us could really afford—she was building something from the ground up, I only had a month left before moving back to Australia for a new job, and for my mom, who was sick then—but we went anyway.

We hired a tricycle and spent the day moving from Santa Fe to Madridejos. We stayed longer than planned at Kota Beach, argued over who ordered too much seafood barbecue even though we both knew we’d finish it, and laughed when we realized we had both forgotten vitamin kits.

I still have the photos from that trip.

The engines grow louder as we begin to taxi. Her right hand curls around the armrest.

The aircraft surges forward. Her eyes close, just like they used to on flights. I already know when she’ll open them, so I gaze out the window instead.

Chapter Three – Cabin Pressure

I didn’t expect Ezra to pull out a laptop as soon as the seatbelt sign turns off with a ding. But there he is, already tapping the screen awake.

More reading lights flick on. Someone behind us is already snoring. I rest my elbow on the aisle armrest instead of the one beside 20B and try not to stare so obviously at Ezra’s screen, which glows with tables and graphs I’d never willingly look at. He once tried explaining regression analysis to me over lomi and siopao asado. I lasted eight minutes before declaring data science overrated. He laughed so hard people stared.

And here I’m thinking my presentation can wait another day.

I snort. 

Ezra pauses mid-type. 

I shut my eyes.

Don’t think about him.

Don’t think about the airport.

Don’t think about the goodbye.

But my mind betrays me.

I think of him building a website just to ask me out for our first dinner together.

Him in my parents’ kitchen, chatting with my Mommy and Daddy. He would wash dishes without being asked, which made Robbie like him even more.

How he was always there whenever I obsessively brainstormed about Super Capable, my ideas too fast, my doubts faster. It didn’t matter whether it was dawn or late at night. 

He rarely made me feel like my dreams were too big. Maybe I leaned on that too much.

I remember the smaller things: the grocery aisle photos he’d send whenever I was on my period, in case I was craving something.

Whenever he kissed my cheek as he walked past, like I was something always worth acknowledging.

Then my mind brings me somewhere else: at the Manila airport, when we last saw each other. Nothing felt especially dramatic that day—people bought overpriced meals, children dragged tiny animal-shaped suitcases, the boarding announcements echoed like background noise.

What I didn’t realize then was how much life was about to change for both of us.

“I’ll text when I land,” he said, adjusting the strap of his bag that kept slipping off his shoulder.

“No, you won’t,” I replied, fixing the strap, my hand staying there a second too long. “You’ll video call me.”

He laughed and pulled me in for a hug. “I promise I’ll video call you.”

“You can do this, EZ,” I said, fighting back tears. “You’ll do so well. And your mom’s going to recover faster with you there.”

Ezra hugged me tighter, and when we let go, he wiped my tears. “I’ll see you, okay?”

I nodded because it was easier than admitting I already hated the distance between us, and he hadn’t even checked in yet. I couldn’t bring myself to ask, “We can do this, right?”

And then he left. I remember standing there so long that Robbie and Kam, waiting in the parking lot, thought I’d gone home without them.

For a while, Ezra and I really tried, squeezing dates into time zones that never quite lined up. But life grew heavier. His days revolved around work, hospital visits, and caring for his mom. Mine revolved around keeping Super Capable alive. Our conversations slowly became updates instead of shared moments. By the time we admitted long distance wasn’t working anymore, there really wasn’t one big fight to blame—just two people who had run out of room for each other.

Now we’re sitting beside each other at thirty-five thousand feet.

Ezra types softly on his keyboard. I let the sound take me to sleep before I can think any further.

Chapter Four – Turbulence

The cabin is quieter now, the overhead lights dimmed another notch. 

My laptop is back under the seat. Those graphs and tables can survive another few hours.

Vienne, on the other hand, can’t seem to.

She’s asleep, head tilted toward 20B, arms folded loosely. Her light jacket, which she’d been using as a blanket, has slipped onto 20B. She really can doze off sitting up—on bus rides, ferries, even in movies. Once, halfway through a nature documentary she’d insisted we watch because it was “life-altering,” she made it twenty-seven minutes before she was out cold.

She also missed the snack service. I placed the unopened bottles of water and sandwiches on 20B in case she wakes up hungry.

Outside the window, there’s nothing but darkness. It reminds me of four years ago, on a flight back to the Gold Coast.

I was scared for Mama, for how sick she was, for how quickly everything had started to change.

And for what it would all mean for me and Vienne.

“You can do this, EZ,” she said at the airport.

She tried hard not to cry. I wanted to tell her, “We can do this. We’ll be fine.” 

Back then, neither of us knew what the next year would look like. We thought we just had to survive the distance for a little while. That once Mama recovered, once I’d settled into work and life on the Gold Coast, we’d get our time back.

We never did.

I used to tell myself I was protecting Vienne. If work was overwhelming or Mama had another difficult day, I’d say, “Everything’s okay,” because I didn’t want to add to her worries. 

But I was shutting her out without meaning to.

Mama would be elated if she knew Vienne and I were sitting beside each other again. She loved Vienne. She cried when we ended things. She knew how hard Vienne and I had both tried.

The aircraft shudders. Quite a big shake, and though nothing serious, it wakes Vienne. Her fingers grip the seatback in front of her.

“Hey.” I lift my armrest. “You okay?”

She looks a bit disoriented, like she doesn’t remember where she is or why I’m even here. “Yeah,” she answers after a moment. “Just… that surprised me.”

“Probably passing through rain clouds.”

“Great,” she mutters.

“It will smooth out.” I point to the snacks in 20B. “You missed the cart. I got you these.”

“Oh, thanks, Ezra. That’s very thoughtful,” she says, grabbing the water.

She pulls off her mask, tucks it into the pocket of her bag, and takes a sip of water.

“You’re welcome.” Then, because I can’t help myself: “Why are you on this flight?”

She pauses, surprised, then chuckles softly like she didn’t expect that either. “I could ask you the same. I’m attending a conference. People & Purpose Summit.”

My eyebrows lift. “For Super Capable?”

“You remember?”

“Of course I do.”

“What about you?”

“Meeting stakeholders in Hong Kong. Stopping by the Singapore office before flying back to Australia.”

“‘Stopping by,’” she repeats. “Because Singapore is totally ‘just around the corner?’”

“Right. If six thousand kilometers were just around the corner from Australia. Sadly, I don’t make my travel schedules.” The question leaves my mouth before I think about it: “Where are you staying? In Singapore, I mean.” 

She sets her bottled water back on 20B. “Bencoolen. Near the museum district?”

I nod. “Nice.”

“You?”

“Near Marina Bay.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Fancy.”

“My company’s paying.”

“Still fancy.”

“Don’t be too impressed. It’s mostly just discounted pasta pouches and rice bowls back home.”

“Good.”

That catches me off guard. “Good?”

“Yeah. You need to stay humble.”

I almost laugh. “Only way to be. So… Hong Kong wasn’t for work?”

She shakes her head. “Vacation. My friends and I celebrated a couple of birthdays.”

I nod. “Kam was there?”

Her eyes widen. “You remember Kam?”

“And Lili and Alex.”

She tilts her head. “You remember everyone.”

“You all made quite an impression.” Then I realize something. “Hey. It was your birthday, too.”

“Uh, yes…”

“Happy belated birthday, Viv.”

Viv. For a second, I wish I could pull it back.

Then the smallest smile appears.

“Thank you. You remembered that, too.”

“Every year,” I admit before I can stop myself. “Sorry, no cake. Just airline sandwiches. You should have some good laksa when we land.”

“Gosh, yes, laksa. Any recs?”

“Oh, I know this place in—”

The captain’s voice breaks through the speakers.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are currently flying through an area of expected turbulence. For your safety…”

Almost immediately, the aircraft shakes. Vienne grips the armrest again.

“I’m okay,” she says, more to herself than to me.

Seatbelt signs ding across the cabin. I refasten mine, and she tightens hers. 

I remember wanting to nap on this flight. Yet for the first time in years of coming and going, I feel strangely awake.

Chapter Five – Level Flight 

The aircraft settles into smoother air. The seatbelt sign stays on for another few minutes before the familiar ding echoes through the cabin. Around us, passengers adjust their seats, some returning to their screens, others settling back in for the rest of the flight.

Ezra glances toward the aisle.

“Sorry,” he says. “I need to—”

“Ay, sure,” I unbuckle my seatbelt and stand to let him pass.

He pauses beside me, one hand resting briefly on the seatback in front of him.

“Still glad you picked the aisle seat?” he asks, a hint of amusement in his voice.

I look at him. “Always.”

Then the plane gives an unexpected jolt. Before I realize it, my hand catches his arm just as his hand closes around my wrist.

Neither of us moves until the cabin steadies.

I let go first.

“Sorry,” we both say at the same time.

I huff out a laugh, and I think I catch the corner of Ezra’s mouth lifting. He then gestures toward the back of the cabin, and I nod. As he heads for the lavatory, I take the opportunity to use the one at the other end before returning to my seat.

Inside, the mirror shows tired eyes, hair slightly flattened from the flight, and faint marks from my face mask straps on my cheeks.

Wow. Naunsa.

I stare at my hands longer than I mean to. Then I wash them and head back.

Ezra is already in his seat. In the dim cabin light, he looks up and nods as I settle in. I nod back, and for a while, neither of us speaks. 

I wonder if we’ll spend the rest of the flight just nodding at each other and politely pretending we didn’t just grab each other’s hands.

“Congrats on Super Capable and the summit, by the way,” Ezra finally says.

Ah, there he goes. “Oh, yeah, thanks,” I reply.

“Everything going okay?”

I almost give him the usual simple and safe answer. 

But he’s asking. And maybe I want to tell him.

“I mean… it’s hard sometimes,” I admit. “But it’s very fulfilling.”

He looks at me thoughtfully. “I can imagine. Building anything is tough, let alone convincing other people that what you’re doing is important.”

“Yeah. You get it,” I say. “But it’s also really good. When you place the seniors where they feel needed… where they feel useful… it changes them. Not because you’re giving them something. They already had so much. You just remind them they still have something to offer.”

“That they still have a purpose.”

“Age doesn’t have to limit us and all that,” I say. “You?”

“What about me? I’m just… in airports a lot.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You don’t say?”

He chuckles. “Fine. I work in data science consulting.”

“Wow. If you’re being flown off everywhere, you must be one of the best at your job.”

“Nah, I’ve just been lucky with the projects I’ve gotten. I guess I’m good at helping companies untangle problems that have gotten unnecessarily complicated.”

I glance at him. “That sounds very you.”

“What does that mean?”

I lift my armrest to pull my light jacket from where it’s stuck. “Oh, I just meant that you always did that. Took complicated things and made them feel manageable.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“It’s just… you,” I say. “By the way… how’s your mom?”

“Oh. She’s recovered. Stable.” Then his mouth twitches. “Stubborn. Silly. Thanks for asking.”

“That’s amazing. I’m really glad. I…” I trail off. I almost blurt out that I miss her. “Can you say hello to her for me?”

“Of course. I can just imagine how she’d react when she finds out we’re sitting next to each other on this flight.”

“Happy? Excited?” I joke.

He exhales a laugh. “I was thinking more like shock. Or disbelief…”

I shake my head, laughing a little myself. “Oh gosh. Sorry for projecting.”

“How are your parents?”

I twist the hems of my jacket. “They’re good. They sometimes show up to Super Capable orientations and gatherings, which I’m really grateful for.”

“It’s great they get to be part of what you’ve built. Parents can be frustrating at times, but mostly, they’re fun, too, right?”

“Right. Takes a lot of patience and understanding, parenting parents,” I add. “Well, you know that well.”

“Yeah, I do.” He pauses, then: “It got really scary for a while there. Thankfully, Mama has such a feisty fighting spirit. I wish I had the same.”

I offer him a warm smile. “You do, too. Just… a bit different.”

Ezra nods and looks out the window. Immediately, he turns back to me and then leans closer.

“Vienne…” he starts.

My heartbeat goes fast.

“This is probably not the best place or time to ask, but…” he continues, “did you ever wonder if we could’ve done something differently?”

I meet his gaze, and it’s as if the silence between us says everything we can’t. Somehow, the space in 20B between us feels much smaller.

“Sometimes. You?”

He nods slowly. “But I also remember what those first few months were actually like. Every day felt like I was trying to keep up with something. Work. My mom. Adjusting to Aussie life. Talking to you was probably the best part of my day.” He laughs softly, shaking his head. “And also… the hardest, if I’m honest.”

I don’t interrupt.

“There were nights I looked at the time difference and hoped you’d already gone to bed. I hated admitting that to myself because, of course, I wanted to talk to you. I’d finish our calls wishing I could have been there instead of six thousand kilometers away.”

My heart squeezes.

“But I just… I just didn’t always have anything left,” he continues. “And instead of telling you that, I’d disappear for a day or two and convince myself I’d make it up to you later. Then I’d go back to everything waiting for me, and before I knew it, another week had passed.”

He stops, takes a deep breath, and says nothing for a while.

“I know, I remember,” I say gently. “I was doing the same thing. Super Capable was barely surviving then. I kept telling myself, ‘Just get through this week.’ Then it became a month. Then another. If I was overwhelmed, I’d tell everyone else before I’d tell you. I thought I was protecting you from my stress.” I pause, glancing down at my hands. “But… I don’t think we failed because we stopped loving each other.”

“Neither do I. I think we kept waiting for life to calm down.”

“But it never did. So, somewhere along the way, all we shared were our easiest moments.”

“I’m still sorry,” Ezra says.

“For what now?”

“For assuming love would make up for everything we never talked about.”

My heart. “Oh, EZ. Me, too. I’m sorry I kept expecting you to read my mind. I kept thinking, ‘If he really knows me, he’ll figure it out.’ That wasn’t fair.”

The seatbelt sign illuminates again.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your Captain speaking. We are just about to start our descent…”

Chapter Six – Approach to Destination

The plane dips.

My heartbeat, on the other hand, rises.

Below, Singapore comes into view—the outline of ships anchored offshore, the curve of the coastline, then the city skyline slowly appearing as dawn breaks. There are only minutes before we land, before we go back to being two people who just happened to share a flight.

I don’t want that anymore.

“Vienne,” I start.

She turns toward me, and the look in her eyes seems to tell me to keep going.

So I do. “Back then, I kept hoping life would become easier soon. I thought once Mama got better… once work settled down… once we’d both adjusted… we’d finally have room for us again.” I take a slow breath. “I don’t want us to keep waiting for the perfect time.”

She doesn’t answer right away.

“I don’t think there’s even really a perfect time,” I add.

“That sounds like you think there could be another chance,” she finally says.

“I don’t know what this is yet. I just know I don’t want us to disappear from each other’s lives again.”

She stays quiet, so I continue.

“And I wasn’t planning to say this so soon, but… Would you like to have breakfast with me when we land?” I ask. “If you’re not in a hurry. Only if you want to.”

A slow smile returns to her face. “I’m not in a hurry.” She pauses just long enough to make me nervous. “And I’m saying yes because I want to.”

“Really?” I hoped for yes, but couldn’t hide my surprise.

“Well, I heard you say you know some good laksa somewhere…”

We laugh together for the first time in years.

As the captain begins final descent procedures, passengers around us prepare to land.

Singapore is getting closer. This time, so is a choice we get to make together. 

Chapter Seven – We Have Just Landed

The conveyor belt moves in steady circles, suitcases appearing and disappearing. As I wait for my luggage, I connect my phone to the internet, and the messages come in.

First, my parents. They both sent a thumbs-up emoji, which is very them. Robbie sent a funny GIF of an animated cat giving flying kisses.

I type an update.

Just landed. Call later.

Then the HK barkada chat:

Alex: What do we call Lili, who almost left her e-reader on the plane???

Alex: Anyway, we landed safely. Now at the bus terminal

Lili: Sala ni @Kam

Lili: Ingat! Message when u land, @Vienne

Kam: dzae @Vienne, wer u? It’s been five thousand hours

I giggle.

Me: Ka-clingy ba! Haha I’m here, alive alert awake and just landed

Me: I have chika. Remember Ezra?

I turn off my phone before they can destroy my notifications.

Ezra is a few steps away. When my suitcase finally appears, I reach for it.

“May I?” he asks.

“You know, you don’t have to carry everything.”

“It’s just a suitcase.”

“Exactly. I’ve handled heavier things.”

“You’re right,” he says with a small smile. “Old habit.”

Rolling our luggage, we step out of the arrival area into the Jewel, with the Rain Vortex right across from us.

“Want to drop by?” I ask Ezra, gesturing toward the entrance.

He looks at me. “Sure.”

So we go inside.

It’s too early for the indoor waterfall and the light show to be running, but the indoor jungle is still beautiful. Near the entrance, there’s an exhibit of Rain Vortex–inspired art installations made of yarn and beads in different colors. The place is quieter than usual at this hour, though a few early travelers stand around taking photos and videos.

I pull out my phone and do the same.

“You want me to take one of you?” Ezra offers.

I shake my head. “No.”

“No?”

I glance at the waterfall displays, then back at him. “Actually… Would you mind being in it?”

He studies me for a moment. “Are you sure?”

I smile. “I am.”

“Sige.”

He steps beside me—not too close, but just close enough for the camera.

“Say ‘Jewel,’” I tease, pressing the camera button multiple times.

The first photo is bad: we’re mid-word. The second is worse; I blinked. The third is good—we’re smiling properly, the waterfall art framed behind us.

Ezra checks the screen. “That one’s fine.”

“It’s not centered,” I say, mostly teasing him again.

“It’s us,” he replies matter-of-factly. “If you’d like to send me a copy, please do.” He smiles once, then wheels his suitcase toward the exit. 

I find myself also smiling as I follow. We steer our luggage down toward the taxi stands in the basement, where we book a taxi to the city.

When it arrives, we sit beside each other in the backseat.

No 20B between us this time. 

The drive into the city is quiet. Outside, Singapore—the stretches of greens, the skyscrapers, the early commuters—is bathed in morning sunshine. 

At some point, I lean my head against the window.

“Exhausted?” Ezra asks.

I shake my head, smiling. “Hungry.”

“Me, too.”

We end up in a cozy neighborhood cafe. It’s family-run, with wooden tables, red trinkets as decorations, and al fresco seating on the second floor.

Ezra heads to the counter after leaving our luggage in the corner.

I stop him, already reaching for my wallet from my shoulder bag. “Let me order for us? Just let me know which ones to add.”

He hesitates only for a second. “Okay. Thanks. I’ll find us a table.” Then he adjusts my bag strap—I hadn’t noticed it slipping—and points to the Singapore-style laksa on the menu before heading upstairs.

I order two bowls of the laksa, two sets of kaya toast with soft-boiled eggs, and two iced coffees—his Americano, mine iced mocha. The teenager at the counter says they’ll bring everything upstairs once ready.

When I go up, Ezra is already sitting at a table on the balcony. I approach, and the view catches me a little.

“Wow. If we squint, we could probably see the Singapore Flyer,” I joke, nodding toward the skyline.

“In fact, I already took a photo of the Merlion,” he chimes in.

I laugh.

Our breakfast arrives a few minutes later: steaming laksa, golden kaya toast with eggs still soft enough for the yolks to spill, and iced coffee already beading with condensation in the humid morning.

We start eating, and after a few bites, I exhale dramatically.

“You were right,” I say.

Ezra looks up. “Ha? About what?”

“This. It’s amazing. How is this breakfast?”

He smirks. “You’re welcome.”

We continue eating, talking, and laughing. We trade stories about the four years between us. It feels strange how easy it all is.

Ezra listens differently now. He’s still supportive, but lighter somehow. Like he’s stopped trying to solve every problem and is simply happy to sit with me in this moment.

When the bowls are empty and I’m finishing my iced coffee, I notice Ezra watching me, his head resting lightly against one hand.

I set down my cup. “Hey there.”

He straightens, as thoug h he’d been caught staring. “Viv… I don’t want to do the version of this where we just happen to meet again in another four years.”

My heartbeat quickens, and not at all because of my iced mocha.

“I don’t expect us to fix four years over breakfast,” Ezra continues. “But… if you’re willing, I’d like us to keep talking after this.”

I think about the flight. Our different and separate lives. Everything that happened before this.

“Life’s still busy and chaotic, EZ.”

“Yeah. And it probably always will be,” he says. “I’m asking if… we can make room for each other in it.”

Make room for each other.

Our memories are still there, but they’re no longer all I see.

“I think… I think I’d like that.”

A grin spreads across his face. “Yeah?”

I beam back at him. “Yeah.”

“You know, my first instinct was to ask if you’d spend the day with me,” he admits. “But you’re probably exhausted.”

“Says the guy who was working at two in the morning on a flight.”

“Guilty.”

“I still have to check into my hotel, review my slides, and get some sleep,” I say. “The summit starts the day after tomorrow, so…”

“My meetings tomorrow end at 2:30 p.m.” He shifts in his seat. “If you’re up for it, do you want to visit a museum or something after?”

“Well, is the ‘something’ laksa?” I tease.

“We can negotiate laksa.”

“That’s a very convincing way of asking me on a date.”

“I’ve had four years and a four-hour flight to think about it.”

I shake my head, unable to hide my grin. “I’m convinced.”

“Good.”

“Good? Just so we’re clear,” I say, “I’m agreeing because of the museum and the promise of laksa.”

“Not me?” he asks, trying—and failing—to sound wounded.

“Fine. Partly you.”

“Fair enough. Can I ask for one more thing?”

“Quota agad?” I raise an eyebrow, and he laughs.

“Fine, what is it?” I relent.

“That we don’t keep putting us on hold until life gets easier. Maybe standing Sunday calls. Random ten-minute calls when we can. Planning a visit every one or two months instead of just saying ‘let’s wait for promos.’ What do you say?”

“Fair enough,” I repeat his words, smiling. “Can we add one more?”

“Of course.”

“No disappearing. No pretending we’re fine when we’re not.” I pause, staring straight at him. “And no expecting the other person to know what we need without saying it.”

He tilts his head. “Those are three things, Viv.”

“Che!” I groan. “EZ!”

His laugh echoes. “Okay, okay. All of those. We can do this, right?”

“Right.”

His hand reaches across the table and pauses halfway. I place mine in it. Four hours brought us back into each other’s lives. Everything after that would be our choice.

About the Author. KB Meniado fell in love with stories at six years old and has never looked back. A Filipino writer, editor, and community builder from Davao City, she founded Bookbed, Silent Book Club Davao, and OK to BE, and has been supporting #romanceclass since 2015. She writes stories about finding your people, choosing what matters, and creating moments that feel like home.

Find her at heykebe.wordpress.com.