The elevator doors closed and i swear, the air inside thickened.
Hindi ako makahinga.
It wasn’t the claustrophobia, I wasn’t scared of small spaces.
I was scared of being alone with him in a space this silent.
This intimate.
Calix didn’t say anything.
He just held my hand the whole ride down like it was the most natural thing in the world.
I tried to pull away. Konti lang. Barely. Pero humigpit ‘yung hawak niya. Subtle. Steady. Sure.
And for reasons i didn’t want to admit even to myself, hindi ko na muling tinangka.
Pagdating namin sa basement parking, akala ko uuwi na kami.
But he guided me to a different car, hindi ‘yung usual niyang black SUV.
This one was sleeker. Silver. Bagong model.
“What is this?”
“Surprise.”
I narrowed my eyes. “This better not be a showroom visit or some weird client stunt.”
He just smiled.
We drove for ten minutes in silence.
Hindi siya naglagay ng music.
He just kept his eyes on the road, one hand on the steering wheel, and the other still… holding mine.
God.
He used to do this.
Back when we’d sneak out in college, late night drives, random coffee runs, empty highways and stolen kisses at stoplights.
I glanced at him.
He still had that stupid mole near his collarbone.
He still twitched his nose when he was trying not to laugh.
He still smelled like eucalyptus and soap.
He was still him.
And i hated that i remembered everything.
We parked in front of a building na hindi ko agad nakilala. Glass exterior, industrial vibe.
Malayo siya sa usual locations ng clients nila. It was quieter.
Almost hidden.
“This is one of our unused spaces,” he said habang binubuksan ang pinto. “Dati naming creative hub. We kept the lease. I wanted to show you something.”
Pagpasok namin, hindi ko agad nakita.
It was dark at first, then click, he turned on the lights.
And there it was.
A room full of framed photographs.
Of me.
Old magazine covers.
Editorials.
BTS shots.
Even candid photos from fashion shows. Events.
Some i didn’t even know existed.
My throat tightened.
“What is this?”
“I started collecting them when we broke up,” he said, voice low. “Maybe it was guilt. Maybe obsession. I don’t know. All i know is, every time i saw you in public, looking strong, fierce, unbothered… I wanted to believe i hadn’t ruined you completely.”
I took a step back. “You’re sick.”
“Maybe.”
“This is stalker behavior.”
He nodded. “I know.”
“But also…”
He looked at me. Waiting.
“But also… it’s kind of flattering.”
A pause.
Then, for the first time today—
We both laughed.
We ended up sitting on the couch at the center of the space. Wine appeared from somewhere.
I didn’t even ask where he got it.
“I was angry at you for so long,” I said, tracing the rim of my glass. “Not just because you left. But because you didn’t fight for me.”
“I didn’t know how.”
“And now?”
“I’m learning.”
Silence.
Then, softly—
“I miss you.”
My breath hitched.
I stared at him.
And for once, he didn’t look like the Calix na palaban, sarcastic, cold.
He looked… exposed.
“I miss you too,” I whispered.
It wasn’t planned.
It just slipped out.
And then—
He leaned in.
I didn’t stop him.
His lips were warm. Familiar.
Not rushed.
Not hungry.
Just… aching.
He kissed me like he was remembering.
Like he was asking for permission.
Like he was saying I’m sorry in every movement.
My hands found his jaw, and i held him there. Like if i let go, the moment would vanish. Like we would vanish.
God.
I wanted to be strong.
But i wanted him more.
His hand slipped under my blazer, resting at my waist.
“Is this okay?” he whispered against my mouth.
“Yes.”
“Sure?”
“I wouldn’t be kissing you if it wasn’t.”
He chuckled softly. “Still bossy.”
“You like it.”
“I do.”
We didn’t sleep together that night.
We just stayed there on the couch, limbs tangled, his jacket over my shoulders, his heartbeat pressed to my ear.
There was no talk of tomorrow.
No promises.
No timelines.
Just… this.
This reckless, messy, paper-thin marriage we somehow started to believe in again.