Thursday had come—the long-awaited MusicFest Day.
The morning light slipped softly through the curtains, casting faint golden lines across the floor. I woke earlier than usual, excitement humming faintly beneath the fog of sleep. The city outside was already awake, but for once, I wasn't rushing to catch a bus or a deadline. I was dressing up for something different—for a night that, hopefully, would remind me what it felt like to just *be*.
Standing before my small cabinet, I sighed. Clothes were scarce—just a handful of shirts, jeans, and one or two decent tops that had survived months of rotating work shifts. Aunt Josephine, my apartment mate, peeked through the door and laughed softly.
"You know, hija," she said, leaning on the doorframe, "you should buy yourself something new once in a while. Every payday, maybe. Reward yourself. You're still young, and being a mother doesn't mean losing your youth."
Her tone was both teasing and caring. I smiled faintly. "Maybe next time, Tita. For now, these old ones will do."
She came closer, sifting through my clothes as if hunting for treasure. "At least wear something that makes you *feel* alive tonight," she said, pulling out two shirts and holding them against me. "Go for comfort, but not *too* plain."
I chuckled, trying to meet her enthusiasm. After a few trials and mirror glances, I finally settled on my knee-length pedal shorts, a long white sweatshirt, and my clean sneakers. Simple but neat. Safe. I even took a photo and sent it to Noah for approval. He replied minutes later with a short, "Looks good. Enjoy yourself, love."
That small message was enough to make my heart settle.
I left the apartment shortly after, the morning air cool against my skin. The sky hinted at rain, the kind that turns the city silver. While walking toward SM Megamall, I scrolled through my phone, replying to messages from Mommy Zarah and Serenya. We planned to travel together to Bridgetowne for the concert.
I arrived first and stood by Watson's store near the entrance, people streaming past me in colorful motion. My reflection in the glass looked strangely calm, a woman between exhaustion and anticipation. Moments later, I saw Serenya walking toward me, her grin lighting up the space like a spark.
"See? You came!" she shouted playfully, waving before throwing her arms around me. "You *always* say no, but look at you now!"
I laughed, hugging her back. "You didn't really give me much of a choice. You said you'd pay for everything, remember?"
She smirked, holding her hand over her heart dramatically. "A promise I intended to keep. Besides, you need this, Noira. A little music therapy."
We both laughed, and for the first time that week, I felt something loosen in my chest. We sat on a bench, watching people pass by while waiting for Mommy Zarah, who texted that traffic had trapped her taxi because of the rain. It took almost an hour before she finally appeared—her umbrella dripping and her energy as bold as ever.
"Ay, you really came, ha?" she teased, her tone a mix of disbelief and pride. "Kala ko naman puro 'next time' ka."
"Blame Serenya," I said, pointing at my friend. "She didn't give me a way out."
"Good!" Zarah laughed. "Tonight, no stress. Just music and bad singing!"
The three of us shared a laugh as we began searching for a ride to Bridgetowne. The rain kept slowing us down, and Grab cars were all booked. After nearly an hour of waiting, a taxi finally stopped for us. Inside, the air smelled faintly of wet seats and cologne. Zarah, exhausted from her commute, quickly dozed off against the window, while Serenya and I exchanged small talk about work and how strange it felt to be out past sunset for something fun.
By the time we arrived, the night had fallen—Bridgetowne glowing with scattered lights and moving crowds. The unfamiliar streets buzzed with laughter and music. We wandered aimlessly until I spotted a tall statue of a man holding a microphone. My instincts said it was the landmark we were looking for, and I was right. The venue was nearby, alive with anticipation.
The line at the entrance snaked endlessly. People were talking, laughing, some already singing out of excitement. Eventually, the queue turned chaotic—people merging, sneaking forward, laughing as they broke formation. Serenya grabbed my hand, pulling me along.
"C'mon, Noira! Don't lose me!"
I followed, clutching her hand tightly. My heartbeat quickened. The crowd was thick, air heavy, and for a moment my chest tightened—the old feeling of panic creeping in. Agoraphobia. I'd always hated crowds, the way voices blurred into noise and air felt scarce. But I forced myself to breathe. I was safe. I was with friends.
When we finally got inside, the bass from the speakers trembled through the ground. The Juans were already performing, their energy contagious. Serenya squealed, her voice half-lost in the cheering crowd.
"YES! It's The Juans! Oh my god, we made it just in time!"
"Barely," I said, laughing. "But still!"
As they sang, we joined the crowd's rhythm—hands raised, bodies swaying, voices overlapping in an ocean of sound. Even strangers smiled at each other like long-lost friends. Mommy Zarah waved from a distance, laughing as she stayed near the back where she could breathe easier.
"Go on! You kids go have fun!" she shouted, gesturing for us to move closer to the stage.
Serenya and I pushed forward, hand in hand, weaving through the sea of people. Sweat, perfume, and rain mixed in the air. The stage lights shimmered in shifting hues of blue and gold. And then, after a brief silence, the crowd erupted again—this time louder.
Arthur Nery had arrived.
The cheers shook the air. Phones were raised, screams rose and fell like waves. Serenya clutched my arm tightly, her voice trembling with excitement. "Noira, look—it's really him! ARTHUR NERY!"
I laughed, shaking my head. "You're insane," I shouted over the noise, but I couldn't help grinning.
He began to sing, and the world stilled. His voice was gentle—raw and magnetic, like silk gliding over old scars. People swayed, their voices melting into the melody. I thought of my younger brother, Norsen, who used to play Arthur's songs endlessly when we were still in school. I could almost hear his voice teasing me: *"See, Ate? He's the real deal."*
And there I was, years later, standing in a crowd of strangers, singing along softly to the same songs he once adored. Three songs passed like minutes. I found myself smiling, crying a little, and laughing all at once.
When the music ended, the applause lingered long after the lights dimmed. We stayed behind, taking photos and videos, capturing fragments of joy before the night swallowed them.
Later, hunger struck hard—we hadn't eaten dinner in our rush to see Arthur's performance. We headed to the nearest McDonald's, laughing as we found seats still warm from other concertgoers. Zarah devoured her meal with the appetite of someone who had been running marathons.
"See? Worth it, right?" she said between bites.
"Absolutely," I admitted, sipping my soda. "Even if my legs are about to die."
We stayed there for an hour, laughing at random things, sharing fries and stories, our fatigue wrapped in the comfort of friendship. When it was time to leave, Zarah headed home first, hugging us tightly before parting.
As Serenya and I rode home, she pulled out small trinkets she'd received during the concert—souvenirs, freebies, and snacks. "Here," she said, handing me a pack of chips. "For you. Thanks for coming with me. I know crowds aren't your thing."
I smiled softly. "Thanks for dragging me here anyway."
When I got home, the apartment was silent. Aunt Josephine and Aunt Airene were asleep. I placed my things quietly on the table and changed into my pajamas. I messaged Noah, but there was no reply. Understandable—it was past 2 AM GST.
A few minutes later, my phone buzzed. It was a message from Noah: *"I'm outside. Sorry, I fell asleep earlier."*
I peeked through the window, and there he was—standing under the faint glow of the streetlight, sleepy but smiling. I grabbed the leftover snacks and went outside.
"You didn't have to come," I said softly.
"I wanted to," he replied. "You called earlier—I felt bad missing it."
We sat by the small stone bench near the gate, sharing snacks under the quiet night sky. I told him everything—about the long lines, the music, the crowd, even my small panic. He listened, smiling the whole time.
Then, as our laughter faded, I found myself talking about Neven. I didn't even realize how easily his name slipped out—how naturally the memory followed. Noah didn't flinch, didn't frown. He just nodded, listening, eyes soft.
"Thank you," I whispered at one point. "For understanding."
He smiled faintly. "That's what I'm here for."
The city around us was half-asleep, the moon bright above the rooftops. It was one of those rare moments when silence didn't feel empty.
When I finally stood, stretching, I felt the weight of the day catch up to me. "I should rest," I said.
"Yeah," he nodded, standing as well. "Goodnight, Noira."
"Goodnight," I replied, smiling one last time before walking back inside.
As I closed the door, the night's noise softened into memory—the music, the laughter, the voices, all blending into something I could finally call *peace*.
For once, it felt like life wasn't just about enduring.
It was about *feeling*—even if only for one night beneath the bright, forgiving moon.