I woke up tangled in my blanket, the kind that wraps around you like it's trying to keep you from facing the day. My room was quiet except for the sound of a tricycle passing outside and someone frying garlic rice in the next apartment.
I sat up slowly, still groggy, trying to remember everything that happened last night.
There was the spoken word event at Banawa Centrale. A small stage, string lights, and a crowd that felt like home—queer, colorful, alive.
I didn't go there to connect. I went to prove to myself I could be around people and not fall apart.
But then there was her.
Solene.
She smelled like flowers and moved like she wasn't afraid of being seen. We reached for the same charm at a booth called Anik Anik ni Maring. Our fingers touched. I flinched. She didn't.
She left a note.
I thought maybe I dreamed it. But when I looked at my desk, there it was—folded, quiet, real. With a name. Just a message:
"If you ever want to talk flowers, heartbreak, or the weirdness of being alive—Out of the Bloom closes at 7. -Solene"
Who even does that? Leaves a note like they knew I'd be there?
Before I could spiral, my phone buzzed.
Aveline, my favorite Herspace friend, had messaged:
"Girl, what happened last night? You said we have to talk about something?? Spill or I'm showing up with iced coffee and emotional support snacks."
I smiled despite myself. Aveline always knew when something was up. She had this sixth sense for drama, especially queer drama. She once said she could smell a breakup from three blocks away. She wasn't wrong.
I typed back:
"I touched fingers with a flower angel and now I'm emotionally compromised."
Aveline replied instantly:
"OH MY GOD. A FLOWER ANGEL??? Tell me everything. Was she hot? Did she smell like jasmine? Did you cry? Did she hex you with longing???"
I laughed. Loudly. The kind of laugh that feels like a release.
I hadn't laughed like that in weeks.
I messaged her again:
"She left a note. With a name. Just said her shop closes at 7."
Aveline's response came with a flurry of emojis:
"This is either the beginning of a sapphic romcom or a lesbian fever dream. Either way, I approve. We need to debrief. I'm coming over."
I didn't argue.
I needed someone to talk to. Someone who wouldn't make it weird. Aveline was perfect for that. She'd bring iced coffee, probably some weird vegan pastry, and a playlist titled Soft Queer Chaos.
While waiting for her, I showered. The water was lukewarm, but it helped. I stood under the stream longer than necessary, letting it wash over me like it could rinse away confusion.
I kept thinking about Solene. Her calm. Her eyes. The way she didn't flinch when our fingers touched.
I wasn't used to that. Most people pull away when they sense my walls. But she didn't.
She stayed. And then she left a note.
By the time Aveline arrived, I was dressed in my softest shirt and the kind of shorts you wear when you don't plan to leave the house.
She barged in like she owned the place, iced coffee in one hand, a paper bag in the other.
"Okay," she said, dropping everything on the table.
"Start from the beginning. Don't skip the poetic parts."
I rolled my eyes but smiled. "You're ridiculous."
"And you're emotionally compromised. Spill."
So, I did.
I told her about the poetry event, the charm, and the note. I told her how I didn't plan to talk to anyone, how I just wanted to be around people without falling apart. I told her how Solene moved like she wasn't afraid of being seen.
Aveline listened, sipping her coffee like it was tea in a gossip session.
"She sounds like a Pisces," she said. "Or maybe a Libra. Definitely someone with Venus in the first house."
I laughed again. "You're impossible."
"I'm right," she said, grinning. "So what are you going to do?"
I shrugged. "I don't know. I don't even know if she meant anything by it."
Aveline leaned forward. "Kaia. She left a note. That's not nothing."
"I know," I said quietly.
"But I've spent the last year trying not to feel things. I don't know if I'm ready."
Aveline softened. "You don't have to be ready. You just have to be curious."
That hit me harder than I expected.
Curious.
I hadn't let myself be curious in a long time. I'd been surviving. Healing. Avoiding. But last night, something shifted.
I looked at the note again.
"Out of the Bloom. Closes at 7."
Aveline saw me staring. "You should go," she said. "Even if it's just to say hi. Even if you don't buy anything. Just go."
I nodded slowly. "Maybe."
She stood up, stretching. "I'll leave you to your existential crisis. But text me if you go. I want updates. And pictures. Preferably with flowers and longing."
I laughed. "You're the worst."
"I'm the best," she said, blowing me a kiss before heading out.
After she left, the apartment felt quiet again. But not heavy. Just quiet.
I sat with the note for a while longer, then placed it back on the desk.
I didn't know what I'd do yet.
I wasn't ready to fall in love.
But maybe I was ready to be curious.
And maybe that was enough.
I spent the next hour just moving slowly—cleaning up my desk, folding laundry, refilling my water bottle. I wasn't really doing anything important, just trying to keep my hands busy so my brain wouldn't spiral.
After everything that happened last year, I told myself I needed space. I needed time. And I did. But now I'm wondering if I've taken too much of it.
I don't know what Solene meant by the note.
Maybe she gives them out to everyone.
Maybe it was just a kind gesture.
But it felt personal.
It felt like someone saw me, even for a second.
I'm not sure if I'll go to her shop today. I keep telling myself I'll decide later, but I know I'm already thinking about what I'd say if I did.
That's it.
I'm not trying to fall in love. I'm just trying to feel something again.
And maybe that's enough for now.
I texted Aveline one more time:
"Still thinking about it. But I put the note in my wallet. That's progress, right?"
She replied with a heart emoji and a GIF of someone dramatically nodding.
It made me smile.
Small steps. That's all I can do.