It was past midnight when Luna stumbled through the apartment door, laughter spilling from her phone call with Maya. The faint neon glow from Poblacion streets filtered through the thin curtains, casting long shadows across the small living room. Ethan had been waiting, as usual. The kitchen smelled of warm rice and sinangag he had cooked hours earlier, untouched.
She dropped her bag on the floor and flopped onto the bed without a word. Ethan's heart ached, but he stayed silent. Instead, he picked up the camera, carefully setting it on the shelf so it captured her without waking her.
"Ethan…" she murmured sleepily, brushing her hair from her face.
He adjusted the lens slightly. "Just… resting," he whispered to himself, holding his breath.
That night, Luna shifted in her sleep, unknowingly giving him the perfect shot. He watched her chest rise and fall, her eyelashes brushing her cheeks, the small movements he had memorized over a year. He felt an ache in his chest that was physical and emotional all at once.
Then she stirred, eyes half-open, sensing movement.
"Ethan! Stop it!" she snapped, sitting up, slapping at the camera. "I said stop filming me!"
He froze. His fingers hovered over the lens. His heart thudded painfully in his chest.
"I'm not… I'm just…" he started, voice shaking, but she cut him off.
"Don't lie to me! Why are you doing this? Why do you keep watching me like… like I'm some project?!"
Ethan swallowed hard. "I… I'm sorry. I just…" His throat tightened. "…I want to remember."
She stared at him, confused, exhausted, and angry all at once. "Remember what?"
"Everything. Every moment. Because… because I don't know how much time I have," he whispered, barely audible.
Luna blinked, trying to make sense of his words. But before she could respond, she pushed him gently but firmly away. "Ethan… that's creepy!"
He nodded silently, lowering the camera, hiding it behind his back. "I understand," he said.
Luna rolled over, exhaling, dismissing the incident. "Whatever. Just… don't do it again."
But Ethan couldn't stop.
Even as she slept peacefully later that night, unaware, he returned to the camera. This night, even her yelling became a memory he preserved—a raw, imperfect fragment of her he refused to let slip away.
That night, Ethan realized something painful and terrifying: his love for Luna had become something she would never understand, something she might even resent.
But he also knew he couldn't stop. Not now. Not when every heartbeat could be borrowed time.
Because sometimes, love is strongest not when it is returned, but when it is silent, secret, and all-consuming.