cyberblizzardperfection

[cyberblizzardperfection]

What do you guys think? New writer here, btw. Should I continue this? 10 years.

That’s how long Aiah and I have been friends.

Most people still don’t understand how we got along so well. Some thought we were just an odd pairing. Others swore there was something more. But to be honest… I don’t think either of us ever stopped long enough to figure it out. Life just kind of happened around us—and we stuck.

I was the type who preferred silence over small talk. I liked routines, plans, clean lines. A little too cold, a little too detached. Back in high school, people said my stare made them uncomfortable. They avoided me like I was bad news just waiting to happen.

Aiah? She was the opposite. All light and motion. She laughed too loud, smiled too easily, and had this frustrating habit of talking to strangers like she already knew them. She was the campus crush. The “it girl.” Everyone adored her.

So naturally, when we were first seen together, people stared.

"Are you lost or something?" I had said to her once, the first time she sat across from me in the empty classroom during lunch.

"Nope. This is where the grumpy loner eats, right? I figured I'd try the ambiance," she grinned, unwrapping her sandwich like it was the most normal thing in the world.

"You could sit literally anywhere else."

"Yeah, but you look like you need a friend more than they do."

I remember staring at her for a solid ten seconds, trying to figure out if she was joking. She wasn't. That’s how it started.

From there, it was like a pattern she wove us into. Every free period, every break, every weekend she wasn't busy with school events or dance practices—she found me. And eventually, I stopped pushing her away.

One day, after a particularly rough exam week, we ended up under the old acacia tree behind the library. The rain was coming down hard. She showed up out of nowhere, holding a bright yellow umbrella like it was a flag of truce.

"Move over," she said, nudging my knee with hers. "I brought snacks. And you’re not allowed to wallow in existential dread alone."

"What if I want to wallow in peace?"

"Then I’ll just sit here quietly. Wallow with you."

I think I fell a little in love with her that day. Not romantically—not then. Just… with the way she saw people. Even the ones like me who didn’t want to be seen.

When she auditioned for Star Hunt Academy, I wasn’t surprised. I helped her film her audition tape, held her phone steady while she danced barefoot in the middle of my living room.

"Do you think I have a shot?" she asked, brushing her hair out of her eyes.

"You’re going to break records."

She laughed, bright and disbelieving. "I’m serious."

"So am I."

She got in. Of course she did. And she shined.

Our worlds started to drift after that. She had her training. I had college. Then work. Then law school. I always knew she was meant for something bigger—but I didn’t realize how quickly the gap between us would grow.

We kept in touch. Late-night calls. Occasional meetups when she was free—which, as time passed, became rarer. But when BINI debuted, I was there. In the back of the crowd, wearing a hoodie and sunglasses like some awkward fanboy.

She spotted me anyway.

"You came," she mouthed from the stage, eyes gleaming under the spotlight.

"Of course I did," I mouthed back.

Now, it’s been ten years since that first sandwich. I’m sitting in a café near the courthouse, case files scattered in front of me. My phone buzzes.

Aiah [6:13 PM] Hey. Manila concert’s next week. I left you a ticket. Front row. Don’t make me regret it.

I smile despite myself.

Me [6:14 PM] You sure you want me that close? I might ruin your image.

Aiah [6:15 PM] Too late. You’re part of the lore now.

I look out the window at the fading city skyline. I have meetings tomorrow. A paper due Monday. A mock trial next Friday.

But something in her voice—her message—pulls at me like it always has.

And just like every time before... I’ll show up.

Because that’s the thing with Aiah. She was never just the campus crush. Or the rising star. Or the idol.

She was the one who stayed when she didn’t have to.

And I guess, in my own way… so was I.

Would you like to keep the story going from this point? Maybe show what happens at the concert, or explore deeper emotional beats between them—friendship, unspoken feelings, missed timing, or something more?

4o

You said:

can you tweak it a bit? I want it set in the Philippines. you may add tagalog lines.

ChatGPT said:

Absolutely! Here’s a revised version set more distinctly in the Philippines—with local flavor, familiar places, and a mix of English and Tagalog. I kept the emotional weight and tone, just gave it more Filipino warmth and relatability:

10 years.

Ganun na kami katagal ni Aiah.

And until now, people still ask: "Paano kayo naging magkaibigan?"

Honestly? Hindi ko rin alam. I wasn't exactly the friendly type. Tahimik lang ako sa klase, laging nasa likod. I had this aura, sabi nila—suplado, mataray, parang laging may iniisip na malalim. High school felt like a maze I just needed to survive. I never thought I'd find someone who'd stick around that long.

Then came Aiah.

She was the exact opposite of me. The it girl. Campus crush. Ms. Congeniality. People naturally gravitated toward her like moths to a flame. She danced, sang, laughed like the world

4o

You said:

i mean, tagalog only in the dialouges

ChatGPT said:

Ahhh got it—Tagalog only in the dialogue, but narration stays in English. Here’s the updated version with that balance. The setting is firmly in the Philippines, and I’ve added more cultural texture, familiar places, and emotional beats between the two:

10 years.

That’s how long Aiah and I have been friends.

People still ask how it even happened. We were nothing alike. I was the quiet type—the kind of guy you wouldn’t approach unless you had to. Back in high school, I was either in the library, sitting alone in the back row, or walking the hallways with my earphones on. Distant. Intimidating. Cold.

Aiah, on the other hand, was everything I wasn’t.

The girl everyone knew. The girl everyone liked. The campus crush. She was always in the middle of a crowd, laughing, dancing, moving like she belonged in the spotlight. And maybe she did.

So when she started sitting with me during lunch, people were confused. I was confused.

I remember that first time, second year high school, right after PE class. I was sitting alone sa covered court bleachers, towel over my head, earphones in.

She sat beside me without a word, unbothered by the sweat or the silence.

I took off one earbud and looked at her. “Bakit ka nandito?”

"Ayoko sa canteen. Maingay," she said, biting into her sandwich.

I nodded, but didn’t say anything.

A minute later, she held out the other half of her sandwich.

"Kain ka."

"Okay lang ako."

"Wag ka na maarte. Kalahati lang ‘to."

That was Aiah—simple, direct, warm. The kind of warmth that doesn’t ask permission.

We started hanging out more after that. In the library. By the sari-sari store across from the school. During intrams, she’d drag me to her dance practices.

"Seryoso, pano mo nasasabay ‘yung galaw? Parang robot ka na may rhythm," I teased once, watching her rehearse from the bench.

"Wow ha. Supportive ka talaga," she shot back, laughing. "At least may rhythm. Ikaw, may emosyon ba yang mukha mo minsan?"

It became a thing. Our thing. The teasing, the random hangouts, the quiet moments after class where we talked about everything and nothing. I didn’t realize how much I had let her in—until she was already inside every part of my routine.

Then came college. I took Business in Ateneo, eventually shifted to law school in UP. She chased her dreams. She trained, auditioned, got into Star Hunt. Before I knew it, she was performing in front of cameras. Posting selfies from dance studios. Slowly becoming the Aiah everyone else would soon know.

And I stayed in the background. Still her friend. Still the one she called at 1AM when she couldn’t sleep before a big performance.

"Tulog ka na ba?"

"Hindi pa. Ba’t gising ka?"

"Kinakabahan ako eh. May evaluation bukas. Baka tanggalin ako."

"Hindi ka matatanggal, Aiah."

"Paano mo alam?"

"Kasi ikaw ‘yon."

Sometimes I wonder if she ever realized how much I meant that.

Years passed. I built my own life—meetings, court hearings, internships, coffee shops and case files. But I never stopped watching her rise. From her debut with BINI, to the first time I heard her voice on the radio. I’d sit in my car along EDSA, stuck in traffic, and she’d be singing through the speakers like she never left.

Last week, she texted me out of nowhere.

Aiah [6:13PM]: May show kami next week sa MOA. Iniwanan kita ng ticket. Front row. Walang excuse.

Me [6:15PM]: Sure ka ba di ako makakasira ng image mo?

Aiah [6:16PM]: Luh. Parte ka na ng backstory ko noh. Sayang naman kung di ka magpapakita.

Now here I am, sitting in the crowd, just before the lights dim. I see her onstage, dancing like she owns every inch of it. The audience screams. The lights flash. The beat drops.

And for a split second, she glances my way.

Just like before.

Like I’m still that boy under the acacia tree, holding her umbrella while she talked about dreams too big for our small town.

Only this time... she’s living them.

And I’m just here—still watching. Still showing up. ____________________________________________________________

As I was watching her, it all suddenly started to get confusing for me.

I started to wonder whether I was still sitting in the right chair. Whether it still made sense for me to be standing beside her... or if I was only holding on to something that had already moved far past me.

Sure, I wasn’t half bad. I had my own path—corporate world, law school, late nights reviewing, early mornings filled with strategy meetings and negotiations. I wasn’t failing. But I also wasn’t... there. Not yet.

Meanwhile, her?

She was onstage, alive in ways I couldn’t put into words. The kind of alive that doesn't just exist—it shines. And maybe it was selfish of me, maybe even immature, but for a split second, I felt like life had been unfair.

Not to me, not exactly. But to us.

I thought about the nights she cried over missed steps, over not being good enough. I was there for those. I saw the fear, the exhaustion, the cracks in the smile. I watched her build herself from scratch.

So I know she earned every spotlight.

But that didn’t stop the ache from blooming in my chest. The one that whispered, “She’s already made it... and you're still trying to catch up.”

And what scared me the most was this quiet thought that maybe... maybe, in the process of becoming the people we wanted to be, we’d also outgrown the people we used to be to each other.

My phone buzzed.

Aiah [9:42 PM]: Did you see me wave kanina? Dumating ka ba? May nakita akong mukhang kilala ko sa front row e.

I stared at the screen for a moment before replying.

Me [9:44 PM]: Baka nagkamali ka ng tingin. Marami namang pogi sa crowd.

Her reply came quick.

Aiah [9:45 PM]: Pang-isa lang yun. Wala nang ibang may ganung smirk.

I chuckled, despite everything. She always had a way of disarming me. Pulling me back when my mind started drifting too far away.

Days passed. I started to pull away.

At first, it was subtle. Shorter replies. Missed calls. A polite excuse here and there. “Sorry, may reading pa ako. I’ll catch up next time.” “May hearing kami ng morning, baka di ako makaabot.” Half-truths. Sometimes, not even that.

She didn’t say anything at first. Maybe she noticed. Maybe she didn’t. Or maybe she was giving me space—something she always did without being asked.

But the silence between us grew. And the guilt did, too.

I wasn’t mad at her. I was never mad at her.

I was mad at myself—for feeling things I wasn’t supposed to. For making it about me when she had finally gotten what she worked so hard for. I hated that part of me that started counting the distance. The part that kept asking if I still belonged in her world.

One night, she called.

"Uy, buhay ka pa ba?" Her voice was light, but I could hear the edge under it.

"Oo naman. Busy lang talaga lately."

"Di ka na sumasagot minsan."

"Sorry."

"Ako ba ‘to? Or may nangyayari lang sayo na di mo masabi?"

I paused. Too long.

"Alam mo, kahit anong success meron ako... hindi mo kailangang lumayo." she said, voice quieter now. "Hindi ako aalis. Pero wag mo rin akong iwan habang nandito pa ‘ko."

That hit harder than I expected.

Because I was leaving—bit by bit, step by step. Not because I stopped caring, but because I cared too much. Because it hurt to stand beside someone who once walked with you, only to realize they’d started flying.

And no matter how many laws I studied, how many deals I closed, how many wins I racked up in court—I couldn’t quiet that small, insecure voice asking, “Would you still choose me if we met now?”

I wanted to believe yes. But I wasn’t sure anymore.

Silence was what followed us right after. Then, she broke it.

"Y/n, siguro pagod ka sa court readings kaya hindi ka na sumasagot. Nevertheless, always remember that I'm always here. I'll always be the same Aiah na mangungulit sayo."

It was those exact words that pushed my guilt to its limits. So, I did what I had to; I risked it all.

I picked up my phone, fingers shaking as I typed out the words I’d been trying to ignore for weeks. The question I’d been too afraid to ask.

"Aiah, be honest. Would you still choose me kung ngayon lang tayo nagkakilala?"

I stared at the screen, heart pounding in my chest. I didn’t know what I expected her to say. I didn’t know if I wanted the truth or if I was just trying to find a way out of this feeling of inadequacy.

The bubbles on the screen popped up immediately, then stopped. Then popped up again. I counted the seconds as they seemed to stretch into hours.

Finally, her reply came.

Aiah [11:23 PM]: Ang hirap naman ng tanong na ‘yan. Kung ngayon lang tayo nagkakilala...

I waited. You’re making me crazy, Aiah. Answer already. Sabi ko sa sarili ko.

And then her next message came through, and I read it so many times, it started to blur.

Aiah [11:24 PM]: I’d still choose you. I’d always choose you.

I laughed. That was the reaction that came out of me. Perhaps it was because of the realization that I had lost my mind over nothing. That I was overthinking things, caught in my own insecurities, when the answer had been right in front of me all along. Or maybe, just maybe, it was because of my gratitude—so overwhelming it made my chest ache.

I stared at the screen, still smiling, the tension melting away. But deep down, I knew it wasn’t just about the words. It was everything behind them—the years of friendship, the moments of vulnerability, the quiet support we had given each other even when life took us in different directions.

I wanted to say something, something that would match the relief bubbling up inside me. But all I could think was—what now?

So, I sent a simple reply.

Me [11:26 PM]: You sure? Hindi ka ba nagsasabi ng script lang?

Aiah [11:28 PM] Yes, Y/n. Wala akong hawak na script sa mga palad ko ngayon."

I chuckled, but the laughter didn’t quite reach my eyes. Because no matter how much I tried to joke it off, the question still lingered in the back of my mind. How could I have doubted her? How could I have spent so many nights pulling away, second-guessing myself, when she had never once wavered?

"I'd made a fool out of myself." I thought.

Me [11:30 pm] "Are you free tomorrow? Early tapos ng schedule ko. So, I'll be free around 12 PM."

Aiah [11:31 pm] "Hmmm, free naman. Bawi ka?"

Me [11:31 pm] "You know me so well. Wanna visit the cafe we used to go to together?"

Aiah [11:32 pm] "Sure, I'd love that!"

Me [11:33 pm] "Alright, I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

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