After that night—after the confessions, the kisses, the stars, and the soft post that sparked a wildfire online—they spent two more days together.
Days filled with peace.
They walked through the sleepy town, fingers barely brushing but hearts thudding like thunder.
They visited the little bakery she loved since childhood. She pointed at every streetlight, every corner she once cried on, laughed at, grew up with.
And he listened.
Not as a celebrity, not as Rabin Angeles the icon—but just a man in love, falling deeper with every story she told.
Scene: At the garden bench
Her head resting on his shoulder.
The golden hour wrapping them in soft light.
The only sound—the slow turn of cicadas and faraway windchimes.
Y/N (softly):
"We should head back tomorrow."
Rabin (nods):
"Yeah… together?"
She doesn't answer. She just laces her fingers into his.
The house is silent. The sun is just beginning to peek through the curtains. Y/N and Rabin quietly move around, packing the last of their things.
Before leaving, they sit at the small wooden dining table. Y/N pulls out a sheet of paper and a pen.
Y/N's handwriting:
Mom, Dad…
I'm going back to Manila with Rabin. I've prepared my heart and mind this time.
Thank you for giving me space to heal and decide. I love you both so much.
– Y/N
Rabin looks at the note, then adds a message beneath hers in his slightly messy handwriting:
Uncle, Aunty…
I will protect Y/N at all costs.
I'm not turning back again. I promise you.
– Rabin
Y/N folds the paper and places it under the ceramic bowl in the center of the table—somewhere her mom always looks first in the morning.
They both pause, take one last look at the cozy home, the blooming flowers outside the window, and the hallway still echoing with laughter from just days ago.
No drama. No noise. Just a quiet promise sealed with ink and heart.
The highway stretches endlessly under the moonlit sky.
Inside the car, the world feels still.
Y/N leans her head gently against the window, watching the blur of passing streetlights. Rabin drives quietly, one hand on the wheel, the other occasionally brushing against her knee—just to feel her there.
Neither of them speaks much… but it's not awkward.
It's peace.
A kind of healing silence that comes after storms.
Soft instrumental music plays on the stereo—something Rabin always puts on during long drives.
Time: 4:42 AM
They enter the outskirts of Manila. The city is still asleep, blanketed in pre-dawn hues. Neon signs flicker faintly. Street sweepers yawn. A few early risers jog in hoodies.
They drive into their private underground parking.
Y/N (whispering):
"We're really back…"
Rabin looks at her, gives a soft nod.
"No noise. No chaos. Just us."
They get out of the car. The air is cool.
He pulls out her luggage and carries it along with his.
Inside the elevator, they stand quietly. He rests his chin on her shoulder for a moment, eyes closed.
Elevator dings.
They step into their apartment—
Dark, untouched, but still warm with the memory of their last days there.
Rabin flicks on a small lamp.
The place glows gently.
Y/N walks in slowly, her fingers brushing the edge of the couch, the shelf, the old photo frame.
It feels like a restart.
Rabin sets down the bags and walks up behind her.
His arms wrap around her waist from behind.
Rabin (softly):
"Welcome home, babe."
She turns to face him, her lips parting to speak—
But instead, she smiles.
She's home.
Time skips to late morning
Y/N stands by the kitchen counter, wearing one of his oversized shirts, hair loosely tied, quietly focused on chopping vegetables for an omelette. The smell of fresh garlic and eggs fills the air.
Rabin leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, still in his grey pajama bottoms and plain black tee. His eyes trace every movement she makes—soft, gentle, familiar.
He doesn't say anything.
He just watches.
Like he's afraid that blinking would make her disappear.
Y/N tiptoes, standing on her heels as she tries to reach the plates stacked high in the cupboard above the stove. Her fingers barely graze the edge of the top one.
Y/N (muttering):
"Why do I always put these so high…?"
Just as she's about to give up, a pair of warm hands slide around her waist.
Rabin (teasing):
"Need help, shortcake?"
She lets out a small gasp, half annoyed, half laughing.
Y/N:
"Don't sneak up on me like that!"
Rabin doesn't let her down even after reaching the plates. Instead, he effortlessly lifts her and places her on the edge of the kitchen island, making her sit as if it's the most natural thing to do.
Y/N (blinking, surprised):
"What are you doing?"
Rabin (leaning closer with a smirk):
"Good morning, shortcake."
Before she can react, he plants a soft kiss on her lips, stealing her breath for a second.
Y/N (frowning as she pulls back slightly):
"Shortcake???"
Rabin (grinning):
"I didn't mind it."
Y/N (pouting):
"You think I'm short??"
Rabin (dramatically stretching his neck and rubbing it):
"It's bad for my cervical vertebrae, babe."
Y/N (crossing her arms):
"Fine. Next time you can kneel down when talking with me."
Rabin (with a slow grin):
"Okay. I can kneel down to you for once…"
He pauses meaningfully, brushing her hair behind her ear, voice dropping to a gentle murmur.
Rabin:
"…wait until I buy the ring."
Her cheeks turn bright red like a ripe cherry, and she quickly tries to hide it.
Y/N (flustered, waving a spatula at him):
"Yahh! Breakfast is going to be soggy if you keep distracting me!"
Rabin chuckles, enjoying every second of her embarrassment.
Rabin:
"I don't mind soggy breakfast if it's made by you."
She rolls her eyes, hopping down from the kitchen island with a small thud. Her feet hit the floor, but her heart's still floating somewhere in the clouds.
Y/N (walking away, trying not to smile too wide):
"You're impossible…"
He watches her go with a soft grin, arms still folded, leaning against the counter like a man who just found his peace.
Rabin (murmurs under his breath):
"But I'm yours."
Time skips late night
The moonlight filters gently through the curtains, casting a calm silver hue across the bedroom. Rabin lies half-reclined on the bed, his back resting against the headboard, the script lazily covering half of his face. His breaths are slow, heavy from exhaustion, as the long day finally begins to settle into silence.
The door creaks open softly.
Y/N steps in, barefoot, wearing one of his oversized shirts. In her hand—a glass of water.
She walks slowly to the bedside and places the glass on the side table. Then, with the gentlest touch, she lifts the script from his face. His eyes slowly flutter open into slits, just barely registering her presence.
Rabin (groggy, voice hoarse):
"Babe… I'm too sleepy…"
His hand instinctively reaches out and wraps around hers.
Y/N (soft chuckle, brushing his hair off his forehead):
"Then sleep… I'm not going anywhere."
She leans in and presses a light kiss on his temple. His grip on her hand loosens, but he doesn't let go completely.
Rabin (murmurs as he sinks deeper into sleep):
"You're my peace, you know that…"
Y/N smiles, watches him for a moment, then gently tucks the blanket around him. She sits on the edge of the bed, watching him breathe, before finally turning off the lamp.
As Y/N rises from the bed, brushing her fingers lightly against Rabin's forehead, ready to leave him to rest—
His arm shoots out.
A gentle but firm grip wraps around her wrist.
Before she can react, Rabin pulls her down, the motion smooth and natural, like it's second nature.
Y/N (startled whisper):
"Rabin—!"
But it's too late. In a swift move, he tucks her beneath the blanket, her body against his. One arm drapes over her waist while the other slips behind her neck, pulling her in even closer. Her cheek rests against his chest, which rises and falls rhythmically.
Rabin (sleepy mumble):
"Stop moving… You're warm… stay here."
Y/N (soft sigh, smiling):
"You're ridiculous…"
But she doesn't pull away.
His grip loosens just slightly—just enough to make space for comfort but not enough to let her go.
The room is silent again, except for the faint hum of the city outside and their matched breathing. Wrapped in his arms, she lets her eyes close.
Scene: Early Morning Light
Y/N's eyes flutter open.
A soft beam of dawn light filters through the thin curtain, casting a golden hue across the room. It's quiet, still, the kind of silence that feels sacred.
And there he is—
Rabin, lying beside her.
His lashes rest peacefully against his cheeks, the faint curve of his lips betraying a dream too light to disturb him.
She turns her head slowly, just to look at him, really look at him.
In her mind, the words echo like a confession she can't voice aloud:
"The man I cherish… I've glanced at him from afar…
He's so shiny. So complete.
Even from a distance, he's always in the center of light."
Her fingers trace the air inches above his face, not daring to touch.
"But somewhere I didn't know…
he was broken."
She sees it now—in the lines near his eyes, the way his breath stutters sometimes in sleep, the exhaustion he hides beneath every charming smile.
"I didn't know how he suffered in the late nights…
how he found every broken piece of himself…
and built a whole, shiny self again."
A tear rests quietly at the corner of her eye—not from sadness, but from a deep, overwhelming understanding.
She leans forward, barely brushing her lips to his forehead.
Y/N (softly, whispering):
"I see you now… not just the shine, but the cracks too. And I still choose you."
He stirs.
Eyes still closed, he reaches for her hand beneath the blanket, intertwining his fingers with hers.
Rabin (half-awake):
"You're looking at me like I'm a painting."
Y/N (smiling through her tears):
"You're more than that."