Chapter 1: The Girl Behind the Window
I was seven when I first saw her.
Her window faced mine across the narrow alley, its wooden shutters always just slightly ajar—like a secret waiting to be told. For weeks I'd caught glimpses: the sway of curtains, the silhouette of someone small, someone quiet. Until one day, the shutters opened all the way, and there she was—chin on the windowsill, big brown eyes blinking at the sunlight like it hurt.
She didn't smile.
She didn't wave.
She just looked at me.
And I, confused and barefoot on our creaky balcony, looked right back.
That was the first moment. A silent one. But it changed everything.
---
"Mom, who lives across the alley?" I asked over dinner.
She paused mid-stir of her sinigang. "The Cruz family. They just moved from Cavite. Why?"
"There's a girl," I said simply. "She looked sad."
My mother raised an eyebrow. "Maybe she's shy."
Or lonely.
---
The next day, I left a note.
Just a tiny piece of yellow notepad paper taped to a toy airplane. I wrote:
> "Hi. I'm Kai. Do you want to play?"
I flew it across the alley.
It hit her window and bounced off. Smooth.
She blinked, vanished inside, then came back and waved—just once.
Then, for the first time, she smiled.
---
Her name was Aira Cruz.
She had tangled hair, mismatched socks, and a voice like rain tapping gently on the roof. She was weird. She liked books about stars, believed clouds were soft like cotton candy, and said frogs were cute even when they peed on your hand.
We were eight when we started meeting every afternoon on the rooftop between our houses. We weren't supposed to be up there. It was dangerous, high, full of rusted nails and secrets. Which made it perfect.
That's where we built our little world.
---
Ten years later
Aira still lived across from me. Her room still faced mine. But now her window was filled with little things—fairy lights, Polaroids, old notebooks, and dreamcatchers.
And I still found myself staring across the alley more than I probably should.
She was seventeen now. Same girl, same eyes. But different.
Now she was beautiful. And I was in trouble.
---
It was a Sunday when she texted me first in weeks:
> "Meet me on the rooftop at 6PM. Dress nice."
I stared at the message.
Dress nice?
I panicked. And wore a white button-down that still had the tag on it.
---
When I climbed up, the sun was starting to dip, painting the clouds in soft fire. Aira was sitting on the edge, legs dangling dangerously off the ledge like she owned gravity. Her long hair was tied in a lazy braid, and she wore a dress I'd never seen before—sky blue with stars embroidered near the hem.
"You're late," she said without turning.
"You said 6."
"It's 6:03."
"You're scary."
She turned then—and smiled. That same smile from ten years ago, only now it made my chest ache in a weird, annoying way.
I sat beside her. The sky stretched out forever.
"What's this about?" I asked.
She looked at me for a long time before answering.
"Promise you won't laugh?"
"Never."
"I wrote something for you," she said, pulling out a folded sheet of paper. "It's cheesy. And dumb. But I mean it."
She handed it to me. My hands were shaking. Why were they shaking?
I unfolded it. Her handwriting was neat, curved, full of little hearts over the "i"s. I read:
> **"To the boy who crossed the alley with paper planes,
Thank you for never leaving. Thank you for building a world where I could be myself. You've been my safe place. My favorite laugh. My bravest thought. And maybe—just maybe—my first love."**
My throat went dry.
I looked up.
And she was already crying.
"I didn't know how else to say it," she whispered. "So I wrote it down."
I blinked hard.
"Hey, Aira?"
She looked up.
"Do you wanna skip the rooftop tomorrow?"
"Why?"
"Because I'm going to take you out on a real date."
She smiled, even through her tears.
"About time, Kai."
---
Later that night, I found her new note taped to my window:
> "I think I've always loved you. Since the airplane. Since the smile."
And for the first time in years, I wrote one back.
> "Then let's love each other forever. Until the end of us."