Chapter Text
Three years is a long time to hold your breath.
For Maraiah Queen Arceta—Aiah to the people who still bothered to check up on her—life had become an exercise in going through the motions. Gising, kape, trabaho, uwi, tulog. Repeat. It was a quiet, suffocating routine. A perfectly curated bubble that kept the noise of the world out.
It kept her out.
Tatlong taon na. Three years since Jhoanna Robles stepped out of Aiah’s apartment into the pouring rain and vanished off the face of the earth. Walang bakas. Walang CCTV footage na may silbi. Walang bangkay. For the first twelve months, Aiah was a ghost herself, haunting police stations, printing flyers until her fingers bled from paper cuts, begging anyone who would listen to keep looking. But the world moves on, even when your own axis has completely shattered. Two years ago, a judge banged a gavel, signed some papers, and officially declared Jhoanna legally dead.
Case closed. Move on, they said. Tanggapin mo na, Aiah.
But how do you grieve an empty casket? How do you move on when every time the rain hits the pavement, you still expect her to knock on your door, dripping wet, complaining about the Manila traffic?
It was a Tuesday afternoon when the package arrived.
Walang pasok si Aiah. She was on her balcony, dead leaves falling from her neglected pothos plant, when the lobby guard called her intercom. May delivery daw.
When she went down to retrieve it, the box felt strangely light. It was a plain, brown parcel. Battered at the edges, balot na balot ng packaging tape, na parang ang tagal nitong nagpalipat-lipat sa iba't ibang warehouse.
Aiah frowned, inspecting the label as she rode the elevator back up.
TO: M.A. ARCETA
UNIT 402, THE RESIDENCES
Walang return address. Walang pangalan ng sender. The tracking number was smudged beyond recognition.
Baka galing sa office, she thought, tossing it onto her kitchen counter. She made herself a mug of chamomile tea before grabbing a pair of scissors. Slicing through the thick tape, she peeled the cardboard flaps back.
Inside was a nest of crumpled newspaper. And resting right in the middle of it was a single object.
A disposable camera.
Yung yellow na Kodak. The kind you’d buy at a 7-Eleven for a quick out-of-town trip before smartphones ruined the magic of waiting for film to develop.
Kumunot ang noo ni Aiah. She picked it up. It felt cheap and plasticky, but heavy with unexposed film. The counter at the top read 0. Ubos na. Nagamit na lahat ng shots.
Underneath the camera, resting at the very bottom of the box, was a small, folded piece of graphing paper. Aiah set the camera down and picked up the note. Her heart did a strange, uncomfortable stutter against her ribs. The handwriting wasn't printed. It was handwritten in black ink. Sharp, slanted, and entirely unfamiliar.
Just one sentence.
You still don't remember.
"Ano 'to?" Aiah whispered to the empty room. A prank? A wrong delivery?
A creeping sensation crawled up her spine. You still don't remember. Remember what? She turned the paper over. Blank. She inspected the camera again. Walang initials, walang clue kung kanino galing.
For a moment, she considered throwing it away. It felt invasive. Ang weird. But curiosity is a dangerous, venomous thing, especially for someone who had spent the last three years desperate for answers.
Before she could talk herself out of it, Aiah grabbed her jacket, stuffed the camera into her tote bag, and booked a Grab to a vintage film processing shop she knew in Cubao.
"Rush ba 'to, Miss?" the guy behind the counter asked, chewing on a toothpick as he inspected the disposable camera.
"Opo," Aiah said, her voice tighter than she intended. "As in ngayon na, if possible. Magbabayad ako ng extra."
"Sige, hintayin mo na lang ng mga isang oras. Balikan mo."
That one hour felt like an eternity. Aiah paced the aisles of the nearby bookstore, reading the synopses of books without actually comprehending a single word. Her mind kept looping back to the note. You still don't remember. Was it a stalker? Had she forgotten a debt? An old friend?
When she returned to the shop, the guy handed her a classic photo envelope.
"Ayan na, Miss. Medyo grainy yung iba, luma na yata yung film mo eh."
"Thank you." Aiah’s hands were shaking slightly as she paid him. She didn't open the envelope inside the store. She walked out, finding a quiet, empty bench near the edge of the mall's indoor garden.
She sat down. Took a deep breath.
Wala 'yan. Baka pictures lang ng pusa, o ng kung anong random na bagay.
She flipped the flap open and pulled out the stack of glossy 4x6 prints.
The first picture was of a coffee shop. Wait. Not just any coffee shop. It was the Starbucks near her office in BGC. The composition was slightly tilted, taken from across the street. And right there, sitting by the window, was a girl looking down at her laptop.
Aiah’s breath hitched.
It was her.
She was wearing the beige blazer she bought just last month. Her hair was styled in that new cut she just got.
Someone took a picture of me.
Her stomach dropped. Panic, cold and sharp, flooded her veins. She quickly flipped to the second photo.
It was a shot of a grocery aisle. Again, Aiah was in the center of the frame. Nakatalikod siya, reaching for a carton of oat milk. This was from last week. She remembered because she dropped her keys right after grabbing that milk.
She flipped to the third. Aiah standing at an MRT station.
The fourth. Aiah walking her neighbor’s dog.
The fifth. Aiah eating alone at a fast-food chain.
Tears of absolute terror pricked her eyes. May sumusunod sa akin. Somebody was stalking her. The photos were all taken from a distance. A voyeuristic perspective. She was completely unaware in every single shot. It wasn't a prank; it was a threat.
Hands trembling violently now, she looked at the sixth photo.
It was taken at a park. Aiah was sitting on a bench, looking at her phone. The focus of the camera, however, wasn't entirely on her. The depth of field was strange. The photographer had focused slightly past Aiah, capturing the background with eerie clarity.
Behind Aiah, standing near a large acacia tree, was a figure.
Aiah squinted. The girl in the background was wearing a familiar oversized yellow jacket. She had her hands in her pockets. She was looking directly at the camera.
And she was smiling.
Aiah dropped the photo as if it had burned her fingers. It fluttered onto the tiled floor.
"No," Aiah choked out, her vision blurring. "Hindi. Imposible. Parang gago, hindi pwede."
She scrambled to pick it up, bringing it inches from her face. Her heart was hammering so loudly it drowned out the mall’s background music. She traced the face of the girl in the background with a shaking thumb.
The messy, shoulder-length hair. The distinct curve of her smile. The small mole by her eye.
Jhoanna.
Aiah ripped through the rest of the stack, no longer caring about the order.
Photo seven: Aiah at a pedestrian lane. In the background, across the street, Jhoanna standing among the crowd, looking straight at the lens.
Photo eight: Aiah at the laundromat. Outside the glass window, blurred but unmistakable—Jhoanna.
Photo nine: Aiah inside a jeepney. Reflected in the side mirror—Jhoanna's face.
Every. Single. Photograph.
In pictures that were clearly taken just days or weeks ago, Jhoanna Robles was standing in the background. Watching. Smiling that same, heartbreakingly familiar smile.
Aiah couldn't breathe. The mall felt like it was shrinking. The air was too thin.
Jhoanna is dead, her mind screamed. She’s dead. May death certificate. Dalawang taon na siyang patay.
But photographs don't lie. Film doesn't lie.
Either someone was playing the most cruel, elaborate, sick joke in the history of the world... or the universe had just torn itself wide open.
Aiah stared at the last photograph. Her hands were gripping the edges so hard the photo paper was bending.
Jhoanna was alive.
Or at least, that’s what Aiah thought.