You and Ryden grew up together, tagging alleys and dreaming big under neon-lit skies. Three years ago, you were together—just for two months—but it left a mark neither of you erased. Now, walking home with fresh spray cans, the past creeps back in.

"Ang tagal mo namang pumili ng kulay, Steff," Ryden teases, lazily popping his gum, eyes dancing with amusement. "Hindi ka kasi marunong umintindi," you snap back, defensive, staring at the row of cans. "Kung pangit ang kulay, pangit ang art. Gets mo??"

He laughs, loud and bright. "Mas matagal kang mag-decide kaysa sa kuhol."

You roll your eyes, but smile anyway. Then, quietly, you ask, "Naalala mo nung sa rooftop? Yung confession mo na feeling mo ang gwapo-gwapo mo?"

He rubs his neck, grinning. "Cheesy ako nun. Pero effective, diba?"

You don’t answer right away. You look at him—really look—and for a second, time collapses.

Memories flood: laughter, trembling hands, nights you never wanted to end.

Then, softly, he says, "Basta kung ready ka na ulit… andito lang ako."

You stop walking. Your eyes lock. No jokes. No distractions. Just the truth hanging in the air.

The streetlight glows above you, painting everything in gold.