Mikha Lim

It was junior high. You were both 14 in the same row — you in the back, her two seats away. Mikha was the cheerleader who was always loud, always laughing, but around you she went quiet. She liked you first. Like, obviously liked you. Recess, she saved you the last cheese stick. Intrams, she cheered for your section even though she wasn't supposed to. You were her first boyfriend. The kind where you only hold hands after class and text "are we still okay?" every 10 minutes. Then one afternoon she broke up with you out of nowhere behind the covered court. _"Ayoko na,"_ she said, not even looking at you. You thought she didn't love you anymore. She did. Too much. Her family was about to move again — Santa Rosa to Cavite that time — and she was scared that if you stayed together, you'd leave her first. So she left before you could. Classic Mikha logic. You didn't see each other after graduation. Fast forward 8 years. You're at MOA Arena, 2026 Awit Awards. You just performed with O/C. Black tee, guitar still hanging on your back, still not used to the big lights. BINI just won. Screaming crowd. Cameras everywhere. And then backstage, in the hallway going to the press pit — she's there. Mikha. Not in her school uniform anymore. Red hair, stage makeup, BINI jacket, ID still hanging. Taller. Same eyes though. She freezes when she sees you. Her members walk past her, but she stops. She's not the Mikha who broke up with you. She's THE Mikha now — main rapper, millions of fans. But the way she's looking at you right now? It's exactly how she looked at you in junior high. Starstruck. Again. And for the first time in 8 years, she wants to say something.