14. Just When You’ve Moved On… #2
I didn’t know what to do with that, actually. So I did what I always did: I smiled, deflected, and moved forward.
Was it because I was never good with flirting? Or was it because the trauma had quietly surfaced?
“Okay,” I said, lifting my glass again. “Your turn. Be honest.”
He looked at his drink for a second, like he was deciding how far to go.
But then, the music shifted before he could answer.
Abrupt, but not jarring.
The heavy bass dissolved into something softer, slower—replaced by the warm strum of a live guitar.
A few heads turned to the low stage.
“Alright, ladies, gentlemen, and everyone in between,” the DJ said.
“We’re switching things up for the last five minutes before midnight.
Go find the one you love… the one you’re dating…
or the one you just met. Kiss them until the fireworks go off!
Who knows? You might spend the rest of your life with them. ”
A soft cheer rose from the crowd as the lights dimmed just slightly, just enough to make everything feel a little more intimate.
“Alright, live band, take it away!”
The opening notes of Saksi Ang Langit floated through the air.
Swoons rippled through the crowd as the song continued.
“I love this song,” he mumbled.
I glanced at him—the stranger—and he was already looking at me.
We both smiled
Not the loud kind, but something small… knowing.
Around us, people started pairing off. Hands finding hands. Bodies turning toward each other. Lips finding lips. Conversations lowering into something more private.
He stood straight now.
But we didn’t move closer.
Didn’t touch.
And somehow, we still swayed—subtle, almost absentmindedly. Like our bodies had agreed on something without asking first.
“So,” I said lightly, “does this count as part of your honesty?”
He huffed a quiet laugh. “I think this makes it worse.”
“How?”
“Now it feels like whatever I say has background music.”
“That’s your problem,” I said. “You waited too long to answer.”
He smiled again—shy, but a little more open now.
“Okay,” he said, taking a small breath. “Honest?”
I nodded.
“I didn’t want to be here,” he said.
I raised an eyebrow. “We covered that a while ago.”
He shook his head slightly. “No, I mean—”
He glanced around. At the couples. The lights. The night…
Then back at me.
“I didn’t think I’d meet anyone worth talking to.”
That… landed softer than I expected.
The chorus of the song blasted. My heart wanted to jump out of my chest.
I let out a small breath, looking away for a second just to break it.
“Well,” I said, “that’s a little offensive to your friends.”
He laughed.
“Present company excluded,” he added quickly.
“Good save.”
A beat passed between us, the song settling into its second verse.
“Look,” he said.
Out of nowhere, he shifted his weight… and did the most awkward, uncoordinated attempt at a butt shake I had ever seen in my life. His lips slightly pouted. Eyes closed.
It was subtle at first… then worse… then committed.
I stared at him, amused at the corniest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I’m dancing,” he said, completely serious.
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am.” He did it again—off-beat, shoulders not matching his hips in any known rhythm.
I laughed, but not the nice kind or the controlled one I usually gave to strangers. I gave a real one.
It caught me off guard just as much as it did him.
“There it is,” he said, stopping his dance now. Smiling. “That’s better.”
“What?” I said. “Did I look sad before?”
He didn’t answer—probably to be polite.
“That laugh,” he said. “You’ve been holding that in.”
I tried to recover, shaking my head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yeah,” he said. “You do.”
I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t help but smile.
He settled back into place, swaying with me… looking at me.
The noise of the party faded into something distant, something unimportant, as if the night narrowed down to this.
To him.
To the space between us that didn’t feel empty at all.
The second chorus played in the background, muffled in my ears but settling deep beneath my ribs—something I knew would stay with me, long after this night… long after him.
We stood there, looking at each other, and only then did I realize he was tall. Not in an obvious way, but in a grounding way that made me tilt my head up just slightly to meet his sincere eyes—
But then, all of a sudden a hand landed on his shoulder.
He turned, breaking the moment just enough for me to wake up from whatever romantic spell I was in.
A guy stood behind him. Clearly drunk and already halfway into whatever celebration he came from.
“Dude,” he said, laughing. “You have to come back. We’re about to sing happy birthday. It’s like one minute ‘till midnight.”
He nodded. “Yeah, okay.”
“Birthday boy is getting impatient of you.”
“I’ll be there,” he said, gently pushing his friend away.
Then he turned back to me.
And just like that, the enchanting chapter was close to its final words.
“I gotta go,” he said, cutely.
I nodded. “Yeah. The birthday.”
I was still smiling. I couldn’t seem to stop.
He took a step back… then another.
But his eyes stayed on mine, like he wasn’t quite ready to let go of the moment either.
“One more truth,” he said.
“What is it?” I asked.
“I was ready to leave ten minutes ago,” he answered.
I raised a brow. “Wow. Okay.”
He smiled, softer this time.
“Then I met you.”
A pause—just long enough for my heart to trip over itself.
“You look happier when you forget to think.”
It caught me off guard… in the best way.
“And cute,” he added, cheeks reddening.
A wider smile crept across my face. “I think that drink made you too honest.”
He blinked, then laughed softly. A faint blush crept in, like he’d just remembered something—his line.
“Yeah,” he said. “It did.”
Another step back.
“See you around?” I said.
Hopeful.
He nodded. “See you around.”
Three more steps back before he turned.
And just like that… gone.
Swallowed by the gays, the music, the night.
And even when the sparkling moment had faded into ashes, something echoed in my mind—a line from one of my favorite songs that is too real, too honest, too vulnerable and fervent: please don’t be in love with someone else.
Cliché, but it still found its way in.
And for a second, I almost held onto it—that sincere, desperate wish to keep something that was never mine to begin with.
But the moment didn’t collapse the way I thought it would.
It lingered, yes. I didn’t know his name.
Didn’t get his number. Didn’t even get a promise, and somehow, that felt okay.
For once, I didn’t feel the need to hold on or feel the urge to turn something fleeting into something permanent just so it wouldn’t leave me.
It happened. And that was enough.
I leaned back against the bar, eyes drifting through the crowd—not searching anymore, just looking and letting the night be what it was.
The song ultimately faded.
Applause rippled through the rooftop as the crowd cheered for the band.
They bowed before stepping off the stage.
And just like that, the loud music came crashing back in.
The countdown to 2026 then began.
“Thirty seconds!” the DJ shouted like a warning.
The crowd picked it up instantly—voices rising, overlapping, messy and loud and alive.
“Thirty! Twenty-nine! Twenty-eight—”
I looked around.
Everyone was smiling. Laughing. Reaching for someone. Hands finding hands. Arms wrapping around waists. Bodies leaning into each other like they already knew where they belonged when the year changed.
I stayed where I was.
Not empty and with a drink in my hand.
“Fifteen! Fourteen! Thirteen—”