The first few weeks in the city felt like stepping into another world. The streets buzzed with jeepneys and tricycles, neon signs lit up every corner, and the dormitory they now called home smelled faintly of new paint and fried food from the carinderia across the street.

“Do you hear that?” Isla asked one night, lying on her bunk bed and staring at the ceiling.

Callie, flipping through her notes at the desk, paused. “Hear what?”

“That constant honking outside. How do people sleep through that?” Isla groaned, burying her face in her pillow.

Elara chuckled from the upper bunk. “You’ll get used to it. Or maybe you’ll start honking in your sleep too.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” Isla said, her voice muffled, and the room burst into laughter.

Their dorm room wasn’t much, just two bunks, three desks squeezed against the wall, and a single electric fan that whirred as if it might give up any minute. But it was theirs, and that made it feel like a small pocket of home.

Classes were overwhelming at first. Big lecture halls, professors who barely remembered names, and classmates who already formed little groups. The three of them stuck together.

During one of their first lectures, Callie leaned over to Isla and whispered, “Why does this professor talk like he’s rapping?”

Isla tried to keep her laughter quiet but failed, drawing a few stares. Elara nudged her from the other side, shaking her head. “We’re going to get kicked out if you two don’t stop.”

“Then at least we’ll get kicked out together,” Isla whispered back.

Later that day, while eating at a noisy food court, they compared their notes. Isla’s notebook was full of doodles, Elara’s was neat and color-coded, and Callie’s was somewhere in between.

“Look,” Isla said, holding up a page where she’d drawn caricatures of their professor. “This is art. Someday, it’ll sell for millions.”

Callie rolled her eyes but smiled. “More like they’ll use it against you when you run for mayor.”

Elara hid her grin behind her hand, but her eyes lingered on Isla’s messy sketches a little longer than they should have.

Nights in the city became small adventures. Sometimes they walked down crowded streets to buy cheap street food. Sometimes they got lost trying to find a bookstore or a café one of their classmates mentioned.

One night, after classes ran late, they stopped by a small bakery. Callie bit into warm bread and sighed. “Nothing tastes like home, but this is close.”

“Still,” Isla said, tearing a piece of bread and handing it to Elara, “remember Nanay’s bibingka during fiestas? Nothing beats that.”

Elara smiled faintly. “I dream about it every night here.”

Callie nodded. “Someday, when we go back, I’m buying a whole tray just for us.”

The promise hung in the air, warm and fragile.

- One Year Later -

The city no longer felt overwhelming. They knew which jeepney routes to take, which carinderias served the best meals, and which classrooms were cold enough to make you regret not bringing a jacket.

But some things had shifted.

Isla had become louder, funnier, always with new stories to tell. People liked her, and she made friends easily, but at night when it was just the three of them, she sometimes went quiet.

Callie had gotten busier. She joined clubs, took part in group projects, and sometimes came back to the dorm later than the others. She still laughed with them, still shared bread at the bakery, but there were moments when her thoughts seemed far away.

Elara stayed steady, the one who kept their schedules aligned, the one who cooked instant noodles when everyone was too tired to move. But in the quiet, she watched. She noticed the way Isla’s gaze lingered on Callie when she thought no one was looking. She noticed how Callie smiled differently when Isla made a joke, softer, almost like it was just for her.

One Saturday afternoon, they sprawled in their dorm, the fan humming lazily. Isla tossed a pillow at Callie.

“You’ve been too busy lately. You like your new friends more than us now?” Isla teased.

Callie caught the pillow and laughed. “Don’t be dramatic. I just have projects.”

“Projects, projects,” Isla muttered, crossing her arms. “You don’t even eat with us sometimes.”

Elara looked up from her book. “Isla, she’s not abandoning us. She’s just… growing.”

Isla sighed but leaned back against the wall, her eyes flicking toward Callie. “Fine. Just don’t forget us when you’re president of everything.”

Callie smiled at her, and for a second, the air shifted, heavier and softer at once.

Later that night, as they brushed their teeth side by side in the cramped bathroom, Isla nudged Callie. “Do you ever miss home? Like, really miss it?”

Callie spit out her toothpaste and rinsed. “Of course I do. Especially when it rains. Feels different here.”

Isla nodded. “Yeah. Different.” She didn’t say more, but her eyes lingered on Callie’s reflection in the mirror.

Elara, brushing her teeth quietly behind them, caught the glance. She looked away quickly, but her chest tightened.

The city kept pulling them in different directions, yet tying them together even tighter. Innocence was slipping, replaced by something more complicated, something they didn’t fully understand yet.

And though none of them spoke it aloud, they all knew—things would never stay the same.

–

It was late, the city quieter than usual, and the three of them had walked back from a long day at the university festival. Elara excused herself early, too tired to stay up, leaving Isla and Callie alone in the living room.

Callie leaned back against the couch, hair loose, her laughter softer now. Isla sat cross-legged on the floor, fiddling with a pen she didn’t even notice she was holding. The silence stretched, not heavy, but filled with something that made Isla’s chest tighten.

“Do you ever wonder,” Callie said suddenly, her voice hushed like she was scared the night itself might overhear, “if we’ll still be like this… years from now? Just us three. Together.”

Isla looked up, caught off guard by the tenderness in her tone. Her throat tightened, and before she could stop herself, the words slipped out.
“Sometimes I’m scared it won’t be the three of us forever. Sometimes I feel like… it’s changing already.”

Callie’s smile faltered, her eyes searching Isla’s face. “Changing how?”

Isla froze. She could hear her heart beating in her ears, louder than the city traffic outside. The words pressed at the back of her tongue—words she wasn’t ready to say. She shook her head, forcing a small laugh, trying to push it away.

But Callie didn’t look away. Her hand inched closer on the couch, almost brushing Isla’s.
“Isla,” she whispered, her voice almost trembling, “tell me what you mean.”

The air between them stilled, fragile and waiting. Isla opened her mouth—

And the chapter ends there.