We were in a taxi going to Ortigas. The taillights were bright in the dark and blinking from a distance. We were about to go on a flyover when I told her that I’d just be here for her whatever happens.
Ha, she laughed, fiddling with the strap of her worn-out bag, you said the same thing Z did.
I asked her what our friend said. She said Z told her to be ready that her lover wouldn’t choose her, and when that happens, remember that her friends will still be there.
I laughed, louder than she did. I should have been surprised that Z stopped herself from stating the obvious. Z was always the gutsier one, wasn’t the type to beat around the bush. But glancing at her, I realized why Z showed some tact. Z probably saw what I could see then: she kept looking at that goddamn bag.