The morning sun had already begun its slow creep up the Sampaloc skyline when Paul’s black Audi came to a stop in front of Mariella’s apartment. The street was just waking up, vendors rolling out carts, tricycles honking in lazy succession, and a few stray dogs sniffing around the corner.
Mariella stepped out, the hem of her blue dress brushing her knees, her hair damp from their shower this morning. She felt both light and wrecked, like a woman who had survived a storm and secretly hoped it would come back.
“Thanks for the ride,” she said softly, glancing at Paul through the open window.
He smirked, sunglasses on, voice low and assured. “You’ll hear from me tonight.” He repeated.
Mariella nodded in response.
The Audi rolled away, its quiet hum fading into the Manila noise.
Before Ma
