Chosen Blood

Chapter 12 - Coincidence or Faith

The next day was gray — the kind of drizzle that painted the city in silver streaks. Hima didn’t mind. She preferred quiet weather, the kind that made people lower their voices and walk a little slower.

Abi had shoved her out of the apartment with a short list of errands — printer ink, envelopes, “stuff I don’t feel like walking for.”

Aya was at the hospital. Lila was in class. So, for once, Hima was alone.

The bell above the café door chimed softly as she stepped inside. Warm air greeted her, thick with roasted coffee and faint jazz. She ordered her usual — black, no sugar — and claimed a small table by the window.

It should’ve been just another ordinary day.

Until she saw her.

Aria. Again.

Hood drawn loosely over her head, sunglasses tucked in her collar — casual, discreet. Still magnetic. The barista brightened when she approached, clearly recognizing her despite her effort to blend in.

Hima’s chest tightened. Gala. Grocery store. And now this.

Aria turned, scanning for a seat. Every table was taken — except the one across from Hima.

Their eyes met.

Recognition flickered again, this time softer. Then, with a half-smile, Aria crossed the room.

“Mind if I sit?”

Hima gestured at the empty chair. “Go ahead.”

Aria settled in, her fingers curling around her cup. She tilted her head, studying Hima.

“You again,” she said, amused. “Are you following me?”

Hima raised a brow, sipping her coffee. “You’d notice if I was.”

Aria laughed — low, genuine. “Fair point. Still, this is getting suspicious. Gala, grocery store, now here… feels like fate, doesn’t it?”

Hima didn’t answer. Her silence wasn’t cold, just deliberate — an invitation for Aria to keep talking.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” Aria teased.

“Not unless there’s something worth saying.”

Aria smiled. Most people she met wanted something — attention, validation, a story to tell. But Hima didn’t chase. She just was.

And that, somehow, intrigued her more than anything.

“You’re… different.”

“Different isn’t always good,” Hima replied.

“Sometimes it is.”

They sat in easy quiet — rain streaking the glass, soft jazz filling the space between words. For a fleeting moment, time bent, and the world shrank to two people sharing warmth against the storm outside.

Then Aria’s phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen, sighed.

“Duty calls. Always does.”

She stood, but hesitated — eyes still on Hima. “Maybe I’ll see you again.”

Hima didn’t reply, but the faintest quirk touched her lips. Aria caught it — and left with a smile she couldn’t quite explain.

Back at the apartment, Abi noticed the coffee in Hima’s hand before anything else.

“You were gone too long for just printer ink,” she said, leaning back. “Spill.”

Hima set the bag on the table, ignoring her. But the faint warmth in her chest lingered like an ember she couldn’t shake.

The city was alive that night — neon lights flickering, engines humming, laughter spilling from bars. Aria had just finished a late rehearsal at a small studio tucked behind an old brick alley. Her manager had left early, so she walked alone to her car, blending into the city’s pulse.

Or trying to.

Near the parking lot, trouble waited — two paparazzi, and a drunk man reeking of alcohol and entitlement.

“Sing for us, pretty star,” the drunk slurred, stepping too close.

Aria’s breath hitched. She’d faced flashing cameras, cruel headlines — but this kind of intrusion always hit differently.

“Come on,” he sneered. “Just one song.”

Then — movement.

A hand gripped the man’s wrist mid-reach. Firm, unyielding.

Aria’s eyes followed it upward — to a familiar face. Steady gaze. Black jacket. Calm like midnight steel.

Hima.

“Back off,” she said, voice low and cold enough to slice through the chaos.

The man tried to jerk away, but Hima’s hold tightened. Not violent — just immovable. A single, precise shove sent him stumbling backward. The paparazzi froze, their cameras lowering under her stare.

Within seconds, the lot emptied.

Aria stood still, heart pounding.

“You— how are you even here?”

Hima adjusted her sleeve. “Wrong place, right time.”

Aria laughed shakily. “Do you just appear whenever I’m about to have a bad night?”

“Seems that way.”

Her tone was flat, but her presence was steady — grounding. Aria couldn’t look away.

“You didn’t have to step in,” she said softly.

“Yes, I did.”

Simple. Certain. The kind of answer that left no room for argument.

For a moment, the world was only rain, breath, and silence. Then Hima stepped back.

“You should go. It’s late.”

Aria hesitated, brushing Hima’s sleeve before she could stop herself. “Thank you.”

Hima said nothing. She didn’t need to.

As Aria drove away, her hands trembled on the wheel — not from fear, but from the way that quiet protector had carved herself into her thoughts.

Dinner at the apartment was quiet. Forks clinked. The TV murmured. Everyone was tired — Aya from the hospital, Abi from work,

Lila from school, Hima from… everything in between.

Later, they collapsed onto the couch — legs tangled, pillows stolen, the kind of comfort built on chaos and exhaustion.

Abi was first to break the silence. “If I have to stare at one more circuit board, I’ll throw it out the window.”

Aya sighed. “Please do. Maybe then I can actually sleep.”

“I’d prescribe you something, Doc,” Abi teased, “but you’d just overanalyze the dosage.”

Lila giggled, scrolling through her phone. “We’re so dramatic. Stress. Stress. Stress. All this for ‘saving the world one shady deal at a time.’”

“Not the world,” Hima murmured. “Just our part of it.”

Lila hummed — then gasped. “Oh my god.”

Aya frowned. “What?”

“Look!” Lila shoved her phone forward. Onscreen: a bright concert poster. Aria — Live in Concert. The photo was recent. The smile unmistakable.

“Her concert’s tomorrow! Tickets are still open!”

Abi arched a brow. “You just want a night out.”

“And you don’t?” Lila challenged. “Come on, Abi, live a little! Aya?”

Aya leaned closer, scanning the sponsor’s logo — and froze. “Wait. Solaria Media? That’s one of Alejandro’s companies. It’s under the Dela Cruz Group.”

Abi blinked. “So the event—”

“—is financed by your empire,” Aya finished, looking at Hima.

The air shifted. What was supposed to be a simple concert suddenly carried weight — lines blurring between light and shadow.

Lila, oblivious, grinned wide. “Then it’s settled. We’re going. Right, Hima?”

Abi smirked. “Yeah, boss. Chaos or boredom?”

Aya watched her quietly. She could already feel the storm gathering in her sister’s stillness.

Hima opened her eyes. A faint smile curved her lips.

“…Get the tickets.”

Lila squealed. Abi clapped dramatically. Aya just sighed, but curiosity tugged at her expression.

The night filled again with laughter. But beneath it all, something deeper stirred — a thread connecting Hima’s world to Aria’s once more.