UntitledChapter 3: Beyond the Screen
1579 Words
After the collab, everything feels a little lighter, a little brighter.
The comments from viewers keep coming—teasing, supportive, all pointing out how well we worked together. But more than that, something shifts between Luna and me. The messages become longer, more frequent, and less about streaming and more about us.
We start talking about the things no one sees behind the camera.
I tell her about growing up in San Fernando, La Union—how I started streaming just to have something to do after college, how I used to fix old computers for neighbors just to earn extra cash. She tells me she lives in a neighboring town, that she draws because it’s the only way she can put all her messy thoughts into something beautiful, that she gets nervous before every stream no matter how long she’s been doing it.
It’s late Wednesday night when my phone buzzes with her name. I’m just finishing up editing a video, and I reach for it immediately—old habit, now second nature.
“Had the weirdest day today”
I frown a little, typing back fast. “What happened? Everything okay?”
“Just… feeling a little burnt out, I guess. Streaming, drawing, keeping up with everything. Sometimes it feels like everyone expects you to be happy and perfect all the time, you know?”
I pause, thinking carefully before I reply. I know exactly what she means.
“I get that more than you think. It’s easy to forget we’re real people behind the usernames. You don’t have to be ‘LunaVibes’ all the time, you know? You can just be… Luna.”
Three dots appear, disappear, then stay for a long moment.
“Thank you. That means a lot. Most people just want to talk about streams or art. It’s nice to talk to someone who gets it.”
“Anytime. That’s what we’re here for, right? Even if it’s just through messages.”
A few days later, the conversation takes a turn neither of us expected.
“Wait,” she sends, “you said you’re from La Union? I’m just an hour away! I always thought you were based in Manila or somewhere far.”
My eyes widen. I lean forward in my chair, re-reading the message. She’s close? Like, actually close?
“No way! I’m in San Fernando. You’re not kidding, right?”
“Nope! I’m in Agoo. Only about 45 minutes by bus or van. Small world, huh?”
My heart picks up speed. For months, she’s just been a face on my screen, a voice through my headphones. Now I find out she’s practically just down the road.
“That’s crazy. I’ve passed through Agoo a hundred times. We could practically meet up if we wanted to.”
I send the message, then immediately hold my breath. Did that sound too forward? Too fast?
But her reply comes quickly, and it makes me smile.
“We could… if you want to. No pressure, though! I know we’re both busy, and I get it if you prefer to keep things online.”
“No, I’d like that. A lot. Maybe… coffee? Or halo-halo? It’s getting really hot these days.”
“Halo-halo sounds perfect! There’s that famous spot near the town plaza, right? The one everyone talks about?”
“Exactly! Best halo-halo in the province. We can go this weekend, if you’re free?”
“Saturday afternoon works for me. Just… us? No cameras, no streaming, just… two people getting halo-halo?”
“Just us. Promise.”
The rest of the week feels like it moves in slow motion.
I catch myself checking my phone more often than usual—though I still never mute her. I plan what I’ll wear, remind myself to charge my power bank, even look up the place just to be sure I know where it is. I’m nervous, but it’s a good kind of nervous. Like waiting for a favorite song to start.
Saturday arrives bright and sunny. I put on a plain shirt and jeans, grab my bag, and head out. The ride to Agoo is short, but every minute feels longer than usual. When I get to the plaza, I see the halo-halo shop right away—colorful, busy, filled with people escaping the heat.
And then I see her.
She’s standing near the entrance, wearing a simple white dress and a cap, looking around a little shyly. She looks exactly like she does on stream, but softer—more real. When our eyes meet, she smiles, and I feel my chest do that familiar little flip.
“Kai?” she asks, walking over.
“Luna,” I say, smiling back. “Hi. It’s nice to finally meet you… properly.”
“Hi,” she laughs, a little breathless. “You look different without the headset and the blue stream light.”
“You too,” I say. “Less like a streamer, more like… just you.”
We go inside, find a table near the window, and order two halo-halos. For the first few minutes, there’s a little awkwardness—what do you say when you’ve talked to someone every day for months but never actually stood in the same room? But it passes quickly.
We talk about everything and nothing. About the weather, about our favorite foods, about the weird things viewers say in chat, about how strange it feels to be sitting across from each other instead of looking at screens.
“You know,” she says between spoonfuls, “I used to be scared to meet people from online. I thought it would be weird, or that they’d expect me to be exactly like I am on camera.”
“And is it?” I ask. “Weird?”
She shakes her head, smiling. “No. It feels… natural. Like talking to an old friend.”
“Good,” I say, grinning. “Because I was worried I’d say something stupid.”
“You haven’t yet,” she teases. “But there’s still time.”
After we finish eating, we walk around the plaza for a while. The sun is starting to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. It’s quiet, peaceful, and for a moment, neither of us feels the need to fill the silence.
Then she stops and turns to me.
“Hey,” she says softly. “I just realized something.”
“What’s that?”
“All this time, I kept my notifications on just for you. I thought it was just because you were a fellow creator. But… it’s more than that, isn’t it?”
I look at her, at the way the sunset lights up her face, and I know I can’t hide it anymore.
“Yeah,” I say honestly. “It is. I’ve muted almost everyone else. My family group chat, my old classmates, even some of my friends. But you? I never could. I always wanted to know when you messaged. It’s like… you’re the only alert that doesn’t feel like noise.”
She smiles, a small, genuine one that reaches her eyes. “Same here. When my phone pings, I hope it’s you. And when it is… it makes my whole day better.”
We walk a little more, talking about doing this again—maybe visiting the beach in San Fernando next time, or trying the local food stalls. When it’s time for me to catch the bus back, we stand near the terminal, neither of us wanting to say goodbye just yet.
“Text me when you get home, okay?” she says. “So I know you arrived safely.”
“I will,” I promise. “And you too, okay?”
“Okay.”
We wave as I board the van, and I find a seat by the window. As the vehicle pulls away, I pull out my phone. The screen lights up—already a notification from her.
“Got home safe. Today was really nice.”
I type back immediately, a smile spreading across my face.
“Me too. Best halo-halo I’ve ever had. And the best company, too.”
I put my phone back in my pocket, but I don’t turn it on silent. I never will.
As the van drives along the road, I look out at the passing trees and fields, and I realize something.
She started as just a notification. A name on a screen. A ping I always waited for.
But now? She’s so much more.
And no matter what happens, I know one thing for sure: I will never, ever mute her.
- Writer
