Chapter 47

Rani’s Point Of View

I adjusted the straps of my dress for what must’ve been the fifth time in the last ten minutes.

It wasn’t that it didn’t fit, it hugged every curve just right, soft and snug like a second skin, but something about wearing a light pink bodycon on a Sunday morning had me feeling both delicate and dangerously visible. The color was too soft. Too hopeful. Too… obvious.

And maybe that was the point.

Lamia walked into the living room behind me, keys already in hand, golden bangles clinking softly with every movement. Her yellow top was tucked in, and her wide-leg jeans, light-washed and relaxed, made her look like she’d stepped out of some minimalist fashion blog. Casual, but annoyingly gorgeous.

She gave me a once-over, and I caught the flicker in her eyes, the exact second her breath paused.

“You look…” she tilted her head, smiling. “Like you’re about to break hearts.”

I rolled my eyes and grabbed my purse, but the corners of my lips betrayed me with a smile anyway. “I’m married. Your heart is the only one I’m breaking today.”

“Oh, please. My heart’s already in shambles just looking at you.”

She grinned.

I bit the inside of my cheek to stop from grinning back too wide.

In the background, the house was its usual Sunday chaos—less quiet, more domestic. A kind of comforting mess that I didn’t realize I’d missed until this moment.

Rabina was sitting cross-legged on the floor, Rebecca in her arms, one tiny sock already off and clutched in the baby’s hand like a prized possession.

“Seriously,” Rabina said without even looking up, rocking Rebecca gently, “You two are giving too much. Parang walang mga anak.”

I turned to her. “We’re gone for, what, five hours? You’ll survive.”

“You’re acting like Rebecca doesn’t cry the minute you step out the door,” she said, raising a perfectly sculpted brow. “Or like Faisal doesn’t ask for snacks every eight minutes.”

“She’s fine,” I said, glancing over at Rebecca, who was currently more invested in chewing her fist than anything else.

“Besides,” Lamia chimed in, “Rawid’s got snacks covered.”

“Obviously,” came Rawid’s voice from the kitchen island.

She was standing in one of Faisal’s oversized aprons, feeding our son blueberries one by one like he was royalty.

And Faisal?

Happily sitting on a bar stool with his little feet swinging, hands sticky, cheeks full, and eyes tracking each blueberry like it was treasure.

“Say thank you to Tita Rawid,” I called over.

“Thank you Tita Wawid!” he yelled, waving a juice-stained hand before popping another blueberry into his mouth without waiting.

“I feel like I’m running a daycare,” Rabina muttered.

“You are,” Rawid replied, dropping another berry into Faisal’s open palm.

I walked over and pressed a kiss to Faisal’s forehead, fixing a loose curl on top of his head.

“Be good, okay?”

He nodded dramatically, mouth still full.

“Tell Tita Rabina if you need anything.”

“Mhm.”

“And don’t jump on the couch.”

His eyes darted to Rabina.

She raised a brow.

He shrank a little. “Okay po…”

I glanced at Rebecca one last time, she was already half asleep against Rabina’s chest, one arm flopped across her aunt’s shoulder like she’d given up on all responsibilities for the day.

“They’ll be fine,” Lamia murmured as she joined me by the door, sliding her sunglasses into her hair. “Let’s go before we find a reason to stay.”

I took one last look at the scene, my siblings in soft clothes and bare faces, our kids full and safe and warm, the kitchen smelling faintly of toasted bread and baby wipes and suddenly I felt it.

That rare thing.

Peace.

I grabbed Lamia’s hand, laced our fingers, and smiled.

“Okay. Let’s go break each other’s hearts.”

She leaned in, whispered against my cheek, “Only if you promise to put it back together after.”

I didn’t answer.

I just pulled the door open.

And stepped out into the day with her.

——

The sun was warm against my shoulders as we walked across the driveway. My heels clicked against the pavement, lazier sounds beside me. I liked how we could look like opposites and still move like we belonged in the same rhythm.

She unlocked the Tahoe with a smooth press of her thumb. The lights blinked once, and she pulled the driver’s side door open without asking.

I arched a brow. “You’re driving?”

“Of course,” she said, like it was obvious. “You’re in a tight dress, habibti. You’re not steering a truck in that. You’re meant to look pretty and boss me around.”

I snorted, sliding into the passenger seat. “You just want control.”

“And you let me have it,” she smirked, settling in behind the wheel and adjusting the seat like she hadn’t already memorized how I set it.

I let my hand dangle out the open window for a second before I turned to her. “You know what tomorrow is?”

Lamia glanced over quickly, eyes flitting from the rearview mirror to my face. “Monday?”

I gave her a look.

She grinned. “Okay, okay. Rebecca’s one-month birthday.”

“One month,” I repeated, leaning my head against the leather headrest. “Can you believe that? One whole month of having a daughter.”

“And zero full nights of sleep,” she added, pulling the Tahoe gently out of the driveway.

I laughed. “You love her.”

“Of course I do,” she said. Then after a pause, “Even if she hates every pacifier we buy.”

That made me laugh harder.

I watched the houses pass by the window, hedges trimmed perfectly, Sunday quiet in the air, families probably still in pajamas at this hour. And here we were, dressed like we were about to shoot an editorial in the middle of a café.

“You planning anything for tomorrow?” I asked, adjusting my seatbelt.

“For Rebecca?” she said, glancing at me.

“Mhm.”

Lamia tapped her fingers lightly against the steering wheel, a thoughtful hum slipping from her lips. “Hmm. Maybe…”

I waited.

She smirked. “Maybe getting pregnant again?”

I blinked.

Then laughed out loud, hand slapping her arm. “Lamia!”

“What?” she laughed, completely unbothered, eyes on the road. “You asked.”

“I meant like… balloons or a cake, not IVF!” I was still laughing. “You’re unbelievable.”

She only grinned wider. “You said you wanted another baby.”

“I do! But not tomorrow!” I shook my head, still giggling, my hand now on her thigh. “And if we’re even going to talk about that seriously, you’re the one carrying the next one.”

“Oh?” she side-eyed me, raising an elegant brow. “Is that a rule now?”

“Yes,” I said firmly. “I already did it thrice. One of them didn’t make it. One almost broke me. Your turn.”

Lamia went quiet for a moment.

Not in a bad way. Just… still.

Then she reached over at the next red light and took my hand fully, fingers locking into mine with an ease that made something flutter in my chest.

“I’ll carry the next one,” she said softly. “If that’s what you want.”

I looked at her.

She wasn’t joking.

“I want you to want it too,” I whispered.

She smiled. “I want anything that keeps you smiling like this.”

My breath caught.

The light turned green.

And we drove on, the city slowly opening up ahead of us.

——

The drive from Santa Rosa to Tagaytay was slow and syrupy, the kind of journey where the road lazily twisted and the air got cooler the higher we climbed. Outside the window, the trees thickened, green turning into a deeper kind of green. I could tell we were getting close, not just because of the change in scenery, but because Lamia started smiling to herself.

She had that little smirk.

The one that always meant she had a plan.

“You’ve been here before?” I asked, brushing my knuckles against hers on the console.

“Mhm,” she murmured, eyes focused on the narrow road ahead. “Once. A long time ago.”

She didn’t say with who, and I didn’t ask. I was learning. Sometimes love meant letting old shadows be shadows.

We pulled up to a sleek stone-and-glass building nestled into the hill, like the mountain itself had agreed to keep it secret. The sign outside was subtle: Elaria. A name that sounded like it belonged in another language or on another continent.

The valet came quickly, bowing slightly before opening my door. Lamia handed him the keys and thanked him with her usual graceful charm, barely looking at him, but somehow still making the man smile like he’d been knighted.

As we walked toward the entrance, Lamia reached back for my hand, lacing her fingers into mine.

“You’re going to love it,” she whispered.

And then she pushed the door open.

The scent hit me first, rosemary, burnt butter, something citrusy beneath. The lobby was minimalist, light gray walls, clean black accents, and a view of the volcano straight through the wide windows at the back. But it wasn’t the design that made me blink.

It was the way people looked at her.

The second Lamia stepped in, a low hum passed through the staff like someone had turned on a light too bright.

A maître d’ with sharp eyeliner and a clipboard did a full double take. A waiter coming out of the kitchen nearly dropped a tray of lemon water. A tall man in a blazer muttered “Ma’am Lamia?” like he wasn’t sure she was real.

And then just like that their eyes slid to me.

Still holding her hand. Wearing a pink bodycon dress. Following her lead.

Recognition hit all of them at the same time.

But it wasn’t awkward.

It was… joy.

Like a twist in the story they’d all secretly been rooting for.

“Ma’am Lamia,” the maître d’ beamed, walking briskly over. “Welcome back po. And…” her eyes slid to me, full of warmth and surprise, “…this must be your wife.”

Lamia looked at me. “Yes. This is Rani.”

The woman smiled like her day had just been made. “We’ve heard so much about you.”

I blinked. “You… have?”

Lamia squeezed my hand. “I might’ve mentioned you. Once or twice.”

And just like that, we were being led through the restaurant like royalty. Every staff member we passed greeted her… no, us… with a subtle kind of awe. And I felt it. The way the air shifted around her. Around us.

We reached the table, tucked in a corner by the window, overlooking the lake that shimmered like glass under the overcast sky. The volcano in the distance stood like a painting, still and timeless. There was a small vase in the center of the table, holding three blush-colored peonies, just slightly wilting, like they’d bloomed too much from the cold.

Lamia walked ahead of me, hand still loosely around mine, and then she turned, pulled out a chair, and said softly, “Sit, habibti.”

It wasn’t just the gesture.

It was the way she looked at me while doing it.

Like I was something delicate. Worthy of being taken care of.

I sat slowly, my dress smoothing beneath me. “Wow. Chivalry isn’t dead after all.”

She smirked and sat across from me. “Only for you.”

The waiter came with two leather-bound menus, laying them gently in front of us with two glasses of cold citrus water.

“Take your time po,” he said, bowing slightly before slipping away like a shadow.

I leaned forward, fingers tracing the gold detailing on the menu cover.

It wasn’t a typical restaurant.

No pictures. Just a list of dishes written like poetry. “Pan-seared Chilean seabass with saffron beurre blanc,” “wild mushroom risotto with white truffle oil,” “goat cheese tartlets with caramelized onion jam.”

“I don’t even know what half of these are,” I muttered, scanning the unfamiliar terms.

Lamia was already looking at me over the top of her menu. “Want me to order for us?”

I narrowed my eyes, mock suspicious. “Are you going to pull one of those ‘just trust me’ stunts again and then make me eat something that still has tentacles?”

She laughed, low and warm. “No. No tentacles today. Promise.”

I watched her for a second her yellow top catching the morning light, her dark hair pulled loosely back, soft tendrils escaping near her ears. She looked more relaxed than I’d seen her in days. Her face wasn’t sharp with worry, or clouded with guilt. Just… calm. Present.

“What are you getting?” I asked, tilting my head.

She flipped a page. “Maybe the duck confit. Or the roasted tomato bisque with smoked paprika. And the calamansi-glazed prawns.”

I made a face. “That last one sounds like it has tentacles.”

She laughed again. “Prawns don’t have tentacles, baby. Just heads. Which I will make them remove.”

I sipped my water. “Fine. You can order.”

Lamia put down her menu and reached across the table, brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “You look beautiful today, by the way.”

The compliment landed differently in the silence of the restaurant.

Soft. Undistracted.

As soon as the waiter disappeared with our order, I leaned my elbow on the edge of the table and looked at her, really looked at her.

She was gazing out the window for a moment, eyelids soft, lips slightly parted, the golden sunlight catching on her lashes like it was staging a photoshoot just for her. There was something effortless about Lamia when she was calm like this. Her presence wasn’t loud but it had weight. The kind of weight that turned heads even if she was just wearing wide-leg jeans and a cropped yellow top.

I smiled to myself and tilted my head.

“You know,” I began, teasingly, “I still can’t believe sometimes that I married the royal princess of Dubai.”

Her head snapped toward me with a raised brow.

“I mean,” I continued, laughing softly, “it’s like I blinked and suddenly I’m married to someone who probably owns a diamond bathtub and has three assistants just for her eyebrows.”

Lamia rolled her eyes but grinned. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m not,” I insisted, sipping my water dramatically. “You walk around like you’ve got royal blood. All poised and mysterious. Admit it, there’s at least one tiara hidden in your closet.”

“No tiara,” she said, lips twitching. “But there is a broken hair straightener and some stolen hotel slippers.”

I burst out laughing. “Close enough!”

She shook her head, laughing with me. “You do realize I’m just a normal girl, right?”

“Oh no,” I gasped, feigning shock. “Next you’ll tell me you don’t have a personal chef and a pet tiger.”

“I do have a personal chef. His name is GrabFood.”

I laughed again, cheeks starting to hurt.

But even as the joke settled, I caught myself gazing at her again… really seeing her.

There was nothing royal about her, technically. No titles. No tabloid spreads or grand palaces. But the way she carried herself, the way she sat there like the moment didn’t own her… she owned it, it was magnetic.

“I still think you’re a queen,” I murmured.

She gave me a side-eye smirk. “Well, that part might be true.”

“See?” I pointed at her. “I knew it.”

She leaned forward on her elbow, her voice dipping low.

“Queen of what?”

I tapped my chest once, then placed my hand over hers. “Of my heart.”

She blinked slowly, then scoffed like she was trying not to smile.

“That was so cheesy.”

“And you love it,” I said proudly.

“I tolerate it.”

“Sure you do,” I grinned. “Anyway, I should bow, Your Majesty.”

“You really should.”

I laughed and straightened up dramatically. “I would kiss your ring if we didn’t both forget to wear ours today.”

She held out her hand anyway. “Kiss it.”

I raised a brow.

She didn’t drop her hand.

So, with a giggle, I leaned forward and kissed her knuckles.

She softened, eyes fluttering a bit at the gesture.

Then she laced our fingers, her thumb tracing gentle circles on my skin.

“You’re stupid,” she whispered fondly.

“But I’m yours,” I whispered back.

And in that quiet corner of the restaurant, with sunlight pouring through the window and her fingers tangled in mine, I felt it again, that strange, tender certainty.

She didn’t need to be a queen.

Because to me, she already ruled everything that mattered.

The light was too perfect.

It streamed through the tall glass windows of the restaurant, brushing Lamia’s cheekbones with gold and softening the edges of her hair like she had a personal sun following her around.

She was scrolling through her phone, head tilted just enough for me to want to frame it.

I sat back in my chair, pulled out my phone, and narrowed my eyes at her.

“Babe,” I said.

“Hm?” she didn’t even look up.

“Pose.”

She blinked and finally turned to me. “What?”

“Pose. The light’s hitting you so perfectly right now. I want a picture.”

Lamia gave me a mildly amused look, then casually tucked her hair behind her ear and sat back a little in her chair. She gave me a side profile, jawline sharp, shoulders relaxed, lips pursed in that mysterious model-off-duty way she always seemed to pull off without trying.

Click.

I took the photo… but I stared at it afterward, unimpressed.

“Nope,” I said, scrolling to the image. “You look like you’re about to fire someone.”

“I am about to fire someone,” she said dryly, reaching for her water.

I laughed. “Okay, okay, one more. But this time smile. Like you actually love your wife.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was a softness underneath it. The corners of her mouth twitched.

I raised my phone again, tilting it slightly to get her in frame.

“Lamiaaaa, come on, give me that smile,” I teased.

And finally, finally, she did.

It wasn’t big or exaggerated. Just the gentle, real one, the one that crept up slowly like it wasn’t sure it had permission to be there.

Click.

I grinned at the photo. Then took another.

Click.

And one more.

Click.

She was still smiling in the last one, but this time her eyes were not looking at the camera, probably from trying not to laugh at how proud I looked behind my phone.

“That’s the one,” I whispered to myself.

She tilted her head. “Show me?”

I turned the screen toward her. She smirked. “Wow. You really captured my exhaustion.”

“You look beautiful, and you know it,” I grinned.

She didn’t deny it.

I opened Instagram and immediately picked two: the first one where she looked serious and elegant, and the second where she smiled like she was thinking about home.

I added a caption without even thinking twice.

My royal princess of Dubai, I love you Habibti <3

Then hit post.

Lamia glanced at me from across the table. “You posted it?”

“Yep.”

“You tagged me?”

“Obviously.”

She shook her head, lips twitching again.

“You’re lucky I love you.”

“Correction,” I said with a wink, setting my phone face down on the table. “You’re lucky I know your angles.”

She let out a low chuckle, her fingers reaching across to tap the back of my hand once before resting there.

The soft clinking of plates made me glance up.

Finally.

Our waiter returned, his arms expertly balancing the trays like it was nothing, his posture upright and practiced. He gently placed our orders on the table with a kind nod and a polite, “Enjoy your meal.”

I smiled at him briefly before my gaze dropped to the food.

Everything looked… divine.

My grilled salmon was resting on a bed of truffle mash, surrounded by sautéed greens and a drizzle of lemon butter sauce. Lamia’s lamb rack was served with roasted vegetables and a thick, glossy red wine reduction. It smelled so good my mouth was already watering.

But before I could so much as lift my utensils, Lamia had already leaned forward.

“Wait, wait… your napkin,” she said, reaching across the table.

I froze as she picked up my linen napkin, unfolded it gently, and tucked it onto my lap like I was incapable of doing it myself.

“You’re ridiculous,” I mumbled, cheeks warming.

“Shut up,” she said softly, not unkindly. “You’ll thank me when you don’t end up with butter on that dress.”

She gave me a quick once-over, then nodded to herself like her work was done.

Then, just as I reached for my fork, she beat me to it cutting the salmon for me without saying anything. She always did this thing where she tried to act like she wasn’t fussing over me, but the truth was, she totally was.

And I let her.

She sliced a neat bite, blew on it a little… blew on it, like we weren’t in a fancy restaurant surrounded by people in pressed shirts and pearls—and held the fork out to me.

I stared at her, one brow raised. “You’re feeding me now?”

“Eat,” she said with a smirk.

I leaned forward and took the bite, holding her gaze as I did.

And yeah, okay… it was perfect.

She watched my reaction, lips twitching when I let out a soft hum of approval. “See? You didn’t even have to lift a finger.”

“Why are you like this?” I asked, half-laughing.

She shrugged, then finally started cutting into her own lamb. “Because you forget to take care of yourself sometimes. So I do it for you.”

The words were casual, but the weight of them landed anyway.

And just like that, something quiet and warm settled between us again. The kind of thing that didn’t need to be said out loud, but lived in gestures. Like napkins on laps. And cooling bites of fish. And the way she always gave me the corner of the bed even if she pretended not to notice.

“You spoil me,” I whispered.

Lamia didn’t even look up as she said, “Of course I do.”

——

Lamia was chewing on a piece of lamb when I wiped my mouth slowly with my napkin and cleared my throat.

She looked up right away, eyebrows slightly raised, already sensing something was up. I held back a smirk.

“What now?” she asked, mouth still half-full.

I leaned back in my chair, tilting my head at her. “So… I forgot to tell you something.”

Lamia narrowed her eyes slightly, playful suspicion written all over her face. “What did you do?”

“Nothing bad!” I laughed, picking up my glass and swirling the water lazily. “It’s just… after this, we’re not heading home yet.”

“Oh?” she said, raising a brow. “And where exactly are we going?”

I paused for dramatic effect.

“To a studio. Here in Tagaytay.”

Her expression didn’t change… yet.

“You booked a studio?” she said slowly.

I nodded, eyes twinkling. “A photo studio. Like a proper one. I already talked to the photographer while you’re driving earlier. It’s all set. Just us.”

Lamia blinked. “You mean, like… an actual photoshoot?”

“Yup.”

A beat passed. Then she set her fork down carefully. “You’re serious.”

“I’m very serious,” I said, reaching across the table to steal a piece of her roasted zucchini. “And it’s not just because I want more pictures of you looking like a goddess, which, don’t get me wrong… I do. But also… I thought, why not do something a little selfish for once?”

Her brows furrowed, curious.

“I mean, we’re always mom and mom at home. And I love that… of course I do. But today…” I smiled, “I just want photos of us. No distractions. No babies crawling into frame. Just me and you. Two women who are in love and dressed up and out of the house for once.”

Lamia leaned her elbows onto the table, watching me like I was slowly unraveling a surprise gift she hadn’t seen coming.

“You really booked a whole studio.”

“I really did.”

“Hair and makeup?”

“I already packed it all in the car.”

She gave a low, amused chuckle, shaking her head in disbelief. “You sneaky little thing.”

I grinned. “Guilty.”

“And you’re just telling me now?”

“Well,” I said, sipping my water, “I figured if I told you before lunch, you’d find a way to stress about your outfit or ask a million questions.”

“Fair,” she muttered. “You know me too well.”

“I really do.”

There was a long pause after that. The kind that didn’t feel awkward, just warm. Familiar. Her eyes flicked toward the window again, sunlight pooling along the edges of her jawline like it was painted there. I memorized the moment silently.

Then Lamia spoke again, her tone quieter now.

“You really want pictures of just us?”

I met her gaze and answered honestly.

“I really want to remember what it feels like to be this happy with you.”

Her lips parted slightly. And for once, she didn’t have a teasing comeback.

Just a small, slow nod.

And in her silence, I knew she wanted to remember it too.

——

The car ride to the studio wasn’t even that long, but I could already feel the shift in Lamia’s posture beside me. She straightened a little. Checked her lip gloss in the mirror once. Then again. I smiled, saying nothing. I knew her. She didn’t want to admit she was excited.

When we pulled up to the studio entrance, the façade was clean and minimal, glass doors, white walls, and a carved wooden signage that simply read “Sundays at Ten”. That was the name of the studio. Quiet. Elegant. Lamia-style.

The moment we stepped out of the Tahoe, a studio assistant holding a clipboard came rushing out from the door with wide eyes.

“Miss Rani? Miss Lamia?”

“That’s us,” I said, slipping on my sunglasses like I wasn’t already screaming wife of royalty who isn’t royal.

“Oh my God,” she breathed, clutching her chest like she’d just seen a K-drama love team in the flesh. “Akala ko naman kanina mga beauty queen, tanongin kona sana mga kasama ko kung may naka schedule na beauty queens ngayon”

I let out a little laugh, glancing at Lamia who just gave her that polite but amused smile she reserved for fangirls. The kind where her lips lift but her eyes stay cool.

As we walked inside, more of the studio staff peeked out from behind curtains and lighting stands. Some gasped. One guy holding a reflector literally dropped it on the floor.

And then came the comments, one after the other, breathless, admiring, borderline worshipping.

“Hala, model po ba kayo?”

“They’re like… I don’t even know… art.”

“Wait… hindi wala po ba kayong balak sumali ng Binibining Pilipinas or Miss Universe? Subukan niyo po, madami na kaming naging clients na beauty queen pero iba ang atake ninyong dalawa… hands down!”

“You’re the most gorgeous couple we’ve ever seen in this studio. Ever.”

I blinked at that one, caught off guard. I wasn’t used to this kind of attention. Lamia, on the other hand, didn’t even flinch. She just smiled with her chin slightly tilted up like she was walking down a runway.

One of the stylists, a girl with purple hair and eyeliner sharp enough to cut glass clutched her flat iron and looked Lamia up and down, starstruck. “Kapag sumali po kayo ng pageants baka magsi-uwian mga kalaban niyo.”

Lamia raised a brow, almost amused now. “No need for that,” she said casually, brushing imaginary dust off her wide-leg jeans. “We already won.”

The room burst into quiet laughter, and I just stared at her, lips parting.

“Did you just say that with a straight face?” I muttered, eyes wide.

She turned to me with a wink. “What? It’s true.”

God help me, she was insufferable when she was right.

We were led inside a private space, light wooden floors, tall windows, racks of outfits, vanity mirrors glowing, and a clean white backdrop already set up. The photographer, a tall woman in all black with a camera slung around her neck, looked at us and visibly straightened her posture like she was about to shoot for Vogue Arabia.

“I can’t believe I get to shoot you two today,” she said in a hushed voice, almost reverent. “This is going to be magic.”

Lamia walked ahead of me, hips swaying slightly, the sunlight filtering through the high windows catching her earrings just right. I stood still for a second, just watching her take it all in like she belonged there.

Because she did.

——

The air in the studio shifted the moment the lights dimmed slightly and the soft hum of the flash equipment kicked in.

Lamia and I stood side by side in front of the crisp white backdrop, still in the outfits we wore from lunch, me in my light pink bodycon dress, her in that soft yellow top tucked into those wide-leg jeans that hugged her hips just right. I didn’t even need makeup retouch. The heat from the compliments earlier was still warming my cheeks.

“All right,” the photographer called out, her camera already up. “Let’s start soft. Natural poses. Don’t overthink it. Just be… you.”

I glanced at Lamia, unsure for a second, but she was already sliding a hand behind my waist, guiding me closer. Her other hand took mine, fingers lacing with mine in that way that still made my stomach flutter even after all this time.

“Like this?” she asked quietly, gaze on the lens but voice for me.

I nodded, slightly breathless. “Perfect.”

The first few flashes felt like thunder… bright and sudden, but the photographer’s words were gentle.

“Good. That’s beautiful. Stay like that.”

I wasn’t used to this. The camera. The lights. Being seen like this. But Lamia… Lamia looked like she belonged in this moment. Like she’d been sculpted for it.

“Rani, tilt your chin just a little. Lamia, look at her.”

Another flash.

I turned slightly, and suddenly Lamia was looking at me, not the camera, not the crew, just me. Her eyes soft. Loving. Focused.

That’s when the camera clicked again.

“Oh,” the photographer whispered. “That. Hold that.”

Lamia’s thumb brushed over my knuckles while we stood there, and I had to swallow down a rush of something that felt dangerously close to tears.

“Want me to twirl you?” she whispered.

I blinked. “What?”

She leaned close. “Just follow my lead.”

Before I could protest, she gently spun me with one hand, just a small, playful twirl and when I turned back to face her, she dipped me like it was a wedding dance.

The camera went off in a staccato burst… click click click click click.

The crew clapped and laughed quietly, in awe, and I tried not to giggle as I balanced back on my heels.

“You’re ridiculous,” I muttered to Lamia as I straightened.

“You love it,” she said, not even denying it.

Next, the photographer asked us to sit on the minimalist couch in the corner. Lamia took her spot first, legs slightly parted in her usual effortless, cool-girl way, and then patted her lap.

“Oh no,” I said, pretending to protest.

“Yes,” she smirked.

So I sat, sideways across her lap, arms lazily draped over her shoulders. Lamia’s hand went instinctively to my waist, her palm pressing lightly on my hipbone. My cheek touched her temple. She smelled like vanilla and something warm I could never name.

“Don’t move,” the photographer whispered again. “This one’s breathtaking.”

Another few flashes.

We stayed like that for a while. Her fingers tracing slow, lazy circles against my dress. My hand absentmindedly playing with the soft curls near her ear. No pretending. No stiff posing. Just… us.

At one point, she turned her head just enough to kiss my shoulder.

Unscripted.

Unplanned.

And my heart genuinely skipped.

Click.

“That was it,” someone whispered behind the camera. “That was the shot.”

We stood again. This time, side by side, our profiles catching the natural window light. I leaned slightly into her, shoulder to shoulder, arms brushing.

Then Lamia, without being asked, turned toward me completely, hand cupping my jaw so softly and whispered, “This is going in the baby album.”

I laughed.

“Smile, Rani,” the photographer called.

“I’m already smiling,” I said.

But it wasn’t just because of the camera. It was because of her.

——

We were in the middle of another set, this time standing in front of a neutral beige backdrop, our arms loosely wrapped around each other, our bodies slightly angled toward the camera when the photographer suddenly lowered her lens.

“Wait,” she said. “I want something more intimate. Something that feels like the two of you. Not just how you look together.”

Lamia tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

The photographer grinned, wiping the edge of her lens. “If your relationship was a song, what would it be?”

I blinked, caught off-guard.

A pause followed. I turned to Lamia to see if she’d say something sarcastic, or throw a cheesy joke. But she was quiet. Eyes thoughtful.

Then softly, she said, “Starting Over Again.”

My breath hitched a little. I wasn’t expecting that.

The staff, who had been quietly watching in the corner, exchanged looks.

“You mean the…”

“Yes,” Lamia said, still staring ahead. “By Natalie Cole.”

One of the assistants clutched her chest like she was about to cry. Another, near the laptop, typed quickly. Moments later, the opening chords filled the studio, low, nostalgic, aching.

🎵 “And when I hold you in my arms I promise you..…” 🎵

I felt something throb deep in my chest. The room dimmed just slightly, the mood thickening as the melody floated between us.

The photographer stepped back, voice hushed now. “Don’t pose. Just… feel the music. Let it guide how you hold each other. What you want this photo to say.”

I turned slowly to Lamia.

Her eyes were already on mine.

I knew that look. I’d seen it before, once in the hospital, after Rebecca was born. Once at the balcony, when she came back from seeing Peterson for the last time. Once during a fight we didn’t finish but ended with her sleeping beside me anyway.

That look meant: I’m still here.

So I stepped closer. My fingers found hers and laced through them. Lamia pulled me in, gently, like something fragile. Like she was afraid to break me again.

🎵 “You’re gonna feel a love that’s beautiful and new” 🎵

I let my forehead rest against hers. We swayed slowly, almost without realizing. My hands slid up her shoulders, finding their home behind her neck. Lamia’s arms circled my waist, tight, grounded. Her cheek brushed mine. My eyes burned, but I didn’t cry.

“You really think that’s our song?” I whispered.

She nodded against my skin. “We’ve been through hell, haven’t we?”

I gave a small laugh, throat tight. “We were a mess.”

“But we still chose this,” she said. “We keep choosing it. Over and over.”

🎵 “This time I’ll love you even better than I ever did before. And you’ll be in my heart forevermore” 🎵

The photographer didn’t speak. No one did. Only the camera flashed, quiet, reverent, like it didn’t want to interrupt us.

I let myself close my eyes. The warmth of Lamia’s body, the smell of her perfume, the quiet ache of the lyrics, it all hit me at once. My fingers tightened behind her neck.

She was mine.

After everything, she was still mine.

And I was hers.

The camera clicked again. I didn’t even flinch this time.

We weren’t just posing anymore.

We were remembering.

The fights. The heartbreak. The miscarriage. The anger. The beginning. The re-beginning. The fragile days of forgiveness.

All of it lived in the space between us, in the way we held each other now.

🎵 “And now we’re starting over again…” 🎵
🎵 “It’s not the easiest thing to do…” 🎵

Lamia whispered something, I didn’t catch the words, but I felt them. Her lips brushed my temple. Her grip stayed firm.

When the song neared its end, and the last note echoed like a soft goodbye, the studio remained silent.

The photographer slowly lowered her camera. Her eyes glistened.

“That…” she murmured, “…was art.”

But I didn’t look at her.

I only looked at Lamia.

The music shifted, softening into that aching verse.

🎵 “And when I hold you in my arms, I promise you…” 🎵

The first line alone made my breath catch.

Lamia’s fingers gripped just a little tighter around my waist, like she felt it too, like she knew exactly what that promise meant to me now. The lights around us melted into the background. The clicking camera disappeared. The world narrowed to just the two of us, caught in this small forever.

🎵 “You’re gonna feel a love that’s beautiful and new…” 🎵

She leaned her forehead against mine. I closed my eyes.

We weren’t posing anymore. This wasn’t about angles or lighting or how our faces would look on some glossy print.

This was us.

Quiet. Still. Raw.

“I used to wonder if you even liked me,” I whispered, barely moving my lips.

Lamia didn’t flinch. “I didn’t.”

I snorted. “You witch.”

She smiled softly. “But I wanted to like you. I just didn’t know how.”

🎵 “This time I’ll love you even better…” 🎵
🎵 “Than I ever did before…” 🎵

Her hands slid gently up my arms, resting over my shoulders. She was holding me like I was fragile, and somehow, in her arms… I was. But not in a broken way.

In the way you hold something you never want to lose again.

“Do you remember that night?” I asked, eyes open now, watching her face. “The night I cried in the bathroom, and you sat outside the door for hours?”

Lamia nodded. “You didn’t want me to see you fall apart.”

“I didn’t want you to be the reason.”

Her throat bobbed with the swallow. I could see the apology forming in her eyes, even before she said it.

“I didn’t know how to be your wife back then.”

“And I didn’t know how to let you try.”

🎵 “You’ll be in my heart forever…” 🎵

We swayed just slightly, like the music was something we could dance with.

I lifted my hand, fingers brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I don’t care how many restarts we need.”

Lamia looked at me like I had just given her the world.

“I’d start over a hundred times if it means I end up here with you,” I whispered.

🎵 “Starting over again…” 🎵

She blinked fast. I saw it, how her eyes shimmered but refused to fall. Lamia never cried in public. Never let herself break in front of others. But in this moment, the walls were so thin, I could feel every crack.

Then she smiled.

Small. Unsteady. Beautiful.

“I always thought love was supposed to be easy.”

“It’s not,” I said. “But it’s worth it.”

🎵 “It’s like we never said goodbye…” 🎵

Lamia gently cupped my cheek. Her thumb brushed the corner of my mouth, like she was memorizing the shape of my smile. I leaned into her palm.

No words. Just silence. And the song. And the way her touch told me everything I ever needed to know.

I didn’t think. I kissed her jaw… slowly. Tenderly. Just one soft press of my lips to her skin, like a promise without sound.

Lamia closed her eyes for a beat.

Then, in the next breath, she wrapped both arms around me and pulled me in. My face tucked into the curve of her neck. Her hand cradled the back of my head. I heard her breathing in deeply… once, then again.

🎵 “We’ll be together again…” 🎵
🎵 “Starting over again.” 🎵

The song faded into silence.

The shutter clicked one last time.

Still, we didn’t move.

One of the studio staff sniffled quietly. Another whispered, “That was… wow.” But it felt like we were in a different room entirely. A different time. Just suspended there, in the middle of something we almost destroyed, but somehow kept building anyway.

And in that stillness, I didn’t think of the past anymore.

I thought of all the mornings still waiting for us.

All the second chances we’d give each other.

All the beginnings we’d make… again, and again.

Because as long as Lamia stayed, I’d never be afraid to begin again.

Not even once more.

We were still holding each other when the photographer gently cleared her throat.

“Alright, ladies,” she said softly, clearly trying not to break the moment but still doing her job. “Now… one last setup. I want you both standing tall. Straight posture. Like queens.”

Lamia gave a quiet laugh against my hair. “Queens, huh?”

The photographer nodded, her voice turning a bit more animated now. “Yes. Queens. The kind that rule entire empires but still fall for each other at the end of the story. Powerful. Graceful. Poised.”

I slowly pulled back from Lamia, our arms still loosely around each other. My heart was still humming from the last song, and now this request… it felt symbolic. Like the final act of a movie we were quietly rewriting together.

“And I want a kiss,” the photographer added, tone playful but with reverence. “But not just any kiss. Kiss each other like two queens would. Elegant. Soft. Deliberate. Intimate.”

Lamia raised an eyebrow and gave me a sideways smirk. “You heard the woman.”

I narrowed my eyes teasingly. “So now you’ll follow instructions?”

She winked. “Only the romantic kind.”

We laughed softly, then slowly stepped apart to reposition ourselves under the lights.

The assistant adjusted the fabric of my dress slightly, then stepped away. Lamia smoothed her hair back with her fingers and rolled her shoulders once. Then, she looked at me.

Really looked.

And whatever lingering awkwardness evaporated.

We stood facing each other, only inches apart, and I straightened my back just a little. Chin up. Shoulders strong. My eyes locked onto hers with a calm intensity.

She mirrored me perfectly.

God, she was so beautiful. Her dress hugged her body in the most regal way, deep forest green, off-shoulder, flowing behind her like a quiet storm. My own soft beige gown contrasted hers like earth and sky.

Two women.

Two mothers.

Two hearts that broke and rebuilt together.

Two queens.

Lamia slowly reached for my hand and intertwined our fingers, firmly, like it meant something. Like it was a coronation in itself. The moment echoed with something sacred.

“Now,” the photographer murmured gently, “look at each other like you’re about to kiss, but wait.”

We held eye contact.

Lamia’s gaze softened, still fierce, but full of devotion. She gave me a look I couldn’t name. Like reverence. Like she was grateful. Like I was her home.

And in that second, I believed I was.

“Okay,” the photographer whispered. “Now kiss… gently.”

Lamia didn’t rush. She tilted her head slightly, her lips parting just enough. And I followed, our foreheads touching again just for a moment like a bow, like a surrender and then, our lips met.

It wasn’t a hungry kiss. It wasn’t even overly romantic.

It was honest.

Soft, and slow, and breathless.

Her lips moved against mine like a question answered. Like a thank-you whispered. Like something meant to be sealed, not just said.

My hand rested on her cheek. Her free hand slipped around my waist.

And for that one, long kiss, we weren’t posing.

We were declaring.

Declaring that we’d made it.

Declaring that we still wanted this.

Declaring that even after everything, every slammed door, every teardrop on a pillow, every cold shoulder and hurtful word… we chose to stay.

Click.

Another shutter. Another second frozen in time.

But this one, this one wasn’t just a picture.

It was a vow.

When we pulled apart, just slightly, I stayed close. Lamia’s eyes were half-lidded, but glowing. She looked at me like I was everything.

——

The sun was already dipping when we pulled into the driveway of my family’s mansion in Santa Rosa. The sky glowed faint orange, and the garden lights were already flickering on, one by one, like stars getting ready for their evening shift.

Lamia leaned her head back against the seat with a soft sigh as I parked the car. Her lipstick was a little smudged now, her eyeliner faded just at the corners but somehow, she looked even more beautiful like this. Makeup worn down by laughter and long kisses. A kind of softness that cameras could never fully capture.

I smiled as I turned off the engine.

“We’re home,” I said quietly.

She opened one eye. “Finally.”

We stepped out, hands full, paper bags in mine, Lamia carrying a small shopping tote and the last box of baby wipes we grabbed from the supermarket earlier. Our heels clicked on the tiled steps as we made our way inside.

The moment we opened the door, we were greeted by the familiar scent of vanilla and jasmine, Kiyang must’ve lit a candle again. I didn’t even have time to call out when…

“Ate Rani!”

Rawid’s voice echoed from the hallway.

I winced a little, glancing at Lamia. She raised her brows at me knowingly.

And sure enough, within seconds, Rawid came hurrying into view, arms crossed, a full-blown pout on her face like she’d been timing us with a stopwatch. She was barefoot, in a plain white shirt and checkered shorts, but she carried the energy of someone ready for an interrogation.

“Took you long enough,” she said, dramatic as ever. “Akala ko saglit lang kayo!”

I set the bags down on the console table and exhaled. “We didn’t mean to be gone that long, okay?”

“‘Didn’t mean? ate, it’s already sunset. Rebecca had two bottles while you were gone and she was looking for Lamia the whole time.” She pointed accusingly at Lamia like she was a runaway babysitter.

Lamia, ever so calm, stepped forward and ruffled her hair. “Sorry, Rawid. We got caught up.”

She frowned, ducking away from her hand, though I could tell she wasn’t really mad. “Caught up saan?”

I gave Lamia a quick glance, then turned back to my sister with a grin. “We passed by the mall.”

Rawid’s eyes widened. “Mall?!”

“Mhmm,” I said, picking up one of the shopping bags and opening it slightly. “Lamia needed new skincare. Her toner ran out and apparently, that’s a national emergency.”

“First of all,” Lamia said beside me, tone dry but amused, “it was a national emergency. Don’t talk to me if I haven’t done my full routine.”

I smirked. “She also bought three different blushes that look exactly the same.”

“They’re not the same,” she muttered. “One is coral pink. One is peach pink. And one is rose nude.”

Rawid stared at us like we’d lost our minds. “And that took you seven hours?!”

I laughed. “We also bought stuff for the baby, okay? New mittens, more wipes, some extra onesies, and we restocked her formula just in case.”

“And bottles,” Lamia added helpfully.

“And bottles,” I echoed.

Rawid crossed her arms tighter, lips twitching like she wanted to stay mad but couldn’t hold it in. “You two are worse than Mom and Tita Victoria when they go to Greenbelt.”

I tossed a throw pillow at her. “We were productive.”

“You were shopping.”

“Shopping is productive when you’re moms,” Lamia said with a mock-stern tone.

Rawid rolled her eyes, finally grinning. “Whatever. I hope you bought food too.”

“We did!” I pointed to one of the paper bags. “Your favorite spicy tuna maki and tempura.”

That finally melted her. “Okay fine, you’re forgiven.”

She grabbed the bag and disappeared into the kitchen without another word.

I turned to Lamia and smirked. “See? You bribe the kid and all is well.”

She chuckled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Remind me to get her a new headset next time.”

“Bribe level… ultimate,” I murmured.

She looked at me then, just for a second, and we both fell quiet, just long enough to feel the fullness of the day behind us.

I reached for her hand again, and without a word, we carried the rest of the bags to the nursery.

I pushed open the door to the nursery with my elbow, careful not to jostle the bag of baby lotion in my arms. The scent of powder, soft cotton, and faint traces of lavender air freshener greeted us instantly. The dim night light shaped like a sleepy crescent moon cast a gentle golden hue across the room.

Lamia followed behind me, arms full of shopping bags and her heels now dangling from her fingers.

We didn’t say anything at first.

Because the moment we stepped inside, we both froze.

There… curled up like the coziest scene in a painting was Rabina on the daybed beside the window, her legs pulled up slightly, one arm draped around Faisal who was snuggled against her chest. Her other hand rested protectively on the edge of the crib where Rebecca slept, her tiny fingers twitching every now and then in that way babies do when they’re dreaming. A soft pink blanket was pulled up to her chin, and Faisal’s pacifier bobbed slightly as he suckled in his sleep.

The room was quiet except for the rhythmic sound of the white noise machine in the corner waves crashing and retreating like it was some distant shore in a dream world.

I stared for a long moment, my chest growing full with something I couldn’t name. Warmth. Gratitude. Peace.

“She stayed,” I whispered, barely audible.

Lamia didn’t respond. She just stepped forward beside me, her gaze fixed on the scene like it was too delicate to disturb.

Rabina must’ve been reading to them again. One of Faisal’s storybooks was open on the floor “Goodnight Moon,” its cover slightly bent from being handled too many times. Rebecca’s bottle was on the side table, empty and capped. I could tell she had just fed them both, tucked them in, and probably laid down beside Faisal thinking she’d rest for just a minute. But like most of us, once the exhaustion caught up… she didn’t make it back out.

I swallowed gently and moved to the crib. Rebecca’s face was turned to the side, her mouth slightly open, her tiny chest rising and falling under the soft white onesie Lamia had picked out this morning. Her long lashes brushed her cheeks, and her little fingers were curled beside her face like she was holding on to something precious in her dreams.

I reached down slowly and gently rubbed her tummy through the blanket. Just a soft press to let her know I was here.

“She’s okay,” I whispered.

Lamia nodded behind me. “They all are.”

I looked over my shoulder.

She had set down the shopping bags quietly and was kneeling beside the daybed now, brushing a stray curl from Faisal’s forehead. Her hand lingered for a second, her expression unreadable… but tender. Protective. Almost maternal in a way that made my throat tighten.

Rabina stirred slightly and blinked her eyes open just a bit.

“Rani?” she mumbled groggily.

I smiled. “Shhh, it’s okay. We just got back. You can go back to sleep.”

She blinked again, trying to sit up. “No, no, I was supposed to…”

“You already did everything,” I assured her softly. “You fed them. You rocked them. You even passed out next to them. You’re literally perfect.”

She slumped back into the pillow with a sheepish smile. “I think I just… closed my eyes for a second.”

“And that’s all it takes,” Lamia said, voice low. “Trust me, we know.”

Rabina chuckled sleepily, her voice barely audible now. “Sorry… I wanted to wait for you guys.”

“We’re here now,” I said, tucking the blanket up over her shoulder. “Go ahead. Sleep.”

She nodded once, already drifting back.

Lamia stood and came beside me. We both looked over the three of them, Rabina and our two babies all fast asleep now in that warm, glowing quiet.