To be Inlove with Maya

October 13, 2021

New York City

Maya

Luisa and I walked toward the waiting Uber in complete silence.

Honestly? That was pretty normal for two girls running on zero sleep and pure adrenaline.

My brain felt like it was about to explode from everything that had happened in the last two days. We’d only been in New York for two out of our five-day fashion seminar, and I was already running on fumes.

Jet lag was kicking my ass, and let’s not forget we barely slept. The moment we landed after that brutal 24-hour flight from the Philippines, we rushed straight to Fashion Week the next day. No real rest at the hotel—drop our bags and head to the venue to meet some big international designers.

Worth it?

Absolutely. We scored some amazing suppliers and soaked up so much knowledge about the global fashion scene—our main reason for coming.

But damn, it was still exhausting.

So when the last show finally ended, I was over the moon.

The second the Uber pulled away from the curb, I melted into the seat and let out the longest, most satisfied sigh of my life. In my head, I was already curled up under those heavenly hotel sheets, a glass of cheap Pinot in hand, drifting into a coma while some spicy romance novel played out behind my eyelids.

“So… what’s the plan for tonight?” Luisa asked, her voice suddenly bright enough to power Times Square.

I blinked slowly. “The plan is horizontal. Preferably unconscious.”

“Oh my god, Maya.” She clutched her chest. “We’re in New York City. The city that never sleeps! We can’t just ‘horizontal’ our way through this trip. We’re going out. Bar hopping, baby! Live music, overpriced cocktails, and maybe a little harmless flirting with men who don’t know how to text other women behind our backs.”

“Bar hopping?” I stared at her like. “Luisa, we haven’t had a proper night’s sleep since we left Manila.”

“And? Your point is?” She grinned.

“My point is I’d like to stay alive long enough to enjoy the rest of the seminar. Preferably without ending up in the ER wearing last season’s samples.”

She was unbelievable. Luisa was pure sunshine wrapped in chaos—endless energy, zero filter, and a party-girl spirit that could outlast a New York winter. Me? I was the quiet one. The well-behaved, bookish who preferred staying in with a candle, a spicy romance novel, and zero chance of public humiliation.

In real life, I was practically a nun.

In my books? Let’s just say my imagination had a very active social life.

Despite being total opposites, we’d clicked like two pieces of the same puzzle the moment we met in college. We both lived and breathed fashion design.

Our families were full of doctors and nurses, but we’d rebelliously chosen fabric swatches and sewing machines over stethoscopes. That shared defiance had bonded us tighter than any sisterhood. At twenty-seven, we already had our own successful wedding gown couture brand with three growing branches. Not bad for two girls who’d dared to chase their dreams instead of everyone else’s expectations.

But right now, my best friend was nursing a fresh heartbreak she was pretending didn’t exist.

Just a week before the trip, she’d caught her live-in boyfriend of two years cheating—via Messenger, of all things. The kind of betrayal that would’ve sent most people into a sweatpants-and-ice-cream spiral. I’d offered to cancel the entire New York adventure so she could heal, but Luisa being Luisa had refused. “I’m not wasting one more second on that trash,” she’d declared with a bright smile that fooled almost everyone.

Almost.

I knew her too well. Behind the sparkle was a girl whose heart had been stomped on, and it killed me that she wouldn’t let me fully see it.

So here I was, loyal best friend duties activated, about to sacrifice my precious sleep for moral support and possible alcohol-induced dancing.

Best friendship really is the most beautiful trap.

Back at the hotel, I’d just finished touching up my makeup when Luisa started blowing up my phone, saying she was already outside my suite. (We booked separate rooms because, duh, privacy.)

I took one last look in the mirror and immediately regretted my choice of outfit. The black spaghetti strap top I pulled from my luggage had a dangerously low neckline. My girls were practically saying hello to the world. I didn’t pack anything truly casual—everything was either formal or seminar-appropriate. This top was meant to go under a blazer, but wearing a blazer to a bar? No thanks.

Thankfully, I found my sheer knitted vest. It covered just enough while still looking cute.

I was adjusting the vest when my phone rang. Luisa, of course. Miss Zero Patience was on the line.

“Maya! Are you writing your will in there? We’re going to a bar, not a presidential inauguration!”

“Alright, alright! I’m coming!”

I grabbed my cute little crossbody purse, slipped into my two-inch Jimmy Choo stilettos (because even exhausted girls deserve cute shoes), and hurried out the door.

The second she saw me, Luisa raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. “Skinny jeans? And why are you hiding those assets behind that vest? Girl, we’re hunting for fun, not blending into the wallpaper!”

“What’s wrong with my jeans? They’re Dior, hello,” I fired back. “And yes, I’m covering up because, unlike you, I don’t want to give every stranger in Manhattan a free show.”

She rolled her eyes so dramatically. “This is exactly why you’re still single, Maya. You’re twenty-seven, stunning, and dressing like you’re about to lead a corporate retreat. Loosen up! The universe rewards bravery.”

“Oh please. Last time I checked, your version of ‘bravery’ got your heart run over by a cheating clown car.”

She burst out laughing, the sound loud and genuine enough to echo down the hallway.

“Okay, fair point. But not every guy is a walking red flag. I clearly have terrible taste. Next round? I’m upgrading to a tall, charming foreigner who says things like ‘you’re breathtaking’ without checking his phone every five minutes.”

She giggled like a teenager, linking her arm through mine as we headed for the elevator. Her excitement was contagious, even if I knew part of it was armor.

Before I could protest further, we were in a cab speeding through the glittering streets of Manhattan. Horns blared, lights flashed, and the city pulsed with that unmistakable electric energy that made everything feel possible.

I leaned back against the worn leather seat, watching the chaos outside, and felt a reluctant smile tug at my lips.

This was going to be a very long night.