It didn't start that night on the roof. But that's when I noticed it again — stronger. Stranger.
I was barefoot on a rooftop at 2 a.m., skin still warm from the bonfire and my hair sticky with salt, sweat, and whatever cheap rum Mia had poured over me earlier "for luck."
Somewhere below, someone was belting "Touch by Touch" on a dying karaoke mic, barely keeping up with the beat, and the speaker kept cutting out every time someone bumped it with a slipper. The bass was distorted, the mic smelled like beer, and no one cared. That's just how parties go around here.
On the roof, it was quieter - in that muffled, faraway way. You could still hear the sea, restless and heavy in the distance. The scent of fish, smoke, and spilled alcohol hovered in the air like a second skin.
I stood near the edge, arms draped over the rusting water tank, and looked out at the dark ocean. The horizon was blurred, the moon hanging low and crooked like it was drunk, too.
Empty red cups were scattered across the roof like confetti, and someone - probably Louise - had drawn a penis on the water tank with a permanent marker. Classic.
That's when I felt it.
A small flutter. Just under my collarbone.
Not like butterflies. Not like excitement.
More like a bird inside my chest had flapped the wrong way.
I pressed my hand to it, frowning a little. It wasn't pain, exactly - just a weird squeeze. A pause. Like my heart had skipped a beat and then realized too late it was supposed to keep going.
But I didn't panic.
I'm not the panicking type.
I'm the deal with it later type. The laugh it off and keep moving type.
"Lu!" someone shrieked behind me. "Get down from there before you fall and crack your skull open!"
Abi. Half tipsy, half barefoot, holding up a shot glass like it was a magic wand. Her lipstick was smudged halfway to her cheek and her bun had completely collapsed. "We're doing one more round, come on!"
"Make it two!" I yelled back. "I think my soul needs disinfecting."
The music roared again, someone whooped, and I turned away from the sea.
The flutter faded like it never happened at all.
By the time I got home, the roosters were already warming up for their daily scream-fest and my phone battery was clinging to 3%.
I collapsed on my bed without changing clothes and woke up hours later in a puddle of sweat and regret. My fan was pointed at the ceiling instead of me, and the power had clearly cut at some point - again. Island life.
I blinked at the sunlight slicing through my window and cursed out loud.
I was late.
I threw on the first semi-clean thing I could find, grabbed my apron from behind the door, and bolted out the house - slippers slapping against the dusty road, hair still wet from last night's sea. I shoved a leftover empanada into my mouth from the kitchen counter as I passed.
The café wasn't far - just down the road, past the little sari-sari where Ate Vi was already selling Coca-Cola and gossip. The building was small, painted pale yellow with a chalkboard menu out front, and it smelled like coffee, butter, and coconut oil.
I shoved open the door with all the grace of a typhoon.
"Sorry!" I yelled as I burst through the café door. "I swear the universe is plotting against me!"
Jules, my manager, just raised an eyebrow. "You say that every week."
"Well, maybe the universe is consistent," I shrugged, flashing him a grin.
"You good, though?" he asked, pausing. "You look… tired."
That threw me off a little.
The words hit me in a weird way. Not because of how he said them - Jules was always lowkey sweet - but because people don't usually ask me that. Not really.
I'm Luana. The funny one. The loud one. The designated life of the party. People assume I'm fine because I know how to fake it even when I'm not.
"Yeah," I said, way too quickly. "Just couldn't sleep. Moon was acting shady again."
He chuckled. I moved behind the counter and buried my hands in something - anything.
It came again later.
Mid-afternoon, when the sun was high and half the island was either asleep or hiding in the shade, I was wiping down the espresso machine, thinking about nothing and everything. The café was almost empty - just a pair of teachers grading papers in the corner and a kid playing mobile games on silent.
Then it hit.
The flutter. But heavier.
It felt like someone tugging on a string wrapped around my heart - soft, but certain. Like something was trying to get my attention.
I stopped. Stared straight ahead. My hands didn't move.
I pressed my palm to my chest again, quiet.
Counted a few seconds. Waited.
It passed. Again.
And right then - of course - the bell above the café door jingled.
I didn't look up. I didn't have to.
I felt the shift. The way the air seemed to settle just slightly. The way my shoulders straightened like they always did when he walked in.
He stepped to the counter. I looked up.
And there he was — plain black shirt, khaki shorts, and worn-out slippers that somehow made him look even more like himself: quiet and kind.
He had that soft, chinito look - warm brown eyes with a slight slant, the kind that folded into half-moons when he laughed. His left eye always squinted a bit more, something we used to joke about, even though it made him look unfairly cute.
I felt the flutter start in my stomach and swallowed it whole before it reached my face.
I hated how easy it was to smile back. How stupidly familiar it all felt.
"You're late," I said, grabbing a pen.
"You always say that."
I scrawled his name on the cup. My fingers didn't shake. Not this time.
No one knew about him. Not Abi. Not even Louise. I didn't want them to.
It wasn't because I was ashamed — it was because it was mine. Quiet. Soft. Untouched by questions or assumptions.
Besides, I wasn't even sure what this was yet.
And I definitely wasn't ready to explain the other part — the part that scared me.
Because how do you tell the world that love gave you wings, but your heart was already tired of flying?