The elevator ride down from the 12th floor felt like a freefall in a depressurized cabin. Kira leaned her head against the cool metal wall, the plastic container of Spam and rice warm against her palm. She could still see those duckling pajamas. She could still hear that laugh.
It was dangerous. It was a breach of her personal protocol.
"Get it together, Lawson," she hissed to her reflection.
She straightened her tie, smoothed her hair, and stepped out into the lobby, slipping back into her "Stone-Cold" armor.
KIRA'S POV:
The drive to the PAL headquarters was a blur. My head was pounding, a rhythmic reminder of my lapse in judgment. I should have been focused on my flight debriefing, but all I could think about was the girl—Yokomi. She was so... loud. Not with her voice, but with her existence. In a city of grey concrete and people pretending to be someone they aren't, she was a splash of yellow.
I pulled into the executive parking lot and headed straight for the crew lounge. I needed caffeine and silence. Instead, I found a riot.
As soon as I pushed the glass doors open, the room went quiet. Twenty pairs of eyes—flight attendants, ground crew, and fellow pilots—all snapped to me. Some were whispering behind their hands; others were staring at their phones.
"Captain Lawson! Morning!" Leo, my First Officer, ran up to me, his face pale. "Cap, have you... have you seen the internet today?"
"I don't browse trash, Leo. What is it?" I said, my voice cutting like a blade.
He hesitated, but then handed me his phone. My heart didn't just drop; it disintegrated.
It was a TikTok video. High quality. Someone from the building across the street must have been filming the sunrise and caught me. It showed me stumbling out of Unit 1208, looking disheveled, my uniform shirt untucked—a cardinal sin—holding a plastic container while a girl in yellow pajamas waved at me with a wide, unmistakable grin.
The caption read: "The Ice Queen melts? Captain Kira Lawson spotted leaving a mystery girl's condo at 6 AM. 🏳️🌈 #KiraLawson #PILOT #HiddenLove #PAL"
The views were already at 1.5 million.
"Cap, the Board is already asking questions," Leo whispered. "And... Marco is in the briefing room. He's been showing everyone the video."
I felt the familiar, cold rage bubbling up. Not just at the video, but at the vulnerability. My private life was the only thing I had left, and now it was a public circus.
"Briefing room. Now," I commanded.
I walked in, and there he was. Marco Beckett was leaning against the table, a smug grin on his face. "Well, well. If it isn't the star of the morning news. Nice pajamas, Kira. A bit of a downgrade from our time in Paris, don't you think?"
I walked right up to him, my shadow falling over his arrogant face. "Get out, Marco."
"Or what? You'll call your little 'friend' to protect you?" He leaned in, his voice dropping to a low, venomous crawl. "You think you're untouchable because you're a vlogger? The airline is homophobic, Kira. They tolerate you because you're 'masculine' and 'professional.' But a drunk walk of shame with a provincial brat? That's a PR nightmare. You're one step away from being grounded. Permanently."
"I said, get out," I repeated, my hand twitching.
I wanted to hit him. I wanted to feel his jaw break under my fist. But I was a Captain. I was a professional.
He laughed, a dry, hollow sound, and walked past me, intentionally clipping my shoulder.
"See you at the inquiry, Captain."
I stood there, alone in the room, the scent of his cheap cologne fighting with my sandalwood. I looked at the plastic container on the table. Why did I keep it? Why didn't I throw it away?
Because for the first time in three years, someone had looked at me and didn't see a Captain. They just saw a girl who needed a blanket.
YOKOMI'S POV (Anna Cristobal)
Hala! Ano ba 'to?!
I was sitting in the jeepney on my way to the modeling agency, scrolling through my phone, when I saw my own face. Well, the back of my head and my favorite duckling pajamas.
"Diyos ko, sikat na ba ako?" I muttered, my eyes bulging. The video had thousands of comments.
"Sino yung girl? Ang cute niya!"
"Bagay sila ni Captain! Grabe ang chemistry kahit likod lang!"
"Wait, isn't that Anna from the province? The one who won the local pageant?"
My heart started thumping. Naku, baka magalit si Miss Pilot! I didn't want to cause her trouble. She looked so serious, like someone who followed all the rules. And here I am, making her a "trending topic."
I reached the agency, a high-end building in BGC. I felt so small in my simple dress, but I kept my chin up. "Kaya mo 'to, Anna. Para sa pangarap."
The lobby was full of tall, skinny women who looked like they lived on air and water. I felt like a siopao in a tray of macarons.
"Next! Anna Cristobal!" a woman with a clipboard shouted.
I walked into the room. There was a man sitting behind a camera, looking bored.
"Okay, Anna. Give me something 'high fashion.' No smiling. Think 'cold.' Think 'unreachable.'"
I tried. I really did. I sucked in my cheeks and tried to look like I hated everyone.
"No, no, no! You look like you have a toothache," the photographer groaned.
"Next!"
"Wait po!" I blurted out. "Sir, can I try one more? Pero pwedeng... pwedeng iba yung isipin ko?"
He sighed. "Fine. One more."
I closed my eyes. I thought about the way the light hit Kira's eyes when she woke up. How sad she looked when she thought I wasn't looking. I thought about how it felt to hold her hand—firm, strong, but trembling.
I opened my eyes and looked directly into the lens. I didn't smile, but I let all that warmth, that "provincial sunshine" my Nanay always talked about, shine through my eyes.
Click.
The photographer froze. He looked at the digital screen. "Wow."
"Po?"
"That's it. That's the 'Jasmine in the Concrete' look we need for the PAL international campaign." He looked at me with newfound interest. "Wait... are you the girl in the viral video? The one with Captain Lawson?"
I blushed deeply. "Uh... kapitbahay lang po niya ako."
"Whatever you are, you're gold." He turned to his assistant. "Get the contract. We found our muse."
I wanted to scream! I wanted to dance! I was going to be a model for the airline! I couldn't wait to tell Kira. But as I walked out of the room, my phone rang. It was an unknown number.
"Hello?"
"Is this Yokomi Tanaka?" The voice was cold, male, and sounded like it was being filtered through a machine.
"Opo, sino po 'to?"
"Stay away from Kira Lawson. You're a distraction she can't afford. If you don't... let's just say those pretty posters of yours will be replaced by something much darker. I know where your parents live in the province, Anna. Be a good girl and disappear."
The call ended.
The joy I felt seconds ago turned into ice water in my veins. My knees gave out, and I sank onto the floor of the hallway, clutching my bag. The big city was supposed to be about dreams. Nobody told me it was full of nightmares.
THIRD PERSON POV:
The sun had long disappeared, replaced by a heavy, humid Manila rain. Kira was leaving the PAL headquarters, her mind a mess after a four-hour interrogation by the disciplinary board. They hadn't grounded her, but she was under "close observation."
She walked toward her car, the rain drenching her uniform. Suddenly, a figure darted out from between the rows of parked vehicles.
It was Yokomi. She wasn't wearing pajamas now. She was in a simple dress, soaked to the bone, her face pale and streaked with tears.
"Kira!" she cried out.
Kira stopped, her heart doing a painful somersault. "Yokomi? What are you doing here? It's dangerous—the press might be lurking—"
"Someone called me," Yokomi sobbed, reaching out to grab Kira's sleeve. "A man. He knew my name. He knew my parents. He told me to stay away from you or he'd hurt them."
Kira's eyes turned into flint. "Marco."
Before she could say another word, the roar of an engine echoed through the parking structure. A silver SUV accelerated toward them, its headlights blinding in the dark.
"Get in the car! Now!" Kira grabbed Yokomi's waist and practically threw her into the passenger seat of her sports car.
Kira jumped into the driver's seat and floored it. The tires screeched against the wet concrete. Behind them, the SUV didn't slow down. It was a high-stakes game of shadows.
Third Person POV:
The chase spilled out onto the rain-slicked streets of Pasay. Kira's hands were steady, her pilot instincts taking over. She didn't see a road; she saw a runway. She calculated the friction of the tires, the angle of the turns, the weight of the vehicle.
"Hold on!" Kira commanded.
The silver SUV rammed into their rear bumper. CRUNCH. The sound of metal on metal echoed over the thunder. Yokomi screamed, clutching the Spam container she had brought back to Kira, now a weirdly ironic shield.
Kira didn't panic. She spotted a narrow alleyway between two warehouses—a gap barely wide enough for her car. She shifted gears, the engine roaring in a masculine growl.
"Kira, wag! Hindi tayo kasya!" Yokomi wailed.
"Trust me," Kira hissed.
With a surgical flick of the steering wheel, Kira sent the car into a drift. The side mirrors missed the brick walls by centimeters. The silver SUV, too large and too fast, couldn't make the turn. It slammed into a stack of empty crates, its front end crumpling with a deafening bang.
Kira didn't stop. She drove through the maze of the city, taking three wrong turns to ensure they weren't being followed, until they reached the quiet, secluded darkness of a park overlooking the bay.
KIRA'S POV:
The engine died, leaving only the sound of the rain drumming on the roof and our heavy, synchronized breathing. My hands were shaking—not from fear, but from the sheer adrenaline of the fight.
I looked at Yokomi. She was curled in the seat, trembling like a leaf. Her hair was matted to her forehead, and her eyes were wide with a terror I had caused.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. It was the first time I had said those words to anyone and actually meant them. "I'm so sorry, Yokomi. This is my fault. My past... it's a monster."
She didn't pull away. Instead, she reached out and took my hand. Her fingers were ice-cold, but her touch felt like fire against my skin.
"Sino siya, Kira? Bakit niya ginagawa 'to?" she asked, her voice small.
"Marco Beckett. My ex. He doesn't want me, but he doesn't want anyone else to have me either. He's obsessed." I looked at her, really looked at her. "You need to go home. You need to leave Manila. It's not safe for you here."
Yokomi pulled her hand back as if I had burned her. "Ano? Pinapaalis mo ako? Akala ko ba matapang ka?"
"I am protecting you!" I raised my voice, the 'Captain' in me taking over. "I don't care about my career anymore, but I won't have your blood on my hands!"
"Eh paano yung puso ko?!" she shouted back, tears spilling over. "Kira, kagabi... nung pumasok ka sa pinto ko, akala ko nung una malas ka. Pero nung nakita kitang natutulog, nung nakita ko kung gaano ka kalungkot... hindi ko na kayang iwan ka."
The silence that followed was heavy. I looked at her, her lips trembling, her eyes full of a raw, forbidden honesty. I had retired from love. I had built a fortress around my heart made of jet fuel and sandalwood.
But as she leaned in, her scent—jasmine and rain—overpowered everything.
I didn't think. For the first time in my life, I didn't calculate the risk. I leaned forward and captured her lips with mine.
It wasn't a "pilot's" kiss. It wasn't disciplined or neat. It was desperate. It was the taste of Spam and whiskey and tears. It was the sound of a stone heart finally, violently cracking open.
Yokomi made a small, soft sound against my mouth, her hands coming up to grasp my wet uniform. I pulled her closer, my masculine protective instinct flaring into a white-hot passion. In this small, dark car, surrounded by the storm and the shadows of a madman, I felt more alive than I ever had at 30,000 feet
I pulled back, our foreheads resting against each other. "I can't promise you a fairytale, Yokomi. I can only promise you a storm."
She smiled through her tears, reaching up to touch the gold bars on my shoulder. "Okay lang. Sanay naman ako sa ulan."
YOKOMI'S POV:
I could still feel the tingles on my lips. My first kiss... and it was with a Captain. My heart felt like it was doing aerobatics.
But as I looked into Kira's dark, guarded eyes, I saw the mystery there. I saw the fear. She was protecting me from Marco, but she was also protecting me from her.
"Kira," I whispered. "Anong gagawin natin?"
She looked out at the rain, her jaw set in that hard, masculine line I was starting to love.
"We play his game. But we play it my way. You have the modeling gig? Take it. Be the face of the airline. Be so famous that he can't touch you without the whole world seeing."
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, silver whistle. "Keep this. If you're ever in trouble, blow it. I'll hear you. I promise."
I took it, the metal cold against my palm. I knew this was just the beginning. I knew that being with Kira Lawson was like flying into a Category 5 hurricane.
But as I looked at her, so neat, so sharp, yet so broken, I knew I was already hers.
"Silent vows," I whispered.
"What?" she asked.
"Yung mga pangako na hindi sinasabi, pero ginagawa. 'Yun ang tawag ko sa atin."
Kira didn't say anything, but she squeezed my hand. And in that silence, I heard a thousand promises.
THIRD PERSON:
While Kira and Yokomi sat in the dark car, miles away in a high-rise office at the PAL headquarters, an elderly man was looking at a yellowed photograph.
Chairman Tanaka, the most powerful man in Philippine aviation, stared at the image of a young woman with a bubbly smile—the daughter he had lost twenty years ago.
"Sir," his assistant whispered. "We found a lead. In the province. She's here in Manila. She just signed a contract with our modeling agency."
The Chairman's eyes sharpened. "What is her name?"
"Anna Cristobal. But sir... there's a problem. She's involved in a scandal with one of our pilots. Captain Kira Lawson."
The Chairman slammed his fist on the mahogany desk. "A pilot? My granddaughter is involved with a pilot? Find her. Bring her to me. And as for the pilot... get me her file. I want to know exactly who is trying to steal the Tanaka legacy."