---
It began with a notification.
Just one.
She was lying in bed, the hoodie still draped loosely around her shoulders, scrolling absentmindedly through her explore feed. The night was warm — one of those sticky evenings where the breeze outside forgot to visit — and Ashtine had been hoping to lull herself into sleep through the dull comfort of pointless scrolling.
Then her screen lit up with a sudden ping.
> @andres.muhlach started following you
Her breath hitched.
She sat up.
It wasn't as though he hadn't seen her stories before — they'd both interacted casually through the crew group chats, sometimes even liked each other's public posts. But this wasn't a like. This wasn't polite. This was... personal.
He followed her.
Directly.
Publicly.
Her heart skipped.
For a moment, she just stared at the screen, the glow casting soft shadows on her cheekbones. She blinked. Read it again. The timestamp said just now. No second guesses. No group account. No mistake.
He'd done it.
And now — she had a choice.
She glanced toward her mirror across the room, where her reflection sat still, hoodie oversized, heart racing. Her thumb hovered over the "Follow Back" button like it weighed more than it should.
She pressed it.
Just once.
Just like that.
> You followed @andres.muhlach
And then the world moved.
---
She didn't expect the ripple effect. Not really. But it came fast.
By the next morning, her notifications were flooded.
Fan accounts. Edits. Screenshots.
> "GUYS THEY FOLLOWED EACH OTHER WTF ASHDRES IS ALIVE 🫢🫢🫢"
"This is not a drill."
"They never followed each other before, right???"
"My otp finally rising again 😭😭😭 #Ashdres"
Within hours, their names were trending locally.
People started reposting old behind-the-scenes clips from Ang Mutya Ng Section E. The glances. The unscripted laughs. The way Andres would look at her just slightly too long after a scene cut. Edits poured in, dramatic music swelling behind soft-filtered close-ups of the two of them walking side-by-side, her laugh in slow motion.
And then came the real kicker.
Someone found the photo Ashtine had posted the day before — the one of her wearing his hoodie — and paired it with an older shot from Andres' own story, months ago, where he wore the same hoodie on set.
> "YALL. SAME. DAMN. HOODIE."
"You mean to tell me she's been keeping that since the Mutya wrap party???"
"This is giving 'I stole your sweatshirt on purpose' energy and I am HERE for it."
She should've felt overwhelmed. Embarrassed, even.
But instead — she laughed.
The sound surprised her. Bright. Unbothered.
It had been a long time since something about this whole whirlwind felt light.
---
On set that day, she avoided looking at him at first.
They were filming at a café location, a short dialogue scene meant to capture a lazy Sunday vibe between the two characters. The set was designed to feel lived in — chipped mugs, half-eaten pastries, a vintage fan turning in slow circles.
She arrived early. Hair curled. Light makeup. Script half-memorized.
Andres came in five minutes later, sunglasses on despite the indoor setting. He greeted everyone with the same quiet warmth — a nod to the lighting crew, a joke to one of the camera assistants. Then his eyes found her.
She held her breath.
He took off his sunglasses.
And smiled.
Just a small one.
But it stayed.
Their eyes didn't break until someone called for blocking.
---
Between takes, he sat beside her at the counter set. There were fake croissants on the table and a glass of untouched iced coffee melting slowly in the heat.
"So," he said casually, "I saw your story."
She looked at him, feigning confusion. "Which one?"
"The one with the hoodie."
Her cheeks burned. "You mean your hoodie?"
"It looked better on you."
She rolled her eyes, but her lips tugged into a grin.
"And," he added, "thanks for the follow back."
"I debated it for a while."
"I could tell. I was counting seconds."
She nudged him with her elbow. "Stalker."
He turned slightly to face her. "I'm not going to pretend I didn't notice the trending hashtags."
"Don't," she warned. "They're too dramatic."
"'Ashdres comeback era' is kind of iconic though."
She groaned. "That's not even our name."
He grinned. "It is now."
Their laughter mingled. Easy. Familiar. Dangerous.
He watched her for a moment longer, then leaned in just enough to ask, "You okay with all of this?"
She hesitated.
Then nodded. "Yeah. Actually... I think I'm more than okay."
"Good," he said softly. "Because I don't want to hide anymore."
She looked at him — really looked — and for once, didn't feel the urge to turn away.
Neither did he.
---
That afternoon, when the scene wrapped, the director pulled them aside.
"Whatever you two are doing," he said, crossing his arms, "keep doing it."
Ashtine blinked. "Sorry?"
"The chemistry," he explained. "It's natural. Lived in. Like we don't need to tell you to lean into each other anymore. It just... happens."
Andres raised a brow. "So you're saying we're unscripted?"
The director shrugged. "I'm saying you're convincing. Maybe too convincing."
They both laughed, but didn't deny it.
Because it wasn't acting anymore.
---
That night, a new edit surfaced. A slow montage of their moments on and off set, cut to a song that spoke of stolen glances and soft beginnings.
It ended with the hoodie photo.
And one comment beneath it stood out:
> "They don't need to confirm anything. This is already a love story."
Ashtine stared at it for a long while.
Then, without thinking, she screenshot it.
And sent it to him.
> "Should we tell them it's fiction?"
His reply came fast.
> "Let's not ruin the fantasy."
And then another message.
> "Unless... you don't want to keep writing it with me?"
She typed.
Paused.
Then replied:
> "Page by page."
---