Simon spotted her before she noticed him.
Ayisha stood near the edge of the market, a plastic bag heavy with raw chicken hanging from her hand. When she saw him, relief crossed her face.
"Ay, salamat," she said. "You really came."
"Well, you called me," Simon replied with a shrug. "Since you ran out of money, you decided I'd pick you up and drop you off at work."
"Well, yeah," she said easily. "Can we go now?"
Simon glanced at her head. "You didn't bring your helmet?"
"I didn't have time to go home and get it."
He sighed, then reached up and removed his own helmet. Without another word, he placed it on her head, adjusting the strap carefully before patting it into place familiar, automatic.
"Use this."
He hooked the plastic bag onto the motorcycle's handle, unlocked it, then helped her onto the back seat before climbing on himself.
"Let's go," Ayisha said.
The engine roared to life.
As they merged into the road, Simon asked, "How did you manage to spend all your money?"
"Uh…" Ayisha hesitated. "I gave my sister five hundred. Then I paid five hundred fifty for the chicken. The total was one thousand one hundred."
He slowed as the traffic light turned red. "Then where did the other fifty go?"
"I paid for the tricycle," she said matter-of-factly. "I told the driver I'd go special. I didn't want to wait for other passengers, so I paid him to go straight to the market."
Simon glanced at the light. "You're impatient."
Ayisha rolled her eyes and leaned forward slightly. "Anyway…how's Mama?"
"She's fine," Simon answered quietly. "The doctor's still monitoring her."
Ayisha pressed her forehead against his back, the vibration of the engine steady beneath her. "Good…"
"Yeah," Simon murmured.
But his grip on the handlebars tightened.
When I die, take care of my daughter.
Maricel's words echoed in his mind.
He didn't look back.
He just kept his eyes on the road.
The light turned green, and Simon eased the motorcycle forward, letting the traffic carry them. The city moved around them, jeepneys honking, vendors calling out, exhaust hanging heavy in the air but between them, everything felt strangely muted.
Ayisha didn't pull away. Her forehead stayed pressed to his back, hands resting lightly at his sides. Not holding him. Just there.
Simon swallowed.
He told himself it was nothing. Just fatigue. Just worry. Just the weight of a promise he hadn't agreed to but couldn't ignore.
They passed familiar streets, ones he'd driven through a hundred times, but today they blurred together. Every bump in the road made him more aware of her behind him, the quiet trust in her posture.
He slowed near the curb to let a jeepney pass, then continued on.
"Your mom worries me," he finally admitted. "Not in a bad way. Just… she's strong."
Ayisha lifted her head slightly. "She always pretends she's okay."
"Yeah," he said. "I noticed."
They reached another stoplight. Simon braked gently. Ayisha shifted closer so she wouldn't lose balance, her hands briefly gripping his jacket.
It was instinctive.
And that was the problem.
She fell quiet after that.
When the light turned green, he accelerated again, but slower this time. Be more careful. As if the road itself had become fragile.
They arrived near her workplace, a small restaurant tucked between two closed shops. Simon parked by the side, killed the engine, and swung his leg off.
Ayisha climbed down and took the plastic bag . "Thanks, old man."
He reached up to remove the helmet from her head. His fingers lingered a second longer than necessary at the strap before he caught himself and stepped back.
"Try not to run out of money again," he said.
She smirked. "No promises."
Then her expression softened. "But… Thanks for coming..."
Simon nodded. "Anytime."
She turned toward the restaurant, then paused, glancing back. "Drive safe."
He watched her disappear inside before putting his helmet back on.
As he started the engine again, Maricel's voice returned, quieter now but heavier.