The offer was official.

Gigi Santiago had two weeks to decide: accept the regional role that would relocate her to Singapore, or stay in Manila and keep her current post - with the promise of slower promotions, but familiarity, comfort, and Caloy.

Everyone at work buzzed with congratulations. HR gave her a confidential package with numbers that made her eyes widen. Her dad said, "Finally, something to brag about," while her grandfather muttered something about "settling down before chasing careers abroad."

She ignored them both.

Because this wasn't about them anymore.

This was about her.

"I should be excited," she told Caloy over dinner one night. "I fought for this. And now that it's here? I'm not sure if it's what I still want."

He didn't interrupt. He just passed her a slice of pizza, like comfort could be delivered through carbs.

"I thought success meant proving I didn't need anyone. That being strong meant never choosing softness," she continued. "But now?"

"Now?" he prompted.

"Now I wonder if I've confused strength with avoidance. If maybe the bravest thing I could do is stay."

Caloy leaned back in his chair, watching her - not like someone who wanted to sway her decision, but like someone who wanted her to hear herself.

"Can I tell you something selfish?" he asked.

"Please."

"I want you to stay. Not because I don't think you'll thrive out there - you will. But because I finally got to know the version of you that lets people in. And I want more time with her."

That truth hit like a warm breeze. Not forceful, but undeniably real.

"But," he added gently, "if you leave, I'll still love you. I'll wait. If it's a year. If it's five. I'll wait if that's what it takes for you to love the life you chose."

Gigi stared at him. "You say that like you're not afraid."

"I am. But I'm more afraid of making you feel trapped."

That night, she walked home alone.

She needed space - not from Caloy, but from the pressure of making the right choice. There was no villain in this moment. Just possibility. Just her, standing at the edge of two very different lives.

At home, she found her old notebook again - the one with the unsent letters.

She opened it to the back and started writing:

To the Girl Who's About to Choose -

You are not weak for staying.

You are not selfish for leaving.

You are not ungrateful for wanting more.

And you are not unlovable just because you need time.

Whatever you pick - let it be for you.

She closed the notebook, exhaled, and looked out the window.

Some choices don't come with clarity.

Some come with courage.

And maybe? that was enough.