the way she smiled.
Maraiah always seemed so composed. Then Kali would say something ridiculous and there it was: that smile you could never quite forget.
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These moments come from the original story, retold in our own words. No imagined scenes are included here.
maraiah and her books.
A book in her hands, her glasses nearby, a few quiet minutes before Kali found a reason to interrupt. It is easy to picture her like this.
her quiet affection.
Maraiah was never only the words she could say. She noticed things, remembered them, and showed her love in the little acts that followed.
glasses on, patience gone.
She could give one look over the top of her glasses and say more than a whole paragraph ever could. Especially when Kali was being impossible.
the woman in the classroom.
You remember that composed, formidable teacher. It is almost funny knowing how easily one particular person could unsettle her.
that very particular look.
The raised eyebrow. The measured reply. The expression that said she had already understood the joke—and would not be encouraging another.
hands busy in the kitchen.
She could be surrounded by the ingredients for dinner and still make time to listen to another of Kali’s ideas. Asado was never just asado.
the writer at her desk.
Pens, drafts, books, and the worlds she made out of the life she could not forget. So much of Maraiah lived quietly on those pages.
what she kept.
The watch. The photographs. The books. You can almost see Maraiah pausing beside those things, careful with memories no one else understood.
a laugh she could not hide.
For all her composure, Kali could still catch her off guard. Maraiah laughing feels like a little secret we were allowed to see.
the camera she trusted.
She took photographs, too. Think of Maraiah holding her Olympus camera in 2001, carefully choosing what she wanted to keep in the frame.
the professor everyone knew.
A formidable teacher, precise and hard to impress. It is strange and lovely to remember that the same woman had a whole other, softer life beyond the classroom.
rajah picked her.
The calico who barely tolerated anyone decided Maraiah’s lap was exactly where she belonged. Even the most aloof cat seemed to know something about her.
the welcome-home kiss.
Emma knew the sound of her coming home. One familiar voice, one little girl running forward, and Maraiah’s serious expression turning gentle.
her voice in the dark.
On difficult nights with a small child, Maraiah was the one who rose and sang. It is the quiet steadiness of her that stays with you.
the woman who kept travelling.
She saw new places, listened to strangers, and carried stories home. Even while she was hurting, Maraiah remained curious about the world.
so calm with cleo.
One baby, a fistful of Kali’s red hair, and a room in chaos. Then Maraiah arrived and knew exactly what to do. You can practically hear her sigh.
she laughed at the crumbs.
Little Emma shaking pandesal crumbs from her pyjamas was enough to make Maraiah laugh. The simplest thing could fill her whole morning.
a book in a stranger’s hands.
Somewhere on a flight, a young reader was turning the pages of Maraiah’s novel. Imagine how quietly proud she must have felt to see her words out in the world.
the book could wait.
Picture her closing a book mid-page because someone she loved had come to tell her something. She was a writer, yes, but she always made room for her people.
kali being kali.
A little impulsive, endlessly curious, and always ready with another comment. She had a way of filling every quiet room with herself.
behind the camera.
Kali was always finding something worth preserving. A room, a face, an ordinary afternoon—one more thing she wanted to remember.
another roll of film.
When Kali got hold of a camera, there was always something else to capture. Especially when Maraiah was anywhere nearby.
the red hair era.
Years passed; Kali changed her hair, built a studio, and kept making things. You can miss every version of her, not just the girl in 2001.
one more idea.
Kali could turn a perfectly ordinary birthday into a proposed photoshoot. To her, a moment was always worth documenting.
pandesal, obviously.
Some tastes followed Kali through time. The soft bread, the familiar breakfast, the little preferences that made her unmistakably herself.
just one game.
Kali, convinced she could get Maraiah to try a game. Maraiah, unconvinced there were enough hours in the day to learn the controls.
there was always another photograph.
She already had one shot. Naturally, she needed another. And probably one more after that. That is part of why it is so easy to miss her.
the woman behind xavier shots.
She built a place full of cameras and people who knew her energy. You can picture her moving through the studio, already planning the next shot.
the adobo attempts.
The cooking books, the videos, the experiments that did not always go to plan. She kept trying, and sometimes that is the most Kali thing imaginable.
coffee, black.
No sugar. No hot chocolate. Somewhere along the way, Kali discovered what she liked, and the woman with the camera began learning herself, too.
nine little shadows.
Two calicos, three snowshoes, a tortie and three Siamese cats. Her home had nine furry personalities, and she considered every one of them family.
the movie she watched again.
Give Kali a sad film and she would watch it even knowing it would hurt. Some people collect photographs; Kali collected feelings, too.
a volleyball tucked under her arm.
She picked up volleyball simply because she wanted something outside work to look forward to. It feels good to remember her trying new things.
the stars over makati.
Some nights she stayed up at her condo, looking at the sky and wondering about the stars. There was always a little wonder left in her.
her staff knew the joke.
The studio staff teased her about the red hair and turned their boss into a social-media favourite. You can imagine her trying not to look pleased.
the places she went alone.
New cities, new photographs, and days planned entirely for herself. Kali learned she could enjoy her own company; that part of her deserves remembering.
loafers from another century.
Those polished shoes and the belongings she brought into 2001 were so unmistakably Kali. She never quite blended into the past, did she?
the notebook in her bag.
She had questions, scraps of ideas, and a life she was trying to make sense of. Somehow the notebook feels as recognisably Kali as the camera does.
learning to be her own person.
Not every chapter of Kali’s life was about waiting for somebody. She worked, travelled, kept friends, cared for her cats, and kept becoming herself.
the way she looked at her.
Sometimes Maraiah said almost nothing. You only had to look at the way she watched Kali to understand.
their little arguments.
They could survive impossible distances and still disagree over the smallest things. Two stubborn women, very much themselves.
the way they talked.
The teasing. The dry replies. The sudden tenderness. Sometimes you do not miss a scene at all—you miss the sound of them together.
the two of them, at home.
A book left open. Kali talking about something new. Someone asking what is for dinner. No grand moment required—just the two of them.
one more little interruption.
Maraiah trying to finish her work. Kali wanting to show her something immediately. Somehow, a normal afternoon became theirs.
the room that remembered.
One room could be a bedroom, then an office, and still hold the shape of the same two lives. You know exactly which room.
the asado negotiation.
Maraiah was already cooking. Kali had opinions about dinner. It is the kind of utterly domestic moment we would gladly watch for another hour.
the shared desk.
Work to finish, a familiar presence nearby. They did not need to be doing the same thing to feel together.
mahal. darling.
Sometimes what stays with you is a word. The way they spoke to each other when no explanation was needed.
the photographs they never posed for.
Imagine a photograph of them laughing halfway through a conversation. Not an event. Not a milestone. Just proof of an afternoon together.
a page and a photograph.
One of them made worlds out of words. The other caught the world through a lens. It makes perfect sense that these two saw something remarkable in each other.
their favourite kind of chaos.
Maraiah trying to stay composed. Kali having far too much fun. A tiny exchange that might have meant nothing to anyone else—and everything to us.
the same tree, different years.
The mango tree watched them across different versions of their lives. You can almost picture the two of them pausing beneath it without needing to explain why.
the moment after the shutter.
Kali would lower the camera, pleased with what she caught. Maraiah would look at her rather than the picture. Sometimes that feels like the whole relationship.
a perfectly unimportant afternoon.
No hourglass, no departures, no dramatic speech. Just two women in the same room being entirely themselves. Maybe that is the picture you miss most.
their first christmas.
Kali barely put down her camera. She wanted every laugh and stolen glance from the first Christmas they finally shared.
the birthday photoshoot idea.
While Maraiah cooked asado, Kali tried to convince her that her birthday deserved a proper photoshoot.
the gaming lessons.
Kali offered to teach Maraiah her games. Maraiah could hardly keep track of what was happening on the screen.
morning pandesal.
A bakery run once caused a frightening misunderstanding. Later, buying pandesal became part of Kali’s early-morning routine.
a song at bedtime.
Maraiah soothed little Emma at night. Their family was made of moments like these, not only the grand milestones.
under the hawaiian sky.
When Emma was asleep, Maraiah joined Kali outside. The two of them had a quiet moment beneath the night sky.
the family they became.
Emma remembers birthdays, trips, laughter, and two very different mothers who loved her deeply.
asado for dinner.
Even after learning to cook herself, Kali still wanted Maraiah’s home-cooked asado. Some favourites never changed.
mommy on night duty.
Maraiah would get up for Emma’s cries even after exhausting workdays, wanting Kali to sleep before another studio day.
never a dull day at work.
At Xavier Shots, little Emma made the staff laugh between shoots. Kali’s studio became another place where family life happened.
a midnight stop for reese’s.
They could afford a fancy dinner. Instead, in Thailand, they went into a 7-Eleven at night because Maraiah wanted peanut butter cups. Such a small, happy detour.
rajah changes her mind.
The cat who never liked people climbed into Maraiah’s lap and began to purr. Kali discovered she had competition for her own cat’s affection.
the studio’s favourite face.
Kali could think of no better person than Maraiah for her new sample prints. Of course she made a birthday photoshoot sound like a perfectly sensible business decision.
the swiss welcome back.
When Maraiah returned to Switzerland with Kali, Theo and Celine’s reactions made it unmistakable how long they had waited to see her again.
close enough to interrupt.
Their home office could hold two very different kinds of work: Maraiah concentrating, Kali gaming with her cousin. The lovely part was that they wanted to be together.
emma bean.
At Mama Mikha’s studio, Emma had a way of making people laugh. Her Mama’s affectionate nickname always followed her.
the pandesal girl.
At five, Emma loves pandesal enough to shake crumbs from her Cinnamoroll pyjamas after every bite.
frozen, again.
At eight, Emma wants to watch Frozen again. Her Mama groans, but the room is already covered in Elsa and snowflakes.
the swiss alps.
Emma sees the Alps and thinks of Frozen. Kali takes photographs of her with Maraiah and their Swiss relatives.
the strict mommy.
Maraiah’s look is enough to make Emma tidy her room. Sometimes even Mama Mikha knows better than to argue.
the cleo incident.
Baby Cleo grabs a fistful of Mikha’s red hair. Emma laughs, and Maraiah knows exactly how to calm the baby.
the camping trip.
At thirteen, Emma asks her mothers about falling in love. They hope the love she finds will be gentler than theirs had to be.
mommy sings her to sleep.
When baby Emma cries, Maraiah rises, cradles her, and sings. The quietest part of the night becomes a treasured part of parenthood.
the studio’s favourite visitor.
Staff slip Emma treats and let her play games between shoots. She makes the entire room smile.
the books she inherited.
Emma grows up reading the classics and Maraiah’s Loop Series. One of her favourite authors is also the person who raised her.
the very first customer.
When Tito Ej opened his bakery, six-year-old Emma was first in line. For a child who loved pandesal, that was practically a grand opening made just for her.
a birthday fit for elsa.
Emma wanted a Frozen-themed birthday and her Mama made it happen, even after hearing the soundtrack approximately a million times.
eliza brought disney home.
Emma’s older-sister figure Eliza brought home new Frozen treasures from Disneyland. The collection—and the delighted little girl—kept growing.
the kiss at the door.
The moment Maraiah arrived home, Emma ran to her for a kiss. Some childhood memories are nothing more complicated than knowing who will be waiting for you.
ready for school.
At twelve, Emma loved packing her bag, checking her things, and heading to school to see her friends. She was growing into a whole person of her own.
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