ATTACHED WITH HER OBSESSION

There was a time I thought I had my life perfectly mapped out, a straight line drawn between ambition and discipline, lit by the flashes of studio lights and the shallow applause of people who would forget my name by morning.

Modeling was never about passion for me. It was survival. A game I learned to play early. Smile, pose, repeat. Every lens demanded perfection, and I gave it, even when it stripped pieces of me away. They told me I had the kind of face that sells dreams, but no one ever asked if I still had one of my own.

Behind every photoshoot, every flattering edit, was a girl too tired to recognize herself. I lived from one booking to another, feeding on compliments that never filled the void. I pretended to enjoy the attention, the parties, the long nights of rehearsing my angles. But every time the makeup was washed off, all I could see was exhaustion staring back.

Manila was loud, alive, and merciless. Opportunities came wrapped with conditions, and I took them all. Because what else was there to do? I had left everything behind... my small town, my parents, the version of me that still believed simplicity could be enough.

When CAMPUS MODEL PH opened its doors, it felt like another chance to breathe. A newly built agency, fresh faces, fresh promises. Maybe this time I could start over. Maybe this time I could find a place where I wasn’t just another body molded into beauty.

But what I didn’t know... what I couldn’t know was that stepping into that agency would lead me straight into her world.

The world of a woman whose touch would rewrite every rule I lived by.

And before I could understand what she was doing to me, before I could even resist, it was already too late.

Because the moment she looked at me, I realized something terrifying... I wasn’t the one in control anymore. And worst, I wasn't the person I used to think I am.

"Ena, why don't you just enter the showbiz? With that face, you'll definitely get so much projects!"

I smiled and shrugged at Martha, my manager's sentiment. I just started my career in modeling, I don't want to get ahead of me that fast. Besides, I still need to figure things out for myself.

"Why do you look so bothered? You seem to be worrying about something, what is it?" she asked.

"Nothing," I answered straightly and gathered my things to leave. I still have a lot of things to do and that includes avoiding this kind of conversation.

"So defensive huh! Don't forget your photoshoot on Saturday?" she said before I could close the door of her office.

I drove my car back home and decided to just stay there instead of going to my derma appointment. I don't wanna see that doctor yet.

"Fuck, why am I even bothered? It was just a kiss!" I hissed, irritated at myself for being bothered by what happened.

When I reached home, I busied myself in researching. I wanted to fix myself, if that's even possible. I bit my lower lip as I scrolled down my ipad.

Signs to know if you're a lesbian.

Does liking a kiss from a girl makes you a lesbian?

How to unlike a kiss from a girl?

The hell I am searching? Fuck. I can't believe at the age of 26 I'd be confused of my gender identity! This isn't part of the career I chose after entering this industry!

I tried to sleep it off, but every time I closed my eyes, I could still feel the ghost of her lips on mine. It wasn’t supposed to happen. She wasn’t supposed to do that, and I wasn’t supposed to react.

But I did. I fucking did.

It’s ridiculous. She’s my dermatologist, for god’s sake. It was supposed to be professional... clean, detached, clinical. Not whatever the hell that was.

The sound of rain hitting the window pulled me back to the present. Manila nights always had that certain loneliness attached to them, the kind that sinks under your skin no matter how loud the city gets. I sat by the window, staring at the faint glow of headlights slicing through the wet streets below.

I shouldn’t have skipped my appointment. But a part of me knew that if I saw her again, I wouldn’t know how to act. Or worse—she’d see right through me.

Because that’s what she does or maybe I'm just overthinking.

Dr. Aria Williams looks at people the way surgeons look at incisions... precise, unblinking, unafraid to go deeper. And when her gaze landed on me, I felt… exposed. Like she already knew which parts of me were fragile, which ones were pretending.

My phone buzzed, pulling me out of my thoughts. A message from Martha.

Martha: Don’t be late for tomorrow’s fitting. And please, what's happening to your derma session? You look tired earlier. Go ahead and add more session before Saturday, 'kay?

I sighed. Tired. That word again. It followed me everywhere like a curse, shit, this is overreacting.

I tossed my phone onto the couch and leaned my head back, staring at the ceiling. Maybe I should just get it over with. It’s not like I could avoid her forever.

The room fell silent, except for the faint hum of rain outside. I hated silence. It made my thoughts louder.

I stood and walked to the mirror across the room, catching my reflection under the dim light. My hair was a mess, my lipstick smudged. Maybe Martha was right. I did look tired. This overthinking stresses me out!

I brushed my fingers against my lips, almost unconsciously. I shouldn’t have done that. The memory of her kiss sent a chill down my spine, sharp and soft all at once.

This needs to stop, I told myself. I needed to get back to who I was before this confusion started. Before she started.

But when I turned off the lights and crawled into bed, the darkness didn’t help. It only made her voice louder in my head— low, calm, commanding.

And maybe that’s when I realized it wasn’t just confusion anymore.

It was curiosity. Dangerous, uninvited curiosity.