"She left."

It wasn't every day that Nino heard this apologetic tone from Mars. Their band manager always cut a stern figure who relished bossing him and his bandmates around. 

But tonight he fixed Nino with a low gaze, not meeting his eyes. Nino appreciated the rare show of sympathy.

"Was she even really here?" Nino cackled out hoarse laughter. Sweat was staining his shirt, inertia from the finished set coursing through him. 

On the other side of the thin wall, the next band had launched into their first song, while the rest of Trainman had zipped out of backstage to join the dancing crowd. They left him here while he gathered his courage to face his ex-girlfriend. But it seemed like there was no one to face.

The ghost of his betrayal must be haunting him again.

"She left this."

It sounded like Mars pulled out the words from the depths of his stomach. When Nino saw what he was holding out to him, he understood why.

***

Nino would have preferred to deal with a ghost. A ghost won't appear after weeks of silence to return something that should never be returned. A ghost won't go out of her way to hurt him. Maybe this wasn't qualified reasoning, because he hadn't met a ghost before exactly. And maybe Suze was allowed to return the favor, unless this was her way of offering him closure.

He gripped the acoustic guitar's slim neck, his temper powering his pace. He stared at this creature for a minute too long when Mars held it out to him. He was afraid to touch it, knowing the swirling thoughts that would pull him under once he did. But he shifted the guitar through his fingers, tightening his hold, allowing himself to remember.

***

He met Suze at a thrift store tucked in a hidden corner of Katipunan.

 He frequented that place with Son, and that day they were on their periodic hunt for cheap, vintage t-shirts. There was a gaggle of girls in the jeans corner, their loud talk pulling Son like metal bits to a magnet. Nino indulged his friend, figuring he was wanting for jeans too.

"I can't believe you've never heard of Trainman. We're the next big thing!"

Nino heard Son regale his crowd, and he tried not to laugh. It's not like he'd never pulled a similar stunt before.

A hum reached his ears. Nino scrunched his brow, recognizing the tune but not the voice. He tailed the sound until he was standing in front of a rack of t-shirts. He flipped through the hangers and found himself staring into a pair of big, brown eyes.

The eyes blinked. Nino saw a pair of lips move to a smirk as the hum continued.

"The Ballad of Michael Valentine?" Nino blurted out.

"Yes. Not the Killers' most popular song," said the voice, sounding impressed.

"Brandon Flowers' lyrics can be soap-operatic to a fault, but he has his genius moments."

His comment was answered by the most seductive of laughs, soft yet trilling. He couldn't move to her side of the clothes rack fast enough.

She was singing the chorus to him now. Her song sounded better when it was a hum, but he took note of both sounds, the first memories of her that he stamped in his heart. 

She was looking up at his six-foot frame, this tiny, frail-looking girl with her pixie haircut wearing a bootleg Joy Division t-shirt and a smile that blinded him.

You smile at everyone don't you? And all the boys want you. 

His rash thoughts flooded his brain, making him panic. 

I need to have you before they do. 

"Can I get your number?"

The song stopped. Her mouth moved to a delicate frown. Nino wanted to kiss her right there, on the thin line of her cupid's bow.

"Aren't you supposed to ask my name first?" she demanded.

"That comes with the number, doesn't it?"

"You arrogant bastard."

"That's what they say." He dared a wide grin. She didn't hesitate to return it, a new laugh escaping her throat. "But you can call me Nino."