Between Then and Now

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Ryan

B on is asleep when I get out of the bathroom, and I am so paranoid that I decide to go over there and check her pulse. I approach her quietly, my steps light as I hover over her. I gently press my fingers to her wrist, feeling for her pulse. I need to reassure myself that she’s still okay, that nothing has changed. Even as I tell myself it’s nothing more than a residual fear, I can’t help but double-check, needing to confirm that she’s truly safe and sound.

I suddenly realize that when Bon wakes up, she’ll obviously be hungry. By the time she’s well-rested, her appetite will surge. After about an hour of catching up on my reading while occasionally checking Bon’s vitals, I decide to prepare food for her.

“Look out for her while I grab some food, okay, bud?” I say to Puppy, who’s on Bon’s bed, snuggling by her feet. He cocks his head to the side in response.

I make my way toward the small restaurant in the inn to get her some soup and a hearty meal. While I’m waiting at the counter, Dr. Fernandez approaches me.

“Hi there, hero of the inn,” she says in a proud tone. “You did great, Dr. Miller.”

“Thank you. It’s what any doctor would’ve done,” I say.

“Yes, any doctor would have performed the standard procedures,” she says as she grabs the tray of her food. “But not any doctor would have jumped into the ocean to pull someone out. That takes a different kind of bravery.”

She leaves before I can respond, but her words linger in the air. She’s right. It’s not a normal thing to brave angry waves. Especially when I’ve been terrified of the ocean my whole life. But Bon and I don’t just have a patient-doctor relationship. We’re friends. And at the moment, it wasn’t just medical duty that fueled me; it was the desperation to save someone I care about. As a friend, obviously.

When the food is ready, I grab the take-out containers and bring them to the room for Bon when she wakes up. I open the door quietly, not wanting to disturb Bon if she’s still asleep. But as I step inside, I see her stirring, her eyes slowly opening. She blinks a few times, adjusting to the light, and then her gaze lands on me.

“Hey,” she murmurs, her voice still hoarse from the ordeal.

“Hey,” I reply, setting the food down on the small table beside the bed. “I brought you something to eat. I figured you’d be hungry when you woke up.” I sit on my bed, facing Bon, as I prepare her food.

She looks at me with an expression that I don’t understand. Her eyes are still tired, her face still pale. But she’s still beautiful. She smiles weakly and says, “Thank you, Ryan. For saving my life.”

“Anytime, Bonbon,” I say, silence lingering in the air as I prepare her food for her. She sits up from her bed and takes the spoon from me, her fingers brushing against mine. There’s a warmth in that touch that sends a jolt through me. As she starts eating, I watch her, making sure she’s comfortable, making sure she’s really okay.

“Ryan,” she says after a few moments, her voice soft. “Seriously. I don’t know how to thank you. For everything.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” I reply. “Just focus on getting better. That’s all that matters.” Normally, I’d crack a joke by now, but nothing about this moment or what I’m feeling feels funny.

She nods, taking another spoonful of soup. The room is quiet, save for the sound of her eating and the distant waves outside. It’s a peaceful moment, a brief respite from the chaos of the past few days.

I still don’t start a conversation about feelings or any of that unimportant stuff. Instead, I let her recover. I watch as she eats, the color gradually returning to her cheeks. It’s a comforting sight to see her coming back to life slowly.

“What are you thinking about?” I ask, trying to lighten her mood.

“My documentary. I lost my camera in the ocean.” She pouts. I know how important her film is to her, so I know how devastated she is right now.

“Did you lose all the footage?” I ask.

“No, just a few I took that day. But I still had a final scene to shoot.” She sets her spoon down and looks at me with a frown on her face. “You remember that question I asked all of you during our first day? I just need to ask it again for a final time.” I nod, just as Bon perks up so quickly it’s like she’s Popeye after he ate spinach.

“What is it?” I ask, genuinely concerned that she might be feeling something unnatural.

“I just had an idea.” She looks at me with apprehension, but continues. “My near-drowning incident made me realize a lot of things. And one of those things is that there’s more to life than my career and perfection. And ironic as it is, the realization is good for my film. I can film it using my phone–the quality is obviously lower, but that emphasizes my point, don’t you think? ”

I nod slowly, letting her words sink in. “You mean, the message that life isn’t about perfection or having everything go according to plan?”

“Exactly!” she exclaims, her eyes lighting up. “The rawness, the imperfections—they all add to the authenticity of the message. It’s not about the quality of the footage, but the quality of the story.”

“That’s a brilliant idea, Bon,” I say, genuinely impressed.

She smiles, looking more animated than she has in days. “I’m glad you think so. I was worried it might come off as unprofessional.”

“Take it easy, though,” I say as she gets her phone and starts jotting her ideas down. “You’re not yet fully recovered.”

“Oh, pish posh,” she says.

I can’t help but chuckle at her determination. As she goes back to her notes, I find myself studying her. The way her brow furrows in concentration, the light in her eyes when she’s passionate about something. That’s Bon for you—always pushing forward, always seeing the silver lining. As I watch her scribble down her thoughts, I feel a warmth spreading through my chest.

The next day is a repetition of the previous one. I spend the day continuously checking on her. She’s improved a lot, her usual bubbliness showing on the surface. This evening, she’s even more energetic, her laughter echoing through the room as she catches up on her favorite shows.

“Ryan, you don’t have to hover, you know,” she teases as I once again reach out to check her vitals. It has somehow become a normal thing now. I reach my hand out to her, and she automatically reaches out in return. “I’m not going to keel over.” She looks up from her laptop.

I chuckle. “Just making sure you’re okay. Can’t help it.”

Her eyes soften, and she reaches out to squeeze my hand “You’re a good friend, Ry.”

The word “friend” echoes in my mind, and for the first time, it feels a bit inadequate. Is that all we are? Or is there something more? It’s been days since the accident, but my feelings haven’t subsided. If anything, spending all this time taking care of Bon has just amplified them further.

Can I really be feeling something else for her? I’ve always been cautious with my emotions, but Bon makes me want to take risks, to step into the unknown. Like she’s done for the rest of our lives.

I was nine years old when we arrived in Magnolia Heights. Bon was younger, but she’s always been the more influential one. We were new to the place, and we were foreigners from another country. Bon immediately invited me and my brother on their playdates. She introduced us to the local kids, ensuring we never felt like outsiders. Her family embraced us like their own, and I felt a sense of belonging that I hadn’t known I was missing.

She was the one who taught me how to eat Filipino street food. I can still picture us sitting on the curb, eating balut and laughing at how my brother gagged at the sight. Bon was fearless, diving headfirst into new experiences, and she dragged me along with her. And I always let her.

She had this way of making everything seem less daunting, her optimism and zest for life a constant source of inspiration. She never let me dwell on my insecurities, always pushing me to step out of my comfort zone .

I realize I’ve been staring at her for the past few minutes because she looks up at me, her expression curious. “You okay?” she asks.

I nod, trying to play it cool as I wave her off. “Yeah, I’m fine,” I say, attempting to redirect my attention back to my reading. But it’s a futile effort. My mind is still fixated on her.

So instead of pretending to read, I make my way to her bed to sit beside her. She scoots over, puts her laptop on her lap, and our shoulders brush as I take a seat. We’ve been in this position so many times, but it feels more intimate today.

“You’ve seen this show a hundred times,” I say, pointing to her screen which is playing the Friends show.

“And it gets funnier every time,” she says. As she turns her attention back to the screen, her laughter fills the room again. It’s genuine, unfiltered, and it’s as though each chuckle is pulling me deeper into my own thoughts. Bon is still wearing my shirt—she’s claimed it as her own because it’s more comfortable than anything else she has. The sight of her wrapped in something that belongs to me is oddly intimate, and my gaze lingers on her. I take in her beautiful hair, adorned with the ponytail I grew to love.

Without thinking, I lean in, inhale the scent of her hair, and before I can stop myself, press my lips gently to the top of her head.

“What are you doing?” she asks, looking up at me with a surprised (and is that flustered?) look on her face.

Honestly, I’m not sure. But I manage to say, “Just making sure you took a shower today.”

She elbows me playfully then returns to watching the show. Her face, illuminated by the soft glow of the laptop screen, seems to radiate warmth and light. And her laugh—oh, her laugh. It’s like music to my ears, effortless and melodious.

And then, as if a plug has been pulled, I finally let myself acknowledge the feelings that have been lurking since I can’t remember. I finally allow myself to give up control, let my guard down, and be honest about what I feel for once.

As I hear her laugh one more time, I accept a dangerous truth: I’m falling for Bonbon.