Between Then and Now

CHAPTER THIRTY

Ryan

I thought so much about perfecting my confession to Bon that I didn’t see this coming: the possibility that she does feel the same way and that she’s hurt because of the way I acted.

I have to fix this. I need to see her, to explain, to do something before this slips through my fingers. I dash to the front desk and ask if there are any cars available for rent. The receptionist barely looks up as she tells me that the last one was claimed by John and Bon earlier tonight. Of course it was. I mutter a curse under my breath.

“There’s still one of the big bikes, though,” she says, looking up as she checks her list.

I snatch the keys, thank the receptionist, and bolt out of the inn, hoping this isn’t a mistake.

I know that they’re going to that new restaurant on the other side of the island, but when I get there, they’re gone. I scan the place one more time, just to be sure, but I don’t see them. No, wait. I see John. Except he’s with Tom, Mia and a few others.

“Where’s Bon?” I ask as I walk over to him.

“She left…” John trails off. “I may have upset her. I’ve been trying to call her, but it seems she blocked me.”

“What did you do to upset her?” I ask, trying to keep calm even when I want so badly to pry the truth out of him. He’s my friend, but he tends to step out of line most times.

“I... I don’t know,” he says, but he doesn’t look me in the eye.

“Bullshit,” I say.

John sighs. “Ry, I think she went out that way, and she couldn’t have gotten far because she walked,” he says, pointing to the patio.

I don’t say anything else and proceed to the patio, starting to walk. My only focus is to reach her. I’ll deal with John some other time.

Now, if I were Bon, where would I go? She probably walked in a straight direction until there was an option to turn. So that’s what I do. I walk until the road divides. One way leads to the beach and the other leads to the town center. On a normal day, she would choose the beach, but given the recent events, she most probably didn’t. So I turn left.

In the distance, I spot the outline of a church, its spire reaching up toward the sky. It's one of the famous landmarks around here, known for its beautiful architecture and serene atmosphere—a perfect place for someone seeking solace. I could just call her to ask where she is, but I want to surprise her. It’s not as if she’s going to be delighted by my presence, but at least I can show up, let her know she’s not alone.

I walk further down the road, my pace slowing as I approach the church. And there she is, illuminated by a streetlight, sitting on a bench in front of the church. She has her head down, and she’s now wearing a red sweater over her black dress. She keeps rubbing her hands to her eyes, and it’s obvious that she’s been crying.

I walk slower, trying to catch my breath before I reach her. The sight of her breaks my heart. She looks so small, so vulnerable, and all I want to do is take her pain away. As I get closer, I can hear her quiet sobs, the sound like a knife twisting in my chest .

I pause for a moment, gathering my thoughts. What can I say to make this better? How can I possibly comfort her when she seems to be hurting so much? I take a deep breath and continue walking, each step feeling heavier than the last.

When I finally reach her, I stand there for a moment, unsure of how to start. “Bon?” I say softly, not wanting to startle her. She looks up, her eyes red and puffy, and for a moment, there’s a flicker of surprise in her expression. But it quickly fades, replaced by a weary resignation.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, her voice thick with emotion.

“I was worried about you,” I say, sitting down next to her. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“You came all the way here to make sure I’m okay?” she asks, a small smile playing on her lips.

I sit beside her and say, “I braved angry ocean waves for you, what’s a few kilometers on land?”

She sighs. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”

“Do what?”

“Feel responsible for me. Be nice to me. I already get enough overcompensation from my parents; you don’t need to do it for me too,” she says as she tucks a hair behind her ear. It’s starting to get windier, and her hair-tuck doesn’t keep her short hair away from her face.

“I’m not doing it to be nice, Bon,” I say. “Stop reducing yourself to a burden. You’re someone I genuinely care about.” Someone I feel so deeply for. Someone I can’t stop thinking about. Someone I want to spend every single day with.

“Well, in that case, thanks,” she says. “You really are a good friend.” There she goes again. Calling me her friend. Before I can contradict her, she continues. “At least you don’t think I’m boring.”

“Who thinks you’re boring?” I ask, incredulous. Bon is a lot of things, but boring is never one of them. She’s an explosion of all the good things in life.

“John.” She chuckles, but there’s no humor in it. A part of me wants to march back to the restaurant and talk to him. The other part wants to march back to the restaurant and plant a solid one on his nose.

“I overheard him tell Tom that I was boring and that he thought I’d be more interesting.” She shrugs. “It sucks because I don’t even care about his opinion. But it’s like I’m reminded of all the times in my life that I attempted to open my heart, and it shattered before I could even put myself out there, you know?

“I’m so tired of it all,” she sighs, looking down at her hands. “It’s either I’m too much, or I’m not enough. It’s exhausting. Most of the time, I try to be what everyone needs. I try to be fun and happy for everyone. And when I do, I’m labeled as too much. But now that I can’t be fun, I’m labeled as boring. I’m just so tired of never fitting just right.”

I look at Bon, now fidgeting with her charm bracelet. The glow of the streetlight highlights her face at a perfect angle. Her lashes are long and curled, her nose red from the crying she’s trying to hide. And now that she’s crying, her mascara is smudged under her eyes. But despite all that, she looks beautiful.

“Bon,” I start. I’ve never seen her so distraught. “It’s easy to get lost in what other people think about you. Especially if they’re someone you want to impress. But don’t get so caught up that you forget there are people who see you, all of you, and still like and accept you. ”

“If you’re talking about my friends, they haven’t seen me like this. I don’t usually show this much vulnerability.” She shakes her head.

“I’m talking about me,” I say, my heart pounding in my chest. “But even my opinion shouldn’t be as important as your own, Bon. You have to go easy on yourself. You don’t always have to be the ray of sunshine for everyone. You can let other people shine for you when you can’t do it.”

“That’s easy for you to say, you’ve mastered the art of not caring about anyone else’s opinions.”

“That’s not true, I care about yours.” She looks up at me, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

We spend a few moments in silence before Bon starts again. “My parents have always convinced me that the reason they stayed together is because of my resilience. That I made them happy and that if it weren’t for me, they couldn’t have made it work.” Bon fidgets with her hands. “I guess I’m just scared,” she admits. “Scared to show people who I really am–flaws and all. Scared that I might not find the perfect balance of who I should be. I’m scared that if I’m not happy or fun or all that, people will find a reason to leave. That maybe it’s the only reason they stay. The reason you all tolerate me.”

“Tolerate you?” I ask, shocked. “Bon, I don’t tolerate you. I cherish every single moment with you.” I take her hand in mine. “I don’t know about everyone else, but when you’re not in the room, I look for you. When I pass by your street, I ask about you. When you’re not with me, I think about you.

“When you’re with me, it’s the only time I can speak my mind. The only time I don’t fidget or worry or freak out. I enjoy every minute we’re together, and when we’re not, I look forward to the next time I’ll see you. And not because you’re funny or happy or whatever you’re trying to be. I cherish it all because you’re you. Flaws and all.” I take a deep breath. “There’s your perfect balance.”

“Thank you,” she says as she holds my hand and interlocks her fingers with mine. Bon doesn’t speak, but she wipes her eyes. She’s not trying to hide the crying anymore. I’m not going to force her to come to terms with her feelings just because I came to terms with mine. So instead of pushing her for an answer, I say, “Are you feeling better?”

She nods. “I forgot to ask you,” Bon says. “What happened to your date tonight?” I don’t know if this is the right time to tell her that I canceled with Alexa because I realized it’s not her I like. I feel like I’m taking advantage of Bon’s vulnerability if I tell her all these things now. “She had to take a rain check. Said something personal and important came up.” Sorry, Alexa.

“Ugh. Doctors suck.” Bon says, chuckling lightly.

“Bon, I’m a doctor,” I reply.

“Exactly.” She playfully nudges me. “I’m kidding, you’re pretty great tonight, Ry. And I’m sorry. About the outburst earlier–”

“Don’t mention it.” I still don’t tell her about how I really feel about her. That I like her. Or maybe even more. I want that to happen when she’s not wallowing in sadness. So tonight, my only goal is to make Bon happy.

“How about this,” I say, handing her my handkerchief. “You wipe the mascara tears off your face, and let’s salvage your evening.”

She snickers as she gets the handkerchief from my hand and wipes her face. “Salvage how?”

“For starters, do you know where we are right now?”

“Some random church.” She shrugs .

“It’s not just a random church. Come on.” I stand up and reach for her hand, feeling the warmth of her fingers as she takes it. I gently pull her along, leading her to the side of the church where a quaint convent is nestled amidst the shadows.

“What, are we gonna go hang out with nuns, Ry? Is this your secret idea of a good time?” she asks, a hint of amusement in her tired voice.

“Yeah, who needs dinner when we can get divine intervention?” I say.

“I’ve always wanted a surprise holy retreat,” Bon says as she chuckles. She’s slowly returning to her happy self, and it’s already making me feel happier in return. “Seriously, though. Where are we going?” she adds.

I smile at her and say, “This convent houses one of the best things about this place.” We approach a door with a sign that reads ‘ Maywang A Libro Du Vatan : Batanes Blank Book Archive’.

“What’s a blank book archive?” Bon asks, curiosity flickering in her eyes. Thankfully, the place isn’t locked, and it’s accessible at any time. I turn on the light switch, illuminating a small, cozy room filled with shelves of books. The soft glow of the lights reveals a quaint library, the air filled with the comforting scent of old paper and wood. The room is intimate, with shelves lining the walls and a few scattered tables and chairs inviting visitors to sit and explore the treasures within. At this hour, no one else is here but us.

Bon looks around, her eyes wide with wonder. “Okay, this is amazing. But again, what exactly is a blank book archive?” Her voice echoes from the small room.

“It’s exactly how it sounds,” I say, pulling out a book and opening it to reveal its blank pages. “A library of blank books. People from all over the world come here to write their thoughts, their dreams, their stories. It’s a place where anyone can leave a piece of themselves behind.”

Her eyes soften as she takes in the room. “Oh wow. That’s beautiful. It’s like a sanctuary for thoughts and dreams.”

“Exactly,” I say, handing her the book. “I thought maybe you could use this place to write down whatever you’re feeling. It’s a way to let it all out, without any judgment,” I add calmly. “And maybe one day, we can come back here and laugh about this moment.”

She takes the book, running her fingers over the blank pages. She looks at me and smiles. “Thank you, Ry. This means a lot.”

We sit down at one of the tables, and for a moment, the world outside fades away. In this small room, we are surrounded by the hopes and dreams of countless strangers. As Bon begins to write, I take another book and write down my feelings about the woman sitting beside me.