Fiction DisclaimerAll works of fiction published under miebonniee are purely the product of the author’s imagination. Any similarities to actual persons, living or dead, real events, locations, or organizations are entirely coincidental. Names, characters, businesses, places, and incidents are either used fictitiously or created for storytelling purposes.These works are not affiliated with or endorsed by any real individuals, groups, or entities. This work of fiction is solely created as a form of support for EmiBonnie and is meant for entertainment purposes only.Reader discretion is advised.
BOOK 3: AFTER THE RAIN
Written by: miebonniee
PS. While reading, Play “The Apartment We Won’t Share” By NIKI
PROLOGUE
It’s been a long time since I’ve felt the rain.I sit at the edge of the porch, a cup of coffee cradled in my hands, the familiar sound of droplets falling onto the roof above. The world outside is soft, blurred by the steady drizzle, and I’m reminded of the many nights I spent watching her dance in weather just like this.Bonnie always said the rain was cleansing, that it made everything new again. She’d stand out there, arms wide, her head tilted back, laughing as the storm wrapped around her. “You’ll see, Emi,” she’d say. “One day you’ll love it, too.”I didn’t believe her then. I clung to my umbrella, avoided puddles, scowled at the wet clothes clinging to my skin. But she was Bonnie, unpredictable, beautiful, reckless. She’d grab my hand and pull me into the downpour, twirling me in circles until we were both breathless. It was chaotic. It was messy. And it was us.When she left, the rain changed. It became something else entirely, cold, relentless, a reminder of all the things I could never undo. It took me months to step outside again, months to feel its touch without breaking apart. And then came Bea.Bea was Bonnie’s rain come to life. She had the same wide smile, the same joy that turned storms into something beautiful. At first, I couldn’t look at her without seeing Bonnie’s absence. But over time, Bea became her own person, so much like her sister, yet different in all the ways that mattered. She wasn’t just a memory. She was the future Bonnie had been trying to build.Now, as I watch the rain streak down the window, I feel something I haven’t felt in a long time. Hope. Not the kind you read about in fairy tales, not the kind that promises everything will be perfect. Just the quiet kind, the fragile kind. The kind that grows, little by little, even when you’re not looking.I close my eyes, and for a moment, I can almost hear Bonnie’s voice. “One day you’ll love it, too,” she whispers again.And maybe, just maybe, she was right.
Chapter 1: A Quiet World
The old apartment still carried the weight of her presence. I stepped inside hesitantly, taking in the familiar, worn furniture and the faint smell of turpentine that seemed to linger no matter how many times we cleaned. It was all as she left it, her canvases stacked in the corner, paintbrushes still drying by the window. This place wasn’t supposed to be ours forever, but she had made it ours.For a moment, I just stood in the doorway, my hand resting on the frame. The new apartment, the one she picked out, felt like a distant dream now. But we never got there. The last time she stepped out of this old apartment was the last time I saw her.I forced myself to move, brushing past the couch where she used to curl up with her sketchbook. Each step echoed louder than I remembered, the walls somehow feeling closer. I hadn’t been back since, since everything. Since the accident. Every detail pulled me into another memory.Her favorite coffee mug was still on the counter. The stack of books she’d been meaning to read sat untouched. I ran my fingers along the edge of the dining table, remembering the late-night conversations we had here, the way her laughter used to fill the room. It felt like the air itself had changed, like it no longer belonged to us.I knew I couldn’t stay here forever. This place, as much as it still carried her imprint, wasn’t meant to be mine alone. Bonnie had dreamed bigger, better things.Later that evening, I made my way to the new apartment. It felt like walking into another life, one we hadn’t quite begun. The air was cleaner, cooler. The layout was open, with a little balcony that let in more light than our old place ever could. This was supposed to be the fresh start Bonnie always talked about.I hadn’t been able to face it until now. Seeing the empty walls, the bare floors, it struck me how much work she’d put into planning this space. She wanted a room just for Bea, a proper studio for her paintings, a living area that wouldn’t feel cluttered, and a study room for me so I could focus. And she’d done it all for us.There was no clutter here, no chaotic stacks of canvases and papers like in the old apartment. Instead, the new apartment felt half-formed, as if it had been waiting for her to come back and finish it. Bea’s room was the hardest to step into. The small bed was neatly made, the shelves empty but ready to be filled. Bonnie had imagined it all, Bea would finally have a space of her own. It broke my heart to see it now, knowing she’d never see it herself.I brought her paintings with me from the old apartment. As I unwrapped each one, I felt her presence in every stroke of color. The sunlit fields, the stormy skies, the small still-life pieces she’d done on quiet evenings. I hung them one by one, carefully, like placing pieces of her back into the world.Standing in that new apartment, surrounded by her art, I felt something I hadn’t felt in weeks. A sense of what could have been, what should have been. This space wasn’t just hers, it was ours. And as much as it hurt, I knew I couldn’t let it remain empty forever.I sat on the floor, the empty room around me quiet and still. I thought about the old apartment and how it had held us together, even through the fights and the chaos. This new apartment was different, cleaner, calmer, but still waiting for something. Maybe it was waiting for me to figure out how to move forward. Maybe it was waiting for Bea, for the life Bonnie wanted us to build.As the night fell, I closed my eyes and let the memories come. I could almost hear her voice, see her smile.
Chapter 2: A Ghost of the Past
The next morning, sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting soft lines on the walls of the new apartment. I sat on the floor in the living room, Bonnie’s unfinished sketchbook in my lap. It was one of the last things she’d been working on, filled with rough pencil lines and quick, energetic strokes that seemed to capture a moment in motion.Flipping through its pages, I saw glimpses of her thoughts, small notes in the margins, color suggestions written in her hurried script. She’d been planning so much. One page had the faint outlines of a sunflower field. On another, she’d started sketching a stormy sea with sunlight breaking through the clouds. Her sketches felt alive, as if she were still here, still creating.I ran my fingers over a half-finished drawing of Bea reading a book. It was small and simple, but her skill shone through. She’d captured Bea’s concentration, the way her head tilted just slightly when she was completely absorbed in something. Bonnie had left so many pieces of herself behind, tucked into the pages of this sketchbook, scattered on canvases leaning against the walls.And yet, all I could think about was what wasn’t here.The new apartment was still so empty. The boxes I’d brought from the old place remained sealed, piled in the corner. Bonnie had picked out this space for a fresh start, imagining how we’d fill it with our lives. Now, every bare wall felt like a reminder of her absence.I forced myself to get up, to move. I unboxed some of her brushes, her paints. I set them up on the small desk she’d intended to use as her workspace. It felt wrong to leave them packed away, as if I were trying to erase her from this place.As I worked, I found a folded piece of paper tucked into the side pocket of her old satchel. When I unfolded it, I saw a rough blueprint of the apartment’s layout. Bonnie had written little notes in the margins, “Bea’s room” in careful letters over the smallest bedroom, “studio space” next to the room with the best light, “cozy corner” near the balcony. She’d planned it all. She wanted this to be our home, not just hers.I stared at the words for a long time, feeling the weight of everything she’d never get to finish.By the time I reached Bea’s room, my hands were shaking. The small bed Bonnie had chosen sat neatly in the corner, the quilt she’d picked out still folded at the foot. It was a simple room, just a few shelves, a small desk, a cheerful rug she’d found on sale, but it was perfect. She’d thought of everything.I stood in the doorway, clutching one of her smaller canvases. I had planned to hang it on the wall, but now that I was here, I couldn’t move. The sight of the empty bed, the untouched rug, the bare shelves, it all hit me at once. I’d been trying so hard to keep it together, to be practical, but seeing this room broke something inside me.Bonnie had worked so hard to create this space for Bea, and now it was just sitting here, waiting. I leaned against the doorframe, the canvas slipping from my fingers. The tears came before I could stop them. I sank to the floor, my head resting against the frame, and let myself cry for the first time in weeks.The sketchbook still sat on the living room table when I returned. I picked it up again, flipping back to the half-finished sunflower field. Bonnie had always loved sunflowers. She used to say they reminded her of me, how they turned toward the light no matter what. I had never understood why she thought that. I didn’t feel like sunlight, not then, and certainly not now.But as I looked at her messy lines, her quick notes about yellows and oranges, I started to see what she saw. Even now, her work carried a kind of warmth, a quiet determination. She had always believed in beauty, even in the chaos.I closed the sketchbook gently, placing it back on the table. I wasn’t ready to pack it away. Not yet.That night, I opened the balcony door and stepped outside. The air was cool and fresh, carrying the faint scent of rain that hadn’t fallen yet. I leaned against the railing, looking out at the city lights.This place was so different from the old apartment. Quieter. Calmer. Bonnie had picked it because she wanted a space that felt like a sanctuary. She wanted a place where we could breathe.Now it was just me here, trying to piece together the life she’d left behind. I didn’t know if I could do it. But as I stood there, the breeze brushing against my skin, I thought about her notes, her plans, the little room she’d made for Bea. I thought about how much she had hoped for, how much she had believed in.And for the first time, I thought that maybe I could try.
Chapter 3: A Little Sunshine
It was a damp afternoon when I finally worked up the courage to visit Bea.I’d been avoiding it for weeks, unsure of what to say or how to act. The thought of looking into her eyes, Bonnie’s eyes, filled me with a deep, aching fear. But I couldn’t keep running forever. Bea was just a child, and she had already lost too much. I owed it to Bonnie to be there, even if I didn’t know how.Their auntie’s fiancé left Bea behind, and the neighbors took her in. The neighbor taking care of Bea opened the door, her expression weary but kind. “She’s in her room,” she said, motioning down the hall.I walked slowly, my hands damp with sweat. When I reached the doorway, I paused, my breath catching in my throat. Bea sat cross-legged on the floor, a coloring book spread out in front of her. Her brow furrowed in concentration as she carefully filled in a butterfly’s wings with bright purple and green. She looked so small, so fragile, and yet so familiar.“Hey, Bea,” I said softly, my voice trembling.She glanced up, her expression guarded. For a moment, she didn’t say anything. Then, quietly, “Hi.”I knelt down next to her, unsure of what to do. “That’s a beautiful butterfly,” I said.She shrugged. “It’s okay.”Her voice was soft, almost detached. She didn’t look at me for long, her focus drifting back to the page in front of her. I sat there, watching her carefully shade in the edges of the wings. Her movements were precise, deliberate, like Bonnie’s when she was painting.I wanted to tell her everything I was feeling, but I didn’t know how. How do you tell a little girl that her sister, the one who loved her more than anything, is never coming back? How do you explain something you don’t fully understand yourself?“Bea,” I said gently, “I’ve been thinking about you. A lot.”She didn’t look up, but I saw her hand pause, the crayon still pressed against the page. “Why?” she asked quietly.“Because I care about you,” I said, my voice wavering. “And I miss her, too.”Her hand trembled slightly. “She’s not coming back,” she whispered. It wasn’t a question, just a statement.“No,” I said, my heart breaking. “She’s not.”We sat in silence for a while, the only sound the soft scratch of her crayons against the paper. I wanted to reach out, to comfort her, but I was afraid of saying the wrong thing.Finally, I asked, “Do you want to go outside for a bit?”She hesitated, then nodded.The drizzle started just as we stepped outside. It wasn’t heavy, just a light mist that clung to our clothes and made the air smell clean. Bea looked up at the sky, her head tilting slightly, the way Bonnie’s used to when she was trying to catch the first drops.She stepped forward slowly, her arms hanging at her sides. Then, suddenly, she ran.“Bea!” I called, startled, but she didn’t stop.She ran into the drizzle, laughing softly, spinning in a small circle with her arms outstretched. She tilted her head back, letting the water touch her face.I stood frozen, watching her. It was like seeing Bonnie again, her joy, her freedom, her love for the rain. For a moment, I thought I might break down right there.Bea turned to me, her smile hesitant but real. “It’s not so bad,” she said.I managed a smile, though my chest ached. “No,” I said. “It’s not.”We walked to the patch of flowers that always bloomed by the sidewalk after a rainstorm. Bea crouched down, studying a single bloom. The petals were vibrant, glistening with tiny droplets.“She liked flowers,” Bea said, her voice quiet.“She did,” I replied, kneeling beside her. “She thought they were beautiful. Even the smallest ones.”Bea reached out, gently touching one of the petals. “Do you think she can see them now?”I swallowed hard, my throat tightening. “I think so.”She nodded, and for the first time, she looked directly at me. Her eyes, Bonnie’s eyes, were full of questions I couldn’t answer. But there was something else there, too. A spark of hope, faint but present.As we walked back, Bea reached for my hand. I held it tightly, feeling the warmth of her small fingers in mine. It was a small thing, but it felt like a step forward.Maybe we couldn’t fix what had happened. Maybe the world would never feel whole again. But in that moment, as the drizzle turned to sunlight and the flowers swayed gently in the breeze, I thought that maybe, just maybe, we could find a way to keep going. Together.
Chapter 4: Opening the Door
Taking Bea in wasn’t a decision I made lightly. In truth, it wasn’t a decision I made at all. It just happened, quietly and without fanfare, the way small moments sometimes do. After that day in the rain, after seeing her spin and laugh like Bonnie used to, I couldn’t walk away. Bea needed me. And maybe, just maybe, I needed her too.At first, it was awkward. The new apartment, which had felt so empty before, now seemed crowded, even though it was just the two of us. I hadn’t moved many things from the old place, so we lived out of boxes for a while. Bea didn’t complain, she hardly said anything at all. She spent most of her time in the small room Bonnie had prepared for her. I would hear her quietly flipping through the books on the shelf or see her staring out the window, her small hands pressed against the glass. I wondered what she was thinking about, but I was afraid to ask.During the weekdays, my parents helped out. They alternated taking care of Bea while I went to school. It wasn’t always easy, but it allowed me to keep moving forward, to start finding some sort of routine. Bea adored them. She’d come home with stories of baking cookies with Grandpa or learning to sew with Grandma. She’d show me the little crafts they’d made together or the new books they’d picked out. Each time, she seemed a little taller, a little more grown-up, her laughter a little louder.“I told Grandpa his pancakes were lumpy,” Bea said one evening, giggling. “And he said I was right!”I couldn’t help but laugh, brushing her hair back from her face. “Sounds about right.”My parents’ help made things easier, but it also made me realize how fast Bea was growing. I’d been so focused on keeping everything together that I almost didn’t notice how much she’d changed. Her legs were longer, her steps more confident. She didn’t ask me to read her bedtime stories anymore, she read them to herself. I’d find her curled up on the couch with one of Bonnie’s old sketchbooks, studying the lines like they were instructions.One day, as I unpacked another box from the old apartment, I found a sunflower sketch Bonnie had done years ago. It was a simple pencil drawing, rough and unfinished, but unmistakably hers. I sat with it for a moment, turning it over in my hands, when Bea came into the room.She paused in the doorway, her eyes lighting up when she saw the sketch. “Is that hers?” she asked softly.“Yeah,” I said. “She drew it a long time ago.”Bea stepped closer, her small hands reaching out to touch the edge of the paper. “Can we hang it in my room?” she asked. “I want to see it before I go to sleep.”Her voice was so earnest, so full of quiet longing, that I couldn’t say no. “Sure,” I said. “Let’s frame it and put it up.”We hung the sketch above the bed Bonnie had picked out for Bea. It looked small on the wall, but Bea stared at it like it was the most important thing in the world. That night, when I tucked her in, she turned to me with a smile.“Do you think she would’ve finished it?” she asked.I sat on the edge of the bed, brushing a stray hair from her face. “I think she would have made it beautiful.”Bea nodded, her eyes still fixed on the sunflower. “It’s already beautiful.”I kissed her forehead and turned off the light, leaving her to fall asleep beneath the gentle, unfinished lines of her sister’s hand.Slowly, things began to shift. Bea started spending more time with me. At first, it was little things, helping me unpack boxes, drawing quietly at the kitchen table while I made dinner. But over time, we began to build a connection. I’d find her waiting by the door when I came home from class, her sketchbook in hand, eager to show me her newest drawing.“Mama,” she said one evening, her voice tentative. “Can you look at this?”I froze. The word hit me like a sudden gust of wind. I turned to see her standing there, her eyes wide, waiting for my response.“What did you say?” I asked, my throat tightening.She shifted nervously, holding up the sketchbook. “Is it okay if I call you that? Mama?”I wasn’t sure if I deserved that title. I wasn’t sure if I could live up to it. But the way she looked at me, her small hands clutching the edges of the paper, made my heart ache.“It’s okay,” I said finally, my voice trembling. “You can call me that.”Her face lit up, and she rushed over to show me her drawing, a bright, swirling pattern of colors that looked like a sunrise.“It’s beautiful,” I said.I still struggled with guilt. The weight of not being there for Bonnie in her final days was something I carried with me. I replayed our last conversations in my mind, wishing I had said more, done more, been more. But Bea’s presence gave me a sense of purpose, a reason to keep moving forward.She was a reminder of Bonnie’s love, of the family we had tried to create. And though the pain didn’t go away, it became more bearable when I saw Bea’s smile, heard her laugh, or watched her concentrate on her drawings.One afternoon, as I was unpacking yet another box of Bonnie’s things, there was a knock at the door. I wasn’t expecting anyone, and for a moment, I hesitated. Bea was sitting at the kitchen table, coloring a picture. She looked up as I stood in the living room, uncertain.“Who is it?” she asked softly.I didn’t answer right away. I crossed the room, slowly, my heart quickening. When I opened the door, I saw View standing there.It had been months since I’d last seen her. She looked different somehow, older, maybe more tired. She gave me a small, hesitant smile.“Hey,” she said. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”I shook my head. “No, it’s okay. Come in.”View stepped inside, her hands shoved into her jacket pockets. She glanced around the apartment, her gaze lingering on the paintings I’d hung on the walls, the boxes still half-unpacked.“This is the place Bonnie picked, isn’t it?” she said.I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Yeah. It’s… it’s still coming together.”She looked over at Bea, who was watching us quietly from the table. View gave her a small wave. “Hey, Bea.”Bea waved back, her eyes curious.View turned back to me, her expression softening. “Bonnie really loved her,” she said, her voice low. “She used to talk about her all the time. Said Bea was the reason she kept pushing so hard.”My chest tightened. I didn’t know what to say. I felt like I’d failed Bonnie, like I hadn’t done enough.“She visited her a lot, you know,” View continued, her gaze drifting toward one of Bonnie’s paintings. “At least two or three times a week. She’d come to my place afterward, just to talk. Said Bea was growing up so fast, she didn’t want to miss it.”I stared at her, my throat dry. “She never told me.”“She didn’t want to make you worry. You had enough on your plate.” View sighed, pulling one hand from her pocket to rub the back of her neck. “But she cared about Bea more than anything. She wanted to give her a better life.”That night, as I lay in bed, I thought about what View had said. Bonnie had been visiting Bea so often, trying to be there for her, trying to build something for her future. I hadn’t known, hadn’t realized just how much she was carrying on her own.I knew I couldn’t change the past. But I could be there for Bea now, in the ways Bonnie had wanted. I could make sure her sister never felt alone again.And for the first time in a long time, I felt like we were moving forward. Not forgetting, not leaving Bonnie behind, but carrying her with us into whatever came next.
Final Chapter: A Love That Never Fades
Years slipped by, and with them, the sharp sting of loss dulled into something softer, more bearable. The apartment that had once felt so empty was now a canvas of life and love. Every wall was adorned with paintings, Bonnie’s graceful strokes, Bea’s vibrant, playful colors. Together, they told a story not of grief, but of connection.After I graduated and began working as a dentist, life became a rhythm I could handle. My days were filled with patients, with routines, with the steady focus of doing something that mattered. At night, I came home to Bea, to the little routines we built together. There were the meals we shared at the kitchen table, the laughter we exchanged over her newest sketches, the quiet moments where the only sound was the scratching of her pencil against paper.I never tried to fall in love again. I didn’t want to. The kind of love I had with Bonnie wasn’t something I could ever replace or recreate. My life became about supporting Bea, watching her grow, giving her the stability and guidance I once leaned on Bonnie to provide. She filled the space in ways I never expected, her bright energy a constant reminder of the love that never truly left.Bea grew into her own. She no longer mirrored her sister, she carried her own light, her own voice. Still, she never stopped drawing inspiration from Bonnie’s work. One day, I found her in the studio, staring at an unfinished piece Bonnie had started years ago. It was a sketch of a sunflower field, simple but full of potential.“I think I’ll finish it,” Bea said, turning to me. Her voice was calm, steady. “I want it to be ours. All of us.”I nodded, my chest tightening. “She’d love that.”Bea worked on it for weeks. She blended her own bold colors with Bonnie’s careful lines, creating something entirely new. When it was done, she called me in to see it.“What do you think?” she asked, her eyes searching mine.I couldn’t speak at first. It was breathtaking. The sunflowers stood tall and vibrant, their golden petals glowing against a stormy blue sky. It was as if the two of them had worked on it together, their hands overlapping, their spirits intertwined.“It’s perfect,” I finally managed, my voice shaking. “It’s everything she wanted.”Bea’s work began gaining recognition, and one day, thanks to her efforts, Bonnie’s paintings found a permanent home in a museum. Walking through the halls, I saw Bonnie’s life laid out on the walls, the strokes of her brush, the evolution of her style, the love and hope she poured into each piece. In the center of the exhibit, Bea had placed a portrait of Bonnie, a painting she’d done entirely from memory. It captured Bonnie’s spark, her warmth, her undeniable presence.The opening night was a celebration, but for me, it was also bittersweet. Seeing her work hung for the world to admire reminded me of everything she could have been, everything we had lost. But it also filled me with pride, Bonnie’s legacy was alive, carried forward not just by Bea but by everyone who saw her art and felt something stir inside them.A few months later, Bea and I visited Bonnie’s grave. It had been years since I’d last stood there, and now, it felt different. I wasn’t consumed by grief. Instead, there was a quiet sense of peace, a feeling that Bonnie was still with us in every way that mattered.The clouds above were heavy, and as we stood together, the rain began to fall. It wasn’t a sudden downpour, just a soft drizzle that made everything feel hushed and still. Bea held a bouquet of sunflowers, her fingers brushing against the petals as she placed them gently on the headstone.I looked down at the inscription—Bonnie Pattraphus, Forever Loved, Forever Remembered—and felt the familiar ache in my chest.“She would’ve loved the exhibit,” I said, my voice soft. “She always wanted her work to mean something.”“She’d be teasing us right now,” Bea added with a quiet laugh, “saying we finally hung them up properly.”I couldn’t help but chuckle. “That does sound like her.”The rain grew steadier, and the sun broke through the clouds, making the droplets shimmer. When I looked up, I saw it, a faint rainbow stretching across the sky.Bea nudged me, a small, mischievous smile on her face. “You think that’s her, making fun of us?”I laughed, feeling a mix of joy and longing. “Absolutely.”As the rain continued to fall, and the rainbow lingered, I felt Bonnie’s presence all around us, not as a ghost of grief, but as a part of the love we carried forward. Bea squeezed my hand, and I knew she felt it too.That day, the rain poured, the sun warmed our backs, and Bonnie’s legacy stood strong, not just in the museum walls, but in our hearts, in Bea’s growing confidence as an artist, and in the love we shared. I realized then that even after all the storms, we still had something beautiful. We still had Bonnie, and we still had each other.
Special Chapter
I never told Emi just how hard it was to balance everything. She had enough on her plate. Her studies, her future, her bright, blinding ambition. I couldn’t let her see me flounder. I thought I could keep it together, handle it all, and still be the Bonnie she knew. I didn’t realize how wrong I was.When we first moved into the apartment, it felt like the beginning of something. A fresh start. The place was tiny, cramped even, but it was ours. I filled the walls with my paintings. Half-finished sunflowers, abstract swirls of blues and greens, portraits of Emi that I’d never quite perfected. She made her side a picture of order. Her dental surgery textbooks lined neatly on the shelves, her planner open on the desk, her pens organized by color. We were two halves of a mismatched whole, but we made it work. At least, at first.It was my aunt’s calls that started to unravel things. At first, she was subtle. Asking how I was, how Emi was doing, how close I was to finishing my degree. But as the months went on, the tone of her voice shifted. The questions became more pointed, more demanding.“Bonnie, you’re graduating soon. You need to start making plans for Bea,” she said one evening, her voice sharp through the phone.“I know,” I replied, though I didn’t know at all. “I’m working on it.”“Working on it?” she repeated, her disbelief almost tangible. “Bonnie, she’s not a project. She’s your sister. You can’t just visit a few times a week and think that’s enough.”“I’m not just visiting,” I started, but she cut me off.“She needs stability, not these half-hearted attempts at being a sister.”“She’s not a project,” I snapped, my frustration boiling over. “And I’m doing everything I can. I’m looking for a place. I’m saving money.”“With what? That little part-time job?” she shot back. “You’re not ready, Bonnie. You can’t handle this.”Her words stung, but I couldn’t argue. I didn’t have all the answers. I didn’t have everything figured out. All I had was a dream of a future that felt further and further away with every passing day.I started visiting Bea more often. Three times a week, sometimes more. I didn’t tell Emi what I was really doing. I made up excuses. “I need some air” or “I’m meeting an old friend.” But the truth was, I needed to see Bea, to hold her close and feel like I was still a part of her life. She was the only one who could remind me what I was fighting for.Every time I walked into my aunt’s house, Bea’s face lit up. She’d run to me, her arms outstretched, and I’d scoop her up, spinning her around until she laughed. We’d sit at the kitchen table with crayons and sketchpads, drawing sunflowers, cats, anything that came to her mind. She loved the rain as much as I did. She’d draw pictures of us standing in the downpour, holding hands, and she’d always color my hair with bright yellow streaks.“Because you’re my sunshine,” she said once, holding up a picture she’d made.Her words stuck with me. I wanted to be her sunshine, her safe place. But the truth was, I felt more like a storm cloud hanging over her head. I wasn’t stable. I wasn’t ready. And every time my aunt pulled me aside to remind me of that, I felt smaller and smaller.One afternoon, as I walked back to the apartment, rain started to fall. It was that soft, steady kind of rain that made everything feel quieter. I thought about Emi. About how much she hated this weather, how she always muttered curses under her breath when her shoes got wet. I thought about how she used to shine so brightly, even when things got tough. She was the kind of person who could make you believe everything would be okay, just by being there. But lately, her light seemed dimmer. She was stressed, overworked, and maybe, though she didn’t say it, disappointed in me.When I got home, I saw an ad taped to the café window next door. “Now Hiring Musicians and Performers for Evening Shifts at View’s Bar,” it read. I froze, reading it over and over. View’s bar? I hadn’t seen her in ages, but we’d been close once. Close enough that I trusted her, close enough that maybe she’d understand.That night, I showed up at View’s bar, guitar slung over my shoulder, rain still dripping from my jacket. She spotted me immediately and grinned.“Bonnie?” she said, surprised. “It’s been a while.”“Yeah,” I said, fidgeting with the strap of my guitar. “I saw your flyer. You’re looking for performers?”She tilted her head, studying me. “You interested?”I nodded. “I could really use the work.”View smiled, gesturing toward the small stage. “Show me what you’ve got.”I played one of the songs I used to mess around with in college. The melody was soft, a little melancholic, but it felt right. When I finished, View clapped and nodded.“You’re hired,” she said simply. “When can you start?”“Tonight,” I replied.I didn’t tell Emi about the job. I told myself it was because I wanted it to be a surprise, but part of me knew I was afraid she’d think less of me. I’d been distant, late, distracted—and now I was spending even more time away. The truth was, I didn’t want her to see how badly I needed this. I didn’t want her to see how much I was struggling to keep up with her.The rain fell harder as I walked home after my first shift. I thought about the money my dad had thrown at me, how I’d taken it even though it made my skin crawl. I thought about my aunt’s harsh words, about Bea’s smile, about View’s encouraging nod when I played that first song. I thought about how Emi’s light seemed dimmer every time I saw her, and how much I wanted to bring it back.She noticed my late nights, of course. Emi wasn’t stupid. She asked questions, subtle at first, then more direct.“You’re out late a lot,” she said one evening as I stepped through the door, shaking the rain from my coat.“Yeah,” I said vaguely. “Just some stuff I need to take care of.”“Stuff?” she repeated, her tone sharp. “What kind of stuff?”“Nothing you need to worry about,” I said, trying to smile. “I’ve got it under control.”She stared at me, her eyes searching mine. “You always say that.”It started with me trying to do something good, something that would show her how much she meant to me. But that night, when she saw me with View, I could see the hurt in her eyes before she even spoke. I wasn’t doing anything wrong, but I knew how it must have looked. The way her face crumpled, the way she stiffened—it hit me like a slap. Before I could explain, she turned and walked away.I got home before her, hoping I could somehow smooth things over, but the second she came through the door, her voice was trembling. “What’s going on, Bonnie? You’re out all the time. You’re not telling me the truth. What’s happening?”I tried to take her hand, to calm her down. “I’m doing this for us,” I said. “I’m working on something, something good.”“For us?” she interrupted, her eyes welling with tears. “You think lying to me is good for us?”“I’m not lying.” My voice rose without meaning to, frustration bubbling over. “I’m trying to surprise you. I’m trying to make things better.”“You’re shutting me out,” she said softly, but the crack in her voice was clear. “You don’t trust me.”I took a step back, her words hitting me like a punch in the gut. “I do trust you,” I said, but the look in her eyes told me it was too late.She grabbed her bag and keys, her hands shaking. “I’m going to my parents’ for a while,” she said, her voice breaking. “I can’t do this anymore.”I wanted to stop her, to say something that would make her stay, but my mouth wouldn’t work. She walked out, and all I could do was watch as the door closed behind her.I sat down on the couch, my head in my hands. Everything I’d been working for. The late nights, the extra hours, the things I kept to myself because I wanted to surprise her. None of it mattered now. She thought I was shutting her out, and in a way, maybe I was. I thought I was protecting her from worrying, from the stress, but all I did was push her away.The rain started again outside, a steady rhythm against the windows. It should’ve calmed me, but all I felt was a growing pit in my stomach. I replayed every word, every look, every sharp edge of our argument, and I hated myself for the things I couldn’t say. I hated that I let her think I didn’t care, that I wasn’t fighting for us.When morning came, I still hadn’t slept. I stared at the clock on the wall, my mind racing with ways to fix this. But nothing I thought of felt right. The silence of the apartment was unbearable without her.The apartment felt colder after she left. I stared out the window, watching the rain streak down the glass, and thought about how much I’d messed up. I wanted to tell her the truth, to explain everything, but I didn’t know how. I thought if I just kept going, if I could save enough, get the apartment, and propose, then she’d understand.But the rain didn’t stop. And neither did the weight in my chest.The next day, my aunt called again. Her voice was sharp and impatient, as always. “What are you doing, Bonnie? You’re wasting time. Bea needs you.”“I’m looking for a place,” I said, my voice tight. “I’m saving money. I’m doing everything I can.”“Your father gave you enough to get started,” she snapped. “What are you waiting for?”“That money doesn’t fix everything,” I shot back. “You think he cares about us? He threw it at me so I’d leave him alone.”“You’re being selfish,” she said. “You’re thinking about yourself, not about what’s best for Bea.”Her words cut deep, but I couldn’t let her see that. I hung up without another word and stepped outside into the rain. The sky was gray, the downpour relentless. I walked aimlessly, the water soaking through my shoes, my hair sticking to my face. I didn’t care. The rain made everything blurry, muffled, easier to ignore. But it couldn’t drown out the voice in my head telling me I’d never be enough.It was still raining when I stepped off the bus. The ride had been long and silent. The kind where you’re alone with your thoughts and the rhythm of the wheels on wet pavement. My jacket wasn’t doing much to keep me dry, but I didn’t care. I’d made this trip enough times that I knew what to expect. The walk from the bus stop to my aunt’s house was short. I dragged my feet, my boots splashing through shallow puddles as I tried to gather my thoughts. I knew the argument was coming, and I wasn’t ready.When I finally reached the house, the porch light was on, cutting through the rain like a faint beacon. I hesitated at the door, my fist raised to knock, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. My aunt’s voice, sharp and clipped from our phone calls, rang in my head. You need to take Bea. You can’t keep putting this off. I took a breath, forced my hand forward, and knocked.She opened the door almost immediately, like she’d been waiting. Her face was lined with something I couldn’t quite place. Fatigue, frustration, maybe both. She stepped aside without a word, and I walked into the warmth of the house, the smell of something faintly floral filling the air.I turned to her, and before I could say anything, she crossed her arms and spoke. “You finally decided to come talk face-to-face?”“I’m here, aren’t I?” I said, my voice coming out harsher than I intended.She narrowed her eyes. “And what exactly are we going to talk about, Bonnie? You’ve been dodging this for months.”“I’ve been trying,” I said, the words rushing out before I could stop them. “You think I don’t care? You think I’m just sitting around doing nothing?”“I think you don’t understand what this is,” she said, her tone biting. “This isn’t something you can just figure out last minute. Bea needs stability. She needs someone who’s there for her every day, not just when it’s convenient.”“You’re the one leaving her!” I snapped. The words felt like they’d been clawing their way out for weeks. “You’re marrying someone who doesn’t want anything to do with us, and you’re moving halfway across the world. How is that stable?”Her expression faltered, just for a moment. “It’s not that simple.”“Yes, it is,” I said, taking a step closer. “You’re abandoning us. You’re abandoning Bea. And you’re acting like I’m the one who has to clean it all up.”Her jaw tightened, and she looked away. “I didn’t choose this.”“You didn’t choose it?” I said, my voice rising. “You think I did? You think I wanted to be in this position?”“Bonnie,” she started, but I cut her off.“I’m trying to do the right thing, okay?” I said, my voice shaking now. “I’m looking for a place. I’m saving money. I’m trying to be there for her. But you, you’re running away. You’re giving up on us because it’s easier.”“That’s not fair,” she said quietly, but there was a crack in her voice. She uncrossed her arms, her shoulders slumping. “I’ve been trying too. I’ve been trying to hold it together.”“By throwing her at me and moving abroad?” I said bitterly. “That’s your solution?”“I’m sorry,” she said suddenly, and the words hit me like a punch to the gut. Her voice was smaller, softer. “I’m sorry, Bonnie. I didn’t mean for it to feel like I’m abandoning you. I was just… I’m under so much pressure, and I don’t know what else to do.”The fight drained out of me at those words. I stared at her, unsure of what to say. She looked tired. Not just from the argument, but from everything. I felt the anger inside me flicker and dim.“I’m trying too,” she said again, almost to herself. “I’m just scared.”I nodded slowly. “I know.”The rain continued outside, steady and relentless. I didn’t say anything else, and neither did she. For a long time, we just stood there, the silence stretching between us. Eventually, she moved to the kitchen and poured us both a cup of tea. We didn’t talk much after that, but the tension felt less sharp. Still there, but muted.When I finally left, the rain was still falling, but I didn’t mind. My head felt clearer, if only a little. The argument wasn’t over. Not really. But it felt like we’d stopped tearing at each other long enough to realize that neither of us had all the answers. And maybe that was enough, for now.The morning rain was relentless. A steady sheet of gray that blurred the edges of the city and muffled the usual hum of traffic. I stood in the entryway, tugging on my coat, when my aunt’s voice stopped me mid-step.“You’re not really planning on going out in that, are you?” she asked, one hand on her coffee cup, the other gesturing toward the downpour beyond the window.“I have to,” I replied, adjusting the collar of my jacket. “Emi might come back today.”She sighed, setting her coffee down with a faint clink. “And what if she doesn’t?”“Then I’ll still be there,” I said, avoiding her gaze. “I need to be there.”The truth was, the idea of Emi coming back to an empty apartment twisted my stomach into knots. Morning light or not, the rain hadn’t let up, and it cast everything in a muted, washed-out tone. But that didn’t matter. I had to go.“I’ll drive you,” she said abruptly, setting her coffee aside.“You don’t have to—”“I’ll drive you,” she repeated, cutting me off. “At least that way I’ll know you’re safe. This storm isn’t going to let up anytime soon.”Reluctantly, I nodded. She grabbed her keys, and soon we were both in the car, the morning light filtering weakly through thick clouds. The windshield wipers swished back and forth, doing their best to combat the rain that seemed endless.The streets were mostly empty, save for a few cars creeping along cautiously. The water on the roads made every turn feel precarious, every stop a careful calculation. I stared out the window, watching the city slip by, its usual vibrancy dulled by the storm.“You could’ve waited, you know,” my aunt said after a long stretch of silence.“I couldn’t,” I replied without looking at her. “If she comes back and no one’s there…”She sighed again, her hands tightening on the wheel. “You care about her that much?”“Yes.”Another silence fell between us, broken only by the patter of rain and the hum of the engine. I tried not to let my mind wander, but it was hard not to picture Emi. Her soft smile. The way she’d tease me for staying out in the rain too long. The warmth in her eyes that made everything else
I couldn’t let her come back to nothing. I couldn’t let her feel that kind of loneliness.The rain continued as we drove, the morning light barely making a dent in the heavy gray of the sky. Every now and then, my aunt glanced at me, as if she wanted to say something more, but she stayed quiet. I appreciated it. I wasn’t in the mood to explain something I could barely put into words myself. I just needed to get back. I just needed to be there.The car felt like a fragile bubble against the endless rain. The streets gleamed with water, and the windshield wipers fought valiantly to keep some semblance of visibility. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, aware of every tiny movement, the sound of rain drumming against the roof filling the silence.“Maybe this was a bad idea,” my aunt said suddenly, her voice cutting through the monotonous rhythm of the wipers.“It wasn’t,” I replied firmly, though even I wasn’t convinced. “I had to go home.”She frowned, her hands gripping the wheel tightly. “You’ve always been stubborn, Bonnie. Always running headlong into things without thinking.”“I am thinking,” I said, turning to look at her. “I’m thinking about Emi. I’m thinking about Bea. I just… I just need to be there.”The words hung in the air, heavier than I intended. She didn’t respond, her focus on the road. We both knew that no matter what she said, I wasn’t going to change my mind. The rain continued to pour, blurring the city streets into streaks of white and gray. The headlights of oncoming cars flashed briefly, casting ghostly reflections in the pools of water on the road.Then, it happened.A flash of light, too bright, too close. The sound of tires screeching. My aunt shouted something, but I didn’t hear what. Her arm flew out across my chest, a protective instinct. The car skidded, the wheels losing traction, and I felt the world tilt sideways. The sound of metal crunching was deafening, a horrible screech that seemed to echo inside my skull. The jolt was violent, slamming me forward and then back again as the seatbelt bit into my shoulder.When the car finally stopped moving, everything was quiet. The only sound was the rain, relentless and steady. My head was pounding, a dull throb that drowned out anything else. I tried to turn, to check on my aunt, but my body wouldn’t cooperate. My breath came shallow and fast, the weight of the seatbelt pinning me in place.I could hear her breathing beside me, shallow, labored. “Bonnie,” she murmured. “Bonnie, are you—”Her voice cut out. I tried to respond, but my throat felt dry, my words sticking. The rain outside blurred everything, the world beyond the cracked windshield a mess of water and faint, flickering lights.Then I heard it: a distant voice, muffled at first. “Ambulance on its way,” someone called. The static of a radio followed, clipped voices relaying coordinates. It sounded close, too close, as if it was coming from right beside me. My aunt’s hand was still outstretched, weakly resting against my arm.I blinked, trying to focus. The sound of footsteps splashing through puddles reached my ears. Shadows moved in and out of view. Someone leaned in, their face obscured, their voice calm but firm.“We’ve got a survivor,” they said. “We need a stretcher over here now. Breathing, but barely.”They were talking about me.The next few minutes stretched on forever. I was lifted gently, carefully, onto something flat. The rain hit my face, cold and sharp. I thought about calling out, but the words wouldn’t come. My aunt’s voice was gone. The hum of the ambulance’s engine roared closer, its lights flashing dimly through the curtain of rain.As the medics worked, the memories began to flood in—seven minutes that felt like an eternity.I saw Emi, the way her smile could light up a room even when she was tired. I saw Bea’s tiny hands clutching a crayon, her face scrunching in concentration as she drew yet another sunflower. I remembered the nights I’d sat on the rooftop with Emi, our legs swinging over the edge, her voice soft and certain when she said, “Wherever you go, I’m going.”The apartment came into view—our cluttered little space that felt like home. I remembered Emi teasing me about the stray cats I kept trying to sneak in, her exasperated sighs turning into laughter. I thought of the way she kissed me during a downpour, the rain soaking us both, her lips warm against mine.Every fight, every quiet moment of understanding, every dream of a future that we had yet to build—they all played out in those seven minutes. I clung to them, held them close, as the voices around me grew quieter.My mouth moved, though the sound barely escaped my lips. “Emi…”And then the rain, the voices, the memories—all of it blurred together into a single moment of stillness.
EPILOGUE LEFT
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