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 2:
WHEN IT RAINS
Written by: miebonniee
PROLOGUE
It’s raining again.I sit by the window, my fingers wrapped around a cup of coffee that’s long gone cold. The glass fogs from my breath, but I don’t wipe it away. Outside, the raindrops fall in steady streams, racing down the glass, colliding, merging, disappearing into something bigger than themselves.It’s funny. I used to hate the rain.It was cold, messy, and loud. It ruined plans, soaked through clothes, and made the world feel smaller.But Bonnie loved it.She used to stand outside with her arms open, tilting her head up like she was catching something only she could see. She danced in it, laughed in it, kissed me under the softest drizzles. She used to say, “One day, you’ll love it too.”I never believed her.I close my eyes, and suddenly, I’m seventeen again.We were on the rooftop of her house, the city lights flickering in the distance. She had one leg swinging over the edge, fearless as always, while I sat cross-legged beside her, playing with the edge of my shirt.“Wherever you go, I’m going,” she had said, so casually, like it was obvious.I had just gotten my acceptance letter under the Faculty of Dentistry, a future I had spent years chasing. Bonnie had hers too, under the Faculty of Arts. We enrolled in the same University but it's evident that we're heading toward two completely different futures, yet somehow, she made it feel like we were walking the same path.I hesitated. “You don’t have to, you know.”She scoffed. “You think I’d let you go off and be a big-shot dentist without me?”I smiled. She grinned. That was how it always was. Me, careful and hesitant. Bonnie, reckless and certain.That was how we ended up here. Together.The apartment was small, but it was enough. A messy kind of enough.My side was neat. Textbooks stacked in perfect order, desk clear except for a planner and a cup of pens. Bonnie’s side was chaos. Charcoal-smudged papers, paintbrushes left to dry wherever she last used them, unfinished canvases leaning against the wall.She was chaos. And I loved her for it.Nights were spent tangled up in blankets, her voice soft against my ear. “I’ll paint you one day,” she had murmured. “Make you a masterpiece.”I rolled my eyes, smiling. “I think you already did.”She laughed, tucking her face against my neck. “God, you’re so corny.”I was. For her, I was.The fight started over nothing. Most of our fights did.Bonnie had always been jealous. Of the way people gravitated toward me, how I never seemed to notice the eyes on me.“You don’t even realize it, do you?” she snapped.I sighed. “Bonnie, what do you want me to do? Stop talking to people?”“Maybe just stop acting like they’re the center of your world.”“That’s rich coming from you,” I shot back. “You act like I’m the only thing in yours.”Her jaw tightened.The words that followed were ugly. My voice was sharp, her words cut deeper.Then,“Maybe we should break up.”Silence.She didn’t take it back. Neither did I.That night, it rained.She didn’t come home.Now, I watch the rain fall outside our window, filling the silence she left behind.I wonder if she’s out there somewhere, standing in the downpour with her arms open, waiting for me to step outside.But she’s not here. Not tonight.
Chapter 1: The Rain
Bonnie loved the rain. She always had.It was one of the first things I learned about her when we started talking, long before she became my girlfriend, long before I knew how much of my life she’d consume.Back then, I was the one hurrying inside when the sky turned gray, grumbling about ruined hair and wet shoes. Bonnie, on the other hand, never carried an umbrella. She never even wore a hood. If the rain started, she’d just tilt her face up to it and let it wash over her.She said it made her feel free.I never understood it. At least, not until now.“Come inside,” I called out from the doorway, holding my umbrella over me as best I could. The rain was coming down in thick sheets, and I could barely see her standing out there.“Bonnie, you’re going to get soaked!”Her silhouette didn’t move. She was standing in the middle of the parking lot behind our building, her arms stretched out as if she were trying to catch the rain.I sighed. “You’ll catch a cold!”“You still don’t get it, do you?” she called back, her voice teasing and light despite the weather.“Get what?” I yelled.She turned around, and even from this distance, I could see the grin on her face. Her dark hair was plastered to her forehead, her clothes clinging to her skin. She looked ridiculous, but she was glowing, happy in a way that made me want to yell at her and laugh at the same time.“It’s just water, sunshine!” she said. “Come on!”Before I could argue, she dashed toward me, her feet splashing in the puddles. When she reached the doorway, she grabbed my wrist and yanked me into the rain.“Bonnie!” I protested, trying to keep the umbrella above us, but it was no use. She was already pulling me further out, laughing as the rain drenched us both.“Don’t fight it,” she said, spinning around and letting go of my hand. She raised her arms again, head tilted back, water running down her face. “Just let it happen.”I stood there, holding the useless umbrella, watching her.She looked so ridiculous, so carefree and alive.“You’re insane,” I muttered, shaking my head.She laughed, lowering her arms. “Insane? Or brilliant?”“Drenched,” I replied. “Definitely drenched.”“Then I guess you’re drenched, too,” she said, stepping closer and poking the umbrella out of my hand. It hit the ground with a soft thud.I sighed again, but this time, I couldn’t keep the smile off my face. “What am I going to do with you?”Her grin widened, and she reached up to brush a strand of wet hair out of my face.“You’re going to love me,” she said simply.And I did.I loved her when she was annoying. I loved her when she was reckless. I loved her when she dragged me out into the rain and made me forget about being careful, about being dry, about being practical.Living together was another story entirely.The rain was easy to deal with. Bonnie? Not so much.When we first moved into the apartment, we thought it was going to be a dream come true. We had been talking about it for months, finally living in the same space, finally building a home together. It sounded romantic. Perfect, even.But in reality, sharing a tiny apartment with Bonnie was a constant battle.She had no sense of order. Her art supplies were everywhere. Paintbrushes on the kitchen counter, sketches spread across the coffee table, half-finished canvases leaning against the walls.I was tripping over tubes of paint and stepping on charcoal sticks more often than I cared to admit.“I’ll clean it up later,” she always said when I pointed it out.“But why not now?” I’d reply. “It’s a mess.”“It’s my process,” she’d say with a shrug, as if that explained everything.It didn’t.And it wasn’t just a mess. Bonnie had a way of bringing chaos into every corner of our lives.She would leave the dishes in the sink for days, claiming she’d get to them eventually.She once snuck a stray cat into the apartment, insisting we needed a “studio mascot.” That ended with a scratched couch, a terrified cat, and me swearing to never let her bring home another animal again.It wasn’t all bad, though. Bonnie’s chaos was exhausting, but it was also endearing.There were times when I couldn’t help but laugh at her antics, even as I tried to scold her. Like the time she painted a mural on our bedroom wall at three in the morning because she “had a vision.”Or the time she tried to make me breakfast in bed and set off the smoke alarm.She drove me crazy, but she also made me laugh.And, despite all the mess and the late-night painting sessions and the constant arguments about whose turn it was to take out the trash, I couldn’t imagine living with anyone else.Our fights usually ended the same way. Bonnie would flash me that mischievous grin, crack a joke, and somehow charm her way out of my frustration.I would roll my eyes, but I’d forgive her. I always did.Except for the night we fought about something bigger.That night, she didn’t grin.She didn’t crack a joke.She didn’t try to charm her way out of it.Instead, she turned serious, angry, even.We were arguing about the same thing we always did. Her jealousy.“Do you ever get tired of people worshipping you?” she asked, her voice sharp.“Bonnie, what the hell are you talking about?” I said, crossing my arms.“You don’t even realize it, do you?” she said, her tone bitter. “The way people look at you, the way they hang on your every word. You think you’re just being nice, but it’s more than that.”“Nice? You’re mad at me for being nice?”She threw her hands up. “No! I’m mad at how you don’t see it. You don’t see the way people flirt with you, the way they try to get your attention.”I stared at her, feeling the familiar frustration bubble up inside me. “So what? You want me to stop talking to people?”“Maybe just stop acting like they’re the center of your world,” she snapped.“That’s rich coming from you,” I said, my voice rising. “You act like I’m the only thing in yours.”Her jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought she was going to fire back.But then she looked away, her shoulders slumping.“Maybe we should break up,” she said quietly.My heart sank.The words hit me like a punch to the gut, leaving me breathless.I didn’t respond.I couldn’t.She didn’t take it back.Neither did I.That night, it rained.I stayed in the apartment, staring out the window as the rain fell.I kept waiting for her to come back, to say she didn’t mean it, to say she wanted to fix things.But she didn’t.The hours passed, and the rain kept falling.When I finally went to bed, I told myself that she’d be there in the morning.That we’d talk it out.That everything would be okay.But in the back of my mind, I wasn’t so sure.
Chapter 2: Together, Apart
Bonnie and I always thought living together would be easy. After all, we were in love. How hard could it be to share a tiny apartment, wake up next to each other every morning, and fall asleep in each other’s arms every night?Turns out, it was a lot harder than we had expected.At first, everything felt new and exciting. We were finally on our own... no roommates, no parents, no rules but the ones we made. We stayed up late watching movies, ordered takeout whenever we wanted, and laughed about how we could hear the neighbors arguing through the thin walls.But the honeymoon phase didn’t last.“Bonnie, where’s my lab coat?”She looked up from her sketchbook, her pencil hovering mid-stroke. “What?”“My lab coat,” I repeated, glancing around the living room. “I left it on the back of the chair yesterday, and now it’s gone.”Bonnie shrugged, turning her attention back to her drawing. “I moved it. It was in the way.”“Okay... where did you move it to?”“I don’t know,” she said casually. “Somewhere.”I stared at her, incredulous. “Somewhere?”“Check the closet,” she said, not even looking up.I sighed and headed to the closet, muttering under my breath. Sure enough, my lab coat was stuffed behind a pile of her art supplies. I pulled it out and shook my head, trying to let it go. But these little things were starting to add up.Bonnie’s idea of “tidying up” was shoving everything out of sight. My idea of tidying up was putting things where they belonged. Her art supplies had taken over every surface of the apartment... brushes, paints, pencils, and half-finished sketches were scattered everywhere. The dining table was no longer a dining table... it was a studio. The couch had become her new “inspiration zone.” The bedroom floor? Forget it.“Do you really need all this stuff out?” I asked one afternoon, gesturing to the mess around her.“It’s not stuff. It’s my work,” she said, frowning.“Okay, but do you need all of your work out at the same time?”“Yes,” she replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Bonnie, we don’t even have space to eat dinner. Can’t you put some of it away?”“I’ll clean it up later,” she said, waving me off.“You always say that,” I muttered.She shot me a look, and I decided not to push it. But as I turned away, I could feel the frustration building.It wasn’t just the mess. It was the way she never seemed to take anything seriously.When the rent was due, I was the one who made sure we paid on time. When the bills came in, I was the one who double-checked everything. Bonnie would just hand me her share and say, “You’ve got it under control.”At first, I didn’t mind. I liked being responsible. But after a while, it started to wear on me. I was always the one making lists, planning meals, keeping track of appointments. Bonnie’s carefree attitude, which had once been so charming, now felt more like a burden.And then there were the stray cats.One night, I came home to find a scrawny tabby sitting on the kitchen counter.“Bonnie?” I called out.She appeared in the doorway, holding a can of tuna. “Isn’t he cute?”“What is that?”“A cat,” she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.“Yes, I can see that. Why is it here?”“I found him outside,” she said, setting the tuna down and scratching behind the cat’s ears. “He looked hungry.”“Bonnie, we can’t keep a cat,” I said, exasperated. “We’re barely making ends meet as it is.”“It’s just for a little while,” she said, her tone pleading.“You said that about the last one,” I reminded her. “And it scratched the couch and peed in the closet.”She rolled her eyes. “I’ll take care of him. I promise.”“You always say that,” I muttered, picking up the cat and carrying it toward the door.Bonnie pouted, but she didn’t argue. And as I set the cat outside, I tried to ignore the pang of guilt I felt.Our fights were never about one big thing. They were about a million little things that kept piling up.“Why can’t you just be more organized?” I asked during one of our arguments.“Why can’t you just relax?” she shot back.“Because I have to keep everything together!” I said, throwing up my hands. “You think you can just live in chaos forever?”“Maybe I can,” she snapped. “Maybe that’s who I am.”“Well, maybe I’m not sure I can deal with it anymore,” I said, my voice rising.Her expression faltered, just for a second. Then she crossed her arms and turned away. “Fine. Do what you want.”The fight ended there, but the tension lingered. I went to bed feeling like I’d lost something important, and I wasn’t sure how to get it back.Bonnie was about to graduate, her degree nearly within reach. Meanwhile, I still had a long way to go. We were both in our fourth year, but my Dentistry lectures stretched far into the future. It was a reminder that she was almost done, ready to move on to whatever came next, while I felt stuck in an endless cycle of classes and exams.The difference in where we were, in what we needed from this apartment, added to the unspoken tension between us.I would come home from a long day of lectures, exhausted and buried under coursework, and find Bonnie on the couch sketching, her headphones on, completely in her own world. She didn’t seem to have the same weight on her shoulders. Her deadlines were looser, her projects more fluid. I envied her ability to live so freely, even as it frustrated me.Some nights, it felt like we were living in separate realities. I’d stay up late studying while she fell asleep on the couch, her sketchbook resting on her chest. Other nights, I’d wake up early to get a head start on my notes, only to find her wandering the kitchen in her pajamas, looking for something to snack on before she returned to bed.There were moments when I wondered if we’d made a mistake. I worried that we were too different, that we’d tear each other apart before we could figure out how to make it work.But then, just when it felt like we were on the brink of breaking, she’d do something that reminded me why I loved her.Despite everything, I still loved her.Even when she drove me crazy, even when I felt like I was carrying the weight of our relationship on my shoulders, I couldn’t imagine my life without her.Bonnie had a way of making me laugh when I wanted to cry.She had a way of pulling me out of my own head, of reminding me that life wasn’t just about rules and responsibilities.Later that night, after the argument had simmered down, Bonnie curled up next to me on the couch. She had a way of brushing past the tension, finding the smallest opening to reconnect. It was in the way her knee bumped mine, the way her head rested lightly against my shoulder. Even as her fingers flipped through the pages of her sketchbook, I felt her attention shifting toward me.“I’m sorry,” she said softly, barely lifting her eyes from the page.I looked at her, surprised. “What?”She set the sketchbook down and turned toward me, her expression earnest. “For being a mess. For making things harder than they need to be.” She reached for my hand, her touch warm and tentative. “I know I’m not easy to live with.”I swallowed, the weight of her words pressing against my chest. “I’m not exactly a walk in the park either,” I admitted. “I know I can be... demanding.”She laughed gently. “You can say that again.”For a moment, we just stared at each other, the silence filling with unspoken apologies and promises.And then she was kissing me, and nothing else mattered.
Chapter 3: Jealousy
Bonnie had always struggled with feeling out of place. Even back in high school, she never quite believed she fit into the same world as everyone else.She had this way of acting like she didn’t care... brushing off compliments, rolling her eyes when people said nice things about her... but deep down, it was clear that she never truly believed she was enough.When we first got together, I thought I could help her see herself the way I saw her. I wanted her to understand how bright she was, how talented, how easy it was for me to fall in love with her. But no matter how much I told her she belonged, no matter how often I said she was the only person I needed, her insecurity never fully went away.And as time went on, it began to seep into our relationship in ways I didn’t know how to fix.“Do you ever get tired of people worshipping you?”Bonnie’s voice cut through the quiet one evening as I sat at the kitchen table, reviewing my notes.I looked up, startled. “What?”She leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “You don’t even notice it, do you? How they look at you... how they hang on every word you say.”I set down my pen, frowning. “What are you talking about?”Her jaw tightened, and she averted her gaze. “Never mind.”“No,” I said, standing up. “If something’s bothering you, just tell me.”She laughed, but it wasn’t her usual, carefree laugh. This one was bitter. “I just think it’s funny... you walk into a room, and everyone pays attention. They want to talk to you, laugh with you, be near you. And me? Half the time, they don’t even notice I’m there.”“That’s not true,” I said, moving closer.“It is,” she said sharply, finally looking at me. “Don’t act like you don’t see it. Don’t act like you don’t know how easy everything is for you. You just... fit. Everywhere. With everyone.”“Bonnie,” I began, but she shook her head.“You don’t get it,” she said, her voice quieter now. “You never had to work for people to like you. They just do.”This wasn’t the first time she had said something like that, but it was the first time she sounded so bitter. I didn’t know how to respond, so I just stood there, searching for the right words.“People like you too,” I said finally.She laughed again, shaking her head. “Not like they like you.”I reached for her hand, but she pulled away, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.“Bonnie,” I said softly. “You’re amazing. You know that, right?”“Sure,” she muttered, not meeting my eyes. “I’m amazing. That’s why I always feel like I’m not enough... that’s why I always feel like I’m just... there. Like I don’t belong.”“You belong with me,” I said, my voice steady. “You’re everything I want. No one else matters.”She finally looked up, her eyes searching mine. For a moment, I thought she believed me.For a moment, I thought she might finally understand how much she meant to me.But then she looked away again, and I knew the doubt was still there.Bonnie’s jealousy wasn’t the kind that led to shouting matches or dramatic accusations. It wasn’t the kind of jealousy that made her demand to see my phone or interrogate me about where I’d been.It was quieter than that... subtle, almost insidious.It came out in little remarks that didn’t seem like much at first.“Your study group really likes you, huh?”“They’re always asking for your help.”“You’re the star of the class.”The words themselves weren’t harsh, but the tone was. It was the tone of someone who felt like they could never measure up. Someone who was always standing in the shadow of the person they loved.I tried to reassure her, again and again. I told her she was brilliant. I told her how much I admired her creativity, her passion, her talent. I told her that her art had a way of making me feel things I couldn’t even put into words.But no matter how many times I said it, she never seemed to believe me.Her jealousy didn’t just extend to other people. It extended to everything.She hated how easily I seemed to navigate school. While I kept my notes organized and my assignments submitted on time, she struggled to finish projects by the deadline. While I planned out my week in advance, she stayed up late, scribbling furiously in her sketchbook, trying to make sense of the chaos in her mind.“You always have it all together,” she said one night, her voice tinged with both admiration and frustration.“I don’t,” I said, leaning against the doorframe of our bedroom. “I’m just good at pretending.”“No,” she said, shaking her head. “You don’t pretend. You just... are. Everything comes naturally to you. You always know what to say, what to do. People trust you. They like you. They see you.”“And what do they see when they look at you?” I asked, stepping closer.She shrugged. “A mess.”I reached out, placing a hand on her arm. “You’re not a mess.”She looked at me then, her eyes glassy. “You don’t understand what it’s like... you’ve never felt like you don’t belong. You’ve never felt like you’re not good enough.”Her words hit me like a punch to the chest. I wanted to argue, to tell her she was wrong, to make her see how incredible she was.But the look in her eyes stopped me.In that moment, I realized that her jealousy wasn’t just about me. It wasn’t just about the people who talked to me, or the friends I had, or the way I handled school.It was about her.It was about the way she saw herself.Bonnie had never truly felt like she belonged... not in high school, not now.And no matter how much I loved her, no matter how many times I tried to tell her she was enough, she couldn’t shake that feeling.She had always been the girl who stood on the edge of the crowd, watching everyone else laugh and talk, feeling like she was on the outside looking in.Even with me... even in our home... she couldn’t escape that sense of being out of place.As the days turned into weeks, her jealousy didn’t fade.It lingered in our conversations... in the way she looked at me... in the way she spoke about the people in my life.It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t explosive.But it was always there... a quiet tension that grew stronger each time she felt overlooked, each time she felt like she wasn’t enough.And no matter how much I tried to reassure her, no matter how many times I told her I loved her, I couldn’t make her believe it.I couldn’t make her see herself the way I saw her.She was Bonnie... beautiful, chaotic, passionate Bonnie.She was everything I wanted, everything I needed.But I was starting to realize that no matter how much I loved her, it might never be enough to make her feel like she truly belonged.
Chapter 4: Choosing
The phone rang late in the evening, slicing through the fragile quiet of our apartment.I was at my desk, reviewing notes for my next exam. Bonnie was sprawled on the couch, sketching like she always did. When the phone rang again, she didn’t even flinch.“You going to get that?” I asked without looking up.“It’s probably for you,” she said, not even glancing my way.But when I picked it up and saw the screen, my stomach tightened. I turned to her. “It’s your aunt.”Bonnie sighed and tossed her pencil onto the sketchbook. She took the phone from my hand and brought it to her ear, her voice carefully neutral. “Hello?”I tried to focus on my notes, but her side of the conversation kept pulling my attention. The words “move in,” “Bea,” and “she needs you” drifted through the air.Bonnie’s responses were clipped. “I know, but...” “That’s not what I meant...” “I’ll think about it...”When she hung up, she stared at the phone for a moment before tossing it onto the coffee table.“What’s going on?” I asked, setting my pen down.She leaned back against the couch, crossing her arms. “My aunt wants me to move back home. Says Bea needs me.”I nodded slowly. “Well... does she?”“She doesn’t care about Bea,” Bonnie said, her voice sharp. “She just doesn’t want the responsibility. She’d rather pawn it off on me.”I hesitated. “Is that what she said?”“She didn’t have to,” Bonnie said bitterly. “She’s marrying some guy who doesn’t want us around. He already made it clear I’m not welcome, and now he’s saying Bea’s not welcome either. She’s just trying to get me to take Bea off her hands.”My heart sank. “I didn’t know it was like that.”“Yeah, well,” Bonnie said, rubbing her temples. “It is.”Over the next few days, I could see the weight of the situation pressing down on her. She tried to act normal... sketching, painting, talking about the stray cat she saw outside... but the tension was always there, just under the surface.I didn’t press her for details. I figured she’d bring it up when she was ready. But the longer she stayed silent, the more it started to wear on both of us.“Do you think I should go back?” she asked me one night as we lay in bed.Her voice was soft, almost hesitant, and it caught me off guard.“I don’t know,” I said carefully. “Do you want to go back?”“I don’t know what I want,” she admitted. “I don’t even know what’s best for Bea. What if I go back and it just makes things worse?”“You love her,” I said. “That’s what matters. As long as you’re there for her, she’ll be okay.”Bonnie didn’t respond right away. She stared up at the ceiling, her expression distant.“It’s not just about Bea,” she said finally. “It’s about my aunt. She keeps saying things like I owe it to her. Like it’s my responsibility to fix all of this. But I’m not the one who got us into this mess.”“Then don’t let her guilt you into it,” I said gently. “You have a life here, Bonnie. A life you worked hard for. Don’t let her take that away from you.”The next morning, I woke up to find Bonnie sitting on the couch with her phone in her hand. She was staring at it like she wasn’t sure what to do.“Did she call again?” I asked, sitting down beside her.She nodded. “She keeps saying the same thing... ‘Bea needs you. She’s five now and growing fast. She often looks for you. You should be here.’”“Do you believe her?”Bonnie sighed. “I don’t know. I don’t think she’s lying, but I don’t think she’s saying it because she really wants what’s best for Bea. She’s just trying to make things easier for herself.”“So what are you going to do?”She looked down at the phone, then up at me. “I don’t want to leave,” she said quietly.“Then don’t,” I said.She shook her head. “But what if Bea needs me?”“You can still be there for her,” I said. “Just not in the way your aunt wants. You don’t have to live with them to help Bea.”Bonnie’s eyes met mine, and for the first time in days, I saw a hint of relief in them.“You really think that’s okay?”“I think it’s your life,” I said. “And I think you deserve to live it the way you want to, especially if you're graduating soon.”Her aunt didn’t take the news well.When Bonnie finally told her she wasn’t coming back, the phone calls got louder, more accusatory. I could hear them from the other room... her aunt’s voice rising, the sound of Bonnie trying to explain, trying to keep the peace. But no matter what she said, the arguments always ended the same way.“You’re making a mistake.”“You’re abandoning your family.”“You’ll regret this.”Each time, Bonnie hung up looking more drained than before. I tried to comfort her, but I could tell it still hurt.“Do you think I made the wrong choice?” she asked one night as we sat on the couch.“No,” I said firmly. “I think you made the right choice. And I think your aunt’s just trying to make you feel guilty.”“She’s good at it,” Bonnie said with a bitter laugh.I took her hand in mine. “You’re not abandoning anyone. You’re just choosing a different path. That doesn’t make you a bad person.”She didn’t respond, but the way she squeezed my hand told me she was trying to believe me.In the days that followed, things didn’t get easier. Bonnie’s aunt kept calling, kept pressuring her, kept trying to pull her back into that old life. And even though Bonnie held her ground, I knew it was taking a toll on her.But through it all, she stayed.She stayed in our little apartment, with her messy sketchbooks and her paint-stained hands.She stayed with me, even when it would have been easier to leave.And every time I saw her working on her art, or laughing at one of my dumb jokes, or just sitting beside me on the couch, I knew she had made the right choice.She had chosen me.And I wasn’t going to let her regret it.
Chapter 5: Working Late
Bonnie’s late nights were a trickle at first, the kind of thing you didn’t notice until they became routine.Two or three evenings a week, she wouldn’t come home until well after I’d gone to bed. Then it became four nights. Five. Soon, it felt like every night she was slipping out the door after dinner, returning hours later with dark circles under her eyes and the faint smell of rain clinging to her jacket.“Late again?” I’d ask when I heard her key turn in the lock.“Yeah,” she’d reply. “Lost track of time.”It was the same excuse every time. “Lost track of time.”What kind of project kept her so long, so often?When I pressed her about it, she shrugged off my questions.“Just some personal stuff,” she’d say, avoiding my gaze. “Nothing important.”But it was important. I could see it in the way her shoulders sagged when she thought I wasn’t looking. I could hear it in the quiet sighs she let out when she collapsed onto the couch, her head falling back as though the weight of the world was pressing down on her.At first, I tried to let it go. Bonnie had always been a free spirit. She thrived on impulse, on following her instincts, on chasing inspiration wherever it led her. I told myself that this was no different. She was probably working on a new art project or helping a friend with something important.But as the weeks went on, her lateness became impossible to ignore.I started waiting up for her, sitting on the couch with a book or my notes, pretending I wasn’t worried. I tried to be casual when she walked in the door, but the moment she saw me, her expression would shift.“Why aren’t you in bed?” she’d ask, her tone light but her eyes wary.“Just wanted to see you,” I’d say.She’d smile... a tired, faint thing that never quite reached her eyes... and brush past me. “Well, here I am.”She’d never offer more than that.The late nights weren’t the only thing that changed. Bonnie herself seemed different. Her energy was still there, but it was muted, like she was running on fumes. She stopped joking around as much, stopped humming while she sketched.I couldn’t remember the last time she picked up her guitar.“Are you okay?” I asked her one morning as she stumbled into the kitchen.“Yeah,” she said quickly, reaching for the coffee pot. “Why wouldn’t I be?”“You just seem... distracted,” I said, watching her pour herself a cup.“I’m fine,” she said, not meeting my eyes.But she wasn’t fine.I could see it in the way her hands trembled slightly as she lifted her mug. I could hear it in the way her words came out clipped and hurried, like she was trying to get through the conversation as fast as possible.“Bonnie,” I said softly. “You know you can tell me if something’s wrong.”She finally looked up at me, her smile small and weary. “Nothing’s wrong, Emi. I’m just busy. That’s all.”Busy.That was her new favorite word.Busy with what, she never said.The mornings were when it hit me hardest.Bonnie used to be the one who dragged me out of bed, who teased me about my half-asleep grumbles and made me laugh before I’d even had my coffee. Now, she was the one struggling to get up. She’d groan at the alarm, pull the blanket over her head, and mutter, “Just five more minutes,” like it was a battle she knew she couldn’t win.I’d get ready for class or study in the kitchen, listening to her soft snores and wondering what had changed.What had drained her so much that she couldn’t even joke with me in the mornings anymore?Sometimes, I thought about waking her, sitting her down, and demanding to know what was going on. But something always stopped me.Maybe it was the look in her eyes when she came home late, a look that seemed to say, “Don’t ask. I can’t tell you.”Maybe it was the fear that if I pushed too hard, she’d pull away even more.It wasn’t until one night, long after I’d gone to bed, that I heard her on the phone.Her voice was low, almost a whisper. I couldn’t make out the words at first, but the tone was serious... more serious than I’d ever heard from her before.I crept out of bed and tiptoed toward the living room.The light was off, but I could see her silhouette against the faint glow of her phone screen. She was pacing, her free hand running through her hair.“I just need more time,” she was saying. “I’m working as much as I can.”There was a pause, and then she said, “I know, okay? I know. I’m doing this for them. For all of us.”Them. Us.My chest tightened.She kept her voice low, her words measured, but I could hear the strain in them.She sounded tired. She sounded... scared.When she hung up, I hurried back to bed, pretending to be asleep when she slipped into the room.She didn’t say anything, just climbed under the covers and turned her back to me.The next morning, I tried to bring it up.“Bonnie,” I said as we sat at the table. “About last night...”Her head snapped up, her eyes narrowing slightly. “What about last night?”“I heard you on the phone,” I said carefully. “It sounded serious. What’s going on?”She hesitated, her fingers tightening around her coffee mug. “It’s nothing. Just a friend who needed help.”“You were talking about us,” I said softly. “About doing something for all of us. What did you mean?”She set her mug down and leaned back, crossing her arms. “Emi, I’m fine. Everything’s fine. I’m just... busy. That’s all.”“That’s not all,” I said, trying to keep my voice gentle. “You’re exhausted, Bonnie. You’re not yourself. If something’s wrong, just tell me.”“I don’t need you to fix me,” she said, her voice sharper now.“I’m not trying to fix you,” I said. “I’m trying to understand.”She stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. “There’s nothing to understand. I’m handling it, okay? Just drop it.”And with that, she grabbed her bag and left.I sat there for a long time after she was gone, staring at the empty chair across from me.I wanted to believe her.I wanted to trust that she was handling it, whatever “it” was.But the way she looked at me before she walked out the door... the exhaustion, the frustration, the sadness... it told me that whatever she was dealing with, she wasn’t fine.I just didn’t know how to reach her.I didn’t know how to help when she wouldn’t let me in.
Chapter 6: Accusations and Distance
It was late. The street lights flickered above as I rounded the corner to our apartment building, my feet dragging after a long day of classes and labs.The drizzle from earlier had turned into a steady rain, but I didn’t bother with an umbrella. It wasn’t heavy enough to bother me, and besides, it wasn’t far from home.I was tired, bone deep tired, and all I wanted was to collapse into bed and maybe get a chance to talk to Bonnie. She’d been so distant lately, slipping out at odd hours, coming back exhausted and evasive. Every time I asked her what was going on, she’d give me a vague answer and change the subject.As I approached the building, I saw her before she saw me.Bonnie stood on the curb, a dark figure against the glow of the streetlights. She was talking to someone, no, not just talking. She was leaning toward them, close enough that their faces were only inches apart.My chest tightened as I realized it was View. The rain was falling in streaks, blurring the edges of their faces, but it didn’t hide the way Bonnie leaned close, the way she smiled at her. I’d only ever seen her smile like that before at me.I felt a deep pang of something I didn’t want to name. I stood frozen in the downpour, watching the two of them, unable to move, unable to call out.When Bonnie finally noticed me, her smile disappeared. She straightened, looking startled, guilty even, and that was enough for the questions I’d been suppressing to break free.I walked out, she followed me.When we got home, I couldn’t hold it in any longer.“What’s going on, Bonnie?” I asked, my voice trembling. “You’re out all the time. You’re not telling me the truth. What’s happening?”Bonnie took a step toward me, reaching for my hand. “I’m doing this for us,” she said. “I’m working on something, something good.”“For us?” I interrupted, the hurt rising to my throat. “You think sneaking around and lying to me is good for us?”“I’m not lying!” she said, her voice breaking with frustration. “I’m trying to surprise you. I’m trying to make things better.”“You’re shutting me out,” I said, my voice trembling. “You don’t trust me.”Her words, those simple, quiet words, hit me like a punch to the gut.“I do trust you,” she said. But I could see it in her eyes. It wasn’t enough.“I can’t do this anymore,” I said, my voice breaking as I turned away. I grabbed my bag and my keys.“I’m going to stay at my parents’ for a while.” The words came out harsher than I intended, and before I could take them back, I was already walking out the door.The cool rain hit my face as I stepped into the night. I didn’t look back. I couldn’t. My chest felt hollow, my mind a whirlwind of doubts and fears.For a long time, I stood on my parents’ porch, watching the rain fall and wondering if I’d made a mistake. It wasn’t that I didn’t love Bonnie. I did, more than anything. But the doubt, the frustration, the feeling of being left in the dark, it had grown too heavy to carry alone.I stayed up that night, staring at the ceiling, replaying our fight over and over. The anger was gone now, replaced by an ache that I couldn’t ignore. I hated that I’d accused her. I hated the way I’d let my jealousy, my own insecurities, consume me. I hated that she hadn’t told me the truth, even if she thought she had a good reason.I told myself I’d go back to her, soon. I just needed time. Time to think. Time to figure out what I could say to make it right. But no matter how many words I rehearsed, none of them seemed good enough. None of them seemed to fill the space that had grown between us.I still loved her. That much I knew. But love, it seemed, wasn’t always enough.
Chapter 7: The Calm
I spent most of the morning sitting on the edge of my old bed, staring at my hands. The light filtering through my childhood bedroom window was soft and dim, muted by the rain clouds that hung over the city. The steady patter of droplets against the glass filled the room, reminding me of all the nights I’d fallen asleep to that sound, back when life was simpler, back when Bonnie and I hadn’t yet turned something so perfect into something so fragile.I hadn’t meant to leave things the way I did. The argument replayed in my head for what felt like the hundredth time. The way her face fell when I accused her. The edge of anger in her voice as she defended herself. The sound of the door closing behind me as I left, dragging my bag down the hall without looking back.I wanted to believe I was in the right. I wanted to tell myself that it was okay to feel hurt, okay to step away until I could figure out what to do. But the truth was, I hadn’t tried to understand. I hadn’t given her a chance to explain. I was too caught up in my own feelings, too focused on what I thought she might have done, to see what she was really trying to tell me.We had been fighting more often, but there were so many good moments before that. Moments I had pushed to the back of my mind because it was easier to dwell on the bad. I thought about how she used to surprise me with coffee in the mornings, how she’d sit on the edge of the bed and play her guitar quietly while I studied, her voice soft and soothing. I thought about the way her face lit up when she laughed, and how she used to draw little sketches of me on napkins at the café, saying she’d make me a masterpiece one day.The Bonnie I loved was still in there, hidden beneath the exhaustion and late nights and half truths. I knew she wasn’t perfect, neither of us were, but I couldn’t deny that she had always tried. Tried to make me smile. Tried to show me how much she cared, even when she didn’t have the words to say it.I had been so quick to assume the worst, so quick to let my jealousy and frustration guide me. But as I sat there in the room I used to call home, surrounded by old memories and familiar rain, I started to wonder if I had made a mistake.What if she wasn’t lying? What if she wasn’t sneaking around? What if I had been wrong, so wrapped up in my own insecurities that I couldn’t see her side of things?The thought hit me like a punch to the chest. I had always told Bonnie to be honest with me, to talk to me. But when she tried, when she showed up late, tired, and quiet, I hadn’t listened. I’d jumped to conclusions. I’d accused her.And yet, despite all of it, I still loved her. I loved her enough to want to fix this, to start over, to try again.I needed to tell her that.By mid afternoon, I had made up my mind. I grabbed my bag, stuffing my clothes into it quickly. I was going back. I was going to walk into our apartment, sit down across from her, and tell her everything. That I was sorry for not listening. Sorry for not trusting her. Sorry for the accusations that had driven a wedge between us.I could already see the look of relief in her eyes, the way her shoulders would relax, the way she’d reach for my hand. We’d talk it out, really talk. We’d sort through all the messiness and figure out how to move forward. Together.I left my parents’ house as the rain started to let up. The air smelled clean and damp, the way it always did after a storm. I walked toward the station, my bag slung over my shoulder, rehearsing what I’d say when I saw her.“Bonnie,” I whispered to myself. “I’m sorry. I know I’ve been difficult, but I want to make this work. I love you, and I never want to let this come between us again.”The words felt right. They felt honest. And for the first time in days, I felt a flicker of hope.When my phone rang, I nearly didn’t answer it. I thought about letting it go to voicemail, focusing instead on the speech I had been practicing in my head. But something made me stop, made me reach into my pocket and glance at the screen.I didn’t recognize the number, but I answered anyway.“Hello?”“Is this Emi Thasorn?”“Yes,” I said cautiously.“This is Officer Delgado from the city police department,” he said. “I’m calling about Bonnie Pattraphus.”My heart stopped.“Is she okay?” I asked, my voice trembling.There was a pause, and then he said the words I never thought I’d hear.“There’s been an accident. I’m very sorry to tell you this, but she and her aunt didn’t make it.”
Chapter 8: The Storm
It had been three days since I heard her voice. Three days since I sat beside my bed, clutching my phone and hoping for a call or a message that would never come. The first night, I stayed awake until dawn, replaying our last conversation over and over again, as if I could change the outcome by thinking hard enough. By the third day, my chest felt hollow, my body numb.I forced myself to focus on the practicalities, arranging the funeral, answering calls from people who wanted to know what happened, who offered condolences that felt too shallow and too late. Bonnie’s father called once. His voice was brisk, distant.“When’s the service? Is she gonna be cremated like my sister?” he asked, his tone as flat as if he were scheduling a meeting.“No, she does not like that. It’s on Saturday,” I said quietly.He paused, then added, “Let me know if there’s anything you need me to cover financially.”It was the closest thing to compassion I’d heard from him. Bonnie never talked much about her father, but I knew enough to understand that their relationship was more financial than emotional. He hadn’t been there when she needed him, only throwing money her way as if that could make up for his absence.The days leading up to the funeral were a blur. I kept my head down, focused on making sure everything was perfect. I knew Bonnie wouldn’t have cared about a fancy ceremony, but I couldn’t stand the thought of her memory being treated as anything less than sacred. She deserved that much.View stopped by the day before the service. I hadn’t expected her, and seeing her at the door sent a fresh wave of pain through my chest.“Hey,” she said softly. “I’ve been holding onto something. I think… I think you should have it now.”She handed me a small envelope and a tiny box. I took them both, my hands trembling.“What is this?” I asked.“Bonnie asked me to keep it for her the day you saw us together,” View explained. “She wanted to give it to you on your anniversary.”I opened the envelope first. Inside was a card that read “Happy Anniversary,” and a letter in Bonnie’s handwriting.Emi,By the time you read this, you’ll know why I’ve been distant lately. I know it must have hurt, and I’m so sorry for not telling you sooner. I thought if I worked harder, if I put all my energy into making this gift for you and Bea, then maybe you’d understand how much I love you, how much you mean to me.Do you remember that day on the rooftop, when we promised to follow each other wherever life took us? You had that letter in your hand, the one that said you got into dental school. I was scared, Emi. Scared that you would outgrow me, that you’d move on and leave me behind. But you just smiled and said, “Wherever you go, I’m going.” I believed you then, and I still believe it now. You’ve always been the brave one, the steady one, my sunshine.That’s what I wanted to be for you. Steady. Certain. So I started saving, putting in the late nights and the extra hours. Not because I had to, but because I wanted to. I wanted us to have a real home, a place big enough for all of us, me, you, and Bea. A home that isn’t tiny and chaotic. A place where you could finally breathe, where we could start something new together.I know I’ve messed up in so many ways. I know I’ve made you feel like you were carrying the weight of our relationship alone. And I know I let my own doubts get in the way. But Emi, every step I’ve taken, every decision I’ve made, right or wrong, it’s been for us.I can’t help thinking of that first rain we stood in together after confessing to each other. You hated getting soaked, but you stood there, smiling like it was the best thing in the world. The rainbow even showed up! I didn’t understand it at the time, but now I do. You taught me that sometimes, the most beautiful things come after the hardest storms. You’ve been my rainbow, Emi. You’ve been my hope.So, this is more than just an apology. It’s a promise. A promise that I’ll always love you, even when I don’t get it right. A promise that I’ll keep working toward the life we dreamed of together. And maybe, maybe it’s also a question I’ve been carrying in my heart.Will you marry me, Emi?I love you more than I can ever put into words. You’re my sunshine, my home, my everything.Happy 5th Anniversary my love!Love,
BonnieTears blurred my vision as I read the words.“She bought you a ring,” View said gently. “She used her earnings from the bar as well as her savings from her father for the apartment, it was all for you and Bea. I picked up the ring for her because she didn’t have the time. She was so excited to give it to you.”I opened the box and saw the small silver band with small stones on the sides, simple and beautiful but certainly she remembered how I like it. I could imagine Bonnie’s nervous smile as she handed it to me, her fingers shaking slightly as she slipped it onto my hand. But that moment would never come.There was more. View handed me a piece of paper with an address scribbled on it. “This is the place she was looking at,” she said. “She wanted to surprise you, show you what she’d been working toward.”I stared at the address, my mind spinning. All those late nights, all those times I thought she was avoiding me, she had been doing it for us. For Bea. For our future. She wanted a bigger place, a real home, something that wouldn’t be as tiny or chaotic as our old apartment.I hated myself for not seeing it sooner. For not trusting her.When I visited the apartment the next day, it was empty except for a few pieces of furniture. But on the walls, there were paintings, Bonnie’s paintings. She must have brought them here early, setting them up to see how they’d look. Each one was a piece of her heart, her soul.I ran my fingers over the edge of a canvas, feeling the ridges of the brushstrokes she’d left behind. I could almost hear her voice, almost see her standing there, pointing out the details she wanted to adjust, telling me about the vision she had for the space.In the smallest bedroom, there was a single bed pushed against the wall. A child’s bed. Bonnie had been thinking of Bea, making sure her little sister had a place of her own, a sanctuary where she could feel safe and loved.I sank onto the floor of that room, clutching the letter and ring to my chest. The pain was sharp and endless, tearing through me until I couldn’t hold it back anymore.When I finally left, the rain had started again. It fell softly at first, then grew heavier as I stepped outside. I let it soak through my clothes, my hair, my skin. Bonnie always loved the rain. She said it felt like a fresh start, a way to wash away the heaviness and make everything new.But for me, the rain was a reminder of everything I’d lost. The sound of it made my chest ache, made my heart break all over again. And yet, as I stood there in the downpour, I thought about what Bonnie said about finding beauty in the storms.She wasn’t here anymore. But her love, her hope, her dreams, they were still here. In every raindrop, in every brushstroke, in every memory.I tilted my face to the sky, letting the rain and tears mix, and whispered into the emptiness, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”And in that moment, I realized that Bonnie’s love for the rain wasn’t just about the joy it brought her. It was about believing that even the darkest storms could lead to something beautiful. And though she was gone, her love would stay with me. Always.
Chapter 9: The Sunny Day
The day of Bonnie’s funeral arrived wrapped in an unexpected stillness.The kind of quiet that wasn’t peaceful, but heavy, weighted by things left unsaid, by dreams that never had the chance to unfold.The air was warm, the sky painfully clear, and sunlight streamed down as if nature itself was oblivious to the grief it should have reflected. It felt wrong. It felt cruel. The universe had sent the wrong weather for this day.People gathered at the small hill where the ceremony was being held. Rows of chairs sat neatly in place, all facing a simple wooden casket adorned with fresh white lilies. The flowers looked radiant in the sunlight, their petals almost glowing.Bonnie would have hated that. She would’ve rolled her eyes at the clichéd perfection, whispering a sarcastic remark that would have made me laugh, even now. But I couldn’t laugh. I could barely breathe.Mourners dressed in muted colors shuffled to their seats, heads bowed, their whispers blending into a low hum. Her classmates, her professors, people from the art community, some I recognized, some I didn’t, had all come.There was no choir, no elaborate readings. Just a single violinist, their melody drifting on the breeze. The music was beautiful, achingly so, each note wrapping around the hollow ache in my chest.My parents sat near the front, holding each other’s hands. Bea was next to me, her tiny fingers clutching mine. She looked straight ahead, her face too composed for someone so young. I could feel the questions she wasn’t asking, the emotions she didn’t know how to show. I wanted to comfort her, but I had nothing left to give. My own emotions sat too close to the surface, and I feared that if I spoke, if I even turned to her, I would shatter into pieces right there.The priest spoke softly, his words carrying across the crowd like ripples on still water. He said all the right things, words meant to bring comfort, to remind us of the beauty Bonnie brought into the world. But it didn’t feel like enough. No speech could capture her energy, her spark, the way she lit up a room just by being herself. No eulogy could do justice to the depth of her laughter, the strength of her love, the brightness of her dreams. The words fell short, fading into the air, leaving behind an emptiness I couldn’t fill.When it was my turn to speak, I froze. My heart pounded as I stepped forward, the bright sunlight making it impossible to look directly at the crowd. I had planned to say something, a memory, a piece of her that only I knew, but my mind was blank. All I could think about was the last time we talked. The fight. The anger. The regret. The aching knowledge that I’d never have the chance to fix it.“I,” my voice cracked, and I paused, gripping the edges of the podium until my knuckles turned white.The violinist had stopped, and the silence was deafening. “I don’t know how to put her into words.”The audience waited, their faces sympathetic but distant. How could they know what Bonnie meant to me? How could anyone?“She was… everything,” I said finally, my voice trembling.“She was the kind of person who could take the messiest parts of life and turn them into art. She could make you laugh even when you thought you couldn’t, and she never gave up on the people she loved, even when they let her down.”I stopped, the lump in my throat growing so large I couldn’t speak past it. My chest heaved, and I gripped the podium harder, willing myself not to cry. But the tears came anyway, sliding down my cheeks as I looked down at the casket. I thought about how she would have hated to see me cry, how she would have told me to pull it together and say something amazing, something that would make everyone remember her the way she wanted to be remembered.But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t find the words. All I had were the raw, painful truths of what I’d lost.“I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “I’m so sorry.”I stepped away, letting someone else fill the silence I left behind. I returned to my seat, clutching Bea’s hand, and stared at the casket, willing myself to feel something other than regret. But regret was all there was.The violinist began again as the service drew to a close, the soft, mournful notes rising into the blue sky. The sun still shone, indifferent and bright, as if the world didn’t understand what it had lost. And as the final words were spoken and people began to leave, I stayed behind, unable to move.The sunlight warmed my back, but I felt cold inside. Bonnie would never see another sunset. She would never stand in the rain again, arms open, laughing as it poured down around her. She would never pull me into a storm and tell me that everything was going to be okay. The sunlight felt like a lie. It felt like a cruel reminder that the world would go on without her, even if I couldn’t.I knelt by the grave, my fingers tracing her name on the headstone.“I’m sorry,” I whispered again. “I’ll never stop being sorry.”The wind picked up slightly, brushing my hair across my face, and I thought for a brief, desperate moment that it was her. That she was still here somehow, still watching, still listening. But the feeling passed, and I was left with nothing but the silence of an empty graveyard and the weight of a love that would never leave me, even though she had.
Chapter 10: The First Rain
The apartment had remained mostly untouched since that day. I’d only visited it once before, just to open the door, step inside, and let the reality of it wash over me. It had been too much then, too quiet, too empty, too hers. Even now, as I carried the last of the boxes from the old apartment, I felt a pang of regret. I hadn’t moved these things when she was still here. I hadn’t helped her bring her vision to life. Now it was just me, standing in a space meant for all of us.I unpacked the paintings first. Each one felt like I was unwrapping a memory. The sunlit field, the one she’d sketched one warm summer day when we’d laid in the grass and talked about the future. The stormy sky, with streaks of gold cutting through the gray, a piece she worked on late at night while I studied. I hung them carefully, as if by placing them just right, I could preserve her presence.Bea’s room was exactly as Bonnie had left it. The little bed tucked against the wall, the soft quilt she’d chosen, the shelf she’d started filling with books. I sat down on the bed, running my hand over the fabric. Bonnie had done all of this, quietly, lovingly, thinking about a future I hadn’t even known she was planning.“Why didn’t you tell me?” I whispered, staring at the neatly made bed. “You didn’t have to do it all alone.”I set down one of her sketches, just a quick doodle she’d done on a scrap of paper, a silly caricature of Bea laughing. It didn’t belong in a frame or on the wall. I left it on the bedside table, where it looked like she might come back and finish it.The rain finally came three weeks later. The first real rain since she was gone.It wasn’t a drizzle or a brief shower, it was the kind of rain she loved. It fell in heavy sheets, hammering against the windows, turning the streets into silver rivers. I stood at the balcony door for a long time, watching it come down, feeling my chest tighten.For weeks, the sky had been dry, as if it was waiting, as if it refused to cry until I was ready. But I hadn’t been ready. I wasn’t sure I ever would be.I opened the door and stepped outside.The cold hit me instantly, the drops soaking through my clothes, running down my arms, my face, my hair. My bare feet pressed against the damp balcony floor, and I shivered, but I didn’t go back inside. I couldn’t. I needed this.I tilted my head back, letting the rain hit my cheeks. The sensation was strange, foreign even. I had always hated the rain. It was messy, inconvenient, cold. But now, standing there with the city blurred around me and the storm wrapping itself around my body, I felt something I hadn’t felt in weeks.I felt her.The memories came flooding back. Bonnie laughing, her face upturned to the sky. Her arms stretched wide as if she could catch the storm. Her hand reaching for mine, pulling me into the rain despite my protests.“Come on, Emi,” she’d say, her voice full of joy. “You’ll love it once you stop fighting it.”I hadn’t believed her. Not then. I had grumbled and complained, holding my umbrella tightly, keeping my shoes out of puddles, watching her with a mixture of amusement and confusion.But now, I understood.“I thought I hated the rain,” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the storm. “But I don’t. Not anymore.”The cold water soaked through my clothes, but I didn’t care. For a few minutes, it was like she was there again, laughing beside me, brushing her wet hair out of her face, teasing me for being so uptight.The storm lasted most of the day. I stayed outside longer than I should have, the chill seeping into my bones, my fingers trembling. But I didn’t want to leave. It was the closest I’d felt to her in weeks.When the rain finally began to ease, the clouds started to shift. The first sliver of sunlight broke through, cutting across the balcony in a golden arc. I looked up and saw it, a rainbow, stretching across the sky.It took my breath away. It was so vivid, so clear, as if someone had painted it there just for me. Just for her.My throat tightened as I stared at the colors. It felt like she was here again, her joy and warmth spilling into the world even in her absence. It felt like a message, a gift she’d left behind.“You were right,” I said softly, my voice trembling. “You always said I’d love it.”Tears mixed with the raindrops still clinging to my face. I reached out, as if I could touch the rainbow, as if I could hold onto her just a little longer.“I do love it,” I whispered. “I love it now.”It didn’t take away the pain. It didn’t erase the emptiness she left behind. But it was something. It was her. And in that moment, standing there with the rain and the sunlight and the colors stretching above me, I felt a flicker of something I hadn’t felt in weeks.Hope.
COMPLETED!
#EMIBONNIE
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