Flowers flutter alongside the winged pollen and gliding buds as they race in the wind. Love is in the air, in the swaying trees, the ground below and the sky above.
Yet, this couldn’t be any more problematic.
At the end of the street sits a blue house, with peeling paint that’s almost a dull grey—not unused, per se, but neglected, thrown aside—and windows that peer out like eyes. The surrounding shrubs are a superficial green—the leaves look seconds away from flaking off and the grass is not much more than thin decoration. If you look at the tiles covering the roof at the right angle, their chipped edges quickly become apparent. The terracotta burns slowly, its colour darken under the sun, year after year before turning a dead brown.
The steel of the door’s handle stares back and Bonnie wants nothing more than to take the foundations of that old house apart, to dig out the support and tear the insulative lining like pieces of tissue paper. She wants to dig her nails into the metal accents of the very windows staring at her and break the glass armour that blocks her out. She wants to turn the wooden door into splitters and sawdust.
Bonnie stands there, at the entrance. Today will be the day.
She walks away moments later.
///
Bonnie thought she was better than this. But the fault lay in the way she approached this problem, the way she approached the door. It was stupid of her, and plain wrong, to go in so early and without a plan. She needed to do this right—it’s the least that Valen deserved.
Wasn’t she what he deserved?
“Is this really what you want?” her sister had asked her on her way out of the house. She had leant against the door frame, blocking Bonnie’s path outside. Her hair had framed her face, and the look in her eyes, despite how she tried to disguise it under a calm curiosity, was pitiful.
‘Is there a place for you here—in there, by his side? Is this what you need?’ That’s what Casey meant, but in the end, she had stepped aside, and let Bonnie through.
“It’s not about what I want.” It’s never about what I want, Bonnie thinks. Those words try to claw their way out of her mouth but remain unspoken. Bonnie continues to rehearse the same thing to Casey again and again until she understands; “It’s what he does”.
Her sister watched her walk away, as vigilant and interfering as always.
On her way to the little house down the road, Bonnie stops at a florist boutique and fusses over what she should get Valen. Some orchids or tulips might be nice, or sharp lilies, which had always gone well with his complexion.
Bonnie never enjoys going there. The pure amount of pollen flying everywhere always makes her allergies act up.
During those days, her eyes would itch, but whenever she and Valenhad come here together–hand in hand—he would gently wipe those tears from her face. His fingers would brush against her skin, and for a moment she would know what it meant to be loved. Of course, when she finally came back home, her chest would feel raw, her skin would be ripped red, her lungs heaving. For a few days, it’d hurt just to breathe.
Bonnie smiles at the memory. It’s one of her favourites.
Sometimes in the scalding heat of the sun and the veil of pollen, Bonnie would feel her mind playing tricks on her; the withering vines would tangle themselves around her legs. The flowers would spread everywhere, pollen spraying. Pressure in her lungs, weighing down on her every breath and…
Well, it’s good that the only time she ever went was for Valen. Always and anything for him. Bonnie feels the pangs of a headache coming in. Even the look of the gnarly decoration burnt her retinas. The air inside is heavy and humid. The very conditions needed to keep those precious flowers alive—to make sure they thrived always makes her sick.
Aisles of misplaced and correctly placed flora stretched out in front of her, and the only thing that is trapping her here is her own indecision and misplaced sense of nostalgia.
Nostalgia, Bonnie thinks, feeling the word out in her mind. She remembers it well, a bittersweet feeling that follows her a lot these days. It is the sense of everything she has lost, everything that she once had.
It means a sentimental longing for the past, Valen had told her, a common theme in the broken prose he called his poetry. He had always hated the way she had flipped through his books, scanning every word he would write and reading into each stroke of his art. He would yell at her for her dirty habit of pushing her head into things that never involved her. Bonnie always thought that was a bit rich considering he’d once been caught naked in her cousin Dani’s closet—though she was pretty sure it wasn’t on purpose? It was strange, the way Valen and Dani had looked around, avoiding her eyes.
Bonnie would admit that was only one time, and that was at the very beginning of their relationship when they were fifteen, maybe sixteen? It all blurs together. But either way, it’s not like Valen could really lecture her about hygiene.
Bonnie always found it a bit funny—if not a bit immature—even if Casey had called it something worse. What was it again? ‘Infidelity’? Bonnie didn’t like the sound of that word very much. Disloyalty isn’t even a step up from betrayal, the sting that comes from someone you held so close to you abandoning what you had.
But that’s not a problem that she has to deal with right now. Valen had made some mistakes in the past, sure, but Bonnie has always believed in letting bygones be bygones. Besides, he’s been a bit sick lately, and they haven’t been able to talk in ages.
Reminiscing, commemorating—these are all synonyms of ‘nostalgia’ but none of them felt quite right either. Bonnie hates the implications of it all, that what she and Valen had could be so temporary, like the plants that rot outside the boutique, forgotten.
Those times aren’t gone. Not yet. But they might be—if she gives up on them, on him, and so Bonnie grabs the first plastic-wrapped bouquet she can get her filthy hands on, and pushes the pull door on her way out.
Outside Valen’s house is a picturesque park, one they would spend hours in. They’d sit on the seats, and Valen would see how long he could humour Bonnie’s complaining. Nodding at the right times and offering noncommittal hums whenever Bonnie would talk about her catfight with Elane. It was so sweet, really—how much he would try to pay attention, enduring suffering for someone else. That’s what love is, right? It has only been only a few months, but it feels so long ago—separation really does make the heart grow fonder.
Bonnie almost swoons at the thought, sweeping aside some of the leaves and pine cones that had fallen onto the bench. She lays out the rest of her gifts: a box of chocolates, some incense—lavender and vanilla, his favourite—and a card she spent hours making. It had gotten a bit creased around the corners in her tote bag, but the painted green of the forest in the front was as vibrant as the day she drew it.
In her pocket, the pen that Valen gifted her for her birthday weighs heavy. Bonnie fiddles with the small butterfly charm on the end, a soft pink.
“Your favourite colour,” She remembers Valen almost proudly saying, “You’re lucky that was the last one left!”, before turning back to taking care of his flowers. A spark of satisfaction, before fading back to indifference. Bonnie had clung to the look in his eyes, and it was almost enough to ignore how he had given it to her two weeks too late.
Bonnie sighs. Their relationship has always had its ups and downs. She, at least, has the self-awareness to admit she’s not the most observant person in the world. That title is reserved for her sister, after all.
It’s almost unfair, Bonnie confesses to herself. In the dark of night, in between her constant visits to Valen’s house—although this is the first time she’s gone to the trouble of getting something for him—Bonnie hates the way that Casey sees what she never can. Even Dani, all bubbly and bright, had an edge underneath. But Bonnie? Brainless Bonnie, who has never been able to shake her nickname since primary?
Honestly, Bonnie knows the way everyone around her has been giving her pitying glances. They directed their disapproval of her visits to him. But to Bonnie, love was about devotion. It is meant to take care of, to help, to give to those you cherish.
That’s why Bonnie never took off the flower crowns Valen had braided her when he was in a good mood, or the necklace that they found together in the thrift shop. The only thing that had concerned her was the way the flowers would rot in her hair, and that even after washing the petals and pollen off, she would wake up in hives around her neck for days on end. But she didn’t mind. They were from him.
Casey had her intelligence whilst Dani had her pretty face, but Bonnie? Bonnie was persistent. She would hold on as tightly as she had to even if it hurt. Even if it left bruises. Anything to keep the ones she loves—to make sure they stay. What else can she do?
During the time Before, before Valen, Bonnie had felt like a dead weight, a prop in the very stage play of her life. Her value was measured in how much she would keep her head down and not bother anyone.. That’s what her ‘friends’ liked, the ones who scoffed when passed. That’s part of what Casey liked, too, especially after her blunt comments had pissed someone off and Bonnie had to do damage control. Not that Bonnie blames her. That’s just how Casey is, and honestly, Bonnie wouldn’t change it for the world. Funny, when Bonnie can say that her best friend is the sister who only talks to her to break Valen and her up. If Bonnie were the type to be petty, she’d call it jealousy. But she’s not. This is the way Casey shows her love, and Bonnie can’t be mad for long.
Bonnie takes a breath. She can’t stall forever. She shifts her grip on the pen and puts it on paper.
///
“Valen, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, everything just—” the sweat on her palm almost stains the page, fingers shaking, “—got out of hand, didn’t it?” Bonnie wanted to laugh a little, but this isn’t about her. This is about Valen. It always is. He was the soil that she grew from, the sunlight that beamed on her whenever she felt small and cold.
“We haven’t talked in two months.” Fifty-six days, exactly. Bonnie knows, since she’s been counting every day, like a child ripping off petals of a flower, singing does-he-love-me-or-love-me-not.
“Sometimes, when I feel brave, I knock on your door. But it’s like no one’s there anymore,” Bonnie remembers asking Casey: Where is Valen?
As clever as she is, all Casey replied with was a blank glance in her direction. Casey would then shake her head slightly before going back to what she was doing.
“I know that you’re probably ignoring me but—” The lines on the page are violent, pulsing with the desperation that Bonnie infuses it with. “But I want to move past it. I love you, and we’ve been through worse together. Always together, me and you–” Bonnie sharply strikes through that last sentence, once, twice. Then she writes: “I love you, and I’m so so sorry. I hope you come back soon. I hope we can go back to what we had.” Back to me, Bonnie thinks, where you’re supposed to be.
Bonnie simply smiles at the sky, and signs the letter,
Always yours,
Bonnie.
///
The twisting path between the park and Valen’s house is deserted. It’s almost eerie, empty and existing only in this space between the bright sun and looming shade. All the better for Bonnie to walk through.
Maybe it’s not enough. Maybe nothing is. But Bonnie is willing to compromise—ha! She’s not going to lie to herself. Anything, anything, everything—whatever it takes. Does everything have to be so complicated? Is love alone not enough? Why do they have to argue like cats and dogs, over nothing at all?
It used to make her mad, but time has made her accepting, and willing. Bonnie echoes the words she had told Casey—it’s not about what she wants. It’s for Valen. That’s why she needs to take the first step —again. Why does she always have to take the first step? The answer is simple: what else can she do?
Bonnie stands there, at the entrance.
Today will be the day.
(Those are the words she’s been repeating for weeks now.)
She walks away moments later.
Writer – Areeba Zabrina
Editor – Jessica Dai
Artist – Daniel Wang
–May 2025–
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