Chapter 2: Back When It Was Us
852 Words
The rain was falling lightly outside the cab window, misting the glass with a soft, dreamy blur. Zenobia leaned her head against the window, watching the city slip past in streaks of light and color. New York was always moving, but her mind had wandered somewhere else — somewhere warmer, louder, and more alive.
Home.
Back to the Philippines.
Back to him.
She hated how his face still showed up in her memories without warning — full smile, slightly messy hair, eyes that lit up whenever she rolled hers.
Xavy.
They met in college — and to be honest, she couldn’t stand him at first.
He was loud. Unfiltered. The kind of guy who wore fake eyeglasses “for esthetics” and argued with professors like it was a sport.
She, on the other hand, was composed. Polished. A quiet overachiever who came from a well-known, well-off family and liked everything in its place — including her future.
Their first real conversation was an argument over a group project. He showed up late, coffee in one hand, guitar in the other.
“Do you even care about this presentation?” she snapped.
He’d just grinned and said, “Relax, princess. The real world doesn’t give you grades.”
She hated that smile.
She hated that he called her princess.
And she really hated that he was right about the presentation.
But somehow, in between clashing egos, heated debates, and side comments, something shifted.
Maybe it was the way he always noticed when she was stressed and left silly notes on her laptop.
Maybe it was the time she caught him giving his packed lunch to a hungry classmate without making a big deal out of it.
Or maybe it was the afternoon they both got locked out of the library during finals week and ended up sitting on the grass for hours, talking about dreams, fears, and their shared love for OPM love songs.
By the second semester, they were inseparable. The kind of inseparable that annoyed everyone else.
She was supposed to date someone “at her level,” someone with a business internship and a family name that matched hers.
Xavier? He worked nights at a motorcycle shop and lived with his Lola. His idea of a luxury date was splitting a halo-halo and watching the sunset from his rickety scooter.
But she never laughed harder.
Never felt safer.
Never felt more seen.
Their love was messy and real and beautifully unfiltered.
They had a thing for late-night joyrides — no plans, no maps. Just them, the wind, and whatever random song came up on their playlist.
Zenobia smiled softly at the memory of them singing their hearts out to “Can’t Help Falling in Love” in traffic, windows down, Xavier holding her hand while drumming on the steering wheel.
“Okay, okay, your turn,” he said once, parked on a hill overlooking the city lights. He handed her his beat-up guitar.
She raised an eyebrow. “I can’t play.”
“So? I can’t afford Starbucks. Doesn’t stop me from ordering water and sitting there like I belong.”
She rolled her eyes and strummed a wrong chord. He howled with laughter, then leaned in to kiss her forehead.
“Perfect,” he said. “Just like you.”
They fought for their relationship, especially when her parents started raising their eyebrows.
“He doesn’t have a stable future, Zenobia,” her father warned.
“You’re wasting your potential,” her mother added.
But Zenobia didn’t care.
They had street food dinners and cheap movie nights and dreams that didn’t need permission.
She remembered the day he took her to that little restaurant — the one with the old piano in the corner and string lights overhead. It was their third anniversary.
He held her hands across the table, suddenly serious.
“Maybe I can’t give you the life they expect, Zen… but I’ll spend my whole life trying to give you the love you deserve.”
And then — the little black box.
A simple silver ring.
No grand speech. No audience.
Just them.
The accident happened three weeks later.
The cab stopped. Her phone buzzed. She blinked, snapping out of the memory like waking from a dream.
A tear had slipped down her cheek.
She wiped it quickly. No use crying now. She’d done enough of that.
But her chest ached — not from the pain of losing Xavy, but from remembering how much joy he brought into her life. The laughter, the music, the chaos, the love.
It wasn’t just about losing him.
It was about losing them. The version of herself that existed only with him.
She sighed and looked at the plane ticket in her hand.
“Back to the Philippines,” she whispered. “Back to the past.”
She didn’t know what was waiting for her there — some rich guy her mother swore was her perfect match?
Whoever he was, he wasn’t Xavy.
And that, she knew, would never change.
But maybe… just maybe… the story wasn’t over yet.
- Writer
