Page 5 of Between Here and There

When my uncle offered to bring me to New York to study engineering, I jumped at the chance to escape Manila and build a good career. Leaving Bon behind wasn’t easy, though. She acted like it didn’t bother her, but there were moments I wondered. She’s always been the optimist, the one who could make you believe everything would work out, no matter what. I only hoped that she was able to live well without me. And I held on to that hope the whole time I’m here.

As I walk back to the site, the noise of the machinery welcomes me with open arms like a long-lost friend. The place is busy, with workers in hard hats and bright vests moving around quickly, greeting me as I walk by. Stacks of lumber, steel rods, and other materials are scattered around, waiting to be used. The sun glints off the metal beams, and I can smell the faint scent of concrete.

We’re at the finishing stage now, which sounds like we’re almost done, but everyone in this business knows this is when the real work happens. Every little detail—from the smoothness of the paint to the layout of the tiles—has to be perfect, precise.

After a few rounds of inspection, my phone buzzes with a text from Tanya, a girl I met at a club last week.

TANYA: Can't wait for tonight. We can go to the club near my place. ;)

I almost forgot about our date tonight. Tanya and I are kindred spirits—we both vowed off commitments and embraced the beauty of singlehood in all its glory. I’ve always maintained casual relationships, and I’m always upfront about this with the women I date. It’s usually just for a night, and then we part ways with no strings attached. I make it a point to never go on a second date because that usually involves talking a lot about personal stuff, and I’m just not ready for all that emotion.

Of course, I only go into it if the women I’m seeing are on the same page. I respect their boundaries, just as I expect them to respect mine. I never impose my beliefs on anyone, nor do I allow their expectations to dictate my choices. This approach keeps my life uncomplicated, and my heart unburdened.

That’s the reason why, even though I enjoyed it, I probably will never see the tantrum girl again. Based on a single conversation, I can already tell that she’s not like Tanya and me. How? Well, for starters, she threw a tantrum. Which means she cares a lot about stuff. Plus, she has that kind of intensity that has a way of pulling you in and making you feel. And feelings and I just don’t go well together, so seeing her again would be stepping into dangerous territory. And I’ve always been smart enough to know when to walk away.

My date asked to meet at the bar instead of the club. We enter a cozy, dimly lit space that feels intimate but lively. The bar is lined with polished wood, the kind that looks aged and worn in a way that gives it character. Low-hanging lights provide a glow over the small round tables scattered throughout the room. I could hear the soft clinking of glasses and constant murmurs, but it’s the stage at the far end of the room that immediately draws the eye.

According to Tanya, the music in this bar is amazing. Apparently, the acoustic sets are something to behold. I’m not exactly a fan of acoustic music. Or music, in general. I know it’s weird, but I usually just listen to whatever’s on the radio and don’t exactly have a preference. For me, music has always been more of a background noise, something to fill the silence rather than something to enjoy.

When I was a kid, my parents always fought a lot, thanks to my dad’s alcohol issues and my mom’s overworking. They’re fine now since they’re both old; my dad quit drinking, and my mom retired. But back then, their shouting matches were relentless, echoing through the house with a ferocity that left scars deeper than I’d like to admit.

In those moments, my sister and I would retreat to my room, seeking refuge from the storm. We would close the door, huddle together on my bed, and I would blast music as loud as I could. It wasn’t about enjoying the music—it was about survival.

Even now, as an adult, I find it hard to listen to music without those memories surfacing. It’s like a trigger, a direct link to the past. So, I’ve never developed a real taste for it. I just let the radio play whatever is popular, letting the tunes wash over me without really listening.

As we take our seats and the performance starts, though, all my thoughts about music fly out the window as I hear the most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard in my life.

My eyes dart to the stage to see the source of the wonderful voice, and… holy shit, is that–? I do a double-take and squint my eyes because I can’t believe what I’m seeing.

It’s her. The tantrum-throwing barista from this morning. But gone are the apron and visor. She’s in a sleek black dress, her hair down, cascading in soft waves that glint in the light. Her long, light brown locks reach her elbows, framing her face perfectly.

She is, again, really pretty, but in this setting, as the spotlight illuminates her face and her skin, she looks ethereal. For a moment, I’m captivated by her performance, but it’s her face I’m drawn to because how can a woman bethatbeautiful?

“Okay, Josh, you’re practically drooling,” Tanya says, snapping me back to reality. Right. Tanya. Date. I turn my attention back to her, feeling a bit embarrassed. Tanya’s eyes are twinkling with amusement, clearly having noticed my distraction, but she didn’t seem to mind it.

“Sorry,” I mutter, trying to focus on the conversation. But it’s hard to tear my gaze away from the stage. I try to engage in small talk, nodding and responding as Tanya speaks, but my thoughts keep drifting back to the music and the singer.

As the song comes to an end, the bar erupts into applause, and I join in, clapping enthusiastically. “...don’t you think?” Tanya says after the applause. Shit. I wasn’t really paying attention to her. I look at her, trying to dig into my brain to conjure any residual conversation piece I might have heard this evening.

“You haven’t been listening to me, have you?” Tanya says.

“I’m sorry,” I apologize, genuinely feeling terrible for wasting her time. It’s so unlike me to do something like this.

“Because of her? The singer?” she asks, tilting her head toward the stage. Was I that obvious? There’s probably no point in denying it if she witnessed me gawking. I don’t say anything but simply make a quiet nod.

“I instantly regretted bringing you here the moment she walked out onstage.” She chuckles, trying to brush it off as something light and not the disrespect that it is. “But seriously, though, let’s just do us both a favor and end this date, shall we? I already called my friend, and she’s on her way.” Tanya takes a sip of her drink and tucks a blonde hair strand behind her ear, scanning the bar.

“I really am sorry, Tanya,” I say, apologizing again, feeling a mix of guilt and embarrassment. “I don’t usually get distracted like this.”

She waves her hand dismissively. “It’s cute, really,” Tanya says. “Seeing you undone like this…it’s so different from when I first met you.”

“It’s not cute. And I’m not undone. I’m just… curious because I saw her this morning working a different job, and now she’s here. That’s it, really.” Lie. That’s not it. I’m inexplicably drawn to this woman, and I’ve known it since this morning.

Tanya shakes her head in amusement. “You’ve got it bad, Joshua,” she says with a smirk, draining the last of her drink. “And I’m not here to compete with… that. So, just talk to the damn girl. My friend’s here.” At first, I hesitate to stand, thinking of a way to salvage the evening somehow. But Tanya says again, “Really, it’s fine. It’s a first date, it’s allowed to be terrible. And frankly, we both know there wasn’t going to be a second. Now go, because my friend really is right there.” She points to a woman waving frantically at her from the corner of the bar.

I stand up and walk outside, the cool night air a welcome relief from the awkwardness that has settled at the table. It would be a bad idea to talk to tantrum girl again. I enjoyed talking to her too much this morning, no matter how short that meeting was. But talking to her again tonight—especially after being so blatantly distracted by her—is not part of my keeping-it-casual stance. Nope, I need to stick to my principles. So I’m going home.

But then, as I start walking away, I see her emerge from the bar. Her black dress is now draped in sweaters, something more casual but equally beautiful. Her hair is blowing gently on her back, and my fingers itch with the urge to see if it’s as soft as it looks.

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