BongLeni Anthologies

Stromed In

The rain lashed against the corrugated roof with relentless fury, each droplet striking like a drumbeat—rhythmic yet chaotic, as if nature itself had lost its temper. Wind whistled mournfully through the warped wooden windows, slipping through the cracks like a ghost, and the damp air was thick with the scent of wet soil and ancient wood.

Shadows cloaked the small room, illuminated only by the flickering glow of a kerosene lantern perched on a low, rickety table, casting wavering patterns that danced across the walls. Bongbong shifted on the cold concrete floor, pulling the scratchy wool blanket tighter around his shoulders.

He glanced at his watch—2:30 AM. The storm outside roared with unchecked rage, hammering relentlessly against the small rest house where they had sought refuge. No electricity, no signal. Just the rain, the wind, and the two of them—Bongbong Marcos and Leni Robredo—political rivals marooned together in the middle of nowhere. His gaze drifted across the dim room, settling on Leni, who sat cross-legged on a fraying woven mat.

The faint blue glow from her phone illuminated her face, highlighting the tension in her brow as she frowned at the blank screen. No messages.

No updates.

Just dead silence from the outside world. She sighed, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear, her expression a mixture of frustration and resignation.

"What a mess," Bongbong muttered, more to himself than to her, but the words hung heavy in the air between them, thick with unspoken tension.

"You could say that again," Leni replied without looking up, her voice laced with weary sarcasm.

She stretched her legs, trying to find comfort on the hard floor, but the chill had seeped into her bones, making her shiver. It had been a long day of relief efforts—longer than either of them had anticipated.

They'd been scheduled to attend separate outreach events in neighboring barangays, but the weather had taken a sudden turn for the worse.

With roads blocked and staff scrambling for shelter, they had found themselves trapped at this remote rest house—two unlikely companions beneath the same leaking roof.

The irony wasn't lost on either of them: two politicians with years of public tension between them, now sharing a cramped room devoid of aides to filter their words or cameras to capture their every glance.

Stripped of the pomp and protocol, they were just two people—cold, tired, and forced to endure each other's company in silence. Bongbong leaned against the cracked window frame, watching sheets of rain blur the landscape outside.

"Bet this wasn't in the itinerary," he quipped, attempting to inject some levity into the situation.

"Nope." Leni's lips twitched, though her focus remained on her phone.

"But hey, at least we're not being grilled by the press right now." He chuckled softly, the sound genuine despite the circumstances.

"That's one way to look at it." For a moment, silence enveloped them, broken only by the drumming rain and the occasional groan of the wind. This wasn't their first time in awkward proximity, but it felt different—less performative, more... real.

Without microphones or spotlights, there were no soundbites to sharpen, no strategies to follow. Just them, marooned in the heart of a storm. Leni drew her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. Her voice, soft yet deliberate, broke the quiet.

"You didn't have to come today, you know." Bongbong straightened slightly, his blanket slipping off one shoulder.

"I don't abandon commitments," he said, his tone sharp, almost defensive.