BongLeni Anthologies

Goodbye, For Now

The airport terminal hummed with an undercurrent of anticipation, a quiet energy that ebbed and flowed with the travelers drifting past in every direction. Announcements rolled over the loudspeaker, their words blurring into the soft rumble of movement, punctuated by the clinking of luggage wheels and the occasional laugh. Sunlight poured in through the massive glass walls, stretching in golden pools across the sleek, polished floor, making the terminal feel like a liminal space—somewhere between here and there, a place where time felt strangely suspended.

By the window, Bongbong stood, his posture composed yet carrying a weight of quiet strength, his gaze steady but softened as he looked at Leni. She was more than his First Lady; she was, unspokenly, his anchor, the silent constant amidst the tides of duty and expectation. They shared a moment, standing close enough to touch but choosing instead to let the silence speak, savoring the shared breath before the separation.

The afternoon light held a certain tenderness, wrapping around them like a warm, invisible embrace. It softened the cool, metallic sterility of the terminal, casting long shadows that seemed to echo the complexities in their own lives. To a passerby, they might look like any ordinary couple lingering before a goodbye, but Bongbong and Leni knew that their exchanges held layers that others might never see—a depth of understanding and acceptance that had been hard-won over years of sacrifice and shared burdens.

"Are you ready?" Leni's voice was almost a whisper, a question softened by both love and a hint of apprehension. Her words floated between them, carrying the unspoken weight of her own heart, a silent wish that things might, just once, be easier.

Bongbong held her gaze, his face unreadable yet open, his dark eyes reflecting something quiet yet resolute. He nodded slowly. "I have to be." His voice was calm, but a thread of weariness wove through the words.

They both smiled, a bittersweet curve of lips that hinted at the many goodbyes they'd shared in places just like this. It was a smile that knew the cost of duty, a smile that had long accepted its unyielding demands. But the silence between them was anything but empty; it was filled with a bond, a partnership that didn't rely on grand gestures or words. For Leni, being by his side meant being a quiet strength, an unshakeable support. Her presence had come to be as constant as the rhythmic ticking of the airport clocks, as grounding as the terminal itself.

They knew that, in each goodbye, there was a tacit promise of return, a fragile yet unbreakable vow. For Leni, watching him leave was an act of faith; for Bongbong, seeing her waiting when he returned was a gift, an assurance that someone understood. And though every separation left a small ache, a quiet yearning that neither of them dared speak, it was also a reminder that in their shared understanding, they had found something rare, something they held onto even in the briefest of moments.

"You know," she said, breaking into a smile that softened the weight of the moment, "sometimes I think you must know every corner of every airport in the world by now."

Bongbong chuckled, a gentle, warm sound that seemed to ease the tension hovering between them. "I probably do," he said, his voice filled with the quiet resignation of someone well-accustomed to constant farewells. "The airports start to look the same after a while, but not the goodbyes." His gaze lingered on her, his tone turning wistful, as if he wanted to say something more but held it back.

Leni's smile faltered slightly, her fingers twitching as though they had a mind of their own, as if they wanted nothing more than to reach out and bridge the fragile space between them. Yet, she stilled herself, letting her hands fall, hiding her longing within her composed expression. "I suppose that's both a blessing and a curse," she murmured, her words a thin veil over her own heartache.

A shadow crossed Bongbong's face as he cast a glance toward the gate, the symbol of yet another departure. The years spent in service, the countless hours dedicated to causes greater than himself, had taken a toll, carving lines of both resilience and weariness into his features. In moments like this, he felt every mile of distance he'd put between himself and the ones he loved—Leni most of all.