Chapter 7: After the Lights Fade
June 1996 – Off-Camera, On-Heart
The last episode of Hearts on Fire aired on a rainy Sunday night.
Viewers across the country paused their dinners, crowded around TV sets, and held their breath as Celeste and Joaquin shared one final embrace. The hashtag #BellaEnzoFinale trended for hours, beating even local election coverage.
In living rooms, fans wept. In bars, cheers erupted. Across provinces, billboards lit up with thank-yous.
But for Bella and Enzo, the moment was quieter.
They sat cross-legged on the floor of Bella's condo, surrounded by pizza boxes and throw pillows, watching their own show in worn-out shirts and mismatched socks.
When the credits rolled, Bella leaned into him, cheek against his shoulder.
"That's it," she murmured. "It's over."
Enzo tilted his head onto hers. "No. That was just the show."
She looked up. "What happens next?"
He smiled. "We find out."
Ordinary Days, Extraordinary Us
They had no script now. No cues. No camera angles.
But they had routines.
Enzo started picking Bella up for morning coffee runs—even when they didn't have tapings. He brought her taho when she worked late. She stocked his favorite banana chips in her pantry without telling him.
She stole his jackets.
He pretended not to notice—until he started leaving them on her chair on purpose.
One day, they went to the supermarket together. No disguises. No handlers. Just the two of them, arguing in Aisle 3 over what kind of instant noodles were superior.
"I'm telling you, the spicy beef one has more depth," Enzo said, arms crossed.
Bella raised an eyebrow. "Depth? It's a noodle, not an Oscar contender."
"You're just scared of flavor."
She grabbed a pack, tossed it into the cart. "Scared? Please. I act for a living. I can handle drama."
He grinned. "Good. Because I think I'm falling in love with you in a grocery store."
She blinked.
Then she laughed—light and real. "Say that again. I want to remember it."
Late Nights and Love Notes
Some nights, when Manila was quiet and the sky dark enough to hide them, Enzo would drive them up to Antipolo. They'd sit on the hood of his car, looking at the city lights.
He'd bring his guitar. She'd bring her stories.
"I used to sneak onto my grandmother's film sets," Bella said once. "Pretend I was the lead."
"Bet you were better than whoever it was."
"She always said I was too emotional. Too soft."
He took her hand. "She was wrong. That softness? That's the part that stays."
Another night, she found a folded note in her book. Enzo had slipped it in while she was on a call.
"For the record: I like your sleepy face. I like your bossy moods. I like your laugh when it cracks in the middle. I like you. Every version."
She never told him—but she read that note every night before bed.
A Weekend Escape – Secret in San Juan
They slipped away for a weekend. No press. No phones. Just a small beach cottage in San Juan, La Union.
Bella wore his shirt over her swimsuit. Enzo burned his nose the first day.
They made breakfast together—burnt eggs, overcooked rice, and laughter that echoed through the bamboo walls.
They played cards by candlelight during a brownout. They slow-danced to the sound of waves.
At sunset, they walked along the shore. She picked up seashells. He picked up her hand.
"I used to think love had to be fireworks," Bella said.
"And now?"
"Now I think it's quiet. Steady. Like the tide."
He nodded. "Then let's keep the tide coming."
Returning Home – A New Kind of Spotlight
When they returned to Manila, a few fans spotted them at the airport. Photos surfaced.
But the headlines weren't scandalous this time.
"Bella and Enzo: Still Holding Hands Off-Camera."
"Nation's Favorite Love Team? Or Just Real Love?"
Neither of them gave a statement.
They didn't need to.
Because behind the doors of their shared silence, in the notes tucked into books, the late-night drives, the quiet hand-holds and stolen laughter—they were writing their own story.
Not for ratings.
Not for fans.
Just for them.
One Night – A Soft Confession
It was nearly midnight. Bella had fallen asleep on his couch, a script in her lap, a cup of chamomile tea untouched beside her.
Enzo turned off the TV, placed a blanket over her, and knelt by the couch.
He watched her sleep for a long time, brushing a curl from her cheek.
Then, in the gentlest voice, he whispered:
"I love you, Bella. Not as Celeste. Not as the country's sweetheart. Just you. And I'll keep loving you, even when no one's watching."
She stirred, eyelids fluttering open.
"You meant that?" she asked groggily.
He smiled, a little caught.
"I did."
She pulled him up beside her, tucked her head against his chest.
"Then don't stop. Ever."
And in the quiet dark, without an audience, without a script, they kissed—slow and sure.
It wasn't the start of a new season.
It was the beginning of forever.