Chapter 9: Three years, three films, One love
July 1999 – The Country's Sweethearts
By now, Bella Santiago and Enzo Rivera weren't just stars.
They were legends in the making.
Three years had passed since that fateful screen test. Three years of holding hands beneath cameras, of whispered I love yous in dressing rooms, of coffee runs between call times and naps on each other's shoulders during location shoots. Their love team had become a national obsession, the kind that mothers gushed about in sari-sari stores, that tricycle drivers played soundtracks of from dusty cassette decks, that fans lined up overnight just to get a glimpse of at mall shows.
They had made three films since Hearts on Fire, each more successful than the last:
1. Sa Dulo ng Ating Panahon – A period drama that swept the FAMAS Awards.
2. Kung Saan Ka, Doon Ako – A road-trip romance that made people fall in love with the idea of falling in love.
3. Halik sa Tag-ulan – Their highest-grossing film to date, with a kiss scene under pouring rain that fans still reenacted on social media.
But beyond the box office, it was what they had off-camera that truly mattered.
A Glimpse into Forever
They weren't living together—not officially. But Enzo's jackets hung on the back of Bella's dining chairs, and her scented lotion lived in his condo's bathroom. He still knocked on her door every Saturday morning with taho and kissed her cheek before stepping inside like it was their little ritual.
One morning, Bella woke up to find the sun spilling across her kitchen. Enzo was humming in her shirt—yes, her shirt—while frying eggs with a lopsided smile on his face.
"What are you doing in my clothes?" she asked, yawning.
"They're softer," he said, flipping the egg too early and watching it collapse. "Also, you smell better than I do."
She leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "You mean to say you're admitting I'm superior in every way?"
"Yes," he said without missing a beat. "And I'm honored to be your humble, apron-wearing consort."
She laughed so hard, she nearly burned the toast.
Everyday Love
In public, they were poised. Glowing. Elegant. The Bella and Enzo.
But in private?
They played sungka on the living room floor with potato chips as game pieces.
They argued over who got to hold the remote during Maalaala Mo Kaya reruns.
He made up silly songs about her cooking.
She stuck cheesy love notes in his wallet before tapings.
He watched her old commercials and mimicked her childhood shampoo jingle.
She teased him about his "leading man eyebrow raise" and made him do it on command.
And sometimes, just before sleep, they'd talk about what life might look like ten years down the line.
"You think we'll still be making movies?" she asked once, curled up against his chest.
"I think we'll be in our beach house," he said. "You'll still steal my shirts. I'll still burn the eggs. But yeah—maybe one movie a year. Just enough to remind the world."
"Of what?"
"That we still got it."
Fans and Fairytales
No matter how ordinary their private life felt, the world never stopped watching.
At airports, fans screamed when they spotted them.
At restaurants, strangers sent free desserts with notes: For our favorite love team—thank you for believing in forever.
Billboards lit up EDSA with their faces every February.
Even jeepneys had their names painted on the back—next to hearts and stars.
They had become the face of real-life romance.
Still, Bella sometimes found herself wondering if the spotlight would ever dim what they had.
One day, during a break between takes on their third film, she watched Enzo laughing with the crew. He looked relaxed, unguarded, joking about his "ugly crying face" in the last scene. Something in her heart stilled.
She pulled him aside. "Do you ever wish we were just...normal?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Define normal."
"No cameras. No interviews. Just us. On some farm, maybe. Or owning a bakery."
He smiled, tugging her close. "You bake, I wash dishes?"
"I run the register, you write poems on paper bags."
He kissed the top of her head. "Then let's do it. Maybe not today. Maybe not next year. But one day—when the claps fade and the lights go off—we'll go somewhere only we know."
The Anniversary That Wasn't Meant to Be a Party
For their third anniversary, they planned no fanfare. No red carpet. No Instagram post.
Just the two of them, in a small bed-and-breakfast in Batangas. A place by the water. Quiet. No paparazzi. Just birdsong and sea air.
Enzo packed a picnic. Bella brought a book of poetry. They sat on a blanket beneath the trees, ate fried chicken and mangoes, and watched the horizon darken with dusk.
He took her hand, intertwining their fingers.
"Three years," he whispered.
"Only?" she said. "Feels like I've known you all my life."
He pulled out a folded piece of paper. A handwritten list.
"Twenty-one reasons I still fall in love with you every day."
She blinked.
He started reading.
"You laugh with your whole body. You cry during commercials. You still don't know how to fold a fitted sheet. You look good in all my clothes. You talk to plants. You never let me leave without a kiss…"
By the fifteenth item, she was crying.
By the end, she kissed him like the world had slowed just for them.
And the World Watched On
They weren't just a love team anymore.
They were a love story in real time. A chapter unfolding every time they held hands. Every time they chose each other—not because the cameras demanded it, but because it was the only thing that ever made sense.
And though the industry would always have newer faces, newer pairs, Bella and Enzo had already become part of something larger.
A generation's memory.
The kind of love people passed down through stories.
They weren't finished—not even close.
But even if all their scripts disappeared tomorrow…
They knew exactly how to keep the story going.
One glance.
One laugh.
One quiet promise between two people who never stopped believing in forever.