Salina

Short story by R,B Jumper

Salina was a native girl who lived beside the endless salt flats, where land met sea in a medieval age ruled by storms. Her days often began with thunder, oil lamps swaying wildly in the wind, and villages left devastated by the night’s fury. Still, Salina endured—harvesting salt under the sun, her spirit as resilient as the earth beneath her feet.

Each night, she was haunted by the same dream. She chased a white chiffon bandana floating through the air, always escaping her grasp. On the seventh night, the dream shifted. As she finally caught the bandana, she slipped and fell—only to be saved by a strong arm around her waist. A muscular man held her firmly, preventing her fall. His face was hidden behind the cloth, leaving only the feeling of safety and fate intertwined.

By day, Elmas a childhood friend of Salina often stole glances at Salina, admiration quietly blooming in his heart. He once stood before a mirror, practicing how to meet her gaze. His mother, Martha, noticed everything.

“Elmas, why not get that flower now that it has fully matured?” she teased, half-joking, half-serious.

Salina, however, remained restless. She questioned why the same man haunted her dreams—until one violent typhoon answered her doubts. Amid roaring waves, she spotted a body washed ashore. The man was wounded, his biceps bleeding, and tied around it was a white chiffon bandana.

Her heart pounded. Her knees weakened. Yet she dragged the man home through the storm. She cleaned his wound, applied medicine, and asked Elmas and Martha to help tend to him.

When he awoke, he introduced himself as Almiro Sante Bañes. At first, Salina sensed danger—an instinctive fear for her womanhood. But days softened her doubts. They worked together in the salt flats, played under the sun, and shared laughter that felt older than time itself. Watching from afar, Elmas felt jealousy quietly take root.

One night, drunk on palm wine and joy, Salina laughed endlessly as she told Almiro a ridiculous story of her father—how he once caught a sea snake in his trousers and later smoked it with drunken companions. Their laughter echoed through the night.

Days later, Almiro sailed out to sea to catch fish. On the third day, a monstrous storm rose. Elmas saw Almiro battling the waves, sinking beneath them. Fear paralyzed him, and he did nothing. Almiro vanished into the sea.

Salina awoke to thunder and ran barefoot along the shore, screaming Almiro’s name. His body was never found. Her grief hollowed her soul.

Time passed. Miguilito Jose, a man she once met during a thanksgiving celebration, visited her again. She remembered what she had once told him:

“I live like the earth—alone, enduring. The moon stays with me, giving light so I survive the dark.”

Far away, on another island, Almiro lived. He had survived—but lost his memory. At his side was Methaia, a frail woman suffering from brain cancer, his past love. The truth of his fate lay in the past: Almiro had fled the city because Methaia’s father opposed their love, demanding she marry a powerful man. One night, he chased Almiro and shot his arm.

At the boat, Methaia tore a white bandana and tightly bound it around Almiro’s bleeding biceps. With trembling hands and tear-filled eyes, she pushed the boat away from the shore, sending him into the sea to save his life—even if it meant losing him forever.

Fate was cruel. Methaia was later abandoned by the powerful man because of her illness.

Years later, Elmas discovered Almiro alive with Methaia. He remembered his promise to Salina—to return Almiro if he ever found him. But Almiro no longer remembered Salina. Their meeting ended in confrontation. Methaia overheard everything. With love and sacrifice, she urged Almiro to return to the island where Salina lived.

The day Almiro returned, Salina was set to marry Miguilito Jose. When her eyes met Almiro’s, memory stirred, fate reclaimed its path, and her heart chose truth over certainty.

Salina chose Almiro.

And beside the salt flats where storms once ruled her life, Salina and Almiro lived on—together, enduring, and finally at peace.

—The End