Listening to the instructor at Bondi Surf Bathers Life Saving Club , I glanced over at one of the other students, Jimmy, and shook my head.
His eyes drifted across the beach and it was obvious he wasn’t taking in a word the instructor was saying.
He’s never going to pass if he doesn’t start paying attention, I thought.
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Both Jimmy, 46, and I were doing the Bronze Medallion course so we could become patrolling members.
Jimmy had already attempted the course once before, but after injuring his wrist, he hadn’t been able to complete the final assessment.
Because of that, he seemed to think he already knew it all.
While he wasn’t the best listener in theory sessions, he excelled in the water.
Jimmy had been surfing his whole life and often gave me helpful tips about boards, confidence and how to handle the ocean.
“I actually moved to Bondi after going to a surf camp in Bali and catching the surfing bug,” I told him one day.
“I can relate,” he said witha smile.
Over the eight-week course, the two of us fell into an easy friendship.
By early December 2025, we both passed. Not long afterwards, Jimmy messaged me.
Congratulations! We should celebrate soon.
When we realised the surf club Christmas party was on Sunday, December 14 , it felt like the perfect excuse.
There wasn’t any romantic spark between us. I was just happy to have made a friend.
That evening, I went to his place for a drink beforehand, as he lived just a street away.
We sat out in his garden chatting with one of his mates, enjoying the warm summer air.
Glancing at my phone, I realised it was already 6.36pm and happy hour at the club finished at seven.
“We’d better get going,”I laughed.
The surf club was only a five-minute walk away.
We were about 10m from the side entrance when loud bangs suddenly shattered the evening air.
At first, I assumed someone nearby was setting off fireworks. Then Jimmy grabbed my arm and yanked me to the ground.
We crouched beside a bin and the low concrete wall near the stairs.
“What’s going on?” I asked, my heart pounding.
“That’s gunshots,” Jimmy said, his face pale.
Listening more carefully, I could hear people screaming.
A cold wave of fear washed over me. Jimmy ran towardsa nearby police officer, then came back.
“There’s a gunman on the bridge,” he said urgently.
My instinct was to run inside to safety.
But Jimmy turned and ran back towards the danger.
Moments later, he burst into the club.
“They need supplies,” he said, grabbing medical equipment before rushing back out.
For a split second, I froze.
Then I looked outside.
People who had been shot were lying on the ground, covered in blood.
Something inside me shifted. In that instant, my lifesaving training took over.
Without thinking, I ran back outside.
I moved from person to person, doing what I could.
Applying pressure to wounds, speaking softly to people who were terrified and trying to keep them conscious. Trying to keep them alive.
It was chaotic and confronting, but there was no time to think. All I could focus on was keeping as many people alive as possible.
Luckily, the gunshots had stopped.
At one point, Jimmy and I worked side by side to help a badly injured man.
“Stay with us,” I told him gently. “You’re not alone.”
Once we’d managed to stem the bleeding, I found a paramedic.
“How long until an ambulance arrives?” I asked.
“I’m not sure,” they said. “It could be hours.”
My chest tightened.
“Can we drive him to hospital ourselves?” I asked.
After a quick discussion, the chief commander agreed.
Jimmy ran to get his car while I stayed with the man, keeping pressure on his wounds and talking to him so he wouldn’t slip away.
Minutes later, we lifted him into the back and set off.
“Hold on, mate,” Jimmy said. “We’re going to get you the help you need.”
As we drove, sirens echoing in the distance, the adrenaline began to ebb just enough for reality to creep in.
“My phone,” I said suddenly. “I left everything behind.”
My stomach dropped.
“My family are going to be worried sick,” I said.
Jimmy handed me his phone without hesitation.
And in the most surreal moment, he spoke to my family for the very first time – not over dinner, but in the middle of a crisis, as we rushed someone to hospital.
“I’m so glad you’re okay,” my mum said. “Stay safe.”
At the emergency department, the injured man was rushed straight in.
Jimmy and I stood there for a moment, trying to process what had just happened.
When we returned to Bondi, police tape stretched across the streets and no-one was allowed in.
“Luckily, I have a spare key in a lockbox,” I said quietly.
That night, we sat together watching the news as the full scale of the tragedy unfolded.
Two gunmen had opened fire on a crowd near Archer Park during a Hanukkah celebration.
Fifteen people were killed and more than 40 injured
The victims ranged from a young child to elderly community members.
It was devastating.
One of the alleged gunmen was killed at the scene by police. The other was shot, seriously injured, taken to hospital and then arrested and charged.
In the days that followed, Bondi changed. Vigils were held. Flowers lined the streets. Strangers held each other and cried.
Jimmy and I attended several community events together. Spending time together in the aftermath of something so traumatic created a bond neither of us expected.
There was a quiet understanding between us – the kind that only comes from sharing something intense.
Two nights after the shootings, we were cooking dinner at a friend’s house.
For the first time, we laughed. Really laughed.
Our conversation turned playful, and suddenly I felta shift in our relationship.
There was something between us that hadn’t been there before.
At the end of the night, Jimmy looked at me like he might kiss me. But we both hesitated, unsure.
So instead, we shared an awkward hug and went our separate ways.
Wait… did that actually just happen? I thought.
I wondered if I’d made the whole thing up in my head – but the next day, he didn’t leave it to chance.
We were sitting in my car outside the Botanic Gardens when he turned to me.
“Can I kiss you?” he asked.
I laughed, surprised byhow quickly everything had changed.
“I didn’t see this coming,” I said.
This time, neither of us hesitated.
From then on, it was a whirlwind.
After everything we’d seen, everything we’d felt, it was impossible to ignore how fragile life was.
I’d planned to go away for Christmas, but suddenly I didn’t want to leave.
My apartment had already been booked on Airbnb and had been for six months.
“You can’t cancel that,” Jimmy said. “Stay at mine.”
He’d been planning to go away, too, but only left for a couple of days. By Boxing Day, we were living together.
It all happened so naturally.
We slipped into a routine with ease and quickly found ourselves talking about the future – marriage, kids, the kind of life we wanted.
To take our minds off everything, we booked a trip to Mexico.
One night, I was using Jimmy’s ChatGPT to organise an itinerary when a list popped up suggesting the best places to propose.
“Why is it showing me proposal spots?” I asked.
“Oh God,” Jimmy groaned. “I can’t believe a robot has proposed for me.”
I laughed, but underneath it, knew it wasn’t too soon.
It felt right.
In the days that followed, we picked out a ring together.
We flew to Mexico in February and, on the Oaxaca coastline, Jimmy got down on one knee.
“What brought us together was tragedy, but what keeps us together is love,” he said. “Will you marry me?”
“Yes,” I said, through tears.
We set a wedding date for November.
Later, at a dinner in the synagogue thanking first responders, our story was shared to the others.
When the head rabbi heard it, he was so moved he offered to seek special permission for us to marry there – even though neither of us is Jewish.
“It would be an honour,”I said, taken aback.
We plan to have our reception at the lifesaving club, too.
Looking back, it’s hard to understand how such a dark night could lead to something so beautiful.
The tragedy at Bondi changed so many lives forever. But somehow, in the middle of heartbreak, Jimmy and I found each other.
And it showed me that even in the darkest moments, love can still find its way in.
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