39.

"Who are you talking to these days?"

The sudden question made me glance at the speaker. Our eyes met for a brief momentbefore he raised an eyebrow, then lowered his gaze back to the phone, acting as if thiscasual conversation was insignificant, just a way to kill time.

"Lots of people."

"Seriously!?"

"Today alone, I've talked to at least ten. Just now, I was chatting with Chok and then withGat." The other person stared at me, his mouth holding the straw of his smoothie for acouple of seconds before he let go and muttered a soft curse.

"No, not like that, you idiot! I mean, like... a significant other, someone you're dating."

"No one." I shook my head.

"No one at all?"

"Nope."

"So what kind of person do you like?" The conversation should have ended there, if the otherperson hadn't asked another question. A question that made me pause, my fingers frozenmid-scroll as I read my manga. I looked at him warily.

"Why are you asking?"

"Well, I'm just curious."

"You're starting to creep me out." I locked my phone. "Why do you want to know?"

"I just want to know my friend's taste in people. Is that so wrong?"

"Why? Are you going to help me find someone? Or are you trying to hit on me?" I didn'tanswer directly, instead trying to reclaim the interviewer role from him.

"Please," he pleaded, pouting.

"Don't worry about it," I cut him off.

Our last class of the day was over, but we'd decided to go for a Korean BBQ dinnerafterwards. So we were waiting for the restaurant to open in the evening, and also waitingfor Gus to finish the freshman orientation meeting. Before I knew it, the first semester wasalmost over; only a few more days of classes before the final exams.

I've never liked freshman orientation; I think it's pointless. As soon as I could bow outwithout angering my classmates, I stopped participating.

Why do I have to conform to this behavior? Varied personalities don't affect my studies, sowhy do I have to sit there and let some random people yell at me, saying that working life willbe harder, more brutal, and that we'll be bossed around by people who haven't even workedthemselves? The older I get, the more ridiculous and laughable the whole process seems."Gus is taking forever. If it's any later, I'm not waiting," I changed the subject, pretending togo back to my manga on my phone.

"Why?"

"My mom's friend's son is coming over to the house tonight," I replied briefly. I didn't knowmany details. A week ago, my mom had casually mentioned that a friend's son would bestaying for two weeks. I didn't know which friend, or where he was from, because I hadn'tasked. I just acknowledged what she said with a nod.

"What's he doing here?"

"I don't know. Probably sightseeing. He's from overseas," I shook my head slightly, privatelywondering if we'd be able to communicate if he came from a country where they don't speakEnglish well.

But then again, we probably wouldn't have much to talk about anyway.

I checked the time on my phone, hesitated for a moment, grabbed my bag, and stood upwhen I saw Nile walking towards us from a distance. "I should go. My mom doesn't want meto come home late." She insisted firmly that I join them for dinner so that I could get to knowhim.

We actually have to live together for another two weeks. There's no need to get to knoweach other the very first day.

"Hey, I thought we were going to eat together."

"I thought you'd be finished sooner," I excused myself. "Gotta go. See you later."

"Wait! Before you go, tell me what type of person you like," he grabbed my bag tightly, as ifhe wouldn't let go easily without an answer.

I frowned as the image of someone flashed behind my eyelids.

"Any type, just not your type," I tried to get my bag back, but he held on even tighter.

"Really any type? Like... a brooding, house-building type of guy? Do you like that?"

"What are you asking?" I chuckled, then paused as a thought occurred to me. "Are youasking this... because you want to know, or because someone else wants to know?"

Sao hesitated, a worried expression flashing across his face for a split second. "I want toknow. Who else would care about my dating preferences?"

He didn't seem too suspicious.

"Day doesn't want to know?"

"Hey, you're crazy!" Sao quickly released my bag as if it were burning hot. It was the samemoment that Nile arrived at the table.

Day and I have gone out together many times, but not every week. Sometimes he'd text meto play games, watch a movie, or try a new restaurant, always with the excuse that hefinished his work early, while his architecture classmates were still working until the very lastminute.

He seems normal. There were a few times that made me wonder if he liked me, but it wasonly three or four times.

I'm not looking to develop a relationship with anyone right now, especially not with closefriends, people in my circle, or friends of friends.

I feel it's unfair to start something new with someone while I'm still thinking about someoneelse almost constantly.

And I feel it's unfair to Day to jump to conclusions and assume he likes me, when maybe hejust acts that way naturally. So whenever I start to suspect something, I quickly dismiss thethought.

But Sao pushing me like that crossed a line.

"Does Day like me?" I turned to Sao directly.

Nile's eyes widened at what he heard before staring at Sao accusingly. "Crazy, what the hellis this?"

"I don't know! How would I know?" Sao quickly replied, his voice high-pitched.

I nodded slightly at his answer. If Day really likes me, what I said today will reach him directlyor indirectly.

"So let's go."

"Do you think Day likes you?" Sao seized the opportunity to ask, pulling Nile's attention backto me.

This time I shook my head. "He doesn't. We're just friends, like you guys."

Both of them fell silent while I kept thinking about someone's face – someone I accidentallycalled when I was drunk.

I never believed in the whole "drunk-dialing" thing until I did it myself.

Alcohol really does distort your judgment and decision-making. I know that for sure now.It's embarrassing, something I wish I could erase from my memory. I only remember seeinghis face, remember talking, but I have no idea what we talked about.

When I woke up, I quickly charged my dead phone, opened Instagram, and prayed it was alla dream. Then I saw the evidence: a hours-long call and Anwar's message:

"Sleep well."

"Glad I got to talk to you."

Just those two lines were enough to make my heart pound out of my chest.

I both wanted and didn't want to know what we talked about. I just replied, "Sorry," andimmediately deleted the Instagram app. It's an experience I don't want to share with anyone.But acting like that, annoyingly calling him while drunk, spending hours on the phone withoutremembering our conversation, and then receiving that message from him at the end...

He's still so kind... infuriatingly kind.

Because that kindness makes it harder to move on.

"It's better if no one likes me," I push the thought away, meeting the eyes of my two bestfriends, preparing to retreat knowing they'll try to stop me.

"Because I like someone else now."

"What?! / Fuck!"

I got home between six and seven in the evening. The soft glow from the round lamps by thefence caught my eye. My house always does that – turns on all the lights when someonecomes over, presumably to make it easier for them to find the place.

The house was brightly lit, but the curtains were drawn, so I couldn't see inside. As I openedthe door, I smelled a delicious aroma of food and heard Mom's laughter. I saw a pair of blackleather boots by the shoe rack.

I went in and greeted dad, who was watching TV in the living room, before following thesound of mom's laughter to the kitchen. I heard, "Wow, you speak Thai so well! Did yourmom teach you since you were a child?"

I saw his broad back, tall and model-like. He had slightly wavy brown hair that reached hisneck, and he was wearing an oversized black short-sleeved t-shirt and black trousers. Ablack leather jacket was draped over his arm.

But just seeing his back made my heart race.

I didn't need to ask when he turned to face me.

His handsome face was slightly different from my memory of him a month ago. He wasclean-shaven, as before. There were slight traces of tiredness, but he looked better than Iremembered. I scanned every detail of his face: his dark, well-groomed eyebrows framinghis brown double-lidded eyes, his straight nose, high and defined cheekbones, a strongjawline, and a slight lingering smile on his lips.

In that instant, it was as if all other sounds faded from my hearing, leaving only a ringing inmy ears.

I saw everything clearly: his slow blinks, the slight movement of the pupils as if he was alsoscrutinizing my face. A faint dimple gradually appeared on his smooth cheek.

At that moment, it felt like my heart was ripped out.

A torrent of emotions crashed over me, overwhelming me, because I hadn't prepared myselfat all.

"Anwar," I murmured his name.

He pursed his lips, seeming nervous, but in a blink, his expression shifted to a calm, slightsmile. He said,

"Hey..."

"How are you here?" I asked, as best as my stunned mind could manage, before being joltedout of my stupor by mom, who stepped out from behind Anwar's tall frame and met my gaze."Blue, even if you're close, you need to address him properly. He's older than you by years!"Her playfully stern voice was like a hammer blow to my head.

I was confused, caught completely off guard.

"How do you know Anwar?"

"Anwar is my friend's son. He just got back. He just arrived," Mom replied, placing the dishshe was holding on the table. She then told Boa, the housekeeper, to continue preparing thefood, before turning back to stare at me intently.

I didn't know what I was feeling or what was going on.

It all came crashing down on me at once, leaving me speechless. But one thing I knew wasthat I didn't like mom's intense stare.

Every thought I had only seemed to make mom more irritated with me.

Was this some kind of joke? Was I drunk? How was this possible? I didn't know what tosay.

"Anwar.."

"Blue! What did I say?" Mom called out sharply.

"But in America, we don't call each other 'P'-Nong'," I argued.

"Is this America, Blue?"

I tried to gather my thoughts, closing my eyes and looking at the other person who stoodsilently listening to our conversation. When I looked at Anwar, he smiled slightly and softlysaid,

"It's alright. I don't mind."

But that didn't lessen the oppressive atmosphere radiating from my mother. She put onehand on her hip, lowered her head, and continued to look at me without speaking.

I was about to be... scolded.

My family seems modern in many ways, but when it comes to respect and seniority, it's notsomething that can be ignored.

I pursed my lips, trying to manage the confusion and emotions flooding me. But no matterhow hard I tried to use my brain, I realized I was completely helpless.

"P'-P'-Anwar," the word escaped my lips, strange and unfamiliar, as if it weren't my ownvoice. The sound echoed in my head for several minutes.

The same was true of the clear spark in his beautiful eyes as he responded kindly,

"You don't have to call me 'P' if you don't want to."

I met mom's gaze, then looked down at my feet, knowing what I had to say.

"No, I... Blue," I frowned, irritated with my own tangled thoughts. "Blue should call you 'P'."

"Okay. As you wish, Blue."

The meal was almost the same as always: Dad, Mom, me, and Chaok Guay lying near thetable, waiting for mom to finish before heading upstairs to bed. The familiar food, the sameold flavors – I was no longer as homesick as when I first returned to Thailand. Everythingwas almost identical, except for the presence of someone else at the table... someone Inever expected to see again, and certainly not under these circumstances.

We were all quiet throughout the meal. I didn't comment on the conversation between Anwarand my parents. Anwar only spoke when directly addressed. The conversation revealed alot of information I'd never known before. For several tens of minutes, I processedeverything in my head, listening and trying to piece together the various details.Linta—Anwar's mother—was a close friend of my mother from their time studying inThailand. Anwar had also known who I was since our time in New York. Anwar told my momthat he was just visiting for the semester break.

I ate my food, aware of Anwar's occasional glances from across the table. He didn't sayanything unusual, only answering questions, offering small smiles to my mom and my dad'sjokes, and eating politely until the meal was over.

Mom asked me to help Anwar carry his things to his bedroom. His room was on the firstfloor, like mine, but on the opposite side of the house, with the dining room, kitchen, andliving room in between. Simply put, my room was on the far left, and Anwar's was on the farright.

My parents went upstairs right after dinner. It was the usual time for us to go our separateways. I went back to my room, Dad continued watching television, and mom probablyresumed her work in their room.

Today might be the first day I didn't rush to my room to play video games as planned."This is your room, P'Anwar," I said, opening the door, switching on the light, and gesturinginside. I turned to meet Anwar's calm gaze before walking in to put his bag on the bed."You don't have to call me 'P'," Anwar said, followed by the sound of the door closing. WhenI looked up, he was still standing there, as if blocking the exit.

"My mom doesn't like disrespectful speech," I replied, changing my words when I realized hedidn't understand. "My mom doesn't like me talking informally to elders."

"There's nothing disrespectful about it," he countered, even though it wasn't my problem tobegin with. "Call me whatever you want."

"..."

"Your mother isn't here to hear it anyway."

I stared at him, surprised, a pang of something in my chest – shock, happiness, a desire torun away, a longing to talk... so many feelings overwhelmed me, causing internal conflict,making it impossible to think straight.

I didn't know what I should feel first.

"Why?" I mumbled, sitting down on the bed. Seeing this, Anwar moved closer, but still leftsome space by leaning his jacket over the back of a chair and sitting there instead. "Why didyou come here?"

"I told you I was coming. I told you that night, and many times since, through Instagram. Butit seems someone didn't bother to read them. Don't you remember?"

I don't remember... I remember calling, but not what we talked about.

Did I tell him to come, or did he tell me he was coming? I couldn't recall anything at all.

"I didn't want to surprise you by just showing up like this, but i really didn't know how else tocontact you."

"Your mother is friends with my mother, isn't she?" I immediately clamped my mouth shut,knowing the next sentence would be sarcastic. Anwar seemed to know it too; he looked atme silently, without arguing or saying anything.

He stared at me in the silence before asking directly,

"Are you angry that I came?"

It was a difficult question to answer. I never anticipated this happening. I never thought I'dcome home and find Anwar—the man who broke my heart four months ago, the man who'shaunted my thoughts and memories until this very day.

I never imagined coming home, opening the door, and finding him standing there... right infront of me. Talking like this.

"Why didn't you tell me? About your mother?"

"My mother didn't want you to know," he began, his face troubled. "But that's not the mainreason. I didn't think it was important. I didn't see you, talk to you, do anything I did becauseyou're the child of my mother's friend. To me, you were just Blue... just Blue..."

I pursed my lips, my mind a whirlwind of whether I should be angry with him or not.

It had become an undesirable habit—trying to understand other people's perspectives.

"I didn't intend to deceive you."

"..." I didn't even know if it could be considered deception.

When Anwar said it wasn't important, I unconsciously agreed. It wasn't as important as I'dthought. If I had to talk about this with someone, that someone would probably goinsane—me, not Anwar or his mother.

I ran a hand roughly over my face and let out a long sigh.

I seemed to be piecing things together, but my emotions were all over the place.

"It was incredibly cruel not to reply to my messages, not to let me contact you at all," his tonewas more reproachful than accusatory, before he chuckled soundlessly.

"I told you... that I would move on."

"And have you?" Anwar met my gaze steadily. Expectation, anticipation, a clear plea for ananswer was visible on his handsome face. When I didn't respond, he repeated, "Blue, haveyou moved on from me?"

"I like you less now," I answered defensively.

"Less now..." Anwar repeated. "Less, but have you stopped liking me?"

I averted my gaze, letting my eyes fall to the black-and-white patterned carpet beneath myfeet. I knew the answer to that question, but I didn't want to answer it, didn't want him toknow I'd failed.

I didn't think he would laugh in my face. I just didn't want him to know how much influence hestill had over me.

"You're staying for two weeks?" I changed the subject, avoiding the question entirely.

"Well... if you allow me to."

"And if I don't?" I asked without pause.

Anwar met my gaze, making me feel completely seen and understood, forcing me to lookaway first.

"If you don't allow it, I can't stay," he replied calmly. "If you want me to leave, then I'll go, butbefore I go, can I do one thing?"

I raised an eyebrow slightly as Anwar hesitated, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. Hestood up, stepping closer, maintaining an arm's length distance.

"Can I have a hug?"

My heart pounded in my chest. I unconsciously held my breath, my stomach churning.

"Why?" I felt like I'd forgotten how to speak.

"Because I miss you," I miss you too.

"..."

"Because I want a hug." I want a hug too...

"..."

"Because the past four months have been absolute hell. So... can you please help me?"It felt like too much.

The longing was too much.

I schooled my expression into neutrality and slowly stood up. How long had it been since I'dseen him from this angle? How long since I'd seen him this close? Though only four monthshad passed, it felt like four years.

Like four years I haven't been able to move on.

As soon as I stood, Anwar stepped closer. Just one step and the tips of our shoes weretouching. The lingering touch made my heart race even faster, to the point that I feared he'dsense it. Anwar raised a hand and gently caressed my cheek, as if touching somethingincredibly fragile.
We held each other's gaze in silence before he slowly lowered his hand and then slipped itaround my waist, pulling me into his arms until our bodies were pressed together, leaving nospace between us. I stood still, aware of everything touching me.
Anwar's hand resting on my back, the warmth of his strong body, his breath on my white shirtnear my shoulder.
We hugged, allowing the longing and yearning to flow through our bodies.For four months I'd been restless, constantly thinking about him. But now, actually holdinghim, my mind was blank. I couldn't think of anything at all.Four months hadn't helped at all.
"Blue, do you know why I'm here?" he murmured, still holding me.
"No... I don't."
I didn't want to get my hopes up, not even a little.
Seeing him again made my heart race, nearly beyond control. But as many memoriesflooded back, the joy of seeing him turned into a dull ache in my chest.
Because I'd been disappointed so many times, hurt so deeply, I was now terrified of gettingmy hopes up and expecting anything.
I missed him like crazy, but I didn't want to get hurt again.
"Do you remember what you said at the airport?"
"I remember saying thank you, I remember apologizing, confessing many things because Ithought I wouldn't see you again."
The sadness then had consumed me; I didn't even realize how much I had said.

"When we both love each other, we'll talk about this then," Anwar said softly. His arms

tightened around me before gently releasing me so that we could see each other's faces.
"I'm here now... are you ready to talk about this with me?"
The words shocked me, leaving me numb. My heart pounded, as if everything inside me wastwisting.
I didn't want to assume, didn't want to just hear that and misinterpret things in my head.
"We'll talk later," I replied, sounding incoherent. Too many thoughts were racing through mymind; I couldn't grasp anything concrete.
Anwar blinked, letting me go easily without protest as I pulled away and stepped back.I imprinted his face in my memory, in case all of this was just a dream.
Anwar, in Thailand, staying at my house, standing before me, and saying he was here...
Because he loved me?
Love...?
I backed away until I reached the door. A final, fleeting thought made me blurt out a curt,"Good night," before escaping the room.
Bang!
I took a deep breath, my tongue feeling thick all the way back to my own room.
'When we both love each other, we'll talk about this then.'

'I'm here now... are you ready to talk about this with me?'

Were those declarations of love?
I raised my hand and clutched my chest, tightly gripping my shirt. I knew four months hadn'terased my feelings for him, but surely I should be coping better than this.
At the very least, I shouldn't be feeling all this just because he's reappeared and we've hadthis conversation.
'I'm here now. Are you ready to talk about this with me?"
If it truly means he loves me, what am I supposed to do?
What should I do?
I'm starting to hope again.
I hate myself.
This isn't something I should be getting used to so easily.





..

..

"Oh really? ...Ah, so that's how you do it. Good, good." Mom's voice was loud enough forme to hear before I even stepped into the living room.
Last night I barely slept at all, tossing and turning over Anwar's words. I finally drifted offaround 4 AM. Luckily, I don't have classes today, but I still need to wake up for my afternoonclasses.
"Is this okay?""Yes, but see this gridline? To be honest, it would look better about here... If you want me tomake you look thinner, with a better figure, leave about this much space at the top, AuntPim."

I walked into the living room. Anwar was sitting next to mom, who was engrossed insomething on her phone. She glanced up at me briefly before returning to her phone.Anwar, however, kept looking at me and smiled.
"Who got you up this late? Mom and Dad never wake up this late," Mom said, her tone lightand teasing. Her fingertip was tracing something on the screen.
I hate being teased in front of Anwar.
Normally, my parents don't tease me in front of outsiders, but why do they act like Anwar isclose family, like a really close relative?
"Blue has classes this afternoon."
"Even if you have afternoon classes, you should still get up early. You should develop goodhabits, Blue. You're old enough now." This time, mom looked up and lectured me directly.
I pursed my lips. "Okay, Mom. I'll wake up early. I'm going now."
"Going to school?" Anwar asked.
"Yes."
"Need a ride? P is heading out anyway." That pronoun made me freeze.
I know Anwar said that because mom was there.
But I'm not used to it, and I get embarrassed so easily, it's infuriating.
"P'Anwar has a car?"
"Aunt Pim gave me the keys," he said, standing up. He even held up the car keys to showme.
"Then let him give you a ride, and tell him how to get to Central," mom ordered. She finishedher coffee, stood up, and followed Anwar. "Dad's going to the office. See you tonight at JingJai restaurant, okay? Bring Anwar along."
Mom summarized and concluded everything within seconds, put her glasses back in theircase, then left the room.

That left me, Anwar, and P'Bua, who came in to clear the coffee cups and bread plates.

Anwar nodded slightly, his beautiful eyes glancing towards the door before meeting mineagain.
"Shall we go?"I didn't know what to talk about, even though I'd been thinking about it for four months.But now that we're sitting close together, I can't bring myself to start a conversation. I can'tthink of any topics or questions.
I guided him to the car. My mom had driven her car away earlier, leaving only one—myparents' old car. Nobody uses it much, except me, when I'm forced to take it out for drivingpractice occasionally.

"Can you really drive it?" I asked, squeezing into the passenger seat. He seemed a little hesitant with the steering wheel and gears.

"Yes, I can. I've driven before."

"In Thailand?"

"In England." His answer didn't reassure me, but I didn't say anything. Then, Anwar seemedto adjust himself in the seat and looked at me. "Blue, where's your school? Show me on yourmap."
I nodded slightly, took his phone, searched on Google Maps, and gave it back to him. Anwarstarted the car slowly. He seemed unfamiliar but adjusted well, driving smoothly from themoment he started until we reached the edge of the village. After ten minutes on the mainroad, Anwar drove like he'd been born and raised here, his eyes glancing at the Googlemap, the rearview mirror, the front, and side mirrors—without looking at me once.Anwar was incredibly serious now. It was the same expression I see when he's working.It's the version of Anwar I like the most.
He looks mature, serious, dependable. Just that look of slight apprehension aboutsomething.
I glanced at him periodically, trying not to let him notice. Anwar frowned slightly whenanother car cut him off, and he froze when he saw a motorcycle driving against traffic,weaving along beside the road.
"Oh my God, what is he doing?" Anwar whispered softly, almost to himself. He seemed morealert as he noticed a motorcycle taxi weaving its way toward us.
Many times, his exclamations made me secretly smile. Even though he looked confused, helet out a few mild curses. Overall, he seemed very calm compared to my friends, Sao orJames, and perhaps even calmer than my dad.
"Are you going to the mall?"
"Yes, or do you want me to wait for you at the building?"
"Why wait for me?"
"Your dad said to wait to go to the restaurant with you."
Just teaching him photography shouldn't earn this much affection.
"Won't you get bored? You can go home and wait or go somewhere else. You don't have towait for me."
When I said that, he shifted his gaze from the map and the road to look at me.
"I won't get bored. I brought work to do as well."
"What work?"
"My graduation project." He nodded toward the back seat where he had placed a whiterectangular bag.
"Mom said you're on vacation." I countered, recalling what I knew.
"I am, but I still have to prepare work to submit when the term starts."
"If you're busy, then why not clear your work first? Why come here?" I asked withoutthinking. What came out sounded like criticism or dissatisfaction. I didn't mean for my tone tosound that way, but I had no intention of making excuses.
"Are you angry with me?" he asked. When I remained silent, Anwar forced a smile. "Don't beangry with me. I just miss you."
"..."
"I just wanted to see you."
I pursed my lips, feeling my breath catch in my throat. I had to take a deep breath. I didn'tknow how to describe this feeling. My heart ached; it felt like something was constricting mychest when I saw his expression, that smile.
"I'm not angry with you," I finally said, unable to bear it any longer. "I just don't want you tohave a hard time."
"I'm not having a hard time at all."
A lie. Not having a hard time is bad enough... spending twenty hours on a plane when hecould have been working or resting is already a hardship. How is he not having a hard time?I didn't ask anything further. Anwar seemed to focus all his attention on driving in thisunfamiliar country and on these unfamiliar roads.
Even now, it feels like a dream, sitting beside him like this.
"Turn right up ahead, and then take the first left into the gate," I said when we reached theuniversity gates. I hesitated for a moment before grabbing his phone and dialing a numberfor him. "I'm done at three o'clock. If you want to pick me up or meet me somewhere, let meknow. Traffic will be bad in the evening."
"Okay," Anwar replied promptly, slowly parking in front of the faculty building as I directed.This is so strange. Being in Thailand with Anwar, and him driving me here...
How am I supposed to get used to this?
"If you're picking me up, it's best to leave an hour early."

"An hour? Why?"

I raised an eyebrow, looking down at him after getting out of the car, and held up mywristwatch. "This is Thailand. If I'm finished and I don't see you, I'm not waiting."






..

..

The lecture was almost incomprehensible.

My mind kept circling back to Anwar's face.
I slumped my face onto the desk, abandoning my pen and lecture notes the moment theprofessor left the room. Class ended late again. I'd texted Anwar as soon as I realized theprofessor wasn't going to let us go easily, and he'd replied thirty minutes ago, saying he waswaiting at the café under the building.
"What's wrong?" Gus, who'd been secretly playing a game on his phone next to me, askedabruptly.
"Nothing," I replied shortly.
I'm not going to tell anyone that the person I have a huge crush on, the person in New Yorkwho made me cry for months, suddenly reappeared in my life as the son of my mother's bestfriend. And not just reappeared, but reappeared to make me understand that he came herebecause he loves me too.
It sounds incredibly surreal. I might get sent to a doctor for a brain check before I even finishexplaining.
"Hey, P'Phim waiting for you outside the classroom," Seo, who'd just returned from thebathroom, told me as soon as he got back to the table. "He's in a really good mood. It'ssuper weird."
"Right? I thought it was weird too," Nile nodded. "I mean, he's weird. Everything about him isweird lately."
"Oh... okay. See you later." I glanced past the door and made eye contact with P'Phimstanding outside. Someone opened the door to the room, and he looked genuinely happy. IfI had to guess, it probably had something to do with the kiss last night.

That's right. I was so caught up thinking about Anwar that I completely forgot about the crazy decision I made last night.

"Blue, go drinking with me tonight," P'Phim approached me as soon as I stepped out thedoor. "A friend of mine went to this one bar, and he said it's amazing. I think you'd like it. Estand the others are going too."
"I can't go tonight," I refused. As I walked, he followed me all the way to the elevator.
"Why not? Busy?"
"Yes," I replied, glancing at the person trailing closely behind me, trying to think of a way toget him to leave me alone. "Aren't you supposed to be with your friends, P'Phim? Why areyou looking for me?"

"Because Blue didn't reply to my messages, so I had to come find you."

It's so cruel not to reply to messages, not to allow me to contact you at all.
Stop comparing already!
I frowned, then frowned even harder when P'Phim loosely put his arm around my shoulderand leaned his head down, lightly touching me.
"Just because no one's around doesn't mean it's okay," I said, pushing myself away. Hechuckled softly, then changed to holding my hand instead. "P'Phim ..."
"Yes?"
"I don't like it," I pulled my hand away again.
The person in front of me looked surprised, before frowning just like I was. "Why not? Youused to like it."
"Used to is used to. I don't like it now."
"Have you changed, Blue?" P'Phim's face showed some irritation. "I've told you many times,but you've changed a lot."
I shook my head. Suddenly, I felt that talking to him was pointless. Every word remainedtrapped on my tongue. I forced a smile and stepped out of the elevator as the doors opened.
"You're not answering."
"Because you're picking a fight with me, P'. I don't want to talk." My voice hardened. Whenmy hand was yanked, my irritation soared.
"Let's talk things out properly today. What do you want me to do, Blue, to get the old youback?"
I pursed my lips, avoiding the eyes of everyone who was starting to stare because P'Phimwas speaking so loudly. I turned, leaning my back against a large pillar nearby.
"Isn't that the point?" I countered, lowering my voice. "If you think I'm not the same, P'Phim,you should find someone new who fits your description, someone with the personality youwant – don't try to force it out of me."
"But I like you, Blue. How can I just find someone else?"
"Do you really like me? What you're doing and saying right now means you don't like me. Ifyou liked me, you wouldn't have said I'd changed from the start. If you liked me, you wouldn'task for the 'old Blue' back."
"You don't understand."
"I don't understand what? Explain it, P'Phim, because it seems to me that you're the onewho doesn't understand."
P'Phim clenched his jaw. He glared at me with an angry look before sighing heavily andlooking down at the ground. He seemed to be trying to calm himself for a moment beforeshaking his head.
"Let's talk about this later. I think we're not going anywhere right now." He wanted to talktoday, but when he couldn't get the answers he wanted, he wanted to talk another day.He hasn't changed one bit.

I continued to stare at him for several more seconds until he finally softened his expression,

returning to normal. I nodded at him and then turned to leave without saying goodbye. Iknew he was following me, but I wasn't in the mood to turn around, plead with him, or try toget him back anymore.

..

..






The café was as usual, full of people. The only thing that struck me as unusual wassomeone sitting in the far corner. Anwar sat cross-legged, one hand holding his phone, theother a mechanical pencil. He glanced back and forth between his phone screen and asmall notebook on the table.

Despite wearing a simple, casual outfit – a black short-sleeved shirt, loose slacks, and simple flip-flops – the fact that it was Anwar made him look like he'd channelled the vibe of a cool New York model right into the middle of this café, without even trying.

Many eyes were on his tall figure, but no one tried to talk to him or act strangely; it was morelike they were secretly watching. Anwar seemed either used to being stared at or completelyengrossed in his work, because he didn't seem to care about the eyes on him at all.

He sketched away, then suddenly looked up towards the entrance where I was standing. Heraised an eyebrow slightly before quickly stuffing everything into his bag and getting up tocome towards me.
I nodded to Anwar, about to lead the tall figure out of the building, but P'Phim stopped me.
"Wait, Blue."
I froze. Anwar did the same. His sharp brown eyes looked intently at P'Phim.
"Yes?"
"Didn't you say you were busy working today?"
"I was," P'Phim frowned, glancing briefly at Anwar. Anwar, however, didn't break his gazefrom P'Phim.
"And who is this?" It's funny how suddenly his voice softened, a stark contrast to the loudtone he'd used with me just moments ago.
He thought Anwar couldn't understand Thai. Even with the lowered voice and changed tone,Anwar understood perfectly.
"Hey, do I have to report everything to you?" I retorted with a smile. "P'Phim said we'd talklater, so we'll talk later, not today."
"You're making me look like a fool, Blue," he said, tightening his grip on my wrist.
"Let's talk this through properly," Anwar interjected calmly, taking a step closer. His stephighlighted the difference in their sizes. While Anwar was tall and clearly worked out, P'Phimwas of average Thai male build. He was only slightly taller than me, but looked biggerbecause I'm naturally slender.
"I know Blue's family. We need to get going. Blue's parents is waiting for us," he saidpolitely. "Let go, please."
The mention of family gave the impression that Anwar was a relative, a cousin, a closefriend, or someone of higher standing.
"Yes," P'Phim relented slightly before finally releasing my wrist. He then turned to me. "I'll callyou tonight."
Easier than I expected... why is that?
Anwar smiled at P'Phim, a smile I recognized as empty, a polite façade. It was different fromthe small smile at the corner of his mouth when he made eye contact with me.
"Let's go."
Anwar let me walk ahead, trailing behind me, placing himself between me and P'Phim, whowas left standing still. We walked in silence until we reached the car, without speaking aword.
It was then that I noticed the chill emanating from the person beside me. His face wasimpassive. He turned on the air conditioning and waited for the car to cool down for almost aminute. He asked me to use Maps to find a shop, thanked me when I hung up the phone,and then started the car.
The atmosphere was tense, a pressure of unspoken things—a feeling of subtlepossessiveness without him needing to directly confront me, unlike P'Phim.
"Aren't you going to ask who he was?" I asked casually.
"I already know who he was."
"How?"
"You said his name just now," Anwar replied nonchalantly. "Do you want to talk about it? Ifnot, we won't."
I turned my gaze to the window, my eyes falling on the black smoke billowing from a pickuptruck near the median. "It's nothing."
"If you say so."
Was he jealous? Annoyed? Worried, like I used to be when I found out about him andothers?
A flood of questions poured into my mind.

But Anwar remained calm and composed, as if the earlier incident held no significance. Even though he knew the man was P'Phim, my ex-boyfriend.

"He came back, asking for a second chance. He said he really liked me," my curiosity got thebetter of me, and I blurted it out, immediately capturing Anwar's attention from the words"asking for a second chance."
"Did you give him a second chance?"
"He said he'd change," I replied, considering this whole situation. Was allowing P'Phim to dohis annoying behavior a kind of "giving a second chance"?
Many might interpret it that way, but for me, it wasn't giving him a chance at all. Letting himget away with his annoying antics wasn't giving him a chance; it was more of an exhaustionfrom trying to stop him.

"Do you still like him?"

"Does it matter?"
"It matters to me.""Does it matter?" I repeated the question, but the meaning had shifted.
Anwar met my gaze. "I'm not here playing games. I don't care who approaches you, or whatyou did with anyone in the past four months. I only want to know one thing, the only thingthat matters: do you have feelings for anyone else?"
"..."
"I haven't been serious about anyone for a very long time. Now I'm serious about you. If theperson I love loves someone else, I want to know," his voice was serious, mirroring theexpression on his face. Anwar shifted his gaze back to the road as the car in front began tomove. "So I can deal with it."
The words, "the person I love"... left me speechless, both physically and mentally.
Really love?

I wanted to ask that directly, but another part of me feared the answer, feared what might  happen next.

I was afraid of everything.
Anwar didn't press me with further questions. Seeing my silence, he continued drivingwithout another word, leaving me to drown in my thoughts for the rest of the journey.My mom and dad were already there when we arrived. I barely spoke to anyone. Everythingfelt overwhelming. My mind kept circling the word "love," and I endlessly extrapolated onwhat that might mean in this situation.
Anwar wasn't familiar with this kind of Chinese food. I'd seen him eat Chinese food manytimes in New York, but it was usually more of the Cantonese style. Nevertheless, he smiled,then tried everything my mom and dad offered him—despite the somewhat unusualappearance of the dishes; braised duck with Chinese herbs, steamed sea bass, and smallfried dumplings. He also drank quite a bit of tea. He ate an astonishing amount and seemedcapable of eating endlessly.
I knew Anwar was a big eater. Back in New York, he often ordered two large burgers in onesitting, unlike me, who could only manage one regular-sized burger at most.My mom and dad seemed to like Anwar even more now. Maybe older people like to seekids who eat a lot.
After we finished eating, my parents went off to chat and continue drinking at Uncle Orn'shouse—a close friend of my mom's from college. Anwar and I went home together in thesame car. The silence in the car prompted me to reach out and turn on the music. I wasstartled when a Suntharaphon song started playing.
You cocked your eyebrow at me,
You smiled, as if secretly smitten.
You tease me into loneliness, not admire her,
My heart is sorrowful because of your sharp eyes.
Anwar raised an eyebrow slightly while I quickly reached to turn off the music. It was betterto remain silent than to listen to my mom's favorite playlist with Anwar.
"You can listen if you want to," he said with a smile.
"No, it's my mom's music," I quickly explained, even though it wasn't necessary.
"Is the traffic always this bad?" Anwar asked, nodding his head as if to relieve stiffness in hisneck.

"There are worse traffic jams than this," I leaned my seat back further, loosely rubbed my neck, and gazed at the lights from the street lamps. "Are you tired, Anwar?"

"I'm not tired," Anwar said.
"Good. Drive for another week, and you'll change your tune."
"Driving while you sit is no problem for me. Want to try driving for a year?"
I glanced at him. He was smiling faintly before his eyes widened and his heart rate seemedto pick up.
"You don't have a whole year to spare."
"I'm waiting for your time," his low, charming voice replied. "Won't you extend it for me?"
"Anwar."
"Yes?"
"You're not just teasing me, right?" I asked after a moment of hesitation. I didn't like havingso many thoughts running through my head. I didn't like losing control of my thoughts. Evenif I was scared, I'd have to face this eventually.
Anwar only had two weeks. If he came to talk to me, we should talk as soon as possible.There was no point in prolonging things, running away, and letting myself get confused."I'm serious," Anwar responded. "I don't know what made you think I was joking, but Iwouldn't joke about something like this."
"..."
"Blue, I don't easily use the word 'love' with anyone," he added softly.
"But it's hard to believe," I countered, tightening my arms around myself. "I hadexpectations, and after giving up on them, you come and say this. It's so hard, I don't knowwhat to do."
It wasn't that he seemed untrustworthy or fickle; it was that I was the one who didn't dare tobelieve him.
If I'd heard this five or six months ago, everything might have been easier.
"Have I ever lied to you?" Anwar asked calmly.
"Never."
He never lied, and he never broke a promise. It was a frustrating truth. Whenever Anwarwent back on his word, he always had a reason—work, or something serious that seemedgenuinely important. And that made it difficult for me because I couldn't act foolishly when Iunderstood everything about him.

The more I understood, the more I felt squeezed.

The worse I felt, the more I grieved even though I understood.
"I don't lie, especially about my feelings. I don't say I like someone if I don't, and I don't say Ilove someone if I don't feel it. I didn't fly from New York to Bangkok just to lie or say things Idon't feel," Anwar glanced at me as the car stopped at the gate of the house.
P'Bua had gone home. Every Friday she left the house at 5 pm and didn't return untilMonday. So the car remained parked there, because no one was there to open the gate.I pursed my lips, staring intently at the brown lines illuminated by the car headlights.Everything was swirling—my heart, body, and mind.
"Can I really hope again?" I asked directly.
Anwar just smiled. "I love you. If you hope for anything more than that, let me know. I'll do it."
"..."
"I can do anything, if you really want it."
I turned back to look at him, gazing deeply into those beautiful eyes that shone with sincerityand firmness.
A plea.
He said he loved me...
"Go take a shower, then come find me in my room," I murmured softly, grabbing my bag andpreparing to go open the gate.
Love.
"We'll talk."