The grand mahogany doors swung open, and a wave of orchestral music and expensive perfume washed over them. The rhythmic clicking of cameras and the blinding flashes of light disoriented Santichai; he had never stepped foot in a palace as magnificent as this. To him, the voices of the elite greeting one another sounded like an alien language. Feeling exposed, he slowed his pace, instinctively tucking himself behind KK's broad shoulders to disappear from view.
KK stopped and looked back, a soft, knowing smile escaping his lips. "Why are you walking behind me?"
"Mr. KK," Santichai whispered, his voice trembling. "I've never been to a place like this. If someone speaks to me, I won't know what to do or what to say."
KK reached back, his presence a steady anchor in the chaotic room. "As long as you stay by my side, I will do all the talking. You don't have to worry about a thing."
Santichai found comfort in the idea. He felt painfully underdressed in his old suit; if he stayed a step behind, perhaps the guests would simply mistake him for a sommelier or a personal assistant. He followed KK into the heart of the grand ballroom, where crystal chandeliers hung like frozen stars from the gilded ceiling.
"Pi K! Over here!"
A young woman, Dussadi, wove through the crowd toward them, waving frantically. "Pi K, our table is over there," she said, pointing toward the front of the stage. "Lada is already there waiting for you."
"Santichai, this way," KK said, ignoring the mention of Lada and gesturing for Santichai to follow.
Dussadi's eyes finally landed on the quiet man in the gray trousers. She curled her lip slightly, her gaze skeptical. "Hey, who is he?"
"He is my guest," KK replied, his tone short and defensive.
"Whatever," Dussadi shrugged, already turning back toward the table.
They took their seats at a table draped in heavy silk. Just as Santichai began to scan the room for an exit, an old, melodic voice resonated through the speakers, silencing the room.
Chairman Chongchit's voice boomed over the speakers, warm and authoritative. "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. My only daughter has been engaged for six months, but I haven't had the chance to host a proper celebration. Tonight, I've thrown this party with the help of my beloved nephew, Klaew Kla," he joked, gesturing toward their table. "By the way, he's currently single, and we are desperately trying to find a suitable wife for him!"
The crowd erupted in laughter. Santichai joined in, the sound of his own laughter feeling hollow in his chest.
KK leaned in, his eyes searching Santichai's. "What are you laughing at?"
"He's funny," Santichai whispered, though his smile didn't reach his eyes.
"Chairman Siriporn and I have been friends for a lifetime," the Chairman continued. "Siriporn, please take good care of my daughter. In return, I promise to love your son as if he were my own." A wave of applause swept the room. "And now, to kick off the night, I ask my daughter and my future son-in-law to take the floor. Please welcome Tipkamol Chongchit and Asnee Siriporn!"
The name hit Santichai like a physical blow, knocking the air from his lungs. He looked up, paralyzed, as Asnee led a beautiful woman into the center of the ballroom. The tender, familiar melody of The Moon Represents My Heart began to play. Asnee was smiling—a genuine, radiant smile—as he moved gracefully with his fiancée.
"Pi K... Pi K..." Dussadi nudged KK, her voice insistent. "Take Lada to the dance floor. It's her favorite song."
Laddawan stood, offering her hand to KK. "For the sake of the old days, Pi K? One dance?"
KK's gaze was fixed on Santichai, his expression filled with concern. "Are you okay? Should I go with you?"
Santichai forced a smile, his heart shattering into a million silent pieces. "I just need to use the restroom. Go... don't make the lady wait."
KK hesitated, then nodded slowly, standing up to lead Laddawan toward the music.
Dussadi watched them go, sighing happily. "They're so perfect, don't you think?"
Santichai watched Asnee. He looked like a prince who had finally found his palace. "They are... they are perfect for each other," he murmured, the words tasting like ash.
"I agree," Dussadi said, snapping photos of KK and Laddawan on her phone.
"Excuse me," Santichai said. He turned and walked toward the grand exit, but stopped at the threshold to look back one last time. In the tall gilded mirrors of the hallway, he saw himself: a man in a borrowed suit, a ghost in a room full of light. On the dance floor, the man he had sacrificed everything for was dancing into a bright, wealthy future.
"Asnee... goodbye. This time, it's for real," Santichai whispered to the empty air. He wiped a stray tear before it could fall. "From the bottom of my heart... I give you, my blessing."
As Santichai turned to flee the ballroom, a hand like a vice clamped onto his arm. A sharp, familiar female voice hissed from behind him. Before he could react, Mrs. Siriporn dragged him out of the main hall and into the deserted foyer, shoving him hard against the cold marble wall.
She pointed a trembling finger in his face, her eyes burning with a decade of resentment. "Santichai Kittibun! What on earth are you doing here?"
Before he could answer, her hand whipped through the air. The crack of the slap echoed in the quiet hall, the force of it snapping Santichai's head to the side and sending him stumbling back against the wall. His cheek burned, but the sting in his heart was sharper.
"Auntie... I am so sorry," Santichai whispered, his voice trembling with terror. "If I had known your family would be here... I would never have come."
"I hope that slap finally wakes you up!" Mrs. Siriporn gritted her teeth, her face contorted in rage. "After all these years, how dare you still stalk my son? Are you here to ruin his reputation? To smear his name just as he is finally achieving something?"
Santichai shook his head frantically. "N-no, Auntie. I didn't know—"
"If you aren't here for him, then how did you even get inside?" she spat. "Tonight is the most important night of Asnee's life. Don't you dare ruin it." She reached into her designer handbag and pulled out her phone. "Tell me your account number. Right now."
Santichai blinked, confused. "Why... why do you want my account number?"
"You're here to extort him, aren't you?" she shouted, her voice rising to a frantic pitch. "What's your price? Ten million? Twenty? Fifty million? I will transfer it this second if you promise to vanish from his life forever."
"Auntie, we have broken up," Santichai said, a sudden, cold clarity washing over him. "I don't want your money. I don't need anything from you."
"Then stay away!" she screamed. "Look at yourself! You should know your place, and your place will never be here. Go back to your own world and stop dragging my son down with you. I know men of your stature—you're nothing but a money-grabbing leech."
She watched with venomous satisfaction as Santichai turned and walked out the grand front doors. She adjusted her silk shawl, smoothed her hair, and marched back into the ballroom to rejoin the fairy tale.
Outside, the "light rain" had turned into a steady downpour. Santichai walked away from the lights and the music, his thin dress shoes soaking through instantly. As he walked alone along the long, dark coastal road, the raindrops hitting the pavement seemed to sync with the rhythm of The Moon Represents My Heart. The melody was a ghost, haunting his footsteps, pulling his mind back to a different time—to the very first Christmas he had ever spent with Asnee.
It was winter break of their junior year. Santichai had no plans for Christmas; his life was quiet, lived within the walls of a house rumored to be the site of a triple murder—a place that didn't scare him half as much as the thought of being alone. Asnee had mentioned his family was taking him to Singapore to visit his grandparents, so Santichai had resigned himself to a lonely holiday.
Then, his phone chirped.
"Asnee? Aren't you supposed to be sleeping?"
"Chai, go downstairs and grab your tape player," Asnee commanded, his voice crackling with excitement.
"Why?"
"Don't ask questions! And remember to bring our favorite tape. I'm counting to thirty. If you aren't at the door, I'm leaving. One... two..."
Santichai scrambled, shoving his feet into socks and nearly tripping as he grabbed the bulky tape player. "Asnee, it's not fair! You're never fair!" he complained into the phone.
When he burst out the front door, he saw Asnee standing over his bicycle, breathless and grinning.
"One hundred and fifty-six," Asnee noted. "You took too long."
"You caught me off guard!" Santichai panted, walking toward him.
Asnee glanced left and right. The street was deserted, silvered by the moonlight. He reached out, pulling Santichai into his arms and kissing him deeply. "If I played fair, Chai, you'd never belong to me."
"Who says I'm yours?" Santichai teased, though he was already leaning into the embrace.
"You are," Asnee whispered. "Come on, get on."
Santichai hopped onto the back seat, his arms wrapping around Asnee's waist, his cheek pressed against the familiar heat of Asnee's back. They pedaled through the quiet outskirts of town until they reached a skeletal, abandoned building.
They climbed the stairs in the dark, Santichai's heart racing. "Asnee, I heard this place is haunted. Maybe we should go back?"
"Why are you scared? You live in a murder house," Asnee joked. "Go to that table over there and set the player down."
Santichai walked toward a shadow he thought was a table, but as he turned back, Asnee was gone. Panic flared. "Asnee? Where are you?" He ran toward the exit, only to find the door chained and locked. "Asnee!"
Suddenly, the roof erupted in light.
A projector hummed to life, a countdown flickering against the concrete wall: 10... 9... 8... When it hit one, the soft, familiar chords of The Moon Represents My Heart filled the air. Asnee stepped into the light, singing along with the tape, his eyes fixed on Santichai.
When the song ended, Asnee pulled Santichai into a fierce hug. "Merry Christmas, my love."
Santichai sobbed into his shoulder. "It's still a week away, you idiot."
"Do you like it?"
"I love it," Santichai whispered.
Asnee pulled back, holding Santichai's face in his hands. "I love you so much, Chai. From now on, no matter how many obstacles come our way, I will move them. I know I have a hot temper. I know my mouth moves faster than my brain, and I say things that hurt. I'm apologizing now for the pain I might unknowingly cause you in the future. But please know... my love for you will never fade with age."
He looked at Santichai with an intensity that felt like a brand. "Kiss me if you accept my apology. Kiss me if you accept my poor temperament."
Santichai didn't hesitate. He stood on his tiptoes and pressed his lips to Asnee's. "I love you, Asnee. Because you are the key to my locked heart. The light in my night, and the warmth in my winter."
The memory shattered as a car's horn blared nearby. Santichai was standing on the side of the coastal road, drenched to the bone, the freezing rain a cruel irony of the "warmth" he had once promised Asnee.
The "key" had been twisted until the lock broke. The "light" had gone out. And the "warmth" had turned into a slap across the face from a woman who saw him as a debt to be paid.