The dinner had been a surreal success. The guests and hosts alike had praised every bite, blissfully unaware that the meal had been prepared by the very man they had dismissed as "the help." While the three women remained in the living room, their voices a soft hum of polite conversation, KK and his father retreated to the office for a private talk.
They sat opposite each other on the leather sofa. Mr. Suwannarat studied his son for a moment before asking, "How long have you been seeing this man?"
"A few months," KK replied steadily.
"Is he the reason you stopped going on the blind dates your mother arranged?"
"Yes and no. I don't mind the dates, Pa, but I've been buried in work at the resorts and the clinic lately," KK said.
Mr. Suwannarat let out a heavy sigh. "KK... I know it might be wrong of me to say this, but as a father, deep down in my heart... I still wish you would marry a woman."
"I know, Pa," KK said, his voice soft but firm. "It's just that the person who makes me happy right now happens to be a man."
"I've spoken with your mother," his father continued, "and we've agreed not to interfere in your personal life. But if it ever comes to marriage, my hope remains the same. I want a traditional future for you."
"The future is a long way off," KK said. "I'll leave those decisions to Santichai and the path we walk together."
Mr. Suwannarat looked pained. "I know how prejudiced your grandfather is regarding your sexuality. I just... I don't want to see your cousins inherit the entirety of the family business because of a disagreement."
"Grandfather made his terms very clear," KK said. "If I don't marry a woman and provide him with grandchildren, I'm out of the will. I've accepted that."
"If you understand the stakes, why not act accordingly?" his father pressed.
KK looked his father in the eye. "Pa, do you honestly want me to marry Aom?"
Mr. Suwannarat hesitated. "I do. But I won't impose my will on you. I have always believed in your right to choose your own partner. I can offer advice, but I won't interfere."
"Thank you," KK said, genuinely moved.
"Aom is a good woman. She would be a graceful wife and a devoted mother," Mr. Suwannarat added, a small, wistful smile touching his lips.
"I'm sure she would be," KK agreed.
Mr. Suwannarat knew his son was a headstrong man. He recognized the same iron-willed determination that had made KK a success in his career. Once KK set his sights on a goal, he didn't stop until he reached it. He had the ambition to take the family business to new heights, but as long as both KK and his grandfather remained so stubborn, there was little room for compromise.
"It's getting late. We should head out," Mr. Suwannarat said, standing up. He paused, looking at his son with a newfound gravity. "Apologize to your boyfriend on our behalf. Next time, bring him over for a family dinner properly."
KK stood, a weightlifting from his shoulders. "Santichai is a very considerate person, Pa. He won't hold the misunderstanding against you. I'll walk you out."
The roar of the bus engine had been the unrelenting soundtrack to his thoughts for seventeen hours. By the time the dusty wheels finally slowed, Santichai felt as though he had aged years instead of hours.
He only opened his eyes when a loud, distorted male voice crackled over the overhead speakers, announcing the next stop. Outside the window, the sun was sinking fast, bleeding into an orange and red horizon that seemed to set the fields on fire. He checked his watch—it was seven o'clock in the evening. His destination was finally here.
Santichai stood, his muscles stiff and aching as he grabbed his backpack. As the bus hissed to a complete stop at the rural station, he stepped out into the humid evening air. He looked around; everything in this small town appeared to be frozen in time, looking exactly as it had years ago. He bought a quick snack from a nearby stall and began to walk toward the exit when a familiar voice sliced through the quiet.
"Santichai Kittibun?"
Santichai froze and turned around. A woman was walking toward him, her pace hesitant, leading a five-year-old girl by the hand. They stopped just a few feet away, the woman peering at him through the fading light as if trying to reconcile the man before her with the boy she once knew.
"Santichai Kittibun... is it really you?"
Santichai looked at the young woman, and although decades had passed, the light in her smile hadn't changed at all. If he remembered correctly, her name was Chirawan—though back then, everyone just called her Wan. She had been the only girl brave enough to approach him and ask him out.
His mind flashed back to the aftermath of that day. Because of her, Asnee had thrown a week-long silent tantrum, treating Santichai as if he were invisible. It was during that event that Santichai had first realized his life belonged to Asnee; he learned that leaving Asnee's side was a crime punishable by cold stares and a devastating silence.
He thought for a moment, the name hovering on the tip of his tongue, but he was terrified of getting it wrong. He had spent his entire school life in the shadow of Asnee and his friends, Decha and the others. Rather than embarrassing himself, he opted for politeness. "I'm sorry... do I know you?"
The woman laughed. "High school. You rejected me with that lame excuse that Asnee wouldn't 'allow' you to go out with me."
Recognition hit him like a physical wave. "Wan."
Chirawan smiled brightly. "There he is."
"I'm so sorry, I didn't recognize you at first," Santichai said, feeling a flush of heat in his cheeks.
"Even back then, when I had a huge crush on you, you hardly noticed me," Chirawan teased. She glanced around the quiet station. "Where's your boyfriend? Where's Asnee?"
"We broke up," Santichai said simply.
Chirawan let out a surprised laugh. "I knew it. I knew you weren't really his boyfriend."
Santichai frowned slightly. "He was my boyfriend. For ten years. But we've ended it."
Chirawan was taken aback, her playful tone vanishing. "So... you weren't lying back then? You were actually dating him?"
"I wasn't lying."
"How long has it been since you split?"
"Not long," Santichai said, wanting to change the subject. He looked at the small girl clinging to Wan's hand. "Do you live here in town?"
"I do," Chirawan said. "My husband was originally from this area. After we married, we moved back here to live with his parents."
"That's good. Is there a phone shop nearby?" Santichai asked. "I'm a bit lost. I haven't been here since I was a child. The only places I remember are the old school and the orphanage."
"I can take you," Chirawan offered.
As they walked toward the shop, Santichai looked down at the little girl. "Is she your daughter?"
"Yes. This is Kulap."
"And your husband?" Santichai asked gently.
"He's passed away," Chirawan said, her smile turning sad. "After he died, his parents kicked us out. They claimed Kulap wasn't his daughter—just an excuse to get rid of us. It would have been different if she'd been a boy."
"I'm so sorry, Wan."
"It's alright," she said, stopping in front of a small electronics store. "We're here."
Santichai thanked her, but Chirawan lingered. "If you really want to thank me, Santichai, recommend me for a job. Things are... difficult."
Santichai thought of Fon and the clinic. "Actually, where I live, there might be a vacancy. As long as you don't mind washing dishes and general cleaning."
Chirawan's eyes lit up. "I don't mind at all! But... I'm not sure I have the money to move. Or a place to stay."
Santichai didn't even have to think about it. "If you don't mind the squeeze, you're welcome to stay in my apartment until you get on your feet."
Chirawan looked at him with a mix of wonder and affection. "Santichai Kittibun, you never change. Always willing to help anyone who asks."
"Write your number down for me," Santichai said. "Once I get in touch with my old boss, Pi Fon, I'll call you."
After swapping information, the mother and daughter waved goodbye. Santichai stepped into the shop, bought a new mobile phone with a fresh number, and began the long walk toward the orphanage—his final destination.
By the time Santichai arrived at the orphanage, the sun was low, and the clock had already ticked past five. The old building hadn't changed at all over the years. The rusty playground still stood like a skeletal sentry to the side of the house, and the sound of children's laughter echoing from the front porch was exactly as he remembered it. The heavy, sweet scent of mango trees filled the air, a fragrance that always felt like home.
He spotted Mr. Kasem outside the main door, methodically sweeping the dust from the steps. Santichai hurried forward, his heart racing.
"Teacher Kasem!"
The older man raised his head, squinting through his glasses. "Santichai... you're a month late for my birthday."
Santichai smiled sheepishly. "I'm so sorry. I rushed here the moment I received your postcard."
Mr. Kasem let out a dry laugh. "I sent that invitation more than a month ago, boy."
"I had to have back surgery," Santichai admitted quietly.
Mr. Kasem froze, his teasing expression softening into genuine concern. He leaned his broom against the wall and looked Santichai over. "Surgery? How are you now? Are you healing?"
"I'm much better now. I'm almost completely healed."
"And how long are you staying this time?" Mr. Kasem asked, leading him toward the door.
"I can stay for a week. My classes start in eight days."
Mr. Kasem patted his shoulder. "That's good... that's very good."
After a simple dinner with the younger children, the orphanage settled into a familiar, quiet hum. Santichai was given his old bed in the corner of the small dormitory, the mattress thin but smelling of sun-dried linens. As the crickets began their rhythmic chirping outside the window, the peace he had sought felt bittersweet. He pulled out his new phone, the screen glowing brightly in the dark room. He needed to settle his old life before he could fully start this new one.
Taking a deep breath, he dialed Fon's number.
"Santichai!" Fon answered, her voice loud and energetic. "When are you coming back to work? I'm drowning here."
"Pi Fon... I don't think I'll be coming back to the clinic right away," Santichai said gently.
"What? Why not?" she asked, her disappointment clear.
"I've received a stipend to finish my degree. Once I graduate, I'll be back to work at HappyCare as a professional, I promise. You don't have to be sad—we'll still see each other."
Fon sighed, but he could hear her smiling. "Well, I suppose that's good news for your future. I'm still going to miss you, though."
"Pi Fon, did you find someone to take my spot yet?"
"I did, but the kid was useless. He's already quit on me."
"I have a friend who is looking for work," Santichai said. "She's a hard worker and she really needs the help."
"Send her over," Fon said immediately. "I'll take your word for it."
"You don't want to interview her first?"
"No," Fon replied firmly. "If you recommend her, I know she's good. You've never steered me wrong."
"Thank you, Pi Fon. I'll tell her to find you, but it might take a few days. I'll bring her to see you when I get back to the city."
Fon paused, her voice turning curious. "Where are you, anyway? Are you not at your apartment?"
"No, I'm not. And Pi Fon... please, don't tell anyone where I am. Not even KK."
The line went quiet for a heartbeat. "Okay," Fon said softly. "I'll keep my mouth shut. Your secret is safe with me."
Santichai felt a wave of relief as he hung up. He immediately sent a text to Chirawan, letting her know the job was hers. A few seconds later, his new phone buzzed with a simple reply: Thank you.
After reading Chirawan's message, Santichai stared at the glowing screen of his phone for a long time. His thumb hovered over the contact list, his heart warring with itself. Part of him ached to call KK—to hear that deep, steady voice and tell him exactly where he was. But another part, the part that still felt like the "housekeeper" his parents dismissed, held him back.
He sat there for a full ten minutes, the phone's light casting a ghostly blue hue over his face. He needed time. He needed to clear his mind and figure out where this unforeseen path was taking him before he let anyone else in. With a shaky breath, he finally set the phone on the nightstand and pulled the quilt up over his shoulders, seeking warmth in the thin fabric.
Staring into the heavy darkness of the room, he whispered into the silence, "Santichai Kittibun... if you were to suddenly disappear from this world, would anyone even notice? Would anyone actually come searching for you?"
He closed his eyes, and the answer remained hidden in the shadows. He let the tears flow freely then, feeling them slip from the corners of his eyes to soak into the worn fabric of the pillowcase, a quiet testament to a loneliness he wasn't yet sure he could escape.