The morning bell rang through the staff wing like a polite reminder, soft but impossible to ignore. Nook opened her eyes to a sterile ceiling. For a moment, she had no memory of where she was. Just smooth white walls. The laminated rule sheet fixed above the door. No birds. No breeze. And a low mechanical hum of steady cool air from the vents, as if the room itself was breathing.
And then it all returned, the bus ride, the silence, the woman in the red blazer who spoke too formally. The awe of midnight Bangkok.
She sat up slowly, rubbing sleep from her eyes. Her pink ribbon was still in place, twisted to one side from the pillow. In the corner, her duffel bag had appeared sometime during the night, tagged and zip tied, her name printed neatly in both Thai and English. She reached for it with a small breath of relief and padded barefoot to the washroom.
The water was cold but clean. A small bar of hotel soap left behind the scent of lemons and something faintly metallic. She freshened up, tied her hair into the required ponytail, and slipped into the navy blue housekeeping uniform folded precisely on the shelf. The fabric was crisp, the seams unforgiving. It was stiffer than she expected, like it had been ironed by a machine with no understanding of human skin.
By 6:15 am, she stood outside her cubicle, shoes shined, keycard clipped to her collar. Her heart was pounding louder than her breath.
The hallway was silently alive.The air was cool and dry, scrubbed clean by hidden vents. Girls in pressed uniforms and polished black low heel shoes moved in silent rhythm, nodding politely as they passed, avoiding unnecessary talk. Most wore white uniforms with blue hair ribbons. A few, like her, wore navy blue uniforms with a pink hair ribbon. Every girl wore a sleek ponytail which enlightened their pretty faces. They moved as if under instruction, like there's a silent current sweeping them forward.
Somewhere, a distant door clicked shut, sharp like a dropped nickel.
Then came the smell. Garlic, soy, the warmth of fried egg and steaming rice. Her stomach growled before she even realized she was hungry. They had eaten once before reaching the city—a roadside stall with sticky rice and grilled pork. She had barely tasted it, too nervous to chew. Now the nerves had turned to hunger, real and solid.
She followed the scent downstairs, past a vending machine filled with snacks labeled in Thai script and a checkpoint with a thick glass door that read STAFF ONLY NO PHONES. She noticed, for the first time, that no one around her carried a phone. No one even looked like they missed one.
Inside, the cafeteria was a long stretch of polished linoleum and industrial light. The smell hit her first: clean rice steam, fried garlic, the faint citrus of dish soap. Metal trays slid along a narrow line where kitchen staff in hairnets ladled neat scoops of food: steamed jasmine rice, hard boiled eggs sliced clean through the yolk, stir fried greens glossy with oyster sauce, soft tofu in peppery broth, and a corner slice of chilled dragon fruit.
The space was utilitarian, no frills, no décor, but spotless. Rows of steel tables. A buffet line with trays of food that looked like it had been arranged with a ruler.
She grabbed a tray, hands trembling slightly, and slid into the queue behind a girl with neatly braided hair and a long neck that made her look taller than she was. She had a pink ribbon In her hair, same as Nook's. The girl glanced over her shoulder, offering a faint smile.
"You can step ahead if you want," the girl said softly, without turning fully around.
"Ok, thanks," Nook said, a bit surprised.
She went past the various trays of dishes, gracefully accepting the calculated scoops, and turned to face the orchestra of girls dining.
She picked a seat at the end of one of the long tables, where a girl with striking cheekbones and a deep tan was already halfway through her meal. Her black ponytail was sleek and tight, her movements mechanical. She chewed without looking up.
"You are new," the girl said, still chewing. Her voice was low and husky, like someone who had seen too little sleep. "You eat like a rabbit."
Nook glanced down. She had barely touched her rice.
She offered a quick smile. "Sorry. I am just nervous."
"You will get used to the rice," the girl said. "You will not get used to the nerves though."
She looked at Nook then. Eyes like dark stones. Not cruel, not kind. Just tired. The blue ribbon holding her smooth hair wobbled in the breeze of the air vent.
"I am Foen," she added.
"Nook."
Foen gave a nod and returned to her meal. She scooped broth with short, efficient motions. Her spoon clicked gently against her teeth. Her hands were scarred, the nails clipped short and clean.
Nook took a bite of her egg. It was cold and smooth, the kind of cold that dulled flavor. The rice was soft, slightly overcooked, but comforting in its blandness. The kind of food that filled the stomach without asking for attention.
Around her, girls sat in silence. Rows of sleek hair, smooth faces, blank eyes. Their conversations were quiet enough to avoid notice. Some girls sat alone. Others in groups that were not quite groups. Everyone was alone together.
"Orientation is in fifteen," Foen said suddenly, standing.
"Try not to get lost."
Then she disappeared into the sea of quiet uniforms. Her shoes did not squeak like Nook's did. Nook sat for a moment longer, unsure whether to be grateful or afraid.