"He didn't open his arms. But when the storm came—
I found him standing between me and the wind."
—Nil
The morning began dim and clouded. Nil moved through the café like a wilted petal—silent, drooping, not yet fallen. His apron hung loosely from his frame, sleeves rolled up to wrists that trembled slightly, though he told no one.
And then, the door creaked open.
A postal worker appeared at the threshold, holding a pale envelope. Mary intercepted it. Her eyes immediately fixed on the name scrawled across the front: Niloy.
"Letter for you, Nil," she called gently.
Nil's fingers felt suddenly frozen as he took it, tearing the seal with effort. One glance was enough. His blood drained from his face. His lips quivered.
Summons.
From the Bangkok Metropolitan Police Bureau.
A soft gasp escaped Mary as she reached for his forearm. "Nil... it'll be alright."
But Nil could not respond. His voice had curled inward, too dry to surface.
Later that day, with his resolve gathered like a fragile silk robe against storm winds, Nil crossed the austere steps of the Police Headquarters. Inside, the walls were grey, bureaucratic, indifferent. Every gaze that flicked his way was sharp, accusing. Yet Nil walked forward, spine taut, heart battered but upright.
He stood before Inspector Pai, a man whose presence radiated the cold weight of the law. His uniform seemed too stiff for empathy. Still, Nil stepped forward.
"I want to apply for Thai citizenship..." Nil's voice broke, then caught again. "What... formalities must I fulfill?"
Inspector Pai narrowed his eyes. "Is it that simple?" he said coolly. "You're not even in legal isolation. I could charge you now—and you'd be deported back to Bangladesh." His tone turned brittle. "Maybe not today. But soon. And for long."
A chill passed through Nil's spine, but he didn't waver.
"I know... but please," he said, voice low but steady. "There must be a way. I've lived here for weeks. I work. I try. And yet—"
Pai tilted his head. The silence pressed.
"Do you have documents?"
Nil hesitated, then shook his head. "No."
The inspector's voice turned to iron. "Then you are illegal. And illegal means criminal."
Nil's jaw clenched.
But then—just as hope seemed to crack—a thread was offered.
"There is... one route," said Inspector Pai, voice softening by a hair. "Deposit 1.3 million baht. Get a reputable Thai citizen to sign your guarantee. Then we can speak of a two-year visa and work permit. The fine for your weeks of silence—your invisible existence—will be included in that figure."
Nil stared at the man, every word echoing like a bell toll.
1.3 million.
He forced himself to speak. "Sir... how could I ever gather that? I'm just a server at a café. I don't even know many people here."
Inspector Pai gave a half-shrug. "Not my concern. You should've thought of that before becoming a ghost in our country."
He paused.
"You should thank your luck that we haven't locked you up yet."
Nil turned away. His face was drawn tight, like wet rope pulled taut to breaking.
That night at the café, the mood was solemn. Nil sat on the floor, his knees drawn close, Mary beside him, Techno leaning against a chair, Uncle Tham perched on the cashier's bench.
"We'll think of something," Techno said quietly.
Mary glanced at Uncle Tham, then to Nil. "His reference isn't enough, is it?"
Nil shook his head slowly.
Mary's brow furrowed, then lifted as if a thought bloomed.
"Nil... what about 'Kao Neptune'?"
Nil winced instantly. "No. That man hates me."
"Do you know that for sure?" Uncle Tham asked. "Mary's right. Don't run before you've even walked."
"Sometimes life offers you only one gate," Techno added. "And whether it opens or not—depends on how hard you're willing to knock."
Nil's lips parted, but words stalled. For a moment, only silence circled the room like a whispering ghost.
Then, softly: "Alright. I'll go."
He turned to Mary.
"Give me the address."
She nodded.
"Neptune Musics, 123 Soi Sukhumvit 39, Khlong Tan Nuea, Watthana."
Without further delay, Nil made his way to the address—each footstep pulled forward by dread and threadbare hope.
The district shimmered like a realm untouched by dust. Streets laced with manicured trees, luxury cafés nestled beside art galleries, the skyline adorned with steel and promise. The scent of foreign perfumes drifted through the air, blending with city smoke and jasmine.
And in the heart of it stood Neptune Musics—a glass giant with 38 gleaming floors, wrapped in steel and sky, basking beneath Phrom Phong's neon hush like a sleeping god carved in crystal.
Nil tilted his head to gaze upward. It towered with an arrogance only wealth could afford—indifferent, dazzling, untouchable.
Inside, it was a temple of restraint and excess. Polished marble sprawled beneath velvet furniture. Sculptural lighting hung from above like falling stars. On the walls, modern art bled in silence—paintings that seemed to understand the kind of man Kao Neptune must be.
The lobby pulsed with quiet urgency. Phones rang without frenzy. People walked with purpose, pressed suits and clipped heels, as if the building itself only tolerated elegance.
Nil's steps slowed.
He clutched his small bag tighter—frayed at the edges, stuffed with the weight of need and desperation. The gazes that grazed him weren't overt, but he felt them all the same. Whispered tones trailed like smoke behind him.
"That's the boy from last time, isn't it?"
"What's he doing back here?"
He reached the front desk, heart lodged in his throat.
"Excuse me," he said. His voice cracked. "Is Kao Neptune... here?"
The receptionist looked up with the kind of politeness sharpened to a blade.
"He's in a meeting," she said smoothly. "Do you have an appointment?"
Nil shook his head.
"I'm sorry then," she replied. "Without one, you can't see him."
"I... please, it's important," Nil said, the words rushing out like water from a cracked jar. "Please. Just tell him—"
"I can't help you," the receptionist said firmly, returning to her screen.
Nil stood there, unsure whether to plead or flee, when—
"Nil?"
A familiar voice. Low, edged with caution.
Shian.
The man stepped forward, tall and collected, eyes narrowing as he scanned Nil from head to toe.
"What are you doing here?" he asked.
Nil forced a polite nod, nerves mangling his speech. "I... need to speak to Stranger—"
Shian blinked. "Who?"
Nil flushed. "I mean, Kao. Kao Neptune."
Shian studied him a second longer, then, without another word, gestured to a staff member. "Take him to Mr. Kao's cabin. Let him wait."
Nil followed in silence.
The elevator felt colder than necessary, too quiet. When the doors parted, he stepped into the private corridor—plush carpet muffling every footstep, walls hushed in textured grey. The door to the cabin opened with a soft click, and Nil entered.
It was not a room. It was a world.
A massive mahogany desk commanded the space like a judge's bench. Leather chairs sat like sentinels, smooth and sleek. The lighting was soft but exact, carved to illuminate only what was necessary. A crystal decanter gleamed on the side table, untouched. The scent in the air was subtle—cedarwood, and something colder.
And then his eyes landed on the far wall.
A portrait, vast and solitary.
Kao Neptune. Captured in black and white. His gaze, direct. His mouth, unsmiling. Eyes like storms pulled inward.
Beneath it, a smaller frame sat on the desk. Nil leaned forward slightly. It was a photo—Kao with a young woman beside him. Her expression was bright, sunlit.
Nil whispered, almost to himself, "She must be... Achara."
A long breath left his lungs. His hands, clenched in his lap, trembled.
And under his breath, he murmured—
"Stranger..."
Meanwhile, Stranger strode into his cabin engaged in conversation with Lava. His eyes fell upon Nil, and a sharp retort escaped his lips, "What brings you here?"
Startled, Nil turned to face Kao, his hand instinctively placing the picture on the table. His expression paled as he met Kao's expressionless cold gaze, tinged with disapproval.
Lava interjected with her characteristic rough tone, "Who allowed you entry?"
"Kao, should I call security to escort him out?" she added, her tone laced with annoyance.
After a moment's contemplation, Stranger dismissed Lava with a wave of his hand, much to her displeasure. Reluctantly, she, slyly staring at him, left the room. "How dare that boy! Because of this lowly boy Kao asked me to leave!"
Stranger removed his blazer and hung it on a nearby rack, settling into his leather chair with a sense of authority. Nil remained transfixed, his gaze fixed upon Stranger as he delved into his work on the sleek Apple laptop.
His gaze remained fixed on the glowing screen of his laptop as he addressed Nil without so much as a glance, "Are you done looking at me?"
Nil snapped back to attention, taking a seat with an uneasy shuffle. "Um, I need your help," he began, his voice betraying a mixture of embarrassment and trepidation.
Still engrossed in his work, Stranger merely responded with a noncommittal grunt.
Nil's voice wavered as he continued, "You see, I'm an undocumented immigrant. Today, I visited Metropolitan Police Bureau Headquarters and was informed that I need to provide numerous documents, which I currently don't possess."
"And I expect you to intervene by calling them and offering a reference, allowing me to secure an extension and continue working here," Nil added hastily.
Stranger's cold gaze finally shifted to Nil as he folded his hands on the table. "And why do you think I would help you?" he inquired icily.
With a flicker of hope in his eyes, Nil replied, "I thought... perhaps you might."
Stranger's response was blunt. "What if I refuse?"
A heavy silence hung in the air as Nil's voice faltered, "They'll deport me back to my country..."
Stranger keenly observed the sorrow evident in Nil's bright, dark eyes, sensing the possibility that Nil might have to abandon his ambitions. Despite the hint of moisture in Nil's eyes, there lingered a profound sense of self-respect. Nevertheless, Stranger remained resolute, his tone unyielding.
"I can't help," he said coldly. "I'm just a businessman. I weigh profit and loss before helping anyone." His voice, a sharp blade, cut without mercy. "You're of no use."
A sense of defeat weighed heavily on Nil as he murmured, "Stranger..."
"Don't."
"Kao... Kao Neptune..."
"No. Stranger." Stranger exploded with cold tone.
Nil nodded, as though his heart might leap out of his chest. Stripped of pride, of plans, of pretense, he said, "I'm in desperate need..." His voice trailed off, thin and ragged, his gaze pleading.
Stranger's attention returned to his laptop, dismissing Nil's plea. A solitary tear escaped Nil's eye and splashed onto the polished table. Stranger glanced up briefly—only briefly—then returned to his work.
With a weary exhale, Nil accepted the futility of any further appeals. "Your time has been invaluable. You've already gone above and beyond," he said with a nod. Reaching into his pocket, he placed a wad of crumpled cash on the table. "And I believe this covers the roughly 15,000 baht you've spent on me."
With a final nod, he turned away from the warmthless luxury of the room. Just before he stepped out, Nil turned back. His voice, steady but low, carried all his quiet heartbreak.
"Thank you... You already helped a lot."
With that, he left.
Alone once more, Stranger's gaze lingered on the closed door. A heavy sigh escaped his lips. The silence that followed felt heavier than any answer Nil could have given.
His frustration mounting, Stranger summoned Shian into his cabin.
Nightfall in Bangkok was not gentle.
The alleys shimmered with neon sorrow, every streetlamp haloed in mist. Under their dim gaze, Nil walked like a threadbare ghost. He kept his arms close to his chest, his feet small and hesitant—as though the very pavement might collapse beneath him. The world around him moved fast: cars, people, laughter. But Nil moved slow, his gaze flicking from one unfamiliar face to the next, all of them too loud, too safe, too far from what he was.
Later that night, in the cramped warmth of Moons Smile Café, Nil told them everything.
Uncle Tham listened in silence. Mary covered her mouth. Techno swore aloud.
Yet when Nil's voice cracked and fell into silence, it was Uncle Tham who stepped forward—not with words, but with a hand gently placed on Nil's head.
"My boy," he said, his voice low and firm, "when a wall stands in your way, it only means you haven't found the door yet. I'll come with you tomorrow. We'll knock together."
Nil's tears came fast. He buried his face into Uncle Tham's shirt. No other reply was needed.
The following morning, the sun shone too brightly, as if it didn't know someone's fate hung in the balance.
When they entered the police headquarters again, the tension was suffocating. But instead of interrogation, Inspector Pai merely raised his brows and handed Nil two sealed envelopes.
Nil blinked, confused. "What... what is this?"
He looked at Uncle Tham, who only shrugged with an uncertain smile.
Then Inspector Pai said something that made the world tilt sideways.
"You never mentioned," he said, voice laced with dry amusement, "that you were so close with Mr. Neptune."
Nil froze. Every breath caught in his lungs.
"He called me personally last night. 6:00 PM sharp. Requested your reference. Deposited 2.5 million baht. Bought you a six-year extension. Work permit approved."
His eyes narrowed. "That's not something even a generous employer does. That's something someone does when they're protecting something... or someone."
Nil couldn't speak.
He could only drop his head and collapse into Uncle Tham's arms. Tears spilled without restraint—tears not of shame or fear, but of something deeper, older: the unbearable weight of unexpected kindness.
"Finally..." he whispered. "I can stay."
The next day, Nil rose early and carefully chose a bouquet of daisies. Simple. Honest. Like himself. Not roses—those demanded too much. Not lilies—they mourned too early.
Daisies whispered, "I remember."
He arrived at Neptune Musics holding them tight.
The building loomed as always—glassy, golden, too far above him. But this time, Nil didn't flinch as he stepped inside. He asked softly for Stranger.
Lava eyed him with her usual mix of boredom and disdain.
"He's not here," she said. "Out of town. For the week."
Nil stood still. His fingers gripped the stems tighter.
"...I see," he said at last.
He bowed. And he left. The flowers remained in his hand.
Outside, the Bangkok heat did little to cool his heartbeat. He didn't cry. He didn't linger. But for a long time, he sat at a bus stop, staring at the bundle of daisies in his lap, as though hoping they'd speak for him.
Back inside, Lava passed by a steaming cup of coffee in the staff room. The air smelled faintly of cream and quiet.
She paused.
And for just one moment, she wondered why the scent of daisies still clung to the door.
Lava stepped forward, cradling a steaming cup of coffee like a trembling hope, she moved with delicate grace toward Stranger, whose eyes held a storm of unspoken emotions. Stranger stood by the window, half-turned, bathed in the afterglow of the city's dusk. His back was straight. His heart, unknowable.
Lava stepped forward with something like softness in her voice. "Kao! coffee? "
Stranger's gaze did not leave the skyline. For a moment, there was no answer.
Then came the sound of fine wool brushing leather—he picked up his coat.
"Lava," his voice was distant. "It's late. I should go."
His words were not cruel. But neither did they linger.
Disappointment passed through Lava's eyes like a shadow over water — visible, then gone. But she nodded, "Alright."
Stranger's retreat left behind a silence that Shian gently stepped into, offering words wrapped in quiet warmth.
"Don't let this dim your heart," he said, his voice tender, steady. "One day, he'll come to understand the depth of your love."
Lava gave a small, wistful smile. "I hope so."
The stillness was soon stirred by Uncle Tham's arrival, carrying a plate heavy with care. Nil, Techno, and Mary rose in respect, but his gentle hand motioned them down.
"Sit," he said with simple kindness, stepping toward Nil as one who had seen too much and yet never lost his softness.
"You mustn't let hunger make a home inside you," Uncle Tham said, his voice worn with years, but warm.
At once, Nil's restraint shattered. The silent storm within him burst forth in tears, and he clung to Uncle Tham without shame, as though reaching for a shoreline after a long, merciless tide.
"Thank you, Uncle," he murmured, every word drenched in gratitude. "I swear on my mother's memory... I won't fall again."
Uncle Tham's hand moved to gently ruffle his hair, his voice a balm.
"No vows, child. This is only your first day. Let it be what it is."
Nil didn't let go. Not yet. In this moment, he needed the kindness. Needed the permission to feel safe.
"If ever you're in need," Uncle Tham said, "don't hesitate. I'm here."
From the side, Mary and Techno watched with playful jealousy.
"What about us?" they teased, "Does Uncle love Nil more than us now?"
Uncle Tham opened his arms, chuckling. "Come here, all of you."
And so they embraced, the four of them — not bound by blood, but something gentler, warmer: chosen closeness in a world that offered too little of it.
Outside, Stranger sat in the deep shadows of his black Audi, city lights drifting like ghosts across the tinted windows.
There was no music. No voice but the one inside him. And yet, something pulled — a quiet, irrational thread tugging him back.
"Drive to Moon Smiles," he said at last.
The words escaped before his pride could smother them.
An ache — strange, persistent — gnawed at his chest.
"I don't like him," he reminded himself.
Yet even as he said it, Nil's face appeared in his mind — tearful, trembling, but burning with a silent hope so bright it hurt to look at.
"Why then?" he thought bitterly. "Why do I want to see him? Why can't I forget his face?"
"He looked at me... like I was his last hope."
He leaned back in his seat, eyes closing with quiet torment.
"Do I actually matter to someone? Not because I'm rich. Not because I'm feared. But just because I'm... me?"
His name echoed in his mind, distorted, lost. And for the first time in years, it did not feel heavy with power — it felt small.
"Because I'm... 'Kao'..."
He should have turned away.
He told himself he would — that there was nothing inside worth chasing, that curiosity was nothing but a trick of the weak-hearted.
But hearts are rebellious things. They do not listen to reason, nor do they care for the chains of pride.
And so, against his better judgment, Stranger crossed the threshold of the quiet café.
The hour was indecent. The silence thick. Even the streetlights outside seemed to blink slower than usual. Stranger walked in with the unhurried grace of someone pretending not to care, and with a low, almost careless tone, he ordered a coffee — a single request that echoed strangely in the hollow warmth of the near-empty café.
Uncle Tham, ever perceptive despite the hour, raised an eyebrow and called out to Nil, "Make a cup for him."
Nil, already cleaning up for the night, glanced over in surprise. And then, with a breath caught somewhere between obedience and thought, he asked softly,
"Uncle... may I prepare one for myself as well?"
Uncle Tham nodded, his face lit by a gentle fondness. "Of course."
Nil turned to the task with methodical quiet. His movements were light, but not without a trace of annoyance—so faint it could be mistaken for tiredness. The clink of porcelain, the low hiss of brewing—each sound folded into the hush of the room like a thread stitching silence into comfort.
But Stranger could not look away.
His eyes, usually cold and discerning, now trembled with something foreign—curiosity, yes, but also something deeper, something dangerous. He watched as the golden light from above traced the line of Nil's cheekbone, the slope of his neck, the subtle tension in his jaw. That unpolished youth, unknowingly luminous under the soft café lights, made Stranger's breath catch without reason.
Nil's skin, kissed by the bronze undertones of his homeland, shimmered faintly under the yellow glow. His brows were furrowed, lips set in a straight line—annoyed, no doubt. And yet he worked with effortless precision, pouring and stirring with a grace honed by repetition and hunger.
Stranger's gaze refused to blink.
He stared, unblinking, entranced. Like a man afraid that if he even looked away for a second, something vital would vanish.
Nil felt it, of course. One doesn't carry eyes in the back of the head and not feel when they're being watched.
Annoyed, he turned.
Stranger's head lowered just in time, phone lifted in a perfect imitation of distraction. His screen flickered harmlessly — unread messages, unopened notifications — all meaningless.
Nil narrowed his eyes. Hmph.
"I know Stranger helped me... but seriously—who comes to a café at midnight just for coffee?"
"Strange Stranger..."
"I'll never understand him."
"He refused me first, then helped me, and now he's sitting here like some grumpy shadow demanding coffee at midnight."
"Grumpy."
Unbeknownst to Nil, Stranger was still watching him — from beneath dark lashes, behind the dim blue of his phone screen — and he liked it.
He liked the way Nil muttered to himself with furrowed brows and barely-restrained contempt.
He liked that Nil was honest in the face of mystery, that he did not shrink from the unknown but challenged it with narrowed eyes and bitter mutterings.
Stranger liked the way his presence unsettled the boy.
And, shamefully, he liked the way the boy unsettled him.
Nil, perceptive as ever, once again felt that gaze flicker toward him.
He looked up — and found Stranger, still, still as ever, sitting with impeccable posture, eyes fixed on his phone like a painting come to life.
But something about the stillness was too perfect.
Nil squinted slightly. Acting. That was definitely acting.
Inside Stranger's chest, a conflict burned like slow fire.
He gripped his phone tighter, resisting the urge to toss it aside. Strann, he hissed to himself, you are Kao Neptune. You've been on magazine covers, in front of royalty, on global stages. What is this... fixation?
Why does this boy occupy so much of your vision?
And then, out loud — barely more than breath — he whispered,
"Strann... you fool."
The name was soft, private. It didn't belong to anyone but him. A name from before fame, before titles.
And yet—
"Stranger?" Nil's voice interrupted, uncertain. "Did you... say something?"
Stranger straightened in an instant, composure snapping back into place like a snapped fan.
"...No."
Just that. Nothing more.
Nil frowned, puzzled but too tired to press the matter. He finished the preparations and carried the two cups forward, setting one gently before Stranger with a touch that bordered on reluctant grace.
He did not smile. He did not speak.
But his hands were steady, and his eyes lingered for a breath too long before he turned away.
The coffee sat between them like a third presence, silent and heavy.
Stranger's fingers lingered on the rim of the porcelain cup, eyes half-lowered, expression unreadable. The steam rose quietly between them, curling like smoke from a slow-burning fire.
Then, as if the thought had just come to him — or as if it had been waiting, crouched at the edge of his throat — he spoke.
"If you'd like," he said, his voice calm but unusually soft, "you can sit with me."
The words fell with practiced ease, but the warmth that clung to them was harder to mask — not overt, not obvious, but there, like sunlight filtered through fog.
Across from him, Nil stilled.
A soft, barely audible sound escaped his lips — something between a scoff and a sigh. "Inviting me... as if he's bestowing charity."
"This arrogant Stranger."
He didn't answer at first. Simply busied himself with straightening the tray, adjusting nothing in particular. He wasn't ready to be polite. Not just yet.
But Stranger was watching him too closely.
"Did you say something just now?" he asked, voice curious, not confrontational.
Nil's shoulders tightened. So he heard me...
"No," he replied quickly, with the clipped politeness of someone biting down emotion. "It's quite alright. I don't wish to inconvenience you any longer. I'm heading to my room."
He turned, already taking a step away. But before he could retreat fully into the safety of distance, a sudden pressure seized his wrist.
Stranger had reached out.
The grip wasn't harsh, but it was firm — unrelenting in its intent. His long fingers, cool and elegant, closed around Nil's wrist like a command written in flesh.
"I don't believe you heard me properly," Stranger said, his voice low, threaded with steel and soft insistence. "I asked you to sit with me."
Nil's brow twitched.
"Now he's trying to force my hand?" he muttered under his breath, annoyed beyond measure.
But Stranger remained still, watching him with an unnerving calm. No arrogance, no amusement — just that same quiet force that had always made Nil feel as though he were being studied by someone who saw far too much.
"Come on," Stranger said again, a touch gentler this time. "Sit with me."
Nil stood frozen, caught in the strange gravity of the moment. His first instinct was to pull away — to retreat, to scoff, to say no. But another voice tugged at his conscience — Uncle Tham's voice, warm and steady like a stone in the sun.
"I promised Uncle I wouldn't make trouble."
"And this man—this maddening, unpredictable Stranger—if I refuse, who knows what stunt he'll pull next? Sit with me? What next? Kidnap me?"
He let out a breath, slow and measured, but his glare did not soften.
"Stranger has lost his mind. That's the only explanation."