"They say love is patience, but I have none left—
So let my longing become a storm."
—Kao Neptune
It was half past two in the morning.
The house was steeped in silence, the kind that pooled in the corners of dark hallways like cold mist. Achara stepped barefoot into the drawing room, hugging an empty glass jug to her chest. Her hair was tousled from sleep, and her slippers barely made a sound as she passed the moonlit window.
She paused.
A faint glow flickered from the crack beneath the study door.
Frowning, she tilted her head. At this hour?
She padded closer and gently pushed the door open. The hinges let out a reluctant sigh.
Inside, Kao sat alone at his desk, back slightly hunched, a single lamp casting golden light across scattered papers. He was dressed only in a soft black t-shirt, collar loosened. One hand braced his head, fingers tangled in his dark hair. His face was pale, his jaw tight, as if he'd been holding his breath for hours.
Achara rubbed her eyes. Her voice was soft, thick with sleep.
"Brother... why are you still awake?"
Kao did not look up at first. When he did, his voice was low, almost hoarse.
"Why are you awake?"
She blinked at him, clutching the jug tighter.
"I was thirsty. There's no water in my room, so I came to get some."
A pause. Then her brows furrowed as she took a small step forward. "But Brother... you..."
Kao said nothing. His silence wasn't heavy—it was hollow. Like something caved in quietly.
Achara walked in and sat across from him, folding her legs up into the chair like a child. Her eyes searched his face.
"Did you and Nil... fight?"
His lips pressed into a line. The answer was obvious.
Achara let out a slow breath. She reached out and rested her arms on the desk. "Brother, don't... don't stress like this."
She leaned forward. Her voice gentled.
"Nil will definitely understand your feelings."
Kao let out a soft, bitter exhale, finally breaking.
"But when, Achara?" His knuckles whitened against the wood. "I tried. I tried so hard to talk to him. To make him see. I—I even thought I was getting close. But every time I open myself up, he just—runs. Like I'm something frightening. Like I'm—some kind of monster to him."
Achara tilted her head. Her tone suddenly mischievous, but not unkind.
"Then tie him to you."
Kao blinked. "...What?"
She grinned. "I mean, take him somewhere. Far. Where he can't run away."
She waved her hands dreamily, like painting an idea into the air.
"Someplace where no one can interfere. Just the two of you. No more hiding, no more misunderstandings. You lock the world out—and then you tell him. Everything. Everything you've kept buried."
Kao looked at her, unspeaking.
Achara's eyes sparkled. "And I'm sure—damn sure—he'll understand you. Maybe not at first. Maybe not easily. But he will. Because he already feels something."
He lowered his gaze. For a moment, he seemed like a boy again—lonely, uncertain, waiting for a world that never quite answered back.
"Are you sure?" he murmured.
She stood suddenly and grabbed both his cheeks with her hands, squeezing his face.
"Damn sure!"
Kao blinked, startled.
"Achara—"
But she had already turned and run from the room, giggling as she went.
A long silence followed. Then slowly, like the thawing of winter frost, a faint smile bloomed on Kao's lips.
"...Thank you, Achara," he said softly.
On the other hand, the room was quiet, save for the soft rise and fall of Mary's snoring.
Nil turned over restlessly, then sat up.
"Mary..." he whispered.
"Mary..."
No response. Just a sleepy grunt and deeper breathing.
He stood beside her for a moment, then quietly stepped back. She was fast asleep.
He didn't try again.
Returning to bed, he lay down, eyes open.
"...Stranger," he murmured, voice barely a breath.
"You've stolen my sleep..."
"...my peace."
The next day.
The sun rose reluctantly behind a shroud of grey clouds, casting a silver pallor over the city.
Nil was at the studio.
Costume, makeup, lights—everything was in place. Cameras clicked, crew moved like clockwork, directors barked orders. But Nil stood at the center of it all like a marionette with his strings half-cut.
He remembered the lines. Hit every mark.
But his eyes drifted often.
To his phone. To the window. To a shadow that wasn't there.
His smile during the shoot was perfect—but it didn't reach his eyes.
Meanwhile, across the city in a towering glass office, Kao sat behind his desk, papers spread out before him in neat rows. His pen was poised, the ink wet on the page, but he hadn't moved in minutes.
The staff outside tiptoed, careful not to disturb him.
He wasn't scowling—but neither was he present.
One hand supported his chin. The other kept reaching for his phone, then stopping halfway.
His eyes kept wandering to the door, as though expecting it to open at any moment and for someone—someone—to come walking through.
Neither spoke of the ache in their chest. Neither named it.
But both were drowning in the same silence.
Longing can be loud, even without words.
And today, it screamed.
As dusk lowered, the golden heir of Neptune Music—whose name could silence boardrooms and unsettle seasoned executives—stood paralyzed before a wardrobe of fabric.
Kao's fingers hovered uncertainly over rows of tailored suits, each more exquisite than the last. For once, their perfection offered no comfort. Under his crisp composure, something within him stirred like a caged creature—a restless tension, sharp and electric.
Behind him, Achara leaned casually against the doorframe, arms folded, lips curled in a knowing smile.
"...Achara," Kao finally said, voice tight, "should I wear the red with the white shirt? Or maybe... gray? But Nil—he seems to like blue, doesn't he?" He paused, then raked a hand through his already-perfect hair, a rare crack showing. "I've met him so many times before, but today feels different. I feel like I'm meeting someone... new. Someone I don't want to get wrong."
His voice faltered on the last word. For a man who commanded orchestras of power with a single glance, that falter carried the weight of a confession.
Achara walked over and gently pressed a hand to his shoulder, coaxing him into the chair as if taming a skittish colt.
"Brother," she said softly, "you could show up wearing a rain tarp and still make the front page."
He gave her a tired look.
"But," she continued with a mischievous glint, "if you really want my advice—not as your image consultant, but as your sister—then listen closely. Don't go as Neptune's CEO. Don't go as the name the world knows."
Her voice turned tender, sincere.
"Go as the man who spilled soup on him."
A pause.
"A black silk shirt," she said. "Simple. Not loud. But intimate. It tells him you're not here to impress the world. You're here to be seen by him. I think that's what Nil truly wants."
Kao lowered his eyes.
After a long silence, he nodded.
"...Black silk," he murmured. "Stranger, not Neptune."
Kao remained seated for a moment, eyes lowered, fingers loosely laced over his knee, "...Thank you," he said at last, voice low. "But... do you really think he'll say yes?"
He lifted his eyes slowly, as if fearing the weight of his own hope.
"Does he..." Kao paused, then forced the words through tight lips, "Does he even like me? Truly?"
Achara met his gaze squarely. Her smile didn't waver; it deepened.
"I've seen the way P'Nil looks at you," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "It's not admiration. It's not gratitude. It's something heavier. Deeper. When he thinks no one is watching, he watches you. Like someone who's afraid to look, but even more afraid to look away."
She folded her arms, as if concluding a case.
"And if I'm not mistaken... he might love you more than you love him."
Kao inhaled sharply. The words didn't just land—they bloomed, expanding in his chest like a fire catching breath. His pulse fluttered like a page turned too quickly.
"...I wish," he whispered. "I wish... I wish..."
A faint, unguarded smile broke across his lips.
"...Thank you, Achara. For saying it. For being here. But now—if I don't get dressed, I'll be late,"
Achara raised an eyebrow, clicking her tongue as she turned to leave.
"Hmph! Look at you now, dismissing me like staff. Truly bad."
At that very hour, Nil stood beneath the soft golden light of Moon's Smile Café, clad not in silk or glamour, but in a waiter's modest uniform.
His sleeves were rolled up, collar slightly askew, and the edge of his apron was stained with milk foam and soy sauce. And yet, he stood straighter than a prince, with the calm pride of someone doing something by choice—not obligation.
Despite everyone's objections, he remained firm.
"I'm only a guest here for a few days," he said with a gentle smile, tucking a tray beneath his arm. "You've all done too much for me already. So... please let me do this. Let me serve you."
He added, with quiet honesty, "I'm enjoying it, too."
Techno groaned dramatically and tried to stop him. Mary puffed up like a hen and scolded him half-heartedly. But it was Uncle Tham who gave in first, chuckling through misty eyes. In the end, the three of them pulled him into a hug.
Polite, pretty, and elusive as moonlight, he attracted attention like sugar drew ants. Customers gathered near the counter, pretending to browse menus just to sneak a glance, or worse—request a photo. Nil would oblige with a polite nod and the faintest smile.
And that thread pulled taut when he caught sight of a small table by the window.
There, a child sat on his knees, his tiny mouth smeared with soup, as his mother leaned forward to gently feed him—her fingers brushing crumbs from his cheek, her eyes shining with a tenderness too vast for words.
Nil froze.
In an instant, he was a boy again, half-hidden behind his mother's sari, sneaking boiled eggs from her bowl and laughing when she pretended to scold him. That memory struck without warning, sharp as lightning.
His throat tightened.
From behind the counter, Uncle Tham had been watching. Quietly, he placed a steadying hand on Nil's shoulder. His palm was large and warm, like a roof shielding someone from sudden rain.
"You miss your family," Uncle Tham said softly.
Nil didn't speak.
"You should call them," the old man added, eyes kind. "Don't wait for the right moment. Just call. They'll be happy. No matter what."
Nil bowed slightly and gave a quick nod, then turned and disappeared behind the café's inner curtain. Inside the storage room, dim and cramped, he sat on a crate and pulled out his phone. His fingers trembled as he dialed.
The ring tone felt unbearably long.
Then—
"Niloy?"
His sister's voice.
Warm. Familiar. Real.
It had been three months since he heard it last, yet the sound struck him like a bell in the bones. His lips parted, but nothing came out.
On the other end of the line, Sonali had been silent. Not in judgment—but in listening.
Nil's breath hitched. He dared to ask.
"...SD," he murmured, using the name he had given her as a boy too small to say "Sonali Didi" in full. "Are you... angry with me? For what I did...?"
He hesitated.
Then, with sudden gentleness: "You know, I finally got my first project. As the lead. I'll be the main character."
His voice cracked, as if saying it aloud made it real—and terrifying.
For a moment, only the hum of the line.
Then, she spoke.
"...Hmm." A soft exhale. "I was. At first."
Nil's fingers tensed.
"But what you did..." her voice warmed, "you did it for your dream. You always told me you would act one day. Even when you couldn't pronounce 'actor' properly."
He let out a breath, eyes stinging.
"I'm proud of you, Babu," she said. "Truly. But... please, try to come back soon. Ma hasn't slept a full night since you left."
His eyes brimmed, but he nodded as if she could see him through the phone.
"I will, SD," he said, voice steady now, quiet but clear.
"I will. Very soon."
It was 1:45 a.m.
The café had long since emptied, save for the quiet scuffle of closing duties. Techno was stacking chairs with the weary rhythm of someone half-asleep, while Mary wiped the counter, humming tunelessly to keep herself awake. Uncle Tham was counting receipts behind the bar, glasses clinking in the background like faint chimes.
And then—
A black Audi pulled up to the curb, silent as a specter.
The door opened with a clean hiss of precision.
Out stepped Kao.
The night air bent around him.
His black shirt clung to his frame, two buttons undone to reveal the sharp edge of his collarbones and the faintest slope of his chest. The silk gleamed like oil under the streetlamp, outlining a body sculpted with such precision it seemed unreal. His pants—fitted, cruelly tight—moved like shadow over muscle, catching with every shift of his long legs.
But it was his eyes that struck first—cold, gleaming, and sharp enough to cut glass.
He walked in.
The café's modest lights reflected off the polished black of his boots as he crossed the threshold with silent authority. His presence rippled through the room like thunder before a storm.
Mary froze mid-wipe, her sponge falling to the floor with a dull plop.
Techno straightened slowly, as if a ghost had entered.
Uncle Tham, more composed, simply murmured, "...Kao?"
But Kao didn't answer.
His gaze swept past all of them, not out of rudeness—but focus. Intense, singular, unrelenting. He wasn't there to impress. He wasn't there to talk.
He was there to find someone.
"Where's Nil?" he asked, voice low, smooth, and cutting straight to the point.
Not a single soul dared delay his answer.
Uncle Tham blinked, taken aback by the sheer gravity of his presence. Kao stood before him not as the untouchable CEO, not as the famed heir of Neptune Music, but something more dangerous. More raw. A man straining at the seams of control.
"Servant's room," Uncle Tham said gently, the only one who could meet his gaze.
He didn't get a reply.
Kao had already turned.
The door swung open with a soft creak.
Warm light from the hallway spilled into the modest servant's room, casting long shadows across the floor. Inside, Nil sat cross-legged on the narrow mattress, phone held gently in both hands, his eyes fixed on the screen.
He didn't look up.
His sister had just sent him photos—grainy but full of life. One of her at work, another of their mother watering tulsi plants in the courtyard. And one more: the three of them together, from two years ago, with Nil in the center, laughing mid-blink, his collar turned up awkwardly.
He stared. Time seemed to dissolve.
Then a voice cut through the silence, cool and low:
"Nil."
Nil blinked. Slowly, he turned.
And there stood Kao.
Lean body framed by the doorway, shadow licking his edges, black shirt unbuttoned just enough to tempt impropriety. He looked like a sin the night had sculpted. One hand in his pocket, the other loosely at his side, but his eyes—those eyes—were locked onto Nil with the precision of a drawn blade.
Nil tilted his head, puzzled.
"...Strangerrr?" he said, half-question, half-tease. "What are you doing here?"
Kao didn't answer directly. His voice left no room for confusion.
"No questions. Just come."
Nil blinked again, "...Nope. I'm busy nowww."
Kao stepped forward, slow and measured, like a beast closing the distance.
"Come with me quietly," he said, his tone deceptively calm.
"Otherwise..."
Nil narrowed his eyes, one brow arching. "Otherwiseee whattt?"
Kao's expression didn't shift, but something in his gaze darkened, like silk catching fire.
"I'll have to use my strength. And you won't like that."
Nil lowered the phone to his lap, lips pressing into a tight line.
"So now you're threatening me?"
A pause. The tension hung like a taut string between them.
"I told you I'm busy, Strangerr. Stop being so dramatic—"
But before he could finish, Kao stepped in fully and placed one hand on Nil's head, fingers brushing his hair as if soothing a child... or claiming something.
A smile curved his lips—dangerous, unreadable.
"Such stubbornness," Kao murmured.
"You've left me no choice."
"...Sorry, Nil."
Nil froze.
His voice dropped, quiet with suspicion.
"...For what?"