That might have been the most dangerous turning point of my life as a teacher.
It was the thirtieth of the month, and the lottery was due the next day.
Thanks to Granny Manee the veggie seller and Granny Sri the ever-so-kind lottery queen, I dipped my toes into gambling for the first time, running a tab of just two hundred baht.
Month one:
"Holy shit—I won ten baht!"
Month two:
"Whoa! Last two digits, I'm rich!"
Month three:
"Wait… I lost? But I spent three hundred…"
Month four:
"Nothing. Not a single hit. I blew a thousand!"
And month after month, the same brutal refrain:
"Didn't win! Didn't win! Didn't fucking win for almost a year!"
At first, I'd promise Granny Sri with all the confidence in the world that this time I'd pay off my debt in full.
But every miss left me mumbling sheepishly, "Uh… put it on my tab, yeah?"
And just like that, I'd become a full-blown addict.
Every month I hunted numbers like a starving dog—and every month I couldn't even meet my dealer's eyes.
So this was my first year as a government teacher: broke, pathetic, and trapped.
…
By dusk, I was the last one cleaning up after the kids. The others had gone home, leaving the rural school hollow and echoing.
My thoughts drifted back to Granny Sri. I hadn't seen her in a while. Word was she'd fallen sick.
Not surprising—she was old. But people said her son had come back to take care of her.
If that was true, maybe things weren't so bad.
I wanted to visit her, but shame clung like a second skin.
How could I show my face when I owed her so much? She'd always been so kind, so gentle, treating me—an impoverished city teacher—even better than her own villagers.
And yet I'd repaid her with debt.
But it wasn't the mother I feared.
It was the son.
The villagers spoke his name like a curse: ruthless, brutal, with rumors of blood on his hands from his youth—sent abroad because he'd allegedly killed a man.
Just overhearing it gave me chills.
If he came to collect and wasn't half as kind as his mother… what then?
Would I end up as fertilizer in the woods before my teaching career even hit one year?
I was still shoving my hand into my bag, searching for my bike keys, when the voice came.
"I'm here to collect, Teacher Looktan."
A deep, gravelly voice. Cold enough to freeze bone.
It slammed through me like a shockwave—just the sound alone made my skin crawl.
But the words "collect" sent my stomach plummeting.
"Haven't seen you since my mother fell ill.
Don't tell me you weren't planning to pay her back.
You owe enough to buy a damn house, don't you think?"
The voice was merciless, laced with laughter that didn't reach his eyes.
The late evening offered no one to hear me scream.
My knuckles whitened around my cloth bag as I forced myself to turn.
And there he was.
…
Fuck.
He was huge.
A wall of muscle that swallowed my small frame whole.
My wide eyes climbed from the honey-bronze chest inked with black tattoos, up to the open shirt gaping over perfect abs.
Broad shoulders, thick neck, sharp jawline—his face was a carved weapon, every feature dangerously precise.
A straight nose, thick brows, and eyes—dark, narrow, piercing—like a predator's.
He was beautiful.
Too beautiful.
The kind of beauty that hurt.
I froze, breath caught. My thoughts turned to static until a single word bubbled up—
Edible.
My throat worked a dry swallow. My lips trembled—then slipped.
"…so fucking hot."
Shit. I hadn't meant to say that out loud.
I slapped my hand over my mouth, too late.
The corner of his lips curled upward.
He leaned down, whispering against my ear, voice like velvet laced with steel.
"Drooling already, Teacher?
Starving, are we?"
The graze of his breath seared me.
A calloused hand slid over my narrow waist, fingers just brushing—but it was enough to set my whole body ablaze.
I licked my lips. My trembling fingers betrayed me, drifting up to press against his chest, then sliding down, down, until they caught on the edge of his jeans.
My gaze met his.
No longer wide with fear, but hazy, pleading, hungry.
…
I looped my arms around his neck, pressed my lips together, and whispered recklessly:
"If I'm starving… won't you feed me?"
…
The smile that spread across his face was pure sin.
And with one swift motion, he swung me up against his chest, tossed me onto the front of his roaring motorbike, and revved the engine.
"W-where are you taking me?"
"To eat," he said with a laugh, teeth flashing in the dark.
"Or does your teacher's lodge serve something I don't know about?"