The train rattled softly, carrying me out of Bangkok's thrum and into the slower breath of the countryside. I pressed my forehead against the window, watching the skyline melt into fields and shrines tucked beneath banyan trees.
The dream clung to me like a stubborn perfume—his hand, his eyes, the impossible feeling of belonging. It wasn't my first journey to Granny's, but this time, every mile felt steeped in waiting. As though the road itself had been longing to bring me back.
When the bus dropped me at the edge of the last paved road, the air felt different—thicker, sweet with the smell of wet soil and lemongrass from roadside stalls. I flagged down a songthaew, an auto-like vehicle, clutching Sorren in my arms. His tail thumped against my wrist as he sniffed the air, restless but curious. Sometimes I wondered if he felt things before I did—his little heart beating faster whenever the world seemed to shift around me.
Finally, Granny's house came into view. A traditional wooden Thai home, lifted on stilts, roof curved like palms pressed together in wai. Frangipani (chembakam) trees leaned protectively around the yard, their white blooms scattered like quiet blessings.
Granny was already waiting at the steps, fan in one hand, the other waving. Her silver hair was coiled into a neat bun, her smile wide enough to erase the long journey in an instant.
"You've grown thinner," she teased as she pulled me into her arms, "but your eyes look heavier. The city does this to my child."
Sorren barked sharply, tail whipping like a flag as Granny bent down to greet him.
"Ah, Sorren, remember me? He's grown bold," she laughed, scratching behind his ears until he squirmed in delight.
Inside, the air smelled of wood polish and pandan leaves. Same as always. I barely set my bags down before Granny started chattering about the village.
"They are preparing for Loi Krathong this weekend," she said, her eyes sparkling.
"You will see the river full of lights. Lanterns rising into the sky, boats carrying flowers and candles drifting away like prayers. The neighbours say it will be the brightest one in years."
Her voice carried a thrill, as if she herself were a little girl again. She pressed a sticky rice 🍚 cake into my hands before I could answer. Outside, I could already hear children practicing songs for the festival, their voices rising and falling in uneven harmony. Sorren pricked his ears, watching the doors as if he wanted to chase the sound.
I leaned against the wooden railing of the verandah, chewing slowly, and let the hum of the town wash over me. For a moment, it felt like the dream hadn't ended at all—only shifted into daylight.