Back at Granny's house, the night still clung to me. Lantern light from the festival seemed to have followed me inside, flickering against the wooden beams, pooling in the corners like echoes of the river. But all I truly carried was the sound of his name.
"Anurak."
It turned over and over in my chest, a quiet tide I couldn't resist. I mouthed it silently as I laid out my bedding, as I untied the sash at my waist. The syllables tasted different each time—sometimes sharp, sometimes soft—always leaving behind the same ache.
Granny hummed in the kitchen, her bracelets jingling as she poured water into clay cups. Sorren padded after her, nails clicking on the wooden floor, tail sweeping eagerly for scraps. The ordinary sounds of home should have calmed me. Instead, they only sharpened the memory of the river and eyes that looked through me.
When Granny came back with tea, she set a cup before me.
"You're too quiet, Kael," she said, studying me with a knowing tilt of her head.
"Did the festival tire you so much?" I forced a smile.
"Maybe."
But my heart pressed forward, restless.
"The man you greeted… Anurak," I said slowly, careful as though stepping on a fragile bridge, "he seemed… familiar to you."
Granny's lips curved—not into mischief, but something softer, touched with memory. She lowered herself onto a chair and slipped her tea before answering.
"I knew his father. He was a monk, a wonderful one, respected by all. Unfortunately, he passed away two years ago. At that time, the whole town mourned."
Something in me jolted. A monk's son. No wonder Granny's bow had been so deep. But she didn't stop there.
"Anurak lives quietly now," she continued. "Helps with temple works, sometimes with the children. He carries himself with the same calm as his father… though I think life has placed heavier stones on his shoulders than most his age."
I tried to act casual, but the words lodged inside me, stirring more questions than they answered.
"He seemed… different," I murmured.
Granny's gaze caught mine, as if testing me. Then she nodded.
"Yes. Different. Some souls carry silence like a clock, Kael. Anurak is one of them."
Her tone told me she would say no more tonight. But I didn't need more—not yet. Even those fragments felt like treasures: a monk's son, a man who carries silence, a name that once belonged only to my dreams.
Later, when the house had gone still and Granny's door had closed, I lay awake with his name circling through me. Anurak. The man who had stepped out of the faceless shadows of my dreams and stood before me, flesh and breath, heavy with secrets I wasn't meant to know.
And though I ached to hear him speak my name, for now, all I had was his.