Morning light filtered through the sheer curtains and spilled across the study. The air still carried traces of the warmth and intimacy from the night before.
Manida slowly opened her eyes, and the first thing she saw was Parin, still fast asleep beside her. Her face, usually sharp and composed, was now softened in slumber—peaceful, almost fragile.
Manida couldn't help but reach out, brushing away the strands of hair that had fallen across her forehead. As her fingertips grazed that familiar skin, a bittersweet ache welled up inside her—an ache born from closeness, and from the fear of losing it.
At that moment, Parin's eyelashes trembled. She opened her eyes and caught Manida's wrist.
"Were you watching me?" Her voice was husky, laced with a lazy smile.
Manida froze, quickly looking away as she muttered with feigned composure,
"Who's watching you? I was just thinking… maybe we were too impulsive last night."
Parin's gaze deepened. She sat up, leaning close until their eyes met.
"You regret it?"
The air turned heavy.
Manida bit her lip but said nothing. She didn't regret it—not truly. She was just afraid that happiness had come too suddenly, too brightly, and would soon slip through her fingers like sand.
"I don't regret it," Parin said firmly, as if reading her thoughts. Her tone carried the authority of a professor, but her eyes brimmed with possessiveness.
"Once I've started something, I don't stop—unless you tell me to."
Manida's heart trembled; her eyes grew moist. She didn't argue again—she only reached out and drew Parin into her arms.
But tenderness never lasts long.
That afternoon, Manida attended an academic conference. The hall was bright and crowded, yet she couldn't shake the feeling that someone's eyes were fixed on her from afar.
When the event ended, she stepped outside and suddenly caught sight of a familiar dark silhouette standing beneath the shadow of a tree. The gaze that met hers was cold and piercing.
Her pulse faltered, her steps nearly stopped—but when she looked again, the figure had vanished.
"Professor Manida, are you all right?"
A colleague's voice pulled her back. She forced a smile. "I'm fine."
But on the way home, her hands wouldn't stop trembling.
That night, Parin noticed her unease. She closed her book and walked over.
"You've been distracted all day. What happened?"
Manida hesitated, then shook her head. "Nothing. Just tired."
Parin didn't press. She wrapped an arm around her instead, whispering softly,
"No matter what happens, remember—I'm here."
Those words warmed Manida's heart, but they also weighed heavily. Because she knew—some dangers don't leave easily.
Outside, the wind howled.
A black car sat idling on the corner of the street. Inside, a man watched the lit window of the apartment with a cold smile.
"Not yet," he murmured. "But soon—it'll be your turn."