The Night at Sophea Hut
The night here was unlike any night in the modern world. There was no order—only the sound of crickets crying through the trees and the wind carrying the faint scent of burnt fields from far away.
Inside the small hut of the woman who had rescued him, Samreth lay on a bamboo mat, staring up through the cracks in the thatched roof where starlight seeped in. He hadn't asked her anything yet it was already late when they arrived here. He thought that sleep is the only way to help him recover—that perhaps it was just a bad dream. But deep inside, he knew it was real. This was the Khmer Rouge era.
Still, his mind refused to rest. He didn't know what tomorrow would bring. Every detail around him—the sounds, the smells—was foreign and unsettling. People here shot strangers without questioning. The life itself felt fragile, thinner than he could ever have imagined. There were no cameras, no radios, no moder phone at all.
From somewhere nearby, frogs croaked in the fields, and in another hut a mother was trying to hush her crying baby to sleep. War was coming closer—he couldn't see it, but he could feel it, like a storm building on the horizon.
The woman who had helped him sat by the doorway, sharpening her knife under the dim glow of a candle. Her movements were slow and deliberate. The light painted her face golden, her shadow flickering against the walls.
Samreth watched her silently. She looked a bit younger than he'd thought, yet there was a fierce steadiness in her eyes that hadn't faded since he first saw her. He wanted to thank her and to ask her who she was—but in this silence, even a word felt dangerous.
Finally, she spoke first, without turning to look at him.
"You've been staring at me too long," she said—in English.
Samreth blinked fast, startled. How could someone in this era speak English? He hesitated. "I'm sorry," he answered in Khmer.
"You think I wouldn't notice?" she said calmly. "I always notice."
She wiped her blade clean and set it beside her.
"You're not from around here. But tell me—how come you know how to speak Khmer?"
Samreth hesitated. "What makes you so sure I'm not local?"
Her lips curved faintly as she replied,
"Your hands—they're too clean for anyone living here. The way you speak—too careful. And your walk… like a man who's never felt the weight of the earth beneath his feet one last thing your clothes ,That's how the army could find you easily"
Her gaze sharpened again.
"So who are you, really?"
Samrith took a long breath. "My name is Samreth, Kiri" he said. "And I've already told you the truth—I'm lost."
"Lost men aren't afraid, samreth. I saw the army chasing you—they don't do that for nothing. You escaped from prison, didn't you?"
The candle flickered, nearly dying out. The woman rose and added a handful of dry leaves to the small fire pit, the flames leaping back to life for a brief moment.
"Tomorrow," she said softly, "we travel at dawn. You'll come with me to the village."
"Why? And… what's your name?"
"You can't stay here. They patrol this area constantly. If they find you, they'll think you're CIA—or worse."
She turned slightly. "My name is Sophea."
Samreth nodded slowly. "And what will they think of you?"
Her faint smile faded, leaving a shadow of sorrow behind.
"They already think I'm dead."
The Next Morning
Mist drifted across the rice fields like a slow-moving ghost. samrith followed Sophea along a narrow path lined with banana trees. Her pace was steady, her silence dignified, and somehow, her calm made him feel safe. Each step sank softly into the wet soil, yet she made no sound.
"Where are we going?" he asked.
"There's a safe house near Kampong Thom," she replied. "People who still believe in freedom live there."
"Are they… a resistance fighter?"
She shook her head.
"No, Samreth. A farmer. A teacher. A person with knowledge who hasn't yet been killed. In other words—a person who lives one day at a time."
Samreth fell in to silent, memorizing everything: the dew clinging to the rice stalks, the way the sunlight shimmered through the mist. He knew this moment was history—alive, breathing all around him.
By midday, they stopped at a small stream. Sophea knelt to fill in her water bottle, then tossed away her cracked mirror so they floated downstream.
"You're very quiet," she said.
"I'm trying not to say anything that'll make you think I'm insane."
She raised her head slightly, frowning.
"Try me."
He hesitated, the truth pressing against his lips like a secret too heavy to hold. He looked at her—at the dirt on her hands, the torn edge of her scarf, the weary defiance in her eyes—and something inside him ached.
Finally, he said softly,
"What if I told you… I'm not from this time?"
"What?" Sophea froze.
"I don't mean this place," he said quickly. "I mean… this year. I'm from fifty years in the future."
Sophea was silent for a moment—then she laughed, briefly but bitterly.
"You think this is a joke? You talk about time as if it's a game?"
"I'm telling the truth," Samreth insisted. He pulled the broken pocket watch from his bag and held it up. "This brought me here. I don't know how—but it happened."
Sophea studied it, her expression unreadable.
"That's just an old French design. You could find one anywhere."
"Then explain this."
He showed her his digital smartwatch. The dark screen reflected her face.
"This doesn't exist here—not yet. Look closely."
She turned it over carefully in her hands.
"What is it?"
"A watch. It runs on energy, not batteries. In my time, everyone wears one."
She traced the smooth surface with her thumb.
"Energy without batteries…" she murmured. "Impossible."
"That's what I thought too," he said quietly.
They sat in silence, the sound of running water filling the space between them. Sophea handed the watch back, her eyes narrowing slightly.
"Even if I believe you… why are you here?"
"I don't know," Kiri said honestly. "One moment I was at Angkor, reading my grandmother's diary—and then I blacked out. When I woke up, I was here."
For the first time, her eyes softened.
"Then maybe the past wanted you to see it… instead of just reading about it."
Samreth smiled faintly.
"Do you believe in fate?"
"No," she replied. "I believe in choice. Fate is just what people say when they're too afraid to face their own fear."