The scratched plastic of the cafeteria table was cool under Phuwin's forearms, but here in the lecture hall the desks were wood-grain laminate, worn smooth by generations of students. He sat in the middle row between Santa and Siyh, his presentation folder open on the desk—a thin stack of papers he'd stayed up until 2 AM finishing. His eyes ached. His neck ached. Everything ached the way it did when he forgot to eat dinner because he was too busy staring at a blinking cursor.
Siyh rummaged through her bag beside him, the zipper screeching as she dug deeper. Her hand came up empty. She did it again, slower this time, her fingers patting the bottom of the bag like the project might materialize if she just believed hard enough.
She leaned over, her voice a whisper: “Mai kao jai. Tee nai… Is it?” Her lower lip pushed out into a pout that made her look younger than she was.
Phuwin stared at her for a second. Then he sighed—the kind that came from somewhere deep—and let his shoulders drop. He nudged his folder toward her.
“Here. Take mine.”
Siyh blinked at him. “What? But your name’s on it.”
“Erase it. Write yours.” He was already turning back to his empty desk, his pen tapping against his thumb. “I’ll redo it tonight. It’s fine.”
She didn’t argue. She grabbed his face with both hands and pressed a kiss to his cheek—loud and warm and smelling like her strawberry lip balm—then crushed him in a hug that bent him sideways in his chair. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
Phuwin let her squeeze him. His ribs ached. His head ached. His whole body felt like a cup of water filled to the brim, one more tap away from spilling. But he just shook his head and pried her arms off gently. “You owe me.”
“I know. I’ll buy you boba for a month.”
“A year.”
“Six months.”
“Deal.”
The classroom door swung open. Professor Thanirkynian walked in—a short man with wire-rimmed glasses and a stack of papers that seemed to have its own gravitational field. The class rose as one, bowing, their voices overlapping in the morning greeting. “Sawasdee khrap, ajahn.”
Phuwin bowed too, his eyes on the floor. His stomach had started to twist.
The professor set down his papers and looked out at the rows of faces. “Projects. Front of the room now. One at a time.”
Santa nudged Phuwin’s arm. “You don’t have anything,” he said quietly. “Are you just going to sit here?”
Phuwin shrugged. “What else can I do?”
Santa studied him for a moment, then stood and walked to the front with his own folder. Siyh followed a second later, clutching Phuwin’s folder like a shield. She caught his eye as she passed and gave him a look—I’m sorry—but he just smiled and waved her on.
The first three students went smoothly. The fourth was called up. The fifth. Phuwin’s name was seventh on the list.
When the professor called it, Phuwin stayed seated.
“Phuwin Wacharawit.”
He stood slowly. The room felt smaller. The fluorescent lights buzzed in the silence.
He walked to the front and bowed, then stood in front of the desk, hands at his sides. The professor looked at him over the rims of his glasses. “Where is your project?”
“I don’t have it, ajahn.” His voice was steady. He’d practiced this in his head during the walk. “Phom tham mai set khrap.” I didn’t finish it.
The professor set down his pen. His face was not angry—it was disappointed. That was worse. “You had two weeks.”
“I know, ajahn. I’m sorry. I—” He stopped. There was no excuse that would matter. He just bowed his head. “Kho thot khrap.”
The silence stretched. The professor sighed and pulled out a red pen. “You have until tomorrow morning. 7 AM. My office. If the paper is not in my hand by then, I deduct a full letter grade from your final score for this course.” He looked up. “Do you understand?”
Phuwin swallowed. “Yes, ajahn. Thank you.” He bowed again, deeper this time, then walked back to his seat. Each step felt like walking through mud.
He sat down. Santa’s hand landed on his shoulder, a warm pressure that said I’m here. Siyh leaned in, her voice a whisper: “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” He wasn’t. But he said it anyway.
The lecture began. The professor’s voice filled the room, droning about postmodernism and narrative structure. Slides clicked across the screen—bullet points, quotes from the textbook, questions he fired at random students. Phuwin stared at the open book in front of him. The words blurred.
He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. His temples throbbed. He took a breath. Then another. But the air felt thick, like he was drinking it instead of breathing it.
Santa leaned over to Siyh. “I’ll write down the notes. Take him out.”
Siyh didn’t hesitate. She grabbed Phuwin’s hand—warm, familiar—and pulled him to his feet. He stumbled a little, his legs stiff from sitting. She led him down the row, past the other students, toward the front of the room. She stopped at the professor’s desk. “Ajahn khrap, could Phuwin and I go to the bathroom? He’s not feeling well.”
The professor waved his hand without looking up. “Go.”
Siyh pulled Phuwin out of the room. The hallway was quiet, the fluorescent lights even harsher here, but the air was cooler. He let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.
She didn’t let go of his hand. She walked him down the stairs and across the open corridor, past the bulletin boards and the water fountains, until they reached the cafeteria.
The space was half-empty, a few students scattered at tables, the smell of steamed rice and fried garlic hanging in the air. Siyh pushed him toward a chair against the wall. “Sit.”
He sat. She disappeared for a few minutes, and when she came back, she was carrying a tall cup of strawberry boba—extra pearls, extra syrup, the way he liked it. She set it in front of him, then sat down across from him and reached across to ruffle his hair.
He picked up the drink. The plastic was cold against his palm. He pressed the straw through the seal and took a long sip. The sweetness hit his tongue, the pearls sliding up the straw. It was the first thing that had tasted real all morning.
“That bad?” Siyh asked softly.
He nodded. He didn’t trust his voice yet.
She didn’t push. She just rubbed the top of his head in slow circles, her fingers threading through his hair. It felt like being a child again, being comforted after a scraped knee. He leaned into it, his eyes half-closing.
“Do you want to go home? To Mae Godji?”
He shook his head. “Not yet.” He took another sip, then set the cup down and rubbed his eyes again. “I’m so tired, Siyh. I’m so tired of being in Mr. Thanirkynian’s class. Of listening to his lectures. Of feeling like I’m always one step behind.”
She pulled her hand away and folded it with her other on the table. “You’re not behind. You’re just—you’re a person, Phuwin. People forget things. People get tired. It doesn’t mean you’re failing.”
“It feels like I am.”
Siyh's hand stilled on his head. She pulled it back and folded her arms on the table, studying him the way she studied exam questions—looking for the weak point, the place where the answer was hiding.
"Phuwin." Her voice was softer now. "When did you last sleep?"
He opened his mouth. Closed it. The truth sat on his tongue like something sour. "I don't remember."
"When did you last eat a real meal? Not boba. Not a snack you grabbed while walking."
He picked at a scratch in the table's surface, his thumbnail tracing the groove. "Tuesday, maybe."
"It's Thursday."
"I know."
She didn't say anything for a long moment. The cafeteria hummed around them—the distant clatter of trays, a burst of laughter from a table near the window, the hiss of the espresso machine. None of it felt real. Phuwin kept tracing the scratch in the plastic, following it to where it dead-ended, then starting over.
"You can't keep doing this to yourself," Siyh said. "You're going to break."
"I'm already broken." He said it flatly, without drama, like stating a fact about the weather. "I've been broken for a while. I just got good at hiding it."
Siyh's jaw tightened. She reached across the table and took his hand, her fingers threading through his. Her palm was warm. Solid. "Then let us help you carry it. That's what friends are for, right?"
He looked at their hands. Her knuckles were scuffed from where she'd scraped them against a wall last week, chasing a stray cat out of the rain. Small evidence of a life that kept moving. He didn't know how to tell her that he felt like he'd stopped moving months ago and no one had noticed.
"I'm fine," he said. The lie came easy. It always did.
She squeezed his hand once, then let go. "You're a terrible liar."
"I know."
She laughed—a short, warm sound that made something in his chest loosen, just a little. "At least you're honest about that."
Footsteps approached. Phuwin looked up to see Santa crossing the cafeteria, his glasses slightly askew, a paper cup of coffee in one hand. He slid into the seat next to Siyh without ceremony, set the coffee down, and looked at Phuwin with the expression he used when he was about to say something careful.
"Pond was looking for you," Santa said.
Phuwin's stomach did something complicated. "Why?"
"He didn't say. He just asked where you were." Santa took a sip of his coffee, watching Phuwin over the rim. "He looked—I don't know. Nervous? Like he had something to say."
"Pond doesn't get nervous."
"Pond gets nervous around you."
Phuwin looked down at his boba cup. The ice had started to melt, diluting the syrup into pale pink water. He swirled it, watching the pearls tumble. "He's just—he's like that with everyone. He's friendly. It doesn't mean anything."
Siyh snorted. "He's not friendly with everyone. He's friendly with you. There's a difference."
"There's no difference."
"There's a difference," Santa said, his voice dry. "I've known him for five years. He doesn't bring strawberry boba to anyone else."
Phuwin's hand stilled on the cup. "He didn't bring me anything."
"He was holding a cup when he asked where you were." Santa shrugged. "I'm just saying what I saw."
The silence stretched. Phuwin could feel both of them watching him, waiting for him to say something, to react, to give them the opening they wanted. He didn't. He just stared at the cup in his hands and tried to figure out why his heart was beating faster.
"I should go to the library," he said finally. "I need to redo that project."
"You need to rest," Siyh said.
"I need to pass this class." He stood up, the chair scraping against the floor. The boba cup was still half-full. He left it on the table. "I'll see you guys later."
"Phuwin—"
"I'm fine." He said it again, and this time it sounded almost true. "Really. I just need to work."
He turned and walked toward the cafeteria exit. His legs felt heavy. His head was starting to throb again, a dull pressure behind his eyes that he knew would only get worse. He pushed open the door and stepped into the hallway.
The corridor was empty except for one person.
Pond stood near the bulletin board, a tall cup of strawberry boba in his hand, the condensation beading on the plastic. He was wearing a black t-shirt that stretched across his shoulders, his gold chain catching the fluorescent light. He looked up when the door opened, and his expression shifted—from neutral to something softer, something almost careful.
Phuwin stopped. His feet felt glued to the floor.
Pond opened his mouth. Closed it. Then he lifted the boba cup slightly, like an offering. "I was looking for you."
"Santa said." Phuwin's voice came out rougher than he meant. He cleared his throat. "Why?"
Pond took a step closer. Then another. The space between them shrank to a few feet. Up close, Phuwin could see the tension in his jaw, the way his hand gripped the cup a little too tight. "I heard about your project. That you didn't—" He stopped. Rerouted. "I wanted to bring you this. I remembered you like strawberry."
He held out the cup.
Phuwin stared at it. The pink liquid inside, the dark pearls settled at the bottom. His own half-empty cup was still on the cafeteria table. Pond hadn't known that. Pond had come looking for him, carrying boba, because Santa had told him once that Phuwin liked strawberry.
Something cracked in his chest. A small thing. A hairline fracture.
"I already have one," Phuwin said. His voice was barely a whisper. "Siyh got me one."
Pond's hand didn't lower. "Then you can have two."
Phuwin looked up at him. The fluorescent light caught the curve of Pond's jaw, the dark of his eyes. He wasn't smiling. He wasn't trying to be cool. He was just standing there, holding a cup of boba, waiting for Phuwin to take it.
Phuwin's hand moved before he told it to. His fingers closed around the cold plastic. The condensation wet his palm. "Thank you," he said, and the words felt too small for what they were carrying.
Pond's shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
"You don't look fine."
Phuwin laughed—a short, broken sound that surprised even him. "Everyone keeps telling me that today."
Pond didn't laugh. He just looked at him, his gaze steady, his voice quiet when he spoke again. "Do you want to sit down? Somewhere quiet. Not the cafeteria."
The offer hung in the air between them. Phuwin's first instinct was to say no, to retreat to the library, to bury himself in work until the world stopped pressing in on him. But his legs were tired. His head was tired. And Pond was still looking at him like he mattered, like his answer mattered, like he wasn't just another person passing through.
"Okay," Phuwin said. The word came out before he could stop it.
Pond nodded once. He turned and started walking down the hallway, his pace slow, matched to Phuwin's. Phuwin followed, the second cup of boba cold in his hand, his heart beating a rhythm he didn't have a name for.
They walked past the bulletin boards, past the water fountains, past the open door of an empty classroom. Pond stopped at the end of the corridor, where a narrow stairwell led up to a rooftop terrace that no one ever used. He pushed open the door and held it, waiting.
Phuwin stepped through.
The air was cooler here, the afternoon sun slanting low across the concrete. A few potted plants lined the edge of the terrace, their leaves dusty. The city sprawled beyond the railing—buildings and rooftops and the distant smear of traffic noise.
Pond let the door close behind them. The sound was soft, final. They were alone.
Phuwin set the boba cup on the low wall and leaned against it, his hands gripping the edge. The concrete was warm from the sun. He could feel Pond standing a few feet away, not crowding him, just—present.
"You don't have to stay," Phuwin said. "I know you probably have things to do."
"I don't."
"You always have things to do. People to see. Girls to wave at."
Pond made a sound that might have been a laugh. "They wave at me. I don't wave back."
Phuwin looked at him. "Why not?"
Pond held his gaze. His eyes were dark, steady, carrying something Phuwin couldn't quite read. "Because I'm not looking at them."
The words landed in Phuwin's chest like a stone dropped into still water. The ripples spread. He looked away first, back at the city skyline, his fingers tightening on the edge of the wall.
The silence between them wasn't uncomfortable. It was full. Full of the things neither of them was saying.
Pond moved closer. Not touching. Just closer, his shoulder a few inches from Phuwin's. He leaned against the wall too, looking out at the same view. "You don't have to talk about it," he said. "But I'm here. If you want to."
Phuwin's throat tightened. He stared at the horizon, at the clouds drifting slow and indifferent across the sky. He thought about the project waiting for him. The sleep he hadn't gotten. The weight he'd been carrying alone for longer than he could remember.
He didn't say any of that. What he said was: "The boba is good."
Pond looked at him. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." Phuwin picked up the cup and took another sip. The sweetness hit him again, familiar and grounding. "You picked the right place."
"I asked Santa."
Phuwin almost laughed. "Of course you did."
They stood there, side by side, as the sun crept lower and the city hummed beneath them. Phuwin's hand was still wrapped around the cold cup. Pond's shadow stretched long across the concrete, reaching toward him, not quite touching.
Neither of them moved to leave.