The house was quiet — the kind of quiet that felt heavy, like it belonged to grief itself.
The nanny had gone to the kitchen to prepare tea. Arthit stepped outside, to answer a phone call , giving Rak space.
Only Anurak and Krit's mother — Her name was Ratri remained in the living room . The sunlight touching her pale face as she sat motionless in her wheelchair.
For a long moment, Rak could only stare at her.
Her eyes still held the emptiness of someone who had lost half her world.
Her hair — once neatly tied — now fell loosely down her shoulders.
Rak's breath trembled.
He moved slowly toward her, afraid even his footsteps might disturb something sacred.
He knelt before her wheelchair — not out of propriety, but because his legs simply gave out.
> "Mae…"
His voice trembled.
The word came from somewhere deep, a place where the boy he used to be still lived.
Ratri did not look at him.
Her breath was soft, uneven.
Rak swallowed, and the truth inside him finally broke open.
> "I… I was the one who hit Krit."
The words scraped out like shattered glass.
> "It was snowing. A shadow crossed the headlight. I didn't see him. I swear… it wasn't intentional."
"I stopped the moment I realized. I ran to him. I tried—"
His voice broke.
> "I tried to save him, Mae."
Tears blurred his vision.
> "I've lived with accidents my whole life. I lost my parents in one. I know what it's like to lose the person who keeps your world together."
He wiped his face, but the tears kept falling.
> "Ever since I was sixteen, I've lived alone — even when surrounded by people. I know that silence. That loneliness. The kind that eats you from the inside out."
Ratri's fingers twitched — the faintest movement.
> "I didn't come to be forgiven," he whispered, head lowered.
"I just… didn't want him to become another ghost that no one speaks of."
His shoulders shook.
> "Mae… I am so sorry… khaw thot… jing jing."
Finally, Ratri looked at him.
Her eyes were full — not of hatred — but of the same endless sorrow he carried.
Two broken hearts recognizing one another.
She couldn't speak, but tears slid down her cheeks.
Rak bowed his head into her lap, his voice cracking:
> "I will turn myself in when I return to Switzerland. I won't run."
He rose slowly, chest aching from everything he had spilled out.
But just as he stepped toward the door,
something sparked in his memory:
The silver rings in his pocket.
The name Krit whispered in the snow.
> Kawin.
Someone who had lost just as much as she did.
He turned towards the kitchen and asked the nanny.
> "May I have the address of Krit's office?"
The nanny hesitated, then nodded and wrote it down.
---
They left the house quietly after getting the company address from the nanny. Art rented a small silver car, and the two drove through Bangkok streets.
For Rak, it felt like another world. Switzerland was orderly, silent, clean—with mountains standing like guardians.
But here, the city moved in layers—motorbikes weaving through traffic, street vendors calling out, tangled electric wires hanging overhead, hot air thick with spices and humidity. Yet there was life everywhere. Bright, loud, human.
---
Krit's Office – Lat Phrao :
They stopped in front of a modest commercial row. The company's nameplate was small— "ChansiriTechworks" —a simple sign, faded at the corners. To its left stood a warm-looking café with old wooden window frames, and to the right a small stationary shop with schoolbags and pens stacked in the doorway.
Art placed the car in park and turned to Rak quietly.
> "Do you want me to go with you?"
Rak shook his head, eyes fixed on the office door.
> "No… I'll face him alone."
Art nodded, not arguing—only steady.
> "I'll be in the café next door. If anything happens, just look up. I'll be there."
Rak inhaled once, deep—then stepped out, walking toward the door that felt heavier than it looked.
Arthit waited in cafe.
Rak entered alone
The studio was modest — warm lighting, plants near the window, design sketches pinned with care.
It felt lived in. Loved.
But now, it felt like the place is deserted and silent.
A voice — low, tired — echoed from inside.
> "Yes, I understand the loan deadline… I just need time. Please."
Rak turned toward the sound.
And there he saw him.
Kawin.
He wasn't dramatic or flashy.
No polished suit.
No cold business aura.
Just a soft white shirt, rolled sleeves revealing lean arms, hair slightly messy as if he had been running his fingers through it in stress.
His skin was warm-toned, like amber under the light.
His jaw delicate, yet his expression stubborn — refusing to break.
His eyes — when he turned — were something else entirely.
Deep. Vulnerable.
The kind of eyes that held pain and still chose kindness.
Rak felt something inside him… shift.
A warmth.
A pull.
A breath caught somewhere in his chest.
He had seen beautiful faces before — men and women who tried to win his favour— all bright, polished, perfect.
He had never felt anything.
But this—
this was different.
There was grace in him.
And a quiet storm.
Rak couldn't look away. He froze.
A strange, unfamiliar feeling pressed into his chest — unfamiliar, unsteady — alive.
His heart didn't race—it stilled. As if recognizing something before his mind could. It was unsettling—because he had never felt anything like this for anyone.
Itscared him.
He shouldn't feel this.
Not now.
Not here.
Not with him.
For the first time in his life—
Anurak did not know what to do with his heart.