The cold water running down his body provided more relief than even the new fan. After the medicine, the food, and finally speaking the truth that had been rotting in his heart, Santichai felt his shoulders lighten. He had drawn his line in the sand. He had made his point clear to KK: there would be no "us." His stubborn heart refused to accept a new owner; it was too scarred to ever beat for anyone else again.
After his shower, Santichai walked into the kitchen and found KK still cleaning. He took a moment to really look at the man. KK was tall and mature, his muscles well-defined under a crisp, clean shirt. He was clearly a man who took care of himself, a stark contrast to the small, weary boy standing in the doorway.
"You don't need to do that," Santichai said softly. "I'll clean up."
KK didn't stop until the last plate was dried. "I'm almost done. How is your fever?"
"It's gone. I feel much better, thank you," Santichai said, leaning against the counter. "Don't you have to work tomorrow?"
"My uncle asked for help setting up for a gala in two days, so I took some time off," KK explained, wiping his hands and turning to face him. "The theme of the party is 'Couples.'"
Santichai managed a small, polite smile. "That sounds nice. Have fun."
KK took a step closer. "I want to invite you to go with me."
"Thank you for the offer," Santichai said immediately, his voice firm. "But I have to decline."
"Why?"
"I don't belong at high-society parties, Mr. KK. I've never been to one, and I never planned to."
KK sighed, a playful but disappointed glint in his eyes. "What a shame. I suppose I can't go either, then. The theme is strictly 'couples,' and I don't have a partner." He looked at Santichai meaningfully. "If you feel sorry for me, you could change your mind."
"I'm sorry," Santichai repeated, shaking his head.
Before KK could push further, his phone vibrated. It was his mother. Santichai watched as KK spoke to his family—his younger brother shouting, "Happy Birthday!" in the background. KK looked at Santichai apologetically, but the word birthday hung in the air like an electric charge.
After hanging up, KK grabbed his coat. "I put the extra porridge in the fridge; you can reheat it later. The medicine is on the counter." He paused at the door, his gaze softening. "Santichai Kittibun..."
Santichai looked up.
"Happy Birthday. I didn't realize we shared the same day. I'm just a few years older than you."
Santichai froze. He hadn't told anyone his birthday. Not the kitchen staff, not even Fon—unless she had looked at his private file. "How do you know today is my birthday?"
"I asked Mrs. Pricha," KK said simply.
A chill that had nothing to do with a fever ran down Santichai's spine. He stared at the surgeon, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Mr. KK... have we met before? Before the clinic?"
KK's smile didn't fade, but it grew more mysterious. "Why do you think so?"
"Tell me," Santichai demanded, his heart beginning to race. "I don't like guessing. And I don't like being lied to."
KK leaned against the doorframe. "Last year at the Bell Rose Café. And seven months ago... at the Secret Palace."
The silence that followed was heavy and suffocating. Santichai didn't answer. He couldn't. He remembered those places—the double shifts, the exhaustion, the feeling of being a ghost in a room full of people. And all that time, this man had been watching him?
"Goodnight, Santichai," KK said softly. He stepped out and closed the door, leaving Santichai alone with the whirring fan and a truth he wasn't prepared to face.
Santichai stared at the closed door for a long time before finally letting out a jagged sigh and sinking back onto the sofa. He searched his memory, but it was a void. He couldn't remember the Bell Rose Café or the Secret Palace—back then, he had been a ghost, moving from one job to the next just to survive.
He stood and walked back to the kitchen. On the neat countertop, next to the white pill bottle, lay a small, handmade thread bracelet. A yellow sticky note was attached to it in precise, elegant handwriting:
"Santichai Kittibun, I know you don't like accepting expensive gifts. I made this myself—it was my first time, so it isn't perfect. Happy Birthday."
Santichai's heart gave a strange, painful throb. He picked up his phone and dialed the unfamiliar number.
Down in the parking lot, KK sat in his car, staring at the steering wheel. He had been there for ten minutes, unable to bring himself to drive away. Just as he reached for the gear shift, his phone lit up the dashboard.
Santichai.
He pressed the speaker button, forcing his voice to remain steady. "Santichai? Do you need something? Is the fever back?"
"Mr. KK," Santichai's voice was soft but clear. "When is that party?"
KK let out a self-deprecating chuckle. "Why the sudden interest? Are you reconsidering?"
"Mmm."
KK's hand froze on the gear shift. "Santichai, listen... don't force yourself. I don't want you to go out of some sense of obligation."
"I'm not forcing myself," Santichai replied. There was a pause. "Thank you for the gift. It's only the second birthday present I've received in my life. Since I have nothing to give you in return... I will go to the party with you."
KK laughed, a genuine, warm sound that filled the car. "Santichai Kittibun, you really don't like owing anyone, do you?"
"I don't." Santichai cleared his throat. "So... what is the date?"
"Tomorrow night. I'll pick you up at five."
Santichai went quiet for a beat. "Didn't you say it was in a couple of days?"
"I lied," KK admitted softly. "I gave you the wrong date so you wouldn't feel guilty for rejecting me. I didn't want you to feel pressured to say yes at the last minute."
"Don't lie to me," Santichai said, his tone suddenly sharp and serious. "I don't like people who lie to me. I'd rather you tell me the truth, no matter what it is."
"I understand," KK said, his voice dropping an octave. "I promise. From now on, only the truth."
"What should I wear?"
"It's a formal event, usually suits," KK explained. "But if you don't have one, just wear something decent. Trousers and a nice shirt will be fine."
"I'll find something," Santichai said firmly. "I will not embarrass you."
"Santichai," KK whispered, a smile evident in his voice. "You know, this is the longest conversation we've ever had."
"Drive slowly. Bye."
The line went dead. KK sat in the dark car, a wide, triumphant grin breaking across his face. He didn't mind the short goodbye. For the first time, the grass on his side wasn't just turning green—it was blooming.