The night wasn't supposed to go like this.
It was supposed to be:
go home
sleep
forget everything
"Let's not go home yet."
Krit said it like it wasn't a big deal.
Walking backwards in the middle of the street, hands in his pockets, like he owned the night.
Mali blinked. "…What?"
Phuwin frowned. "I'm tired."
"Exactly," Krit said. "That's why we shouldn't go home."
"That makes no sense."
"It makes perfect sense."
The street outside the school was still alive.
Food stalls.
Motorbikes.
Neon lights flickering like they couldn't decide if they wanted to stay on.
Bangkok at night didn't care about your problems.
That was the problem.
"I want iced milk tea," Krit announced.
"You always want iced milk tea," Mali said.
"And I always deserve it."
Phuwin sighed.
But he didn't leave.
That was the thing.
He could've gone home.
He didn't.
They ended up at a small street stall.
Plastic chairs.
Sticky table.
Music playing from someone's phone nearby.
Too loud.
Perfect.
"Three drinks," Krit said, already sitting down.
"You didn't even ask us," Mali said.
"I know what you want."
"You don't."
"I do."
"I don't want—"
"You want the same thing."
"…I hate you."
Phuwin sat down slowly.
Rested his chin on his hand.
Watched people pass by.
Couples.
Friends.
Strangers laughing like life was simple.
"…Do you think they're actually happy?" he asked.
Mali followed his gaze. "Who?"
"Everyone."
Krit snorted. "No."
"That was fast."
"I don't trust people who look too happy."
"That's a problem," Mali said.
"It's a personality."
Phuwin smiled faintly.
Then it faded.
His phone buzzed.
He froze.
Krit noticed immediately. "…Who is it?"
"No one."
"That's suspicious."
"It's nothing."
Mali leaned slightly. "…Phuwin."
He didn't answer.
Just stared at the screen.
Didn't open it.
Didn't move.
"…Open it," Krit said.
"No."
"Open it."
"I said no."
Silence.
Then—
Phuwin unlocked his phone.
Fast.
Like ripping something open.
Message.
From Arthit.
"Did you get home safe?"
Krit leaned in. "Oh my—"
Mali grabbed his arm. "Don't."
Phuwin stared at the message.
Longer than he should.
"…Why would he send that?" he whispered.
No one answered.
Because—
they were thinking the same thing.
Krit leaned back. "…Do you want to reply?"
"No."
"You're going to."
"I'm not."
"You are."
Mali said softly, "…You don't have to."
Phuwin exhaled.
Hard.
"I hate this," he said.
"Same," Krit replied.
"…I was just starting to feel okay," Phuwin continued. "Like—not good, but… not this."
Mali nodded. "I know."
Phuwin laughed suddenly.
Sharp.
"…What does he want from me?"
Krit shrugged. "Attention."
"That's so annoying."
"You like it."
"I don't."
"You do."
"I don't!"
The drinks arrived.
Saved by timing.
Phuwin grabbed his cup immediately.
Took a sip.
Too fast.
Winced.
"…It's too sweet."
Krit grinned. "Just like your taste in men."
"Shut up."
Mali watched him carefully.
The way his fingers tightened around the cup.
The way his eyes kept drifting back to his phone.
"…You're not over it," she said quietly.
Phuwin froze.
"…I never said I was."
Silence.
The music nearby got louder.
Someone laughing too hard.
A motorbike speeding past.
Everything happening at once.
Too loud.
Too close.
"…Do you think I liked him," Phuwin said slowly, "or just the idea of him?"
Krit blinked.
"…That's new."
Mali leaned forward slightly.
Phuwin stared at his drink.
"…Because when I think about it—" he continued, "I don't even know if I actually knew him like that."
That hit.
"…That's real," Krit said quietly.
Mali nodded. "…Yeah."
Phuwin laughed again.
But softer.
"…That's so embarrassing."
"Why?" Mali asked.
"Because I felt everything," he said, tapping his chest lightly, "and now I don't even know if it was real."
Silence.
That line stayed there.
Heavy.
Krit looked away.
Mali looked at him.
"…Feelings are real," she said. "Even if the person wasn't what you thought."
Phuwin looked up at her.
"…That's not comforting."
"I know."
Another buzz.
They all looked at the phone.
Still there.
Still waiting.
"…Reply," Krit said suddenly.
"What?"
"Reply."
"No."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because if you don't, you're going to keep thinking about it all night."
Mali didn't interrupt this time.
Because—
he wasn't wrong.
Phuwin stared at the screen.
Heart loud again.
Then—
He typed.
Stopped.
Deleted.
Typed again.
Krit leaned in. "What are you writing?"
"Nothing."
"That's suspicious."
Phuwin hit send.
Before he could overthink it.
"Yeah."
Short.
Dry.
Safe.
He locked his phone immediately.
Like that ended everything.
Krit exhaled. "Wow. So cold."
Mali smiled slightly. "Growth."
Phuwin leaned back.
Closed his eyes for a second.
"…I don't feel better."
"Yeah," Krit said. "That happens."
They sat there.
Drinks half-finished.
Night still loud.
City still moving.
"…Let's walk," Mali said suddenly.
"Where?" Krit asked.
"I don't know."
"Great plan."
"I know."
Phuwin stood up first.
They walked.
No direction.
No plan.
Just—
moving.
Krit stepped off the curb suddenly.
Almost got hit by a motorbike.
"ARE YOU INSANE?!" Mali shouted.
"I wanted to feel something!"
"You almost felt death!"
"Same thing!"
Phuwin laughed.
For real this time.
Loud.
Uncontrolled.
People stared.
He didn't care.
And for a second—
just a second—
everything felt…
alive.
Messy.
Confusing.
Unclear.
But not dry.
Not empty.
Real.
"…This is what seventeen feels like," Mali said quietly.
Phuwin looked at her.
Then at Krit.
Then at the city.
"…Yeah," he said.
"…I think it is."
End of Chapter 12