As afternoon faded into dusk, Tan finally rose and wandered around his childhood room. Every medallion, every award reminded him of who he used to be — a boy trying too hard to please his family, for whom even first place had felt like second.

Eventually, he'd stopped trying altogether. He chose music instead.

He opened an old box of his high school belongings. Worn textbooks. Dog-eared notes. Exam papers scrawled with red ink. Buried beneath them all was a frayed composition book, its cover stained with ink and time. It smelled faintly of old paper and dried ink.

He flipped through it idly, letting the past drift past his fingers. A half-sketched melody caught his eye — soft, looping notes scribbled in a hand that felt familiar yet distant.

"I don't remember writing this," he murmured.

Humming the tune under his breath, he picked up his guitar. The melody that emerged was gentle, wistful. Like water gliding across polished stones. It reminded him of the piece he'd been working on with Kla — except this wasn't a guitar melody. It echoed the tone of a sueng. Just like the tune from the first half of the melody he'd helped Kla compose. 

As the music filled the room, it wrapped around him like silk, calm and soothing.

"Why does it feel like home?" he wondered aloud. As the melody reached its bridge, a chill ran down his spine. A thought crossed his mind.

I've never played this before... or have I?

---

In the quiet dorm room in the otherside of Bangkok, Kla sat cross-legged with his guitar. The same tune drifted from his fingers — unbidden but achingly familiar. It was the melody from his dreams — from his memories. The young man beneath the frangipani tree by the river. The one who played the sueng.

It was the same tune Tan now played in the Phongthawat home, unaware. 

If only he could find what his heart was searching for — maybe then the answers would come, both the ones he knew he wanted and the ones he didn't yet understand.

His thoughts strayed to that afternoon. To Yu's confession.

Kla hadn't lied. Yu was kind, funny, easy to be around. A good friend.

But that was all he could ever be.

Kla hadn't turned him down out of cruelty. It was just that his heart already belonged to someone else. Even if he didn't know who it was.

He hoped Yu would find someone better — someone who could return his feelings fully.

Still, the ache lingered.

Was he clinging to a dream? Were these memories even real?

His mind spun in doubt, but his heart whispered:

It's true. It's real. Be patient.

He stared at his guitar as the melody wound through the air.

"The notes remember," he said almost to himself, quietly, "even if I don't."

---

Back on campus, Yu stood amidst the bustling preparations for the upcoming concert, surrounded by flashing lights and the chatter of student council members. But none of it could reach him. Not today.

Getting rejected by Kla hurt.

Even more than it had when his first love rejected him.

It shouldn't have hurt this much. But it did. More than he was willing to admit.

Perhaps because it was Kla — sweet, thoughtful, musically gifted Kla.

"P'Yu khrap?"

He turned, blinking away his thoughts. A freshman stood a few feet away, clutching a leather-bound book.

"Hmm? What is it?"

"P'Bam's looking for you," the boy said softly. "She said we're out of black paint for the display boards."

"Right. I'll get some sent to her." Yu sighed. He'd forgotten. Again.

The freshman lingered, unsure whether to leave.

"What's your name?" Yu asked, finally taking him in. Slender build. Nervous eyes. Warm smile.

"Sarun Thanapreechakul. You can call me Run."

Yu nodded. "Nice to meet you, Run."

Yu squinted, trying to place him. "You're new?"

"Freshman," Run said. "Music major."

Yu nodded. There was a pause. Run titled his head slightly. 

"Are you okay, Phi? You seemed... distracted today."

Yu gave a crooked smile. "I'm good. Just heartbroken."

Run touched his arm gently. "Want to talk about it? I'm a good listener."

Yu looked away. "Nah, it's fine. I'll survive. What about you — need anything else?"

Run hesitated, then held up the book. "You're close to P'Kla, right? He's my code-line senior. He lent me his composition book. Could you return it for me?"

Yu froze. Kla's name. The weight of it. The timing.

He took the book, eyes flicking to the corner where Kla's name was written in looping, deliberate letters.

Of course. Kla always signed his work.

"Sure," he said quietly. "I'll get it to him."

Seems like I can't avoid him even if I tried, he thought as he pulled out his phone to message the seniors. 

---

Back in his room, Tan let the final notes fade into the evening. He sat still for a long moment, his fingers resting on the strings.

A knock roused him from his thoughts.

"P'Tan!"

Tarn. She peeked inside.

"Sorry I wasn't here earlier. Had a few errands."

"It's alright. I'm glad I saw you before heading back."

She smiled, stepping into the room. "I heard you playing. It was beautiful."

Tan chuckled. "If you think that was good, wait until the concert at the end of the month. You'll change your mind after listening to our performance."

Her eyes sparkled. "Did you compose it?"

He hesitated. "Not all of it. I helped, but the idea wasn't mine."

She blinked. "Someone better than you? Doubt it."

"He is," Tan said softly.

Tarn studied him. "Are you okay? You only play like that when you're... not."

Tan gave a half-smile. "That obvious, huh?"

"You don't have to pretend to be strong all the time," she said gently. "You don't have to carry everything alone. If you need someone to vent to, I'm here. Always."

He looked at her, genuinely grateful.

"Thank you, N'Tarn." He meant it. She was his anchor. Never intrusive, always present. 

She stepped closer, wrapping him in a hug.

"It's okay to not be okay," she whispered. "Don't lose yourself trying to be who others want. Being you is already enough. Maybe not for them. But you're enough for me. And maybe, someday, you'll believe you're enough too."

Tan ruffled her hair, smiling with something like awe. When had his little sister grown so wise?

---

On the way back to his condo, Tan hummed the melody again under his breath.

In his dimly lit dorm room, Kla played it too. His fingers knew it by heart, even if his mind didn't.

They were in different places.

But the melody was the same.

Each haunted by the same ghosts of a past half-remembered.

One aware.

The other not.

Forgotten names. 

Forgotten faces.

But some songs...

We never stop hearing.