Tan sat at their usual café, fingers curled absently around his drink. The melody  still looped faintly in the back of his mind— fragments of it trailing like smoke through his thoughts — but today it wasn’t the only thing pulling at him.

Kla’s words kept echoing too. My heart still longs...

For what? Or who?

And why did it feel like those words had tangled themselves into Tan’s own chest?

He barely noticed when Yu slipped into the seat across from him.

“Hey,” Yu said, voice lower than usual. He looked tired — but there was something steadier in his gaze tonight, like the weight he’d been carrying had shifted just a little.

Tan straightened. “Hey. Sorry about this morning.”

Yu waved a hand. “It’s fine. You had your own things.”

A beat passed. Then Yu leaned in slightly, voice soft. “Tan… I heard something today. About Kla.”

Tan’s breath caught.

“They said he ran away from home,” Yu continued. “Transferred here on his own. Left everything behind.”

Tan hesitated. Then nodded. “It’s true. He told me himself.”

Yu let out a slow breath. “I figured. He… looked like he was carrying the world on his shoulders the other day.”

Before Tan could respond, a familiar voice spoke from behind them.

“Talking about me?”

Both turned — Kla stood there, a little awkward, hands tucked in his coat pockets.

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” Kla added, voice quieter now. “Just… thought maybe I should come too.”

Yu glanced at Tan. Tan gave a small nod.

“I texted him this afternoon,” Tan explained quietly. “Thought it’d be better if we all cleared the air.”

“Sit down,” Yu said softly.

Kla slid into the seat beside Tan, across from Yu. For a moment, none of them spoke. The air between them hummed —  not tense, but fragile, like a chord still waiting for its resolution.

Then Kla looked at Yu. His voice caught, but he pushed the words out anyway.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “For the other day. For… all of it.”

Yu blinked. Then shook his head with a small, tired smile. “You don’t have to apologize. I know. It wasn’t your fault.”

Kla looked down, fingers curling slightly on the table.

“You cared,” Yu said quietly. “And so did I. But… not in the same way. That happens.”

A breath seemed to ease out of Kla’s chest. Tan watched them both, heart caught in the strange quiet that followed.

For the first time in days, the space between them felt a little less sharp.

---

They sat in comfortable silence for some time before Yu spoke again.

“Since we’re all here… why don’t we work on the lyrics for the melody?”

“We can go to my place,” Tan offered. His condo was big enough for them, and his songbook was there as well. “It’ll be easier.”

“That’s fine by me,” Kla replied with a faint smile. The tension between them had eased a little more.

As they left the café, Yu leaned toward Tan and asked in a low voice, “When did you invite him?”

“This afternoon...,” Tan said, tone casual, though a faint flush colored his ears. “...we had an appointment earlier today.”

“Ah.” Yu’s brow lifted. “Is that why you canceled on me?”

“...Yeah. That was when he told me about running away.”

Yu gave a small nod. They didn’t say more as they reached the car.

When Tan opened the passenger door, he gestured toward Kla. “Sit in the front.”

Kla blinked. “I don’t mind sitting in the back —”

“Just sit in the front,” Tan said simply, closing the door behind him.

Kla smiled faintly, amused by the small exchange.

The ride to the condo was quiet, but in a companionable way. The radio played soft T-Pop in the background, filling the car with a calm hum. After everything, the stillness felt like a kind of relief.

---

“These lines don’t feel right,” Tan muttered later that night, cutting through another sheet of lyrics.

They sat cross-legged around Tan’s low Japanese table in the living room, scattered sheets and notes between them. Hours had passed with little progress.

“Maybe we should take a break,” Yu suggested, watching the others struggle.

Kla tapped a pen against the edge of the table, thoughtful. “The song feels like the river’s memories. It starts with longing, but maybe it should end with hope.”

“That’s a good angle,” Yu agreed. “Except... I don’t think any of us are in the right headspace for poetry tonight.”

He paused, then added, “How about we change the title? From The River’s Story to The River Remembers.”

At the skeptical looks he received, Yu hurried on, “I mean... the song is about memory. About the river holding its past. The river remembers.”

“It does sound fitting,” Kla said softly, after a beat.

Tan smiled. “Since when has Phayu Rattanachai become so diligent about song assignments?”

“Idiot,” Yu grumbled, giving Tan’s shoulder a playful shove.

Their laughter came easily for the first time in days.

“All right,” Yu said, as the room grew quiet again. “I guess we’re done for tonight?”

“I think so,” Kla said, checking his phone. “Nicha just texted me.”

Tan walked him to the door. “You sure you don’t need a ride? It’s late.”

“I can manage,” Kla said, smiling softly. “Thanks for the offer, though.” And with that, he left.

---

Tan noticed Yu looking thoughtful as he returned.

“Nicha is Kla’s fiancée,” Tan said quietly. “But neither of them agreed to it. It was arranged.”

“You knew?” Yu asked, not exactly surprised.

“I overheard it that day,” Tan admitted. “How about you? How are you holding up?”

Yu gave a small smile, brittle at the edges. “I’ll live.”

Then, softer: “But what about you?”

Tan blinked. “What about me?”

“You better figure out your feelings before it’s too late,” Yu said quietly. “You deserve to find your own happiness — not just through music.”

He gave Tan’s shoulder a light squeeze and left.

---

The condo fell silent.

Tan stood for a long moment by the door, the last echoes of Yu’s words lingering.

His gaze drifted toward the scattered music sheets. The melody hovered faintly in his mind again — unfinished, unresolved. Like something waiting.

Like a promise half-burned.

His chest tightened.

I don’t just care about him, Tan admitted to himself. I want him. And I want him to be mine. Not anyone else’s.

The thought struck with the force of certainty, and yet with it came a strange, fragile fear.

That night, as Tan drifted toward sleep, the melody wove through him once more — a river, a distant voice, the feel of polished wood beneath his fingers.

And words — soft as a memory:

“We’ll meet again.”

The phrase echoed through the fading dark, like the soft embers of something not yet burned away.

When his phone buzzed with unexpected news from home the next morning — a family emergency pulling him away — the words were still with him.

Ashes of a promise. Not yet gone. Not yet whole.