He tried to focus on his assignments. Tried to practice the guitar. But the notes felt hollow, like they belonged to someone else. Finally, needing to breathe, Kla slipped out of the dormitory and let his feet carry him wherever they pleased.

He ended up by the Chao Phraya River.

The water shimmered under the moonlight, the same moon that had watched over them two hundred years ago. Kla often came here when the noise inside his mind got too loud — when memories threatened to rise like the tide and swallow him whole.

His phone buzzed.

Nicha.

He hesitated, then answered.

["How are you doing now?"] her voice was soft, but the concern in it was sharp.

“Not very good,” Kla admitted, staring at the lazy ripples of the river. “I came out for a walk. Why do you ask?”

["You’ve been looking tired lately," she replied. There was a pause, faint as a breath. "It’s the same look you had when you came to this river all those years ago."]

His breath caught. The wind picked up, cold against the sweat at his temples. “Maybe we can never truly escape the past,” Kla murmured with a bitter laugh. “Maybe some things are just meant to happen, over and over again.”

["Don’t say that, P’Kla,"] Nicha chided gently. ["We’ll figure this out. We always do."]

“Mm.” But he didn’t believe it.

“Can we talk tomorrow, Chan-noi?” he asked softly, using the name he hadn’t spoken in years. “I want to be alone right now.”

["Okay," ] she said reluctantly. ["But don’t do anything stupid. Everything’s going to be alright."]

She hung up.

Kla pocketed the phone and sat on the riverbank, drawing his knees close to his chest. He looked out over the water, and the world began to change.

And then the past, like a river’s undercurrent, pulled him under.

---

Rattanakosin Era, 1820

Kla Wichianchai’s heart beat erratically in his chest as he folded the letter from Lady Chanthira. A secret meeting — no servant, no escort. Not even Rueng.

“Lung Rueng,” he called, hastily dressing. “Inform Father that I’ll be out for a while. Say I’m meeting Chan-noi.”

“Understood, Khun Chai,” the older servant said with a bow.

“And... I’ll go alone.”

He rowed the boat himself toward the Chanvarakul estate, each stroke trembling with hope. At the dock, P’Kui, Chanthira’s maid, awaited him.

“This way, Khun Chai,” she said with a knowing smile.

Chanthira stood in the garden, eyes solemn.

“You’re late,” she teased, but her voice was taut with something else — fear, maybe. Urgency.

“I’m ready,” Kla said.

They made their way, quiet and quick, to the banks of the river. Beneath the blooming frangipani tree, Chan waited.

Kla’s heart soared — then plummeted.

Chan’s face was bruised, his lip split. His hands — the very hands that had guided Kla through his first hesitant strums of the sueng — were scraped and swollen.

“What happened?” Kla whispered, voice cracking as he gently brushed Chan’s cheek.

Chan leaned into the touch but said softly, “It doesn’t matter.”

“How can it not?” Kla snapped, his throat tightening. “How can it not matter when the man I love stands before me like this?”

His voice broke. “I can’t — P’Chan, I can’t keep watching them hurt you. I’d give up everything — status, name, family — just to keep you safe.”

“No.” Chan’s voice cut through the rising swell of emotion, firm but tender. “Don’t say that. You have a future brighter than any star. I won’t be the shadow that dims it.”

“You’re not a shadow,” Kla choked. “You’re the reason I ever learned to dream. You taught me what love is.”

Chan’s eyes glistened. “And because I love you, I can’t let you throw your life away for me.”

“Let’s run away,” Kla pleaded, voice trembling. “Let’s disappear together. We’ll go to a quiet town, I’ll become a teacher, and you —”

Chan shook his head. His lips trembled as he reached up and cupped Kla’s face.

“You’ll hate me for this,” he whispered, “but one day you’ll understand.”

“No. Don’t —”

“I think we should stop this, N’Kla. Before it’s too late.”

The words slammed into Kla like a monsoon wave.

“No,” Kla gasped. “Don’t leave me. Please.”

Chan closed his eyes. “If you truly love me... then live. Live without me.”

Kla fell to his knees, fist clenched around the wooden pendant Chan had given him. “Please. Don’t make me forget you.”

Chan took a breath that barely reached his lungs.

He turned away before his resolve could falter. Every step away from Kla felt like tearing skin from bone. He heard the choked sob behind him, the rustle of fabric as Kla collapsed to his knees — but he didn’t dare look back. If he did, he would run into that boy’s arms and never leave.

He’s just twenty-three, Chan reminded himself. Still with years ahead of him. He doesn’t understand what the world will do to people like us. But I do. And I won’t let it destroy him.

Each footfall on the damp earth echoed louder than a funeral bell in his head. He gripped the edge of his sleeve to keep his hands from shaking. If I stay, they’ll ruin him. They’ll ruin everything he could become. That’s not love. That’s selfishness.

The weight of their stolen memories pressed against his back like a ghost. The nights under the frangipani tree. The quiet afternoons spent in music. Kla’s laughter — so rare, so beautiful — still rang in his ears.

I want to grow old with him. I want to see him play music with calloused fingers and a free soul. I want... so much. But I have to want what’s best for him more.

He paused when he reached the bend in the path — out of view, almost free of sight. Almost safe.

He couldn’t stop himself.

He looked back.

Kla was still there, crumpled on the ground, holding the pendant like a lifeline. His shoulders trembled. His head bowed.

Chan’s vision blurred.

I’m sorry, he whispered silently. Please live. For both of us.

He walked with slow, steady steps, shoulders trembling. He paused only once, casting a final glance over his shoulder.

Kla, broken, stared back with tear-stained cheeks, hands shaking around the only thing he had left of them — the pendant, carved in the shape of a clef. A promise, once made beneath this very tree.

Chan disappeared into the darkness.

And Kla remained, the scent of frangipani thick in the air, trying to remember how to breathe.

---

Present – Bangkok

The memory faded like mist, but the ache in Kla’s chest remained. He didn’t realize he was crying until he felt the tears drip onto his palms.

How could he ever tell Tan the truth? That their lives were once entwined by tragedy and love? That his soul had already loved and lost him once?

If Tan ever remembered… would he push him away too?

Kla could still hear Tan’s voice in his memory — soft, unsure, warm. He clung to it like he once clung to Chan’s. What if I lose him too?

Kla looked out over the river again. The same water that had once witnessed their vows, their pain, their impossible dreams.

So many names had been lost to this river. So many promises washed away.

But not all memories drowned. Some were carved into the soul.

And his would never forget.