He thought of the painting again — the two men in old Thai attire, standing too close to be just friends. One of them looked like Kla. The other... looked far too much like himself.

It was impossible. And yet, it felt real.

The condo felt cold and hollow when he'd returned back after Uncle Kit's funeral. Grief had settled like dust on every surface, and Tan couldn’t breathe.

So he left.

His feet carried him without thinking, and before long, he stood by the Chao Phraya River.

He didn’t know why it felt familiar — he’d never really come here. But the moment the breeze carried the scent of pink frangipani to him, something loosened in his chest.

It was the same scent from his dreams. Sweet, gentle... and soaked in sorrow.

The nearly setting sun bathed the water in molten gold. It sparkled as if the river were hiding something beneath its shimmering surface — secrets whispered in an ancient tongue.

Then, it began again.

The melody.

That same melancholic tune that had haunted him since childhood — soft, sorrowful, and breathtakingly beautiful.

Their melody. The one he and Kla had composed together, though neither had ever named it.

It rose in his mind like a memory unfolding.

A soft hand over his own.

The weight of a promise.

The feel of lips brushing his, featherlight.

A vow whispered into dusk: “I will find you again.”

The images came faster now. Deep brown eyes. A boy in period attire. A face wrapped in shadow — no, not anymore.

Kla.

Tan gasped, stumbling back. He clutched the pendant like it could anchor him to the present.

And then — nothing.

The images faded, leaving only the pounding of his heart in his ears. But they didn’t vanish entirely this time. They lingered like smoke, curling around the edges of his thoughts.

He looked down at the pendant again. The figure who looked like Kla — was Kla — had worn it around his neck.

Why?

Why did this mean so much to him?

Tan’s mind spun. He needed answers. And there was only one person who might be able to give them.

He hesitated. His thumb hovered over Kla’s name in Line.

He remembered the look Kla gave him when he’d accidentally called him P’Chan. Like he'd been stabbed with something invisible.

Kla was hiding something.

But what was he so afraid of?

And why did it feel like it mattered so deeply to him?

Tan’s emotions were tangled — love, confusion, fear — and none of it had closure.

"Am I imagining all of this?" he whispered to the river. "Or is it something real? Something ancient... and unfinished?"

He drew a breath, resolving himself.

“I need to find out,” he said aloud. “I need to talk to him.”

He tapped Kla’s name. Called.

It rang.

Voicemail.

Figures.

He hesitated, then typed:

T.chord: Call me back when you’re free.

T.chord: I want to talk to you.

He stared at the screen for a moment, then pocketed the phone.

Above him, the moon slowly rose over the river.

A beautiful, ghostly witness.

---

The university’s main hall was a whirlwind of motion. With the concert just two weeks away, chaos reigned — students hurried back and forth, adjusting lighting rigs, checking audio systems, and measuring stage dimensions. Laughter and shouted instructions echoed through the hall as it slowly transformed into something resembling a miniature version of Impact Arena.

Yu stood in the center, clipboard in hand, overseeing the setup like a conductor before a symphony.

A light tap on his shoulder made him turn.

“Your coffee, P’Yu,” Run said, holding out a cup of steaming americano with both hands.

Yu smiled, accepting it. “Thanks.”

Ever since he’d accepted Run’s invitation to the café, this had become something of a habit. Yu wasn’t sure if it was Run’s way of comforting him, or just his way of showing care — but either way, it warmed something inside him that had felt cold for weeks.

“Do you need me to do anything else?” Run asked, eyes bright, voice soft.

Yu glanced around. The crew was winding down, most of the volunteers had left.

“No need,” he said, waving vaguely at the now mostly empty hall. “It’s late. You should head home.”

Run tilted his head slightly. “Did you eat dinner already?”

Yu blinked. “Nah. I kind of forgot, to be honest. Not really hungry.”

“Then… would you like to have dinner with me?” Run asked hesitantly, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

Yu considered the offer. His stomach answered before his mouth could — growling just loud enough to make them both laugh.

“I’ll only come if you let me pay this time,” Yu bargained. “You always treat me and won’t even take a single baht in return.”

Run smiled sheepishly. “Can we split the bill instead?”

Yu rolled his eyes but grinned. “Nope. Come on.”

“Phi, where are we going?” Run asked as Yu gently tugged him toward the parking lot.

“You’ll see,” Yu said, unlocking his car.

The drive was short. Run stared wide-eyed as they pulled up to a high-end restaurant, the kind with sleek glass windows and soft lighting.

“Shouldn’t we have pre-booked?” Run asked, a little nervous.

Yu didn’t answer — just led him inside, where a hostess greeted him with a bow.

“Sawasdee kha, Khun Yu. This way, please.”

She guided them to a private VIP room. It was quiet, warmly lit, with soft music playing somewhere in the background.

“The waiter will be with you shortly,” she said. “Please enjoy your meal.”

“Thank you, P’Nut,” Yu said, settling into his seat.

Run’s eyes were curious now, darting between Yu and the elegant decor.

“This place…?”

“It’s my father’s,” Yu said after a beat. “He wants me to take it over after I graduate.”

“Oh…” Run’s voice trailed off. But he smiled, understanding dawning. “That makes sense.”

Dinner came soon after. Neither of them talked much — but the silence wasn’t awkward. It was the kind of quiet that didn’t need to be filled.

Yu watched Run occasionally, taking in the way the younger boy concentrated on arranging the food on his plate like it was some tiny art form.

For the first time in a while, Yu felt the tension in his shoulders slowly unwind. The thoughts about the past, about music, about everything left unsaid — they were still there, but distant. Muted.

Sometimes, it wasn’t about grand gestures or answers.

Sometimes, it was just about having someone beside you, quietly staying.

While Tan searched for a truth he couldn’t name, and Yu sat in silence with someone who reminded him what warmth felt like, the river flowed on — carrying memories, and the weight of a body never found.