"Are you going on your lunch break?" he asked unexpectedly.  

His voice was deep and calm, as if nothing could shake him. I swallowed hard and quickly answered, "Yes."  

Chak took out his phone and started typing something. When the doors opened, he stepped out first, and I followed behind. I went to a nearby restaurant and ordered Khao Pad. As I ate, I tried not to think about Chak's eyes or the way he fixed his hair.  

After lunch, I stopped by a café, grabbed a cappuccino, and headed back to the office. I was checking my messages on my phone when I walked straight into Chak.  

It all happened in a split second. My coffee spilled onto his black shirt, the brown stain spreading instantly across the smooth fabric.  

I froze. My heart pounded in my chest. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," I stammered, reaching for a napkin, even though I knew it wouldn't help.  

Chak looked at me coolly. There was no anger in his expression, but I also couldn't tell what he was thinking.  

"Once you've cleaned this up," he said slowly, his tone firm, "come to my office."  

I had no choice. I nodded and hurriedly wiped the floor while curious coworkers watched.  

When I was done, I made my way to his office.  

I knocked and carefully opened the door.  

Chak stood with his back to me, his shoulders relaxed, yet his presence filled the room. Across his back was a tattoo—an eagle with its wings spread wide. My eyes lingered on it, captivated.  

Then he turned around.  

I quickly looked away, but it was too late.  

He had caught me staring.  

His dark eyes locked onto mine. He said nothing, just observed me quietly, as if studying my every reaction.  

Without a word, he took a fresh white shirt and began buttoning it up—slowly, deliberately, one button at a time.  

When he was done, he tossed his stained shirt directly at me. "Bring it back tomorrow—clean and ironed. If you fail, you're fired."  

I nodded and turned toward the door

I came home, took Chak's shirt out of the bag, and started cleaning it with detergent. The stain just wouldn't come out.  

I kept telling myself: Why am I so clumsy and careless? Why, Niran!

I put the shirt in the washing machine and hoped for a miracle. If I didn't succeed, I'd be fired on my first day—something I really couldn't afford.  

I sat down on the couch, took a piece of paper, and started drawing the eagle I had seen on Chak's back.  

Suddenly, my phone rang—it was my best friend, Taeng.  

"Hey, how was your first day?" he asked.  

"Horrible," I replied. "Guess what happened."  

"Don't tell me you got fired already?" 

Taeng said.  

"Close," I sighed. "I spilled cappuccino all over my boss's shirt, everyone laughed at me, and now I have to get the stain out, or I really will be fired."  

Taeng laughed. "And how's it going?"  

"Bad. The stain is still there."  

"And what's your boss like? Is he nice?"  

"Anything but. Cold, arrogant… When he looks at you with those eyes, it's best to just turn around and walk away," I said, rubbing my temple.  

"But…" I hesitated for a second.  

"But what?" Taeng pressed.  

"I don't know," I admitted. "It's weird, but there's something about him that feels… familiar? Like I've met him before, even though I know I haven't."  

"Uh-huh," Taeng hummed knowingly. "Niran, do I need to remind you that this is your boss we're talking about?"  

"Shut up," I groaned. "I have to hang the shirt up to dry. Talk to you tomorrow."  

"Good luck," Taeng said before hanging up.  

I went to the washing machine, took the shirt out—the stain was still there. I put it back in for another wash and went to cuddle my cat, Leo. Then I continued drawing Chak's eagle tattoo.  

Why does he have an eagle tattoo? I wondered.  

When the washing machine finished, I hung the shirt over the radiator, took a shower, brushed my teeth, and went to bed.  

That night, I had a nightmare. I dreamt that Chak scolded me in front of everyone for ruining his shirt, and then the eagle on his back came to life and started pecking me.  

I woke up in a daze.  

I looked at the clock. Oh no, only 40 minutes left!

I quickly got dressed, ironed Chak's shirt, put it in a bag, and rushed out the door.  

When I arrived at work, Chak wasn't there yet. My coworkers asked if I had managed to remove the stain.  

"The stain didn't come out," I admitted.  

Then Chak arrived. Our eyes met.  

I took a deep breath and walked toward his office. My heart was pounding like crazy. I knocked.  

"Come in," he said coldly.  

I stepped inside. Chak was standing by the window, looking out.  

"Sir, the stain didn't come out," I said in a shaky voice. "I tried everything, but it wouldn't budge."  

I took the shirt out of the bag and showed it to him. I didn't notice that my unfinished drawing of his tattoo had fallen from the bag.  

Chak turned to me and stepped closer.  

It was only then that I saw my drawing on the floor. I bent down to pick it up, but he was faster.  

He picked it up, unfolded it, and stared at it with cold eyes.  

"What is this?" he asked.  

I stammered. "S-Sir… it's your tattoo…"  

"And why did you draw it?"  

"I was fascinated by it," I admitted.  

Our eyes locked. I couldn't tell what he was thinking.  

With an icy tone, he said, "I knew the stain wouldn't come out. That's why you'll buy me a new shirt. I want it on my desk first thing in the morning."  

I swallowed hard.  

"This was a test," he continued. "To see if you'd follow my instructions. And to make sure this was the last time you were so careless, Niran."  

Then he looked at the drawing.  

"I'm keeping this. I don't want anyone finding out about my tattoo," he said firmly.  

"I understand, sir," I replied softly.  

Chak then leaned in slightly. His scent was intoxicating for a brief second.  

"Tomorrow morning," he said in a softer voice, "I also expect a completed version of this eagle drawing."  

He straightened up and turned toward his desk.  

For a fleeting moment, I saw it—just barely—a small, almost imperceptible smile on his face.