It was Loy Krathong. The night when people lit candles and set them adrift in banana-leaf boats—krathong—to wash away sins and bad luck. Overhead, the sky was already filling with thousands of Kom Loy lanterns drifting toward the moon.

It smelled like incense, flowers and fried sweets—for one night, even the city pretended it could let go.

The orphanage staff brought them to the Ping River, just past the Old City gates. Music played softly from crackling speakers. The banks were crowded with all kinds of people. Monks in saffron robes chanted over loudspeakers, their voices weaving through the noise of firecrackers and laughter.

Art stood at the railing, holding a crooked krathong in both hands. He had folded the banana leaf, pinning it with small marigolds. The candle within it tilted slightly to one side. Mali had added a crushed flower she picked up from the ground.

"It's lopsided," she said, frowning.

"I'll make it float," Art replied, then fixed it the best he could using grass, a ribbon he found and a discarded food carton.

"Well it's super…unique." Thanom spat out.

"Peach, will that actually float?" Jate said under his breath.

"Not if the river's mad."

Peach's voice was calm. Certain.

"Is it mad?" Mali asked, listening to their whispers.

Peach tilted her head, listening to the slap of water against the concrete steps.

"A little," she murmured. "But not at us. It'll be okay."

Thousands of tiny candle-lights bobbed on the dark water. The river was an extravagant mirror of flames, enhancing the beauty of it all. Thanom hovered near, arms crossed, eyes on the shoreline. His gaze kept returning to Mali's feet, moving dangerously close to the edge.

Jate was farther back. He stood still, holding his krathong with reluctance. He knew it was just a collection of leaves floating on water, but actually letting go felt like something else.

"They're pretty," he said quietly, watching the sky lanterns drift higher until they blurred into stars.

"They're litter," Thanom muttered.

"They're both," Peach said. "That's why they work."

Peach lay on the grass, arms stretched wide, whispering to herself.

"The river's off," she said. "It won't take wishes tonight."

A staff member tried to hush her.

"It wasn't my voice," she said. "Just a distant mimic."

Mali knelt at the river's edge, placed her krathong gently on the surface. She watched for a moment as the current took it downstream.

When she stood, she reached for Thanom's hand.

"Yours now," she said.

Thanom looked at the candle Art held, then crouched beside him.

"You gonna wish for anything?" Thanom asked.

Art stared into the flame.

"I don't want the river to remember me or my wishes."

Thanom didn't press.

He reached out, held the krathong steady in the water, and let it drift.

"I'll wish for it to mind its own business, then."

Not too far away, Book dropped his krathong into the water. It only managed to sail a couple inches before knocking into Thanom's. Book's krathong came undone by the collision; its flowers sank as it drifted back to land.

"Thanom, you little bitch." Book's voice cracked. "How dare you."

"Stop. I didn't touch it. You should've made it better."

"You wrecked my luck," Book spat and turned to Art. "Give me yours. Give it!"

Book snatched the krathong from Art's hands, crushing the banana leaves in his careless grip.

Thanom pushed him away from Art, ripping the krathong from his hands and standing guard in front of Art. "Get away from him! Go make your own!"

"Fuck off," Book snapped, raising a fist.

Before the first punch could fly, a staff member interrupted. "Hey! Break it up! Book, you're lucky we allowed you to come here tonight after last week's incident. Do you really want another meeting with the director?"

Book lowered his hand, his chest heaving. He shot a nasty look at Thanom, seething, before shoving past Art.

Thanom handed the krathong back to Art, who held up the now dilapidated boat structure and started to attempt to fix it.

"He's stupid. Ignore him," Thanom grunted, his words laced with agitation.

Art turned the wreck over in his hands, studying it. Then he started pulling it apart and reassembling, tucking leaves back, rewrapping the ribbon around the base.

Mali crouched beside him. "It's still good. You don't have to change it."

"I want to."

She watched him work, then picked a tiny pink flower from a nearby garland someone had dropped and held it out. Art looked at it, then at her, and worked it into the center. It sat slightly crooked.

Thanom made a sound in his throat—not quite a laugh. "That thing looks like it's been through it."

"It kinda has," Art smiled. He stood and held it out over the water. "It should float."

"It's cute," Mali said.

He set it down on the surface. It wobbled—then caught the current and held. They watched it drift, dinky and stubborn, weaving between the others on the river.

Thanom exhaled. "Huh."

Mali started giggling—because the krathong kept narrowly avoiding collision after collision, bobbing and twirling.

"It survives," she wheezed.

"Wow," Thanom chuckled.

Art smiled, watching it go with a deep sense of satisfaction.

⁕ ⁕ ⁕

Jate had seen the whole thing with Book. He'd watched Thanom step in front of Art, how his body moved without hesitation, to intercede with a boy twice his size, like some kind of superhero. Although he thought that Thanom was playing with fire, Jate still admired his decisiveness. Thanom did not waver in his convictions.

Meanwhile, Jate still hadn't even put his krathong in the water.

He held the small craft, looking down at it. Jate had made it carefully—folded the leaf tight, pressed each pin through cleanly, kept the candle centered. It was probably the most structurally sound one in the group.

Around him, the river filled with light. Families gathered together, happy with the little ones running around. Couples releasing their krathong together, some kissing. Everything was moving toward letting go, sending wishes out. Jate stood there, still holding his.

He didn't believe the river was listening and Peach had said it wouldn't take wishes tonight anyway, which should have made it easier. If the river wasn't going to do anything, then putting his in was just putting it in. It would just float away. Despite all the evidence of this being an insignificant and harmless act to commit, Jate was still hesitant.

He thought about what Art had said. I don't want the river to remember me. It won't remember Art. It won't remember him, either, or anyone else. A river is just a river. Things were just as they appeared to be, and he was only nervous because of all of the activity going on around them in the festival.

Jate knelt down, and placed the krathong on the water. It steadily floated, just like he'd built it to.

He watched it go and felt like something ominous had just occurred.

⁕ ⁕ ⁕

From her seated position nearby in the field at the water's edge, Peach stood up slowly, brushing the grass off her skirt. She caught a glimpse of something at Jate's feet.

"Your shadow," she said. "It just flickered."

Peach walked away, her silhouette steady against the changing terrain, moving through the festival lights like she hadn't said anything at all. Jate followed her back to the others, trying to convince himself that he was just being paranoid.