Ploy stood silently in front of her bedroom mirror wearing an elegant cream-colored dress chosen by her mother.

Beautiful.

Perfect.

Emotionally exhausting.

She stared at her reflection quietly.

Everything about her appearance looked polished.

But inside—her heart felt tired.

Heavy.

Restless.

Her phone vibrated softly on the bed nearby.

Ananya.

Immediately, warmth entered her chest again.

Ananya:

Did you leave already?

Ploy:

Almost.

Ananya:

Eat properly even if you’re angry.

Ploy:

That sounds very wife-like.

Ananya:

Ploy.

Ploy:

Sorry. I’m nervous.

Ananya:

I know.

Ploy:

Can I run away dramatically?

Ananya:

No.

Ploy:

You’re ruining my movie scene.

Ananya:

Come back safely after dinner.

Ploy:

Will you wait for me?

Ananya:

Always.

Ploy stared at that final message for several seconds.

Always.

God.

How did one word feel this emotional?

She closed her eyes briefly before typing one final reply.

Ploy:

I love you.

—

The Wattanakul family mansion looked almost identical to her own.

Elegant lights.

Perfect gardens.

Cold politeness hidden beneath expensive smiles.

Ploy already hated everything about the evening.

Inside the dining hall, several family members greeted her warmly.

Too warmly.

Like people already evaluating her as someone’s future wife.

Ploy felt trapped instantly.

Then—he entered.

Thanawat Wattanakul.

Tall.

Well-dressed.

Calm smile.

The kind of man families immediately approve of.

Her father looked satisfied already.

“Ploy, this is Thanawat.”

Thanawat smiled politely.

“It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Ploy forced a small polite smile.

“You too.”

But emotionally—she felt nothing.

No nervousness.

No excitement.

No warmth.

And suddenly, she realized something terrifyingly beautiful:

Because her heart already belonged somewhere else completely.

—

Dinner began smoothly.

Too smoothly.

The adults discussed business.

Politics.

Future investments.

Marriage disguised as family conversation.

Ploy barely listened.

Her phone rested hidden beneath the table in her lap.

Every few minutes, she secretly looked at the screen.

As if seeing Ananya’s name somehow helped her breathe.

Thanawat eventually noticed her silence.

“You seem uncomfortable.”

Ploy blinked slightly.

“Sorry?”

He smiled gently.

“You’ve looked emotionally absent since arriving.”

The honesty surprised her.

Ploy hesitated.

Then quietly—

“I didn’t know this dinner had expectations attached to it.”

Thanawat studied her expression for a moment.

Then surprisingly—he laughed softly.

“Good.”

Ploy frowned slightly.

“What?”

“I didn’t want this either.”

Silence.

Unexpected silence.

Thanawat leaned back slightly.

“My mother thinks marriage will magically fix my life.”

Ploy blinked in confusion.

“You too?”

He smiled weakly.

“Families with money love controlling emotions.”

For the first time that evening—Ploy relaxed slightly.

Not because she liked him romantically.

But because he felt human.

Not manipulative.

Not arrogant.

Just another person trapped beneath family expectations.

Thanawat lowered his voice quietly.

“There’s someone else, isn’t there?”

Ploy’s heartbeat stopped instantly.

She looked at him carefully.

“How did you know?”

He smiled sadly.

“Because you look at your phone the way people look at home.”

That sentence hit her deeply.

Painfully deeply.

Ploy slowly looked down at her hands.

Then softly—

“Yes.”

Thanawat nodded once.

No judgment.

Only understanding.

“Does your family know?”

Ploy laughed weakly.

“That’s why I’m here.”

Silence settled between them again.

Then unexpectedly—Thanawat spoke quietly:

“For what it’s worth…”

Ploy looked up.

“I hope you don’t lose the person you love.”

Her chest tightened instantly.

Because hearing kindness tonight felt unbearable somehow.

Ploy smiled sadly.

“I’m trying not to.”

—

Meanwhile, across Bangkok—Ananya sat alone inside the apartment waiting anxiously.

The untouched tea beside her had already gone cold.

She tried reading.

Failed.

Tried watching television.

Failed again.

Her mind kept imagining horrible possibilities.

What if Ploy’s family convinced her?

What if she realized life would be easier without all this pain?

What if love eventually lost against reality?

Fear became cruel when combined with silence.

Finally—near midnight—someone knocked urgently on the apartment door.

Ananya’s heartbeat exploded immediately.

She rushed toward it.

And the moment she opened the door—Ploy stepped inside and hugged her tightly without saying a single word.

Too tightly.

Desperately.

Ananya immediately wrapped her arms around her too.

“What happened?”

For several seconds, Ploy stayed silent against her shoulder.

Then softly—

“I survived.”

Ananya almost cried from relief hearing that tiny joke.

Ploy finally pulled back slightly.

Eyes exhausted.

Emotionally overwhelmed.

Then suddenly—she started crying quietly.

Not dramatic crying.

The dangerous exhausted kind.

Ananya’s heart broke instantly.

“Hey…”

Ploy shook her head weakly.

“I hated every second there.”

Tears continued rolling down her cheeks.

“Everyone kept talking about my future…”

Her voice cracked painfully.

“…while my heart kept searching for you.”

That confession shattered Ananya emotionally.

Without hesitation, she gently held Ploy’s face carefully.

“You came back.”

Ploy looked at her through tears.

“Of course I came back.”

Then softly—

“You’re home.”

Silence filled the apartment afterward.

Warm.

Painful.

Beautiful.

And standing there in each other’s arms beneath soft apartment lights—both girls quietly realized something important:

The world could pressure them.

Families could threaten them.

Life could exhaust them.

But every difficult day still ended the same way.

With both their hearts returning to each other.