City of Firsts
Over the next few days, I dusted off my old portfolio — photos of Mâe at the beach, Mayuree laughing in the garden, even one of my father, watering the plants just as the morning light caught the curve of his back. They weren't studio-grade shots. The focus wasn't perfect, and some compositions were too soft. But they were honest. Raw. Full of heart.
I figured if someone was hunting for technical perfection, they'd pass me over. But if they were looking for something that felt real — maybe, just maybe, they'd see it.
I started applying to junior photography jobs. Content creation gigs, mostly. Small agencies. Quiet listings buried between ad jobs and cafe promo shoots.
One reply stood out.
A model photography house in Bangkok. They were looking for someone fresh — someone with "an eye for storytelling." I reread the words at least three times before the next line hit me:
We'd like to call you in for an interview.
I didn't scream. I didn't jump or run around the house like I used to after exam results. I just stared at the screen. Then, softly — to no one and to everything — I whispered, "Mâe, look… I'm trying."
When I told Dad and Mayuree, there was no hesitation.
"Go," they said. "Go see what's out there."
So I packed. Not too much — a bag of clothes, my gear, and Mâe's scarf, folded gently between my lenses. Something to hold close. Something to remind me who I came from.
It was time.
Time to explore.Time to begin something new — not away from the grief, but carrying it quietly with me, stitched into the lining of who I was now.
Bangkok buzzed like a living thing.
The moment I stepped off the train, the city rushed up to meet me — heat pressing against my skin, the roar of traffic, tuk-tuks darting like dragonflies through impossible gaps. Street vendors called out in rapid-fire Thai. The scent of grilled pork skewers and sweet iced tea curled around me like smoke. Color was everywhere. Movement never stopped.
I clutched my bag tighter, adjusted the strap on my camera, and breathed.
My first time here alone.My first interview. My first real step toward the kind of life Mâe once dreamed I'd live.
The studio was tucked in a converted shophouse between a sleek café and a dusty old bookstore in Phra Khanong. It didn't scream success. It whispered stories.
LightTheory Studio, the door read.
Inside, the floors were cool concrete, the air clean with a faint trace of jasmine from somewhere. The walls were a mosaic of moments — framed photographs of models, some flawless, others caught mid-laughter or staring into the distance like they were searching for something. Real. Imperfect. Honest.
I felt… strangely at home.
A petite woman with sharp eyes and bold red lipstick stepped forward.
"You're Ian?"
"Yes, hi." I gave a small bow. "Thank you for this opportunity."
She smiled. "I liked your portfolio. It's not conventional. But it's honest. That's rare."
I wasn't sure if that was a compliment or a polite red flag. But we talked — about light, emotion, instinct. About moments that happen between the planned ones. She nodded thoughtfully as I spoke, then leaned back and asked, "Have you ever worked with celebrities?"
I blinked. "No… not really. Just my sister. And… one stranger once. On a beach."
She laughed. "Well, you might have to learn quickly. We've got a new campaign next week — big one. New brand. They're using a rising actor for the face."
I nodded, pulse rising slightly. "I'm ready to learn."
A New Chapter Begins
I got the job.
No scream. No tears. Just me, standing outside LightTheory Studio, my camera bag slung over one shoulder, traffic swirling behind me, and the Bangkok sun warming my face.
I looked up at the sky.
"Mâe," I whispered, "I did it."
Maybe she could hear me — in the wind, in the light, in that quiet part of my heart I hadn't closed since the day we said goodbye.
The next few days were a blur. Introductions. Gear training. Equipment checks. I kept my head down, learning fast. Holding reflectors, adjusting softboxes, observing setups. It wasn't glamorous. But it was real. And I was part of something.
Then came Friday — the first big shoot.
"You'll be assisting Phi Tann," Nok, my supervisor, said, flipping through her clipboard like she was assigning seating.
I looked up. "Phi… Tann?"
She nodded. "Yes. You've probably heard of him. He's one of the top photographers in the circuit. Very precise. Clean compositions. Big on control."
I swallowed. "And the model?"
She turned her tablet toward me. "Phuwadon Inthanon."
The name hit first. Then the face. My heart stopped for a second.
"This is Phuwadon Inthanon," I said slowly. "The actor?"
Nok smiled. "Yes — làw mak, right? That's what everyone calls him now. He started in modeling, made it big in dramas, and now he's circling back — but only for selected campaigns. This one's important."
I stared at the photo. Sharp jawline. Intense eyes. Barely-there smirk. But I didn't need the screen to remember.
I already knew him.
He was the stranger on the beach. The man in soft linen, distant eyes, and quiet gravity. He'd let me take a photo, nodded once, then walked away like it meant nothing. I'd handed him a KitKat bar.
He'd accepted it like it was a parking ticket.
That guy.
That was Phuwadon Inthanon?
Now they call him làw mak?
My stomach twisted — part nerves, part disbelief.
I couldn't tell if the universe was playing with me…Or offering me some strange second chance.
The Meeting.
The studio was already buzzing when I arrived.
Light rigs are being adjusted. Stylists are moving like clockwork. Bangkok's usual chaos somehow packed into this one room full of sleek black, soft grey, and bright white.
I was still setting up the light stands when the door opened and a man walked in — tall, dressed in muted tones, serious as stone.
Phi Tann.
He didn't need to introduce himself. Everyone around him shifted — assistants, stylists, even Nok straightened up a bit. The air changed.
He was known for being precise. Calm. Focused. He glanced at me briefly, nodded once, then moved toward the light rigs to make his own adjustments. Not cold. Just all business.
Then came the second entrance.
Laughter outside the door.
Flashes.
Someone opened the studio door for him.
He walked in like the light wanted him. Effortless. Slightly tanned skin, sharp jawline, loose shirt half tucked, rings on his fingers. Hair tied at the nape of his neck, like he'd just come from the beach and didn't care how good he looked.
Phuwadon Inthanon.
And the moment I saw him, my heart tripped.
That was the guy. From the beach.The stranger who helped us take a photo. Who didn't smile. Who took my KitKat bar and left without a word.
Now he was standing in front of me.
A model. An actor. And today, my subject.
He scanned the room as if mentally choosing where to stand, where to breathe — then his eyes landed on me. He tilted his head, squinting.
"You..." he said, voice low but curious. "You're the KitKat guy?"
I swallowed. "And you're the camera snob?"
A short laugh escaped him — not loud, but real. His first smile was subtle, but it was there. Something softened between us.
From across the room, Phi Tann called out, "Phuwadon, come check the lighting position."
Phuwadon nodded, then glanced back at me. "You assisting today?"
"Yeah."
Another nod. "Cool."
He turned and walked away.
Nok came up beside me with a grin."You two know each other?"
"Sort of," I said. "Long story involving a beach, a KitKat, and no conversation."
Nok laughed. "Well, looks like you'll have time to catch up. You're assisting both today — Tann on lights, and Phuwadon on set direction."
I stared at her."Both?"
"Welcome to Bangkok," she winked, walking off.
And that's how I ended up between two people I never expected to meet again — one, a serious, sharp-eyed photographer. The other, a celebrity I once offered candy to without knowing who he was.
The First Shoot
The studio lights buzzed softly above me. My palms were sweaty, my heart pounding a little harder than usual.
This was it.My first real shoot.And it wasn't just any shoot.
It was Phi Tann behind the lens, a photographer known for creating covers that sold millions — and in front of the camera, Phuwadon Inthanon, the actor-turned-model, whose face alone could stop time in a still frame.
And me?
I was just the guy trying to not trip over the light stands.
"Tighter shadow on the right," Phi Tann said, barely looking up from his camera.
"Yes, Phi," I said, quickly adjusting the softbox angle.
Phuwadon stood center-frame in a charcoal jacket, layered chains glinting subtly against his skin. His expression was unreadable, lips slightly parted, one eyebrow tilted. Every time the shutter clicked, he shifted — the kind of small, controlled movement only someone who knew their angles could pull off.
Phi Tann didn't give much feedback. Just brief nods and short commands. The room was quiet except for the click of the shutter and the low jazz music playing in the background.
"Raise the light two inches," Phi Tann said. I did."Reflector lower." I moved it."Don't block the rim light." I apologized.
Then it happened.
In the middle of a reset, Phuwadon caught my eye. He tilted his head slightly.
"You're nervous," he said, barely moving his lips.
I blinked. "A little."
He smirked. "Don't be. I've worked with worse."
I think that was supposed to be reassuring.
"You always give KitKats to strangers?" he added.
I shrugged. "Only the ones who don't smile."
He let out a quiet laugh — this time, I saw it fully. Not just the smile, but the way his eyes lit up for a second. Soft, amused. Real.
"Alright, next set," Phi Tann called out. "We're switching to close-ups."
Phuwadon stepped off-set, grabbing a quick sip of water. He walked over to where I was adjusting cables.
"So... Ian, right?"
I looked up. "You remember?"
"Of course," he said. "People don't forget beach-side KitKats."
I smiled. "And you're Phuwadon. The actor."
He tilted his head. "Just 'Phu' is fine. Or 'Phi Phu' if you're being polite."
I nodded. "Okay, Phi Phu."
He chuckled. "You're better at this than you think. You notice light instinctively."
"I do?"
He leaned a little closer, eyes narrowing. "Yeah. You watch the shadows move when I tilt my head. That's not just assisting. That's seeing."
I didn't know what to say.
Before I could answer, Phi Tann called again.
"Phuwadon. Set."
He glanced back, then turned to me one last time.
"You'll go far, Ian. Just… don't doubt yourself so much."
And then he walked back into the light — expression steeled, pose ready, the camera clicking once more.
But I stood there, quietly stunned. Not just from the compliment.
But from the way he said my name. Like he meant it.Like I mattered here.
And in that moment, between the hum of the softboxes and the rhythm of the shutter, something inside me lit up.
Maybe I did belong here.
Almost the Wrap
The shoot was winding down.
Assistants were moving props back to storage, cables were being coiled, and the energy in the studio had shifted from high-focus to relaxed chatter. I stood near the edge of the set, wiping my hands on a cloth, when I caught sight of him again — Phuwadon.
He was sitting on a high chair, legs crossed casually, his shirt unbuttoned halfway, showing just enough of his sculpted chest to make it look like it belonged in a fashion magazine. His hair slightly tousled, skin glowing under the residual studio lights — the man was made for the camera, and unfortunately, for moments like this.
I didn't mean to stare. But I did. And of course… he noticed.
Phuwadon smirked — that slow, knowing smirk that made my face burn instantly. I quickly looked away, pretending to examine a lens cloth like it was the most interesting thing in the world.
"Stop staring at people, Ian," I whispered under my breath, mortified. "This is not high school."
Needing a distraction, I walked over to Phi Tann, who was organizing his equipment.
"Phi," I said, gently. "Do you have any feedback? Anything I should work on?"
He looked at me for a beat, then nodded.
"You have a good eye," he said. "Still rough around the edges — but you listen. You move fast. You notice small things. That's rare in beginners."
My heart fluttered. "Thank you, Phi."
He continued, "Next shoot, I want you assisting me again. I'll tell Nok to assign you."
A grin broke across my face. "Really? Thank you so much. I'll do better next time."
He gave a subtle smile. "I'll hold you to that."
Stepping outside for air, I called Mayuree, my sister. She picked up almost instantly.
"What's up, nuthead?" she answered, her usual teasing voice.
I laughed. "You mean Phi, not nuthead."
"What is 'Phi' again?" she asked.
"Respectful word for older people, duh," I said, chuckling. "Anyway… I did good. Phi Tann said I'll be working with him again."
"No way! Are you serious?" she gasped. "That's amazing!"
"I know," I said. "Please tell Dad for me? I'll call him later, just busy right now."
"Done. You better not forget," she teased. "Keep shining, Ian. Mâe would be so proud."
I felt my throat tighten. "Thanks. Talk soon."
As I hung up and turned around—
Phu was standing right behind me.
I nearly jumped. "Oh! I didn't see you there."
He tilted his head, arms crossed, looking amused. "Girlfriend?"
"Huh?"
He pointed to the phone in my hand. "The girl you were talking to. Your girlfriend?"
"Oh! No," I said quickly. "Sister."
He raised an eyebrow. "Really?"
"Yes, really," I replied, trying not to sound defensive. "Why?"
He shrugged, the corners of his lips twitching. "No reason."
Then he walked off — just like that — back into the studio.
I stood there for a moment, trying to make sense of that tiny exchange.
But all I could think was how good he looked when he smiled like that.
The Dinner Invitation
Being the newbie had its perks — and pressure.
After the successful shoot, Phi Tann announced a team dinner. Korean barbecue. Unlimited food. Drinks. Laughter. The kind of thing I'd normally dodge, but something inside me said, Go. You've earned this.
It was going to be my first social thing in a long while.
I nodded and said, "Okay, let's do this."
As I packed away the light stands and double-checked the gear, Nok, our ever-enthusiastic supervisor, called out from across the room.
"THANK YOU, IAN!" she shouted, already a bit buzzed from energy alone.
The others laughed. I gave a shy smile and a half-bow, "Thank you, P'Nok!"
From the corner of my eye, I felt it again — that stare.
I turned slightly. Phuwadon, leaning against the wall, one hand in his pocket, watching.
Our eyes met. Instantly, he looked away.
What is his deal…? I thought.
Right then, Phi Tann clapped his hands.
"Phu, you're coming too," he said, with that commanding-yet-casual tone he always had.
Phuwadon blinked, raising an eyebrow. "Me?"
"Yes, you. Who else?" Phi Tann grinned, and the team chuckled.
Phuwadon's eyes flicked to me. Smirked. Then said, "Sure, why not!"
That smirk again. Is he messing with me? Or is this just his default face?
I turned my focus back to winding a cable, pretending not to notice. But I could feel the heat in my ears.
Outside the studio, the group had gathered in a lazy circle, all talking at once — making dinner plans, debating who would sit where, teasing each other like old classmates. It felt… light.
Nok ran back in to do her final lock-up and equipment check.
We all stood around, waiting. Some smoked. Some scrolled their phones.
I stood at the edge, watching the sunset dip behind Bangkok's buildings, the orange glow brushing against skyscrapers and tuk-tuks rolling by.
And behind me, I felt it again. A presence. Not loud, not obvious — but there.
I didn't turn this time. Just smiled softly to myself.