Dawn didn't rise so much as seep in — pale and hesitant, like it, too, wasn't sure I should go. The holidays are over in the speed of light.
Sorren woke before I did.
When I opened my eyes, he was already sitting by the doorway, ears perked, tail still. He knew. Dogs always know when something important is packing itself into a bag.
Anurak was sitting on the floor near the bed, legs folded, chin resting on his knees. He must've stayed there the whole night — I remember drifting in and out of sleep and seeing the lamp burn down to nothing, his silhouette motionless beside it.
My bag lay open on the bed. Shirts, jeans, sketchbook, charger — everything looked small and wrong inside it.
Sorren padded over and jumped onto the mattress, nosing one of my folded shirts before curling across it. I tried to move him gently.
"We'll come back here again," I whispered. "Both of us."
He didn't look convinced, but he shifted just enough for me to keep packing.
Anurak's voice was soft, but it cut through the stillness.
"You forgot the grey hoodie."
I paused. He rose to his feet and crossed to the chair, picking it up. He held it for a moment — fingers tracing the sleeve like it meant more than cloth should — then handed it to me.
When I reached for it, his hand didn't let go immediately. Our fingers brushed, and my breath stilled.
That was when I said, without planning to, "You… won't forget me when I go, right?"
He blinked once — slow, like the question hurt him. Then, instead of answering with words, he leaned in.
The kiss wasn't rushed. It wasn't tentative either. It was quiet and deep and steady — not goodbye, not promise — something in between, like the last line of a prayer.
His palm came up to the side of my neck. My hands fisted in the hoodie between us.
Sorren let out a small whine — not jealous, not startled. Just… moved.
When we pulled apart, my heart thudded so loudly I could feel it in my teeth.
"If I forget you," Anurak murmured, "I will forget myself."
I couldn't speak after that. I just finished packing.
---
By the time we stepped out of the room, Granny was already in the kitchen, clattering steel cups like she always does when she's trying to hide emotions in sound.
Sorren followed us through the narrow hallway, occasionally nudging my calf like he was reminding me not to leave him behind.
"Eat before you leave," Granny said, not looking up from the pan.
"I'm not hungry," I tried.
She didn't care. "Eat anyway."
Anurak sat beside me at the table, not touching the tea she'd poured him. His knee brushed mine beneath the wooden bench — just once — and stayed close enough that I could feel the warmth.
Granny finally looked at us, eyes sharp the way old trees look before storms.
"Did you think I haven't watched boys pack their hearts into suitcases before?" she said, voice rough. "This isn't the first time love tried to walk out of this house with its shoes on."
I almost smiled. She didn't.
"There's a time for going," she continued, "but no one leaves alone if they were meant to stay."
I didn't understand then. Maybe I will later.
---
By seven, the mist outside had thinned into soft ribbons across the fields.
I bent down to tie my shoelaces — Sorren pressed his head into my chest and refused to move. His fur smelled like river grass and smoke.
"We'll visit again," I whispered into his neck. "This isn't the last time."
He huffed once, as if accepting only half the truth.
Anurak stood a few steps behind us, hands behind his back again. I didn't ask him why — I think he needs them there to stop himself from grabbing me.
When I crossed the threshold, I heard Granny's broom strike the verandah just once. A single, firm tap. The kind mothers use in place of tears.
Anurak walked with me to the gate.
The road was blurred at the edges, as if the world wasn't sure it wanted to be seen.
I adjusted the strap on my bag just to have something to touch. "If you don't come to Bangkok soon," I said lightly, "I'll drag you there myself."
His lips almost curved. Almost.
"When it's time," he said, "I won't wait for you to drag me."
Sorren stood by my leg, tail lowered but ready — like he knew the road ahead belonged to all three of us now.
I didn't hug Anurak. I didn't even brush his shoulder. Because if I felt the shape of him fully in my arms right then, I would drop the bag, walk back inside, and let the bus go without me.
But when I turned to leave, he said my name.
"Kael."
I stopped. I didn't turn.
His voice was steady, but low — fragile at the edges.
> "Even if the world forgets… I will remember."
I nodded once — because if I looked at him, I'd break the morning open with tears.
The bus hadn't yet arrived, but I started walking anyway. Sorren trotted by my side. My feet carried us forward. My heart… didn't move at all.
The road ahead felt long. But not empty. Not anymore.