The hum of monitors filled the computer lab, a low mechanical chorus beneath Mr. Robertson's voice. Thanom sat at his usual station, fingers poised over the keyboard, eyes flicking between lines of code and the assignment sheet. Today's task: build a basic database interface using SQL and Python.
Jericho slid into the seat beside him, his matte silver glasses catching the overhead light. He wore a charcoal hoodie today, sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal the edge of a watch. His expression was unreadable, as always—focused, distant, composed.
Mr. Robertson clapped his hands. "Pair work today. Thanom, Jericho—you two are together."
Thanom nodded, trying not to show the flicker of nerves in his chest. Jericho simply opened his laptop and began typing.
They worked in silence for the first fifteen minutes, syncing their code, testing queries, adjusting syntax. Jericho's typing was fast, precise. Thanom kept pace, occasionally glancing at him, wondering if now was the right time.
He cleared his throat. "Hey… that girl you were sitting with yesterday. In the cafeteria."
Jericho didn't look up. "Zaria."
Thanom blinked. "Zaria. She's… cool."
Jericho nodded once, still typing.
Thanom waited, hoping for more. Nothing came.
"She in any of your classes?" he asked.
Jericho's fingers paused briefly, then resumed. "One."
Thanom leaned slightly toward him. "She seems nice. You two close?"
Jericho didn't answer.
Thanom hesitated. "I saw you smiling. That's rare."
Jericho's eyes flicked to him, then back to the screen. "We talked."
Thanom tried again. "She seems like someone who'd be good for you."
Jericho pressed Enter, ran the code, and watched the output populate. "You should focus on the assignment."
Thanom sat back, the silence between them stretching like static. He stared at the screen, the lines of code suddenly feeling colder.
He tried once more. "Just curious. You don't usually—"
Jericho stood abruptly, walked to the printer, retrieved their output sheet, and returned without a word. He placed the paper on the desk and resumed typing.
Thanom didn't speak again.
They finished the assignment with quiet efficiency. Mr. Robertson passed by, nodding approvingly. "Nice work, gentlemen."
Jericho closed his laptop, packed his bag, and stood.
Thanom looked up. "See you next class?"
Jericho gave a brief nod, then walked out of the room without another word.
Thanom watched him go, the door swinging shut behind him.
He stared at the empty seat beside him, wondering what kind of silence Zaria had managed to break—and why his questions couldn't.
The cafeteria was alive with its usual midday rhythm—students weaving between tables, trays clattering, conversations rising and falling like waves. Thanom moved through the crowd with quiet purpose, his backpack slung over one shoulder, eyes scanning for something light to eat. He wasn't in the mood for pizza or fried chicken. He wanted something fresh.
He stopped at the salad bar, grabbing a tray and a pair of tongs. Romaine, cherry tomatoes, shredded carrots, boiled eggs. He layered each ingredient carefully, his mind half on the food, half on the girl he'd seen yesterday.
Zaria.
She was there again—just a few feet away, scooping cucumbers into a small bowl. Her 4C afro was coiled and defined today, the light brown teddy bear plush clip nestled near her temple like a quiet signature. She wore a pale blue cardigan today over her yellow polo, the same white skirt and black-out tights. Her nails were freshly painted—pastel pink on one hand, all white on the other.
Thanom hesitated, then stepped closer.
"Hey," he said, voice gentle.
Zaria turned, her almond-shaped eyes lighting up. "Hi."
"I'm Thanom. We've got a few classes near each other, I think."
She smiled. "Yeah, I've seen you around. You sit near Jericho in computer class, right?"
Thanom nodded. "That's me."
They moved down the salad bar together, scooping croutons and sunflower seeds, dressing their bowls with quiet concentration.
"You have good taste," Zaria said, nodding at his tray.
"Thanks. I grew up around food. My mom runs a bakery back in Thailand."
"That sounds amazing," she said. "I bet everything smells like vanilla and butter."
Thanom chuckled. "Exactly."
They reached the end of the bar and found a small table near the windows. Zaria sat first, adjusting her skirt, her tray balanced neatly in front of her. Thanom sat across from her, feeling oddly nervous.
"So," he said, "you and Jericho seem close."
Zaria looked up, her expression still warm but slightly guarded. "We talk."
"He doesn't talk to many people," Thanom said. "I've had three classes with him. He barely says a word."
Zaria stirred her salad gently. "He's selective."
Thanom leaned forward slightly. "Are you two… dating?"
Zaria's fork paused mid-air. She looked at him, her eyes calm but firm.
"I don't really share personal stuff like that," she said.
Thanom blinked. "Sorry. I didn't mean to pry."
"It's okay," she said, her voice still kind. "I just keep certain things private. Especially when it comes to Jericho."
Thanom nodded, feeling the shift in the air. The warmth was still there, but it had a boundary now. A quiet fence he hadn't seen until he'd stepped too close.
"I get it," he said. "He's… complicated."
Zaria smiled faintly. "Aren't we all?"
They ate in silence for a few minutes. Thanom watched the way she moved—graceful, intentional, like someone who'd learned to protect her peace. He admired that.
"I didn't mean to make things weird," he said.
"You didn't," Zaria replied. "You asked a question. I answered."
Thanom smiled. "Fair enough."
She finished her salad, wiped her hands with a napkin, and stood.
"Thanks for the company, Thanom.
"Anytime," he said.
She walked away, her teddy bear clip bobbing gently with each step.
Thanom sat alone at the table, staring out the window at the campus lawn. He hadn't learned much about her. But he'd learned enough to know she wasn't someone to be cornered.
She was someone to be understood—slowly, respectfully, like a story that revealed itself one page at a time.