Loop 11 began with three notebooks on the After You table.
Lingling's black Moleskine, Orm's pastel sticker-covered one, Miu's leather-bound traveler's notebook filled with film-log handwriting.
They had agreed on the rule at 3 a.m. the previous loop, sitting on the floor of Lingling's apartment eating cold khao soi straight from the plastic bag.
Rule #1: Everything important gets written down. Rule #2: We read the notebooks together every morning at 9:00 a.m. sharp. Rule #3: No secrets from future selves.
They called it the Notebook Rule.
By loop 15 the notebooks were thick with love and terror.
Orm wrote in round, looping script decorated with tiny hearts and crying emojis:
Loop 12 – P'Ling held my hand under the table for 43 minutes. Loop 13 – Miu kissed my forehead when she thought I was asleep on the skytrain. I wasn't. Loop 14 – We almost told them I love them both. Tape got warm. Didn't.
Lingling wrote in precise block letters, no punctuation wasted:
Loop 14 – Orm fell asleep on my shoulder. Hair smells like coconut. Loop 15 – Miu cried in the bathroom. Said she's scared we'll choose two instead of three. Told her we won't. Meant it.
Miu wrote in tiny, perfect Japanese and Thai mixed:
ループ16 – リンリングがオームの髪を撫でた.俺はカメラを握りしめて嫉妬と愛が同時に死にそうだった. Translation: Lingling stroked Orm's hair. I held the camera so hard I thought jealousy and love would kill me at the same time.
They met every morning at the same table, ordered the same drinks, and read the new pages like scripture.
Some mornings they laughed until they cried at the ridiculousness of remembering things that hadn't happened yet.
Some mornings they just cried.
By loop 18 the notebooks had rules of their own:
Never write "I love you" until all three of us can say it out loud without the tape smoking. If one of us is having a bad loop, the other two cancel all plans and stay within arm's reach. Take at least one photo every day that isn't on the cursed film. Proof we were happy even if tomorrow forgets.
The photos started appearing taped into the notebooks: Polaroids, Instax, disposable-camera prints. Lingling's hands shaking as she held the shutter. Orm making bunny ears behind Miu's head. Miu asleep on Lingling's lap in the studio, mouth open, drooling slightly.
They kept the photos in a metal box buried under the big tree at Lumphini Park, because paper survived resets better when it was underground.
Loop 19, 11:47 p.m.
They sat on the Silom pavement again, same spot where the tape had burned ten loops earlier. The rain had stopped hours ago, but the street still steamed.
Orm opened her notebook to a fresh page and wrote in big letters:
Tonight we almost made it. Tomorrow we will.
She showed it to the others.
Lingling added underneath:
Tomorrow we stop almost.
Miu drew a tiny heart around both sentences and wrote in Japanese:
明日こそ,ちゃんと.
Tomorrow, properly.
They tore the page out, folded it into a paper boat, and set it sailing in a puddle that reflected neon.
The city watched, quiet for once.
The tape stayed cool.