(Author's Note
Hello, my dear readers! Your Samaya Queen is back with a brand-new fantasy BL story.
The main character of this story is Arion Mikael, but at home—and by the only person who truly loves him—he is called Rumi.
Rumi is only 15 years old.
He is so unbelievably cute and beautiful that he looks like he's made of fragile glass threads.
But behind that innocence hides a deep, unbearable pain.
Rumi has certain special traits because of which people consider him cursed… or something less than human. He suffers terribly and works as a garbage collector in the slum streets of Thailand to feed his family.
In this cruel world, the only person he loves endlessly is his little brother. And for him, Rumi would sacrifice anything.
One very important thing: every single character in this story has been designed by me. None of them are taken from Google. Each character is my own imagination and hard work.
Now let's see how a magical lamp changes Rumi's shattered life—and how it leads him to the Jin who will change his destiny forever.
If you love cute characters and emotional fantasy, please support this story, comment, and follow me.)
Chapter 1
At exactly 5:00 AM, the back lanes of Bangkok slowly begin to stir with movement.
But inside Arion Mikael's house, there is only silence.
Rumi is sleeping on the cold floor.
His sleep is so fragile that even the slightest sound makes his body tremble.
His skin is pale and smooth like fresh cream.
He is so thin and delicate that he looks like a glass doll that could shatter under the slightest pressure.
A thin ray of sunlight slips through a crack in the wooden window and gently kisses his face.
His brown wolf-cut hair rests softly near his neck.
As he blinks awake, his large eyes reveal something extraordinary.
There is something strange about them.
Right now, his irises are emerald green, matching the torn green shirt he is wearing.
But this is no ordinary color change.
Inside his eyes, it looks like liquid light is flowing—slowly shifting and glowing.
His lips are red like fresh cherries, and his small nose makes him look even more innocent.
Suddenly—
A harsh kick lands on his ribs.
It is his stepmother, Nalinee Vongchai.
Rumi lets out a soft cry of pain but doesn't immediately stand. Instead, he curls into himself, hugging his knees tightly to his chest.
His tiny hands tremble as if trying to protect himself.
He looks up at Nalinee.
Thick tears fill his large eyes, resting on his lashes. His cherry lips tremble slightly, wanting to speak—but fear seals his voice.
Nalinee:
"Get up, you cursed child! The sun is already up and you're still lying there?"
At her sharp voice, Rumi's entire body shivers. He lowers his gaze and hides his face between his knees
. His brown hair falls over his face, revealing only his trembling lashes.
Nalinee:
"Did the earth swallow your father, or did the sky? He left behind nothing but these two burdens. Go. And if you don't bring enough money today, don't step inside this house again."
Behind her stands his half-sister, Mookda.
Mookda smiles coldly.
Mookda:
"Mom, why even talk to him? He's a monster anyway. Look at his eyes—changing colors like a chameleon. It disgusts me to call him my brother."
At her words, helplessness flickers inside Rumi's eyes.
The emerald green slowly fades into dirty gray.
He scratches the cracked skin on his fingers nervously—a sign of anxiety.
He wants to scream that he is not a monster.
But his throat is dry.
No sound comes out.
He slowly crawls toward the corner where his little brother, Chirag, is sleeping.
Luca is only eight years old.
He looks terribly weak—thin from hunger and illness.
Arion Mikael gently touches his forehead.
He is burning with fever.
Tears finally roll down Rumi's cheeks.
He whispers softly:
"Don't worry,. Luca… Rumi will save you. Rumi loves you very much."
But before his hand can rest properly, Mookda rushes forward, twisting his wrist and pushing him back.
Mookda:
"Don't touch that sick rat. Or he'll become cursed like you. Go pick garbage. Otherwise, he'll sleep hungry tonight."
Rumi's fragile body falls backward from the shove.
But he does not cry.
Arion Mikael buttons his torn shirt quietly.
Then—
Something changes.
The deep gray in his eyes slowly begins turning into burning blood-red.
It looks as if lava is boiling inside his eyes.
This is the proof of the anger and helplessness he hides from the world.
Rumi adjusts his torn green shirt with trembling fingers, picks up his sack, and walks out without looking back.
His lowered head and small steps clearly show that his heart is completely broken.
Outside, the cold morning air blows through the narrow Bangkok alleyways, carrying the foul smell of garbage.
And Rumi, with his fragile innocence and those strangely changing eyes, walks toward that dirty world…
Perfect ❤️
Now I'm continuing the story in English, with all the correct changes applied:
Ruhaan → Arion Mikael
Rumi
As soon as Rumi steps past the threshold of his house, the outside world feels like a battlefield to him.
He is only fifteen years old, but the heavy sack hanging from his shoulders and the way his feet stumble make him look like a seventy-year-old exhausted man.
No one sees his innocence.
No one sees his soft, delicate face.
All eyes focus only on his strange aura… and his ever-changing eyes.
At the corner of the alley, people step aside the moment they see him—as if he carries a contagious disease.
Their whispers stab into his ears like sharp knives.
A neighbor woman (covering her mouth):
"Look, that cursed boy is out again. I saw his face first thing in the morning… now who knows how bad my day will be."
A shopkeeper (angrily):
"Keep your eyes down, you demon! Don't let the shadow of those changing eyes fall on my shop. Yesterday after you passed by, my milk spoiled."
Rumi lowers his large eyes toward the ground.
He pulls the collar of his torn green shirt higher, trying to hide his neck and face—but his beauty cannot be hidden.
People are not afraid of his softness.
They are afraid of the unknown power that lives inside his eyes.
An old man shouts from afar:
"Why don't they throw him out of the city? He's not human! He's some wandering Jin or ghost who will destroy us all!"
Rumi's small hands tighten around his sack.
There is an emptiness on his face.
Somewhere deep inside, he wishes someone would stop him… place a hand on his head… and say, "You're okay."
But here, everyone looks at him with hatred.
The filthy whispers of the crowd make something ache inside him.
The dirty gray color in his eyes trembles slightly.
He holds his breath and walks faster, trying to reach the garbage piles at the edge of the city—because at least there, there are no humans to kill him with their words.
At the far end of Bangkok, there is a filthy dumping ground.
Mountains of garbage stretch as far as the eye can see.
The stench is so strong that an ordinary person would suffocate within minutes.
But Rumi stands there.
His small, delicate feet sink into disgusting mud and sharp stones.
With innocent hands, he digs into the piles of waste, hoping to find scrap metal or plastic bottles he can sell for a few coins.
There is only one fear in his heart—
If he returns home empty-handed today, neither he nor luca may get food tonight.
Even a stone-hearted person would pity him.
But there is no one here to look.
His milk-white skin is now smeared with dust and soot.
His brown hair, which glowed softly in the morning light, is now stuck to his forehead because of sweat and dirt.
His torn green shirt has ripped even more, revealing his thin and fragile body.
He bends down to lift heavy pieces of metal.
His small fingers are filled with grime, and several scratches cover his skin.
Blood slowly seeps out from some of them.
But Rumi doesn't feel the pain.
He just keeps scraping through the pile.
His eye color begins changing again.
From emerald green, it shifts into a strange dull yellow—like a dying flame.
This color reflects his terrible exhaustion and hunger.
He feels so weak that his legs begin to tremble.
But he doesn't stop.
Every time he finds even a tiny piece of metal, his eyes shine for a brief second—as if he has discovered treasure.
With his cute and fragile appearance, standing atop that horrifying garbage mountain, he looks like a broken toy the world has thrown away.
The sun grows harsher.
Rumi's breathing becomes heavier.
Yet his sack is not even half full.
He knows he must work harder… or tonight will be very long.
Behind one of the tall garbage mounds, through dust and smoke, an old man stands watching Rumi.
He is far away, but his gaze holds a strange depth—almost as if he can read Rumi's unbearable hunger and exhaustion.
Rumi is too absorbed in his work to notice that someone is observing him so carefully.
He continues scraping heavy iron pieces with his delicate fingers.
Sweat glistens on his face.
His irises grow paler with fatigue.
The old man does not step forward.
He does not call out.
He simply stands there, leaning on his old wooden staff, silently watching.
It almost feels as if seeing Rumi like this is part of his daily routine.
Continue…...