London awoke beneath a soft blanket of gray. Clouds drifted across the sky like sheer silk veils. Namtan stirred at the faint ring of the hotel alarm, then turned to see Film curled beneath the duvet, a loose strand of hair resting on her pillow. She watched her for a long, quiet heartbeat before pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Can you get up?” she whispered. “Today… I want to visit somewhere.”

Film blinked, not yet fully awake. She was about to ask where—but paused when she met the look in Namtan’s eyes. Something steadfast, yet fragile.

She pushed herself up, pulling the blanket to her chest. “Funny. I was thinking… I want to visit someone too.”

They held each other’s gaze. No further questions. They both understood.

Today, they would walk side by side into a place that was not easy to walk into.

---

The cemetery lay on the outskirts of the city, nestled against a sloping hill clothed in maple trees turning gold. Morning mist clung to the gravestones like fine frost; fallen leaves rustled beneath the breeze. Namtan opened the trunk and lifted a bouquet of white lilies. Film took pale hydrangeas into her arms. They walked slowly, careful—as though afraid to shatter the silence.

The path split into two around the hill. Film hesitated.
“I’ll go this way… I think it’s in Section B. You—”

“I’m… also in Section B.” Namtan replied softly, surprised at her own words. “Let’s go together.”

They walked without speaking. A bird called somewhere in the trees. Then Film slowed. A name carved into black stone appeared before her—every letter stabbing into her eyes like a needle. Her chest tightened. She clutched the bouquet too hard, petals crumpling.

At that exact moment, Namtan came to an abrupt stop in front of another headstone. The name struck her like lightning.

THANIT WISA.

She sucked in a breath. The lilies slipped from her hands and landed on the damp grass with a muted thud.

[Thanit Wisa – Film’s first love from university, who died in a traffic accident.]

They were standing in front of the same grave.

Silence thickened, dense as fog. Film slowly turned. Namtan turned too. Words would only cheapen the moment.

“So…” Namtan spoke first, voice gravelly. “So… he was the one you meant.”

Film did not nod. She did not deny. She only knelt and placed the hydrangeas at the foot of the stone, gently fixing an earlier bouquet someone had left. Her fingers brushed a crack in the marble. They trembled.

Namtan lowered herself beside her, resting her hand against the corner of the headstone as though trying to smooth out time.

They said nothing. Each sank into their own tide of memory.

Film closed her eyes. Flashes returned—his kind smile, his thin jacket, his soft laugh: “You’re fine just the way you are.” Then the honk of a car. A half-typed message. A photo frozen in its final day. Love and grief—wrapped into one knot.

Beside her, Namtan bowed her head. Her shoulders barely shook. One careless word could break everything. So she remained still.

Finally, Film placed her hand on the name carved in stone and whispered, so softly it was almost lost to the wind:

“I’m here, Thanit. I’m doing okay now. You don’t have to worry.”

Then she stood, giving space.

Namtan quietly re-arranged the lilies, tilting them neatly like a small ritual. She laid two fingers on the etched name, closed her eyes for one heartbeat. When she opened them again, her gaze was clear—even if damp.

They left the cemetery without a word. In the car, their hands found each other and stayed woven. All the unspoken things rested there, warm between their palms.

---

Bangkok blazed in afternoon heat. In the studio, Love sat cross-legged on a high chair reviewing the shoot outline. Milk stepped out of the lighting room, tape measure still dangling from her neck, hair tied high and neat. June leaned casually against the doorway, smiling her usual helpful smile.

“If you’re busy, I can follow the backup schedule,” June offered sweetly. “Or throw anything at me—I catch on quick.”

“Thanks,” Milk said. “There’s a lot to fix today.”

Love set her papers down, resting her chin on her hand. Her tone was calm—too calm. “Newcomers should know their place. In this studio, we keep boundaries. Get too familiar and things turn messy.”

The room fell quiet. Milk frowned faintly. “Love…”

June kept smiling—untouched, but thinner. “I understand. I’ll keep my distance.”

She gracefully crouched to organize props, her movements precise. But for a split second, the corner of her mouth straightened into something cold.

In the hallway, Emi passed by just in time to hear it all. She paused, watching—Love’s low voice, Milk’s unease, June’s perfect bow. Something sour drifted through her instincts. She shut her laptop and kept walking, but the thought lodged deep.

A small crack had formed in the group. Hardly visible—but undeniable.

---

Dinner in London. A small Italian restaurant by the river. Warm pendant lights, soft clinks of cutlery. Film ordered a simple pasta. Namtan, a bowl of soup. She barely touched it. Just stirred slowly, eyes fixed beyond the window where drizzle shimmered under lamplight.

“Tired?” Film asked gently.

“No.” Namtan paused. “Just…”

She didn’t finish. Film didn’t push. She simply poured water, nudged the glass toward her with a soft smile. “Eat if you can. If not, we’ll go back early.”

Back at the hotel, Namtan hung her coat over a chair. The golden lighting felt warm—but not quite warm enough. Silence stretched. Finally, she exhaled shakily and faced Film.

“I need to say it. If I don’t… I won’t be able to breathe.”

Film nodded. “I’m listening.”

Namtan sat on the bed, hands clasped so tightly her knuckles whitened. She spoke slowly, each word cut from somewhere deep.

“Back then… Thanit was a close friend of mine. He was… kind. The day he had the accident—I’d asked him to stop by the library to pick up some papers for me. He said he’d do it on the way to his date. I even told him ‘No rush. Whenever’s fine.’ But he went immediately…”

Her throat tightened. She stopped to swallow.

“And then… the accident happened. I kept thinking—if I hadn’t asked, he wouldn’t have gone that way. If not for me, maybe he’d still…”

She broke off. Years of buried guilt cracked open, raw. Unanswered messages. Missed calls. Police reports. A funeral. People’s pitying words. The mirror, and a stranger’s face staring back.

Film stood frozen. Her heartbeat thrashed in her ears. Tears slipped down—but not from blame. Only pain. Pain at seeing the woman she loved still bleeding silently.

She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Namtan from behind, pressing her cheek to her shoulder.

“It’s not your fault. It was an accident. Random. You said ‘no rush’. You didn’t force anything. People walk outside every day—anything can happen… You’ve carried that weight long enough.”

Namtan trembled, holding her breath so she wouldn’t break.

Film tightened her embrace, voice steady. “I love who you are now. The you who chose to face this instead of running. Thanit… is a beautiful part of my past. But I’m alive—and I choose you.”

Something unlatched in Namtan’s chest. She turned, eyes red. Film brushed away her tears with a smile so soft it almost melted.

“No more crying,” she whispered. “If the load is heavy—I’ll carry it with you.”

The space between them vanished. Film leaned in and kissed her—slow, almost ceremonial. Namtan answered, fingers digging into the sheets before relaxing. No rush. No fumbling. Just certainty.

Film guided her gently back onto the bed. She loosened the ribbon at her own collar and set it aside with deliberate calm. Leaning close to her ear, she murmured,

“Let me take the lead tonight.”

Her eyes were steady. Not fiery—but warm. Steady, like tide beneath moonlight.

Namtan nodded, placing her trust in the hands holding hers. Their touches were unhurried, quiet affirmations against skin. No dramatic declarations—just proof. Film kissed her eyelids, her forehead, her hands. So slowly that each breath could be counted. The golden light washed over their bodies in soft waves, their shadows gently swaying on the wall.

Rain started tapping faintly at the window. Film drew the curtains closed, then turned back, sliding a hand behind Namtan’s neck. Her smile was peaceful.

Her intention was clear. I’m here. For you. With you.

Their breathing intertwined, slowing, deepening. Voices melted into hushed whispers of each other’s names.

Later, they lay still. Fingers still linked. Namtan rested her forehead against Film’s and let out a tiny laugh, as though afraid to wake her.

“I feel… lighter.”

Film brushed away stray strands of hair. “From now on, if anything weighs on you—tell me. That’s how we truly understand each other.”

No more words. They didn’t need them. It was the silence of two people who had lit lanterns inside each other’s chests.

---

Bangkok at night was sprinkled in red and green lights like candy. June sat at her dining table, scrolling through headlines about Namtan and Film’s romantic trip in England. She smiled—a polite smile, if someone were watching.

Her eyes were icy.

She opened a small notebook and scribbled:

“Day 3 of Namtan & Film abroad. Group unstable.
Love — weakest point.
Milk — central axis.
Emi — alert.
Bonnie — emotionally swayable.
Strategy: infiltrate from the outer rim inward.”

She closed the notebook and flicked off the living room light. In the darkness, her smile sharpened.

“Good. Let’s begin.”