Suvarnabhumi Airport was blazing with April sunlight. The announcements over the loudspeakers, the sound of rolling suitcases, and voices of people talking and laughing blended together into a rushed yet familiar rhythm. Amid the bustling crowd, Namtan pulled her suitcase with one hand, the other holding tightly onto Film’s as if letting go would cause her to vanish into this sea of people.

Film slowed slightly, lifting her eyes to look at her. In the light reflected from the massive glass ceiling, her gaze shimmered with a hint of unease.
“Are you… really sure?” Film’s voice was so soft it was as if she feared someone else might hear.

“Absolutely.” Namtan smiled, squeezing her hand tighter. “Over there, no one will bother us. It’ll just be you and me.”

Film nodded gently. Her fingers threaded through the gaps between Namtan’s, holding on tightly like a child clinging to the only safe place in the world.

The loudspeaker announced their flight. They looked at each other—no words, just a firmer grip. As they walked to the checkpoint, camera flashes from a few reporters suddenly burst around them. They called their names, pushed forward, and threw questions.

Namtan didn’t answer, didn’t even turn around. She wrapped an arm around Film’s shoulders, shielding her, and quietly led her through the chaotic crowd. In that moment, Film felt her sister like an unshakable wall, blocking out every storm behind them.

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London greeted them with a cool breeze, a deep blue sky, and ancient buildings casting shadows across cobblestone streets. The open air stood in stark contrast to the heavy atmosphere of Bangkok they'd just left.

Their hotel was near Hyde Park. The high-floor room had a large window overlooking a stretch of lush green trees. The moment they stepped inside, Film dashed to the balcony, eyes wide with amazement.
“It’s so beautiful…” she whispered, full of wonder.

Namtan walked up behind her and wrapped her arms around Film’s waist. “Yeah. But still not as beautiful as you.”

Film blushed and turned with mock annoyance, giving her a light punch in the chest. “You always know how to say things that make people embarrassed.”

Namtan let out a soft laugh and pressed a kiss to her hair. In that fleeting instant, it felt as if all their previous worries had melted away.

The first days in England passed in a rare peace. They strolled through old streets, stopped by small cozy cafés on the corners, read books in the park, or simply sprawled on the hotel sofa watching movies dubbed in strange voices.

Namtan took care of Film in every little way. She chose her meals, reminded her about her medication, and left warm water by the bed.

“You take care of me like I’m a kid,” Film chuckled, eyes curved in amusement.

“Well, you’re my baby,” Namtan replied, sealing it with a light kiss on her forehead.

Film pretended to pout and turn away, but the smile at the corner of her lips was impossible to hide. Happiness felt within reach.

But when night fell, things were different.

In the darkness, Film would often jolt awake drenched in cold sweat. She trembled, eyes wide as if she’d just escaped a horrific nightmare. Every time, June appeared—those deranged eyes, the twisted smirk, the echoing laughter amidst poisonous smoke and flames.

Namtan was always the one to gather her into her arms, gently patting her back and whispering in her ear:
“It’s okay, you were just dreaming. Here, no one can hurt you anymore.”

Film usually nodded, but her hands stayed icy cold. Inside her, a lingering sense of dread clung on, like a shadow refusing to let go.

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One morning, they went to a major London hospital to meet Doctor Mewnich—the one who had treated Film after Thanit’s death. Film sat in the waiting area, her hands clenched tightly together.

Noticing her tension, Namtan reached out a hand. “Don’t worry. Doctor Mewnich is very kind. You got through it last time, and you’ll be fine this time too.”

Film nodded and rested her head on Namtan’s shoulder. But just then, her eyes froze at the end of the hallway. A man had just walked past. Tall and slender, a composed gait, footsteps unmistakable. Film’s heart seized.

“Th… Thanit?” she murmured, almost breathless.

She shot to her feet, eyes wide, staring after him. It wasn’t fear she felt, but a wave of dizziness so intense it stole her breath—like being pulled back into the past. That figure… so familiar it made her heart feel like it would burst.

But just seconds later, the hallway was empty. No one was there.

Film stood motionless, her hand trembling, heart dragged upward by a flash of hope only to plunge into an abyss.

“Film?” Namtan called, concern in her voice. “What’s wrong?”

Film flinched and turned back, her lips quivering.
“No… I… I must have seen wrong.”

She sat down again, avoiding Namtan’s searching gaze. Inside, memories burst open: a gentle smile, a hand squeeze in a rainy afternoon, a warm voice that had once been her refuge. She bit her lip, not daring to utter another word.

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That evening, they returned to the hotel. Namtan was busy sorting documents, while Film stood silently by the window. The London sky had deepened to charcoal purple, city lights reflecting in the glass. In that moment, her own reflection blurred. But right beside it, she swore she saw another silhouette. Familiar, gentle… yet painful enough to tear her apart.

“No way…” Film whispered, her palms damp with sweat.
She reached toward the glass as if to hold that shadow in place. But the moment her fingers met the surface, there was only emptiness.

Behind her, Namtan called softly:
“Film, you’re overthinking again, aren’t you? Come on, don’t worry anymore. Let’s go to bed early.”

Film startled, turned around, and forced a smile.
“Yeah… I’m coming.”

But when the curtains closed and darkness filled the room, Film curled up with a pillow in her arms, only one name echoing over and over in her head: Thanit. Not like a nightmare, but like an old wound that seemed healed, now violently torn open again.

In a foreign country that was supposed to be safe, Film still couldn’t escape the net of her memories. Her haunting was no longer named June, but another figure—tender, distant, yet powerful enough to make her heart tremble: Thanit.