01. Ripples in the Dark (Part 1)

Tan woke with a sharp gasp, the echo of a temple bell still ringing in his ears. For a moment, he lay frozen, unsure of where he was — until the soft pitter-patter of rain against the window and the low hum of the air conditioner anchored him back to reality.

His dorm room was quiet, dim except for the blinking green light on his table clock. Sheets clung to his sweat-soaked skin, his chest heaving in shallow, uneven breaths.

With a trembling hand, he turned on the bedside lamp. The soft golden glow chased away the shadows but not the unease coiling tight in his chest.

"It’s just a dream," he whispered, voice unsteady. "Just a dream..."

But he knew better.

It wasn't the first time.

He could never remember the whole thing, just fragments — flickers of light and scent and sound. A river shimmering beneath moonlight. The sweet, heavy scent of frangipani. A slow descent into water. And always, just before waking, the solemn toll of a temple bell echoing through his bones.

He glanced down and found his fingers clenched tight around his sheets, white-knuckled. As if refusing to let go of something — or someone.

A flash of lightning lit up the room, casting stark reflections on his cluttered desk: unfinished assignments, a tangled set of earphones, the gleam of a forgotten pick beside his guitar. His pale face stared back at him in the mirror — drawn, shaken, unfamiliar.

Tan sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The clock read 3:12 a.m. Too early for anything but too late for peace.

He stumbled into the bathroom. Cold water splashed against his face, a shock that brought him fully into the present. In the mirror, a pair of tired coal-black eyes met his. Messy brown hair fell over his forehead in damp clumps, his skin ghost-pale under the flickering light.

Tan Phongthawat, second-year student at Chulalongkorn University's Faculty of Music. The eldest son of a prestigious Bangkok family. Groomed for medicine or law, but stubborn enough to choose music. The compromise: he'd study music, but join the family business after graduation.

He lingered in the mirror's gaze, searching for answers he couldn't name, before returning to his room.

There, he buried himself in sheet music and assignments, fingers absently tapping rhythms as he stared at the blank music software on his laptop. A melody hovered at the edge of memory — haunting and familiar. Like a song he once knew but forgot the words to.

...----------------...

Morning crept in slowly. Gray light filtered through the curtains, dust motes dancing in the golden haze. Tan had fallen asleep again — this time slumped over his desk.

His phone buzzed loudly, vibrating against a pile of papers.

["Where the hell are you?"] came an exasperated voice. Phayu Rattanachai, or Yu — his best friend since high school. The sounds of a bustling hallway filled the background.

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