01. Ripples in the Dark (Part 2)

Tan blinked blearily at the clock. 8:47 a.m.

"Shit," he croaked, scrambling to his feet. "I'll be there in fifteen!"

["You're gonna get chewed out. Don't expect me to cover for you again,"] Yu barked through the speaker.

Tan shoved his phone into his pocket and dashed into the bathroom. Five minutes later, he was tugging on a crisp white button-up, a little wrinkled, paired with fitted black trousers. His slightly crooked tie and disheveled hair gave him the typical "late but trying" look he wore most mornings.

The music faculty pin glinted on his chest as he stuffed loose papers into his backpack, grabbed a carton of milk from the mini-fridge, and rushed out the door.

He passed the mirror on the way to the elevator — tall, lean (about 185 cm), with fair skin and soft, messy bangs that constantly fell into his eyes. His uniform, like most things in his life, was just a little off-kilter.

The badge on his chest reminded him of what he was fighting for. Not perfection. Not approval. Just... music.

He climbed into his black sedan — his first big purchase, paid for with tutoring gigs and small performance fees — and sped off into traffic, which was, as always, its own special kind of hell.

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

By the time he slid into his seat in the lecture hall next to Yu, he was panting and slightly damp from rain.

"You seriously called me five times," he muttered, brushing damp bangs from his face.

"The professor's late. You're welcome." Yu grinned smugly. "I just saved you from a world of pain."

"Fine. Lunch is on me."

Yu immediately perked up, slinging an arm across Tan's shoulders. "Now you’re speaking my language."

Phayu "Yu" Rattanachai was shorter than Tan, with a wiry frame and a flair for the dramatic. His hair was always perfectly styled — slicked back today — and his uniform tailored to the point of vanity. Flamboyant, expressive, loyal to a fault. His family, liberal and supportive, had always encouraged him to pursue his dreams, however loud or glittery they may be.

Sometimes, Tan envied that. The freedom to just be.

"Oh, and guess what?" Yu said, eyes glued to his phone. "We're getting a transfer student. Mid-sem, too."

Tan raised an eyebrow. "Weird time to transfer."

"Right? Apparently, they're from somewhere outside Bangkok or something. Maybe family stuff? Anyway, Professor said he's introducing them today. If it's a girl, let's hope she's hot."

Tan laughed. "You say that, but I've never seen you date."

"I'm selective," Yu sniffed. "And complicated."

Before Tan could fire back, the door opened. The lecturer entered, followed by a boy — and the world seemed to pause.

He was a little shorter, maybe 178 cm, with unkept jet-black hair that fell into his eyes, obscuring half his face. His skin was a light bronze, his expression distant. His uniform hung loose on his slight frame, sleeves a little too long, collar too wide — like he didn't quite belong in it.

But then he looked up — and his eyes met Tan's.

A jolt shot through Tan's chest.

He didn't know this boy.

And yet... he did.

There was a flicker of something — recognition? Grief? Memory? — in the boy’s gaze. Deep, aching sadness pooled in his eyes. A silent question, reaching across something bigger than time.

Tan's breath caught.

The boy looked away, turning toward the class.

"Hello everyone," he said softly. His voice was low, velvety. Like the opening note of a song long forgotten. "I'm Kla Rattanapisut. Nice to meet you."

Tan's world tilted.

Somewhere, buried deep in his bones — something stirred.

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