Asnee nearly lost his mind. Seeing another man's lips on Santichai—and seeing Santichai offer no resistance—triggered a tidal wave of possessive fury. In his mind, this man was the reason Santichai had vanished. He charged across the yard, intent on beating the doctor beyond recognition, but by the time he reached the clearing, the man in the white coat was gone.
"Santichai Kittibun!" Asnee roared.
Santichai refused to look up. He knew that if he saw the familiar lines of Asnee's face, the guilt of leaving would paralyze him. He kept his eyes fixed on his own worn shoes, his lips trembling. "A-Asnee..."
Asnee's hand clamped onto Santichai's jaw, squeezing hard as he forced the man's head up. His voice was a low, dangerous vibration. "Look at me when I speak to you." His chest heaved, his heart hammering against his ribs with the force of his rage. "We are going home. Now."
"Asnee, I'm still working," Santichai stammered, his eyes wide with terror. "I can't just leave my shift."
Asnee didn't listen. He grabbed Santichai's arm and dragged him away from the kitchen door toward the secluded trash area. Santichai struggled, pulling against the iron grip, but he was no match for Asnee's strength.
"Asnee, please! We broke up," Santichai cried, tears finally spilling over. "Let me go!"
Asnee slammed him against the metal side of a dumpster. "Who agreed to break up with you, eh?" he shouted.
The force of the impact sent Santichai sprawling to the pavement. He sat there, trembling like a wounded animal. Seeing him so broken, Asnee's rage suddenly flickered out, replaced by a suffocating, needy affection. He reached down, hauled Santichai up, and crushed him in a hug so tight it stole Santichai's breath.
"Who agreed to it?" Asnee whispered, his own eyes filling with tears. "You... you hurt me so much, Chai. Those pictures... cut in half... it nearly killed me."
As Santichai's face was pressed against Asnee's neck, the scent of coconut shampoo filled his senses. It was the smell of his old life. For a fleeting second, he leaned into the hug he had once craved so desperately—but the feeling was gone as quickly as it came. It was too late for hugs.
"Santichai, come home," Asnee pleaded into his hair. "Quit this pathetic job. I'll take care of everything. You'll never have to work again."
Before Santichai could answer, Asnee's phone rang. He didn't let go of Santichai's wrist as he answered. "Ma?"
"Asnee, where are you? Everyone is waiting," Mrs. Siriporn's voice was sharp.
"I... I got lost walking around," Asnee lied. He promised to return to the hotel immediately. He hung up and turned back to Santichai, his grip tightening. "Go to my hotel room. Wait for me there."
"I have to finish my shift, Asnee," Santichai said, his mind racing for an escape. "Why don't I give you my new number? I lost my old phone."
Asnee's eyes narrowed. "Fine. Give it to me."
Santichai quickly punched his number into Asnee's phone. "I work for the Light Recycle Company now," he lied, naming a business miles away from the clinic.
"You changed everything, didn't you?" Asnee asked, his voice hurt. "Fine. Wait for me here. I'm going to tell my mother I'm unwell and come back to pick you up. Chai... do not move from this spot."
Santichai nodded, his heart hammering. "Mmm."
Asnee leaned in and kissed him—a quick, possessive brand on the lips. "Good. Wait for me."
Santichai watched him run across the field. He stood frozen until Fon's voice broke the silence.
"Santichai? You've been out here forever. What's wrong?" She stopped, seeing his ghostly pale face. "Are you sick?"
"Pi Fon... I don't feel well," he whispered. "Can I please go home?"
"Oh, you poor thing! Go, go!" she said, her heart breaking for him. "Aisoon will cover the weekend. Go home and rest. You're my most valuable worker, Chai. Call me if you need anything."
Santichai didn't wait. He didn't go to the "spot" Asnee told him to wait in. He headed straight for the parking lot, desperate to disappear before the "demon" returned.
Santichai didn't look back. He scrambled onto his moped and sped out of the staff parking lot, his eyes darting to the rearview mirror every few seconds. He was certain that at any moment, Asnee's luxury car would appear behind him like a shark in dark water.
Once inside his apartment, he locked every latch and pushed a chair against the door. He didn't turn on the lights. He simply collapsed onto his bed and began to sob, the sound muffled by his pillow. "Asnee, why?" he whimpered into the fabric. "Why now? Why did you have to find me?"
At 7:45 PM, KK was still standing in the parking lot, the fan in its box resting against his leg. He scanned the rows of mopeds, wondering which one belonged to the quiet boy from the kitchen. He had planned to follow him—not to be a stalker, but to ensure Santichai got home safely after his panic attack at the mall.
When he saw Fon walking toward her car, he intercepted her. "Mrs. Pricha, is Santichai still in the kitchen?"
"Oh, Doctor," Fon said, her face clouded with worry. "He went home early. He looked like he'd seen a ghost—dead pale and shaking. I told him to take the weekend off."
KK's heart sank. "He seemed fine at lunch."
"I know. It was very sudden," Fon sighed.
KK asked for Santichai's number, and Fon, trusting the respected surgeon, gave it to her. She hoped the Doctor might be able to help the boy if he were truly ill.
Back at his own home, KK dialed the number. It went straight to voicemail. He hesitated, then sent a brief text: "If you need anything, please let me know."
On the other side of the city, Santichai saw his phone light up. He read the words, but his mind refused to process them. If you need anything... No one had ever said that to him without wanting something in return. "Must be a wrong number," he whispered, deleting the thread and staring back into the dark.
After a shower, KK checked his phone again. Silence. He felt a pang of guilt. Did I scare him with that kiss? he wondered. He sent one more message: "I'm sorry if I scared you today. I didn't mean to overstep."
As he waited for a reply, his phone rang. It was his stepmother, Mrs. Suwannarat. She was the woman who had raised him after his parents' divorce, and she loved him with a fierce, protective warmth.
"KK, did you open my package?" she asked after the usual pleasantries.
KK found a large yellow envelope among his mail. He opened it to find six photographs—four women and two men. "Mom, what is this?"
"You're working too hard, and you're doing it alone," she said gently. "I've selected six candidates who match your status and your drive. Just promise me you'll look at their biographies."
"Thanks, Mom," KK said, his voice weary but affectionate. He heard his father's voice in the background and reminded her to check his heart medication. After they hung up, KK spread the photos on his coffee table. They were all beautiful, successful, and "appropriate."
But as he looked at the high-society faces, his phone vibrated with a new text. He ignored the elite candidates and grabbed the device.
The message from Santichai read: "Sorry, I think you have the wrong number."
KK stared at the screen, a frustrated but determined smile tugging at his lips. "Oh, Santichai," he murmured. "It's definitely not the wrong number."
Just as KK was about to set his phone on the nightstand, it vibrated again. He checked the caller ID and a genuine smile lit up his face. He pressed answer. "Hey beautiful, what's up?"
"Baby, how are you feeling today?" the female voice asked. She sounded sophisticated, her tone carrying the slight lilt of someone who had lived abroad for years.
"I'm good," KK said, leaning back against his headboard. "You don't have to worry about me. I'm doing just fine."
"Are you sure?" she asked, her motherly intuition cutting through the distance. "You sound... tired."
"I am sure," he insisted softly.
"If you need anything, remember, my sweet boy—I am only a flight away. I can be there by tomorrow morning."
KK chuckled, the sound warm in his quiet apartment. "I'm really okay, Ma. You don't have to fly across the world. I think I finally found my savior."
"Oh... really?" She laughed lightly, a sound of pure intrigue. "A savior? A doctor? Or a lawyer?"
KK thought of the quiet boy in the white apron with the dark circles under his eyes. "He's a dishwasher," he thought, but he didn't say it aloud yet. "I've gotta get some sleep, Ma."
"Okay, I won't bother you anymore. Goodnight, my sweet boy."
"Goodnight, Ma," KK said, and the line went silent.
He sat there for a moment, the six "perfect" biographies still spread out on his coffee table. He didn't look at them. Instead, he looked at the text message from Santichai claiming to be a "wrong number."