✒️ Author's Note
[ From this chapter onward and for several chapters ahead, the character will be referred to as 'Stranger,' as his true identity remains undisclosed. To Niloy, Stranger is now the most known name of all.
— The Author]
"Where are we going?" Niloy's brow furrowed, lips parted, hesitant.
The stranger stopped. Half-turned, dark hair clinging to his jaw, eyes narrowing in clear irritation. "Do not follow."
Rain had softened into a thin, lingering mist, as if the heavens themselves had exhausted their grief. Niloy's gaze swept the deserted streets—closed shops, shuttered homes, unfamiliar signs flickering faintly in Thai script.
He drew a shuddering breath. Another followed. "I don't know anyone else."
Wordless, he fell in step, soles pressing into damp pavement, as though walking along a path not fully his own.
A harsh scoff cut through the mist. "That does not concern me."
Niloy's jaw tightened. "About earlier—the slap… it was an accident. You saved me. I have nowhere else to go. I ran away from home."
That made the stranger falter. His brows twitched. "…Wha—"
"I'm not from Thailand," Niloy added, eyes lowered.
A long pause.
"…From Bangladesh."
The stranger turned fully, unreadable expression fixed. Niloy's gaze dropped to the pavement, water pooling at his feet. Regret surged.
"Did I say too much?"
"...shouldn't have told him that."
"What if he hands me over? Everything—everything—will collapse."
"Illegal immigrant," the stranger's hands went to his hips, stance rigid.
Niloy's eyes widened. "But… Stranger—"
Without a word, the man pivoted and strode forward.
"Stranger!" Niloy called, quickening his pace. Fingers caught the edge of the sleeve. "Please… don't report me. I came a long way—"
Stranger yanked his arm back. "What are you doing?"
Niloy's shoulders hunched. "I have no one," he admitted, voice barely audible. "And you… you helped me already. Can't you help a little more?"
The stranger's gaze swept over him—tired eyes that still shimmered with stubborn light. Cold remained etched in his features, yet his steps slowed.
They resumed, trudging on weary legs. Rain and mud had soaked Niloy through, hems caked with dirt, every step uneven.
"I… I can't." He wavered, knees giving way, body slumping onto the gravel. "I need to rest…"
"Then stop following me." Stranger's words landed without pause, gaze fixed ahead, never turning back.
Niloy let out a sharp breath through clenched teeth. "You've got a real thick skin, huh."
Stranger didn't answer.
"My stomach hurts," Niloy confessed, a dull plea threading through his posture. "Stranger… I'm starving."
No reaction.
"At least tell me your name." He glanced up briefly. "How long do I have to keep calling you Stranger?"
A faint hum came in return, effortless, as if speaking demanded too much.
Eventually, the stranger halted. "You're annoying. Illegal immigrant."
Niloy's gaze didn't waver. "Maybe so. But in Thailand, isn't it tradition to help those in need?"
A dry snort. "I am not persuaded by tradition."
"What do you mean, 'I'm not persuaded'? Are you always this stubborn?" He pressed on, shoulders hunched, eyes cast to the wet street, lips drawn into a thin line. "I had my reasons… to escape."
After a time, they found themselves in Chiang Mai, at the edge of a closed-down shopping street. One by one, they knocked on shop doors until finally, a woman answered. Her hair was silver, her eyes bright.
"Oh my," she chuckled. "Two young men—such handsome ones too! Are you a couple?"
Stranger opened his mouth—but Niloy was faster. "Yes," he replied brightly. "We are. But he's shy."
The woman laughed, waving them inside. "Come, come. I'll get you both something clean to wear."
Inside, she led them to a narrow room with a flickering bulb above. "Here, change here. Together, of course."
Stranger flushed. "You first," he responded stiffly.
"Oh dear," the woman cooed. "Your husband is so shy—is he like this in bed too?"
Niloy didn't miss the rising color in the Stranger's ears. "He's just... respectful," Niloy answered quickly.
"Don't be shy," she encouraged, oblivious to their embarrassment. "It's good. Sleep together. Eat together. Change together. Shower together—"
Niloy interrupted with a gentle hand on her arm. "Grandma, it's cold. We'll change first, alright?"
She smiled again and left.
As soon as the door closed, Stranger turned on him. "Shameless."
Niloy grinned, unbothered. "She doesn't know you. Or me. And anyway... It's not like we're staying together forever. Are we?"
He began changing. Stranger respectfully turned away.
"We're both men," Niloy added, eyes darting away. "You can change, too. I won't look."
The tension thinned slightly, like steam escaping a boiling pot.
When they emerged, freshly dressed, they tried to pay—but the woman refused.
"My grandson…" she pressed, gaze distant. "He loved a man, too. We didn't accept it. And he took his own life."
"Sometimes you youngsters are so reckless, never thinking what elders endure. We already struggle with societal rules, expenses, and what we expect—a healthy life for our child. And what our child does… leaves without explanation, giving us no chance to repair mistakes."
Stranger remained motionless, expression unreadable. Niloy wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "I… I understand," he murmured low. "I can't know what he suffered, or what you endured… but I see it. I feel it."
She lowered her gaze, the weight of old guilt settling heavily on her shoulders.
"It's not about money,"
"...or happiness, or pride. It's about peace. And love."
Niloy stood quietly. The Stranger remained silent.
"If there's no love," Eyes softening, "...then money becomes useless. Today, seeing you two together, I felt peace. How could I ruin that with money?"
She smiled, lips trembling with emotion, "You two look beautiful together. May the heavens keep you together."
With a sharp scowl etched across his brow, Stranger cast Niloy a faint glance—silent. Niloy lingered only long enough to dip his head to the elderly shopkeeper in a clumsy gesture of gratitude.
"Thank you, Grandma." Then he hurried after the man who refused to look back, the damp gravel crunching softly beneath his steps.
They walked in silence, the air now washed clean by last night's rain. Eventually, their path led them to a modest restaurant tucked into a quiet street corner, modest in scale but blooming with warmth. Flowers spilled from clay pots onto the cobbled path, and a gentle fountain murmured in the courtyard, its waters glinting under the soft morning light.
They sat at a table in the far corner, away from the windows. Niloy's eyes danced over every surface—wood polished smooth with age, curtains drifting gently in the breeze, lanterns swaying overhead like sleepy fireflies. It was the first place that hadn't felt hostile since he arrived.
Across from him, Stranger remained impassive. Arms crossed. Back straight. Gaze fixed somewhere in the vague middle-distance, as though even noticing the beauty around him would be a waste of energy.
Niloy peeked at him from over the menu. The letters blurred together in a foreign script, indecipherable and frustrating.
"Um... shouldn't we order something?" he asked quietly, afraid to disturb the silence but hungrier than pride could withstand.
Stranger gave a curt nod—no more, no less.
Niloy frowned down at the menu again, flipping the pages as if the words might suddenly rearrange themselves into something friendly. After a moment, he sighed and pushed it gently toward Stranger.
"I... can't read any of it," he admitted, sheepishly.
Stranger took the menu with visible annoyance, but when he glanced up and saw Niloy's apologetic smile, the edge in his gaze dulled just slightly. He said nothing.
Then, quite suddenly, Niloy leaned forward, voice almost a whisper. "Stranger," he began, "could you... maybe... order one of everything?"
Stranger looked up sharply.
Niloy raised both hands in surrender, blinking. "Don't give me that look! I'm serious—it's been two days since I last ate."
There was no drama in the way he said it. Just quiet exhaustion. The kind that settled behind the eyes.
Stranger stared at him for a long moment, then exhaled, slow and almost imperceptible. With a flick of his fingers, he signaled the waiter and spoke a few brisk words in Thai.
Niloy blinked. "Really?"
No reply.
As the waiter laid one fragrant dish after another on the table—golden-brown rolls still sizzling, steamed bowls releasing clouds of warm spice—Niloy's eyes widened with delight. The sheer abundance made his stomach growl, and before long, his hand shot forward toward a glistening piece of roasted duck.
A firm hand intercepted him mid-motion.
Startled, Niloy looked up. Stranger had caught his wrist. His expression, as always, was impassive—but his brows were faintly drawn, and a single sharp line appeared between them.
"What is it now?" Niloy asked, confused, a flicker of irritation crossing his brow.
Stranger didn't answer. With a subtle pull, he stood and jerked his head toward the hallway. Then, without another word, he began walking.
"Ah—Stranger?" Niloy blinked, half-standing, trailing behind him as he hurried after him.
They passed a narrow corridor lined with old framed photographs and humming ceiling lights. Stranger didn't look back. He reached the washroom, pushed open the door, and dragged Niloy in behind him with a firm tug of the wrist.
The door clicked shut.
Niloy opened his mouth to speak—but Stranger had already turned on the tap, the rush of cold water filling the silence between them. He rolled up his sleeves in one practiced motion, exposing lean forearms laced with faint veins, and thrust his hands beneath the stream.
Niloy hovered uncertainly behind him. "You could've just said," he mumbled. "I would've washed..."
Still, no response.
Then, without looking, Stranger reached out again—this time, taking Niloy's hand and pulling it under the water alongside his own.
Niloy's breath caught.
Stranger's fingers, though cold, moved with an odd gentleness. The pads of his thumbs brushed over Niloy's palms, removing grime with the same quiet efficiency he did everything else. The sensation was startling—cold on warmth, strength wrapped in silence.
Niloy stared.
He couldn't look away.
Stranger's hair had dried into soft strands that framed his face, catching the harsh bathroom light in threads of muted silver. A breeze slipped in through the open window, lifting a lock into his eyes. He didn't brush it away. His profile remained still—carved and unfeeling.
"How can someone look like this?" Niloy thought, gaze fixed, heart skipping. "Even like this… he's still so—"
"Extremely uncomfortable," Stranger interrupted, calm and unflinching.
Niloy blinked, cheeks flaming. "W-What uncomfortable?! I wasn't—I mean—"
He glanced sideways, ears burning. "I wasn't looking at you… I was looking at—um—those curtains."
Stranger didn't move, expression unreadable.
Niloy's hands flailed, words stumbling over themselves. "They're… nice curtains. Very elegant. Handsome even! I mean—no, not handsome, just… beautiful! The pattern!"
Still silence.
Stranger turned off the tap.
They returned to their table. The food was untouched, the dishes now glistening under the lantern light. Niloy sat carefully, his earlier appetite dampened by shame and something unnameable stirring in his chest.
After a moment of hesitation, he cleared his throat and asked, "Can I...?"
Stranger didn't glance at him. But a low sound escaped his throat—barely a syllable, just a soft, indifferent hum.
"...Mn."
"Stranger, what's your name?" Niloy asked through a mouthful of food, cheeks puffed like a chipmunk as he chewed.
Across the table, the man looked up with the barest tilt of his head. His answer was clipped, clear. "No."
Niloy swallowed with effort, undeterred. "Well, alright then. I guess I'll share first."
He wiped his hands on a napkin, eyes drifting toward the soft golden light streaming through the restaurant window. "I'm Niloy. From Bangladesh. I want to become an actor." He paused, then added softly, "So I left home."
A breath later, Niloy smiled faintly to himself. "Though... maybe I've already said too much. There's no need to step too deeply into my mess."
He leaned forward, propping his chin on his hand. "So, can you at least tell me where you live in Chiang Mai?"
"Bangkok," Stranger replied, tone flat and disinterested.
Niloy straightened, intrigued. "Bangkok? That's great! Then what brings you to Chiang Mai?"
Stranger only shook his head.
"...Work?" Niloy guessed.
"No."
Niloy tilted his head, thoughtful. "Family, then?"
Stranger's silence was like a drawn curtain — not aggressive, just unyielding.
Undaunted, Niloy tried again. "Alright, then, where are you going next?"
The question hung in the air. Minutes ticked by. The clink of distant silverware echoed faintly from other tables.
Then, finally, Stranger replied.
"...Bangkok."
Niloy's heart lifted at once. "Then—take me with you!" he said earnestly, his voice trembling with hope. "Just to Bangkok. I won't ask for more. Once we get there, I'll find work and repay every single baht you've spent on me. I swear."
Stranger said nothing.
He stood quietly, paid the bill, and exited the restaurant as if Niloy had never spoken.
Niloy hesitated before following. Outside, the world had shifted slightly — the air thicker with evening, the sky a deepening indigo. The street was alive with neon signs and passing cars, but all Niloy saw was the shape walking away from him.
He called out, his voice catching. "Stranger, please. I won't ask for anything else. Just this. Please..."
But Stranger kept walking, silent and unmoved.
Niloy stopped in his tracks. His hands balled at his sides.
I guess that's it.
A quiet breath escaped him. Maybe he's finally had enough.
"But now," he thought to himself, "I think it's my turn to start walking alone."
He stared at Stranger's retreating back for a long moment—broad, upright, unreachable.
"...Stranger," his lips barely moved, "thank you."
Then he turned the other way.
He didn't take more than two steps.
Because behind him—like wind catching a kite just before it hits the ground—a cold hand caught him around the wrist.
Niloy's heart jumped. Breath tangled in his throat.
He didn't turn around.
He didn't need to.
The grip at his waist was firm, steady, wordless.
He smiled.
"I don't know why," a soft exhale of knowing escaped, "but I knew you wouldn't leave me."
"I don't even know your name. But somehow... you've already become someone I trust."
"It's only been a day. But you've amazed me at every turn."
"Strangerr..."
The hand tightened...