"Okay, okay, everyone relax," Ton says, leaning back in his chair and raising both hands as if to physically push the tension away. His grin is wide, deliberately easygoing, though there's a flicker of something cautious in his eyes. "Maybe Fah's just keeping it low-key, huh? Not all of us need to advertise our love lives like Beam. Remember when you posted that story about your 'mystery crush' last year, only for it to be your cat?"
The table erupts into scattered chuckles, even Nara offering a small smile. Fah should feel grateful for the reprieve, but the knot in her stomach tightens instead. Ton's attempt at humour feels like a spotlight turned onto her rather than away from the mounting pressure. She glances quickly at him, catching his subtle tilt of the head—his effort to communicate: "I'm trying to help. But it doesn't help. Not really."
"Hey!" Beam protests, though she grins despite herself. "That was different! Everyone loved Mr. Whiskers, and for the record, that post got over two hundred likes." Her playful indignation lasts only a moment before her gaze swings sharply back to Fah, her expression sharpening like a blade. "But seriously, Fah, stop dodging. We're not talking about cats here. We're talking about Phat."
"Beam," Ton interjects lightly, a trace of warning in his tone now. He reaches for his iced coffee, taking a long sip as if to underline his disinterest in escalating things further. But Beam barely spares him a glance.
"Come on, don't 'Beam' me," she says, rolling her eyes. "We're all thinking it. Why wouldn't they be perfect together? I mean, look at them!" She gestures broadly between Fah and Phat, who sits quietly beside her. "Phat's sweet, dependable, and Fah... well, you're obviously into someone. Why not him?"
A nervous laugh escapes from someone at the table—Ton again, perhaps—but it fades quickly, leaving a heavy silence in its place.
Fah can feel the weight of everyone's attention settling back on her, like a spotlight she can't step out of no matter how hard she tries.
"Beam, maybe we should let people figure out their own stuff," Nara says softly, her calm voice cutting through the charged atmosphere. Fah looks up, meeting Nara's steady gaze, and for a brief second, she feels anchored. But Beam doesn't seem to hear—or maybe she just doesn't care.
"Fine," Beam says, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "Then explain this whole 'holding-hands-with-someone-on-campus' thing. If it's not Phat, then who is it?"
Fah's breath catches, her fingers curling into the fabric of her skirt under the table. She doesn't dare look at Nara again—not with Beam watching so closely. For a moment, no one speaks, the air around them thick with expectation.
"Maybe she's got a secret boyfriend," Ton offers with a teasing lilt, though his tone feels forced now, stretched thin. He's trying to redirect, to make it sound like Beam's comments are harmless jokes. But the words land awkwardly, like a stone skipping once before sinking straight to the bottom.
"Or girlfriend," Beam retorts, her voice wavering slightly as if caught between curiosity and hesitation. Her eyes flash with a mix of sharpness and uncertainty, and the unspoken implication hovers awkwardly between Fah and Nara, both undeniable and unsettling.
Fah's pulse pounds in her ears, drowning out the muted hum of conversations from the other tables around them.
"Beam," Phat says suddenly, startling everyone—including himself, judging by the way he clears his throat afterward. His voice is quiet, measured, but there's an edge to it that Fah hasn't heard before. "Maybe that's enough."
Beam blinks at him, surprised, but doesn't argue. Instead, she leans forward, resting her elbows on the table and studying Fah with renewed intensity. "I'm just saying," she mutters, her tone lighter now but still insistent, "we're your friends, Fah. You don't have to keep secrets from us, you know?"
Fah doesn't answer. She can't.
Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Phat shift in his seat. His hands rest on the table now, his fingers loosely interlocked.
She knows him well enough to recognize the slight tension in his posture, the way his shoulders hunch just a fraction more than usual. When she finally risks a glance at him, she finds him already looking at her.
There's something raw in his expression—hope mingled with resignation, like he's bracing himself for a truth he doesn't want to hear but already suspects. His lips press into a thin line, and for a fleeting moment, he looks like he might say something else. But he doesn't. Instead, he drops his gaze, staring down at his hands as though they hold answers he's been searching for.
Fah wishes she could reach across the space between them, lay a hand on his and tell him everything will be okay. That she never meant to hurt him. That she values their friendship too much to risk breaking it. But the words remain trapped inside her, tangled up with fear and guilt and the impossible weight of expectation.
"Well?" Beam prompts again, a single eyebrow raised.
"Beam, give her some space," Phat says quietly, his voice steadier now but no less strained. His eyes lift again, meeting Fah's with a quiet plea. It's as though he's asking her for something she doesn't know how to give—not yet, not here.
Fah swallows hard, her heart twisting painfully in her chest. The truth is right there, hovering on the edge of her consciousness, but she can't bring herself to say it aloud. Not with so much at stake. Not with Phat looking at her like that.
Fah's chest tightens as she looks down at the untouched plate of khao pad in front of her. The clatter and hum of the cafeteria seem muted now, far away, like a distant tide pulling back before a wave crashes. Her fingers tremble slightly as they curl around the edge of her tray—something to anchor her, something solid amid the storm brewing inside.
"Fah," Beam's voice cuts through the noise, sharp but laced with an exaggerated air of casualness that fails to mask the pointed demand beneath it. "You're awfully quiet. Don't you think Phat deserves an answer? We all do, really."
The words land like stones, heavy and unavoidable. Fah feels a prickle of heat creep up the back of her neck, spreading into her cheeks. She forces herself to look up, meeting Beam's expectant gaze. Across the table, Nara sits motionless, her dark eyes steady on Fah's face. She doesn't say anything, doesn't need to. There's a quiet reassurance in the way her lips press together—a silent promise that whatever happens next, she won't look away.
Fah inhales sharply through her nose, a breath meant to steady her but instead catching midway, jagged and uneven. Her palms are damp now, and she presses them against her thighs under the table, out of sight. "Just breathe. Say something. Anything." But no words come. Only the ache in her chest grows heavier, more unrelenting.
"Yes?" Beam tilts her head, her ponytail swaying with the movement. The smile she offers is thin, almost too sweet. "We're all dying to know who's been stealing your attention these days. Or are you just going to keep us guessing?"
The group falls still, every pair of eyes slowly shifting toward Fah. Even Ton, whose earlier attempt to defuse the tension had earned him a glare from Beam, has gone quiet. His expression is softer now, concerned, though he doesn't speak. Phat sits closest to her, his posture stiff, his hands clasped together on the table. He doesn't look directly at her this time, but the weight of his presence is impossible to ignore.
Fah takes another breath, deeper this time, and lifts her chin. The flimsy barrier of avoidance she's been leaning on cracks under the pressure, and she knows there's no escaping this moment. Whatever she says next will change everything. There's no going back. Her pulse thunders in her ears as she opens her mouth to speak.
The soundscape around them collapses. The clinking of utensils, the murmur of other conversations, even the faint whir of the cafeteria fans—all of it seems to fade into nothingness, swallowed by the silence that gathers around their table like a dense fog. The air feels impossibly thick, pressing down on her shoulders, her chest, making it harder to breathe.
Her gaze flickers to Phat, who finally looks up. There's something raw in his expression now, something fragile and exposed. His brows knit together ever so slightly, a quiet plea etched into his features. Hope lingers there, but it's brittle, already cracking at the edges.
She shifts her focus to Nara again, drawn to the calm steadiness she offers. Nara's hands rest lightly on the table, her fingers curled loosely around the edge of her notebook. Her eyes remain locked on Fah's, unwavering but soft, like an unspoken reminder: "You don't have to face this alone."
"Fah?" Beam prompts again, the single syllable cutting through the silence like a knife. Her tone is lighter now, almost teasing, but it only sharpens the tension. Fah can feel it in the stares, in the way everyone holds themselves—rigid, waiting, bracing for what comes next.
Her throat tightens, and for a fleeting second, she considers running. Just standing up, grabbing her things, and walking away before the truth can spill out and unravel everything. But she doesn't. Instead, she takes one more breath, her lungs straining against the weight of the moment. The words teeter on the edge of her tongue, trembling, precarious.
The silence deepens, stretching thin and taut, until it feels like even the slightest sound could shatter it entirely.
Fah's nails press into her palm, faint crescents digging into her skin as she clenches her fists beneath the table. The air feels thicker now, heavy with expectation, yet no one dares to speak. Even the usual ambient hum of the cafeteria—chairs scraping tiles, trays clattering, distant laughter—fades into the background, muffled by the gravity of this moment.
Her vision flickers between the faces around her. Beam leans forward slightly, elbows on the table, her expression eager but laced with impatience. Her lips are parted, ready to pounce on whatever Fah might say next. On the other side, Ton shifts in his chair, his hand brushing against his cup of iced coffee. His gaze is careful, measured, like he's silently urging her to stay steady. Phat... oh, Phat. He doesn't even try to mask the turmoil swirling in his eyes—a fragile blend of hope and dread that twists something deep inside her chest.
And then there's Nara. Always Nara. Calm, grounded, an anchor amidst the storm. Her chin dips ever so slightly in encouragement, her fingers tapping once against the edge of her notebook—a subtle rhythm only Fah seems to notice. It's not much, just a small, quiet gesture, but it's enough to keep Fah rooted. Enough to remind her why this matters.
"So?" Beam's voice rings out again, this time sharper, less playful. "Are you going to keep us guessing all day, or what?" She tilts her head, her ponytail swinging in sync, and her raised brow cuts through any pretence of casualness. "Seriously, Fah. What's the deal?"
Fah exhales shakily, forcing herself to meet Beam's gaze. Her pulse thunders in her ears, each beat a countdown she isn't ready for. Words churn in her mind—too many, too fast—but none of them feel right. How do you explain something that could break everything? How do you tell your friends that the version of you they've known isn't the whole picture?
"I..." The syllable barely escapes her lips before it catches, and she swallows hard. Her throat feels raw, constricted, like something physical is blocking the truth from surfacing. She glances at Phat again, and the way he looks at her—so open, so desperately wanting to understand—nearly undoes her resolve. Nearly.
But when her gaze drifts back to Nara, her heartbeat steadies, if only slightly. There's no judgment there, no pressure, just quiet reassurance. Nara doesn't need her to be perfect, or brave, or anything other than what she already is. That thought blooms softly within her, a tiny light cutting through the haze of fear.
"Fah," Ton says gently, leaning in just enough to draw her attention without crowding her. "Whatever it is... it's okay." His words are soft, but his tone carries weight, grounding her even as uncertainty gnaws at the edges.
She nods without thinking, her head dipping in a motion so slight it almost feels involuntary. Another breath. Then another. Her lungs ache with the effort of holding everything in, and she knows—knows—she can't keep doing this. Not to them. Not to herself.
Her fingers uncurl slowly beneath the table, trembling as she rests them flat against her thighs. She leans forward, just a fraction, and presses her lips together, trying to still the quiver threatening to betray her composure. They're all watching now, their focus razor-sharp, their expressions suspended between anticipation and unease.
"Okay," she whispers, though the sound barely makes it past her own ears. She clears her throat and tries again, louder this time, her voice wavering but determined. "Okay."
The weight of the group's collective attention feels suffocating, yet strangely liberating. It's a strange paradox, standing on the precipice of something terrifying and freeing all at once. Her heart races, pounding against her ribcage, but she doesn't look away. Not from Beam's scepticism, not from Phat's fragile hope, not from the quiet strength in Nara's unwavering gaze.
"Here it comes," Beam mutters under her breath, crossing her arms as she settles back in her chair. "Finally."
Fah inhales sharply, her hands gripping the fabric of her skirt. The words are right there, teetering on the edge of release. One push, one step, and they'll tumble out, irrevocable and raw, exposing parts of her she's never dared to share before.
She opens her mouth to speak—