22 Kanya's Crush

While Room 3B thrived in its natural habitat of chaos, Supaporn sought solace. The noisy hallways, the endless energy, the constant social expectations—sometimes, it was all too much. 

Wandering the school's quieter corridors, she stumbled upon the rooftop door. It was slightly ajar, the late afternoon sun spilling through the gap. Curious, she nudged it open and stepped outside. 

The crisp air greeted her, cool against her skin. The sky stretched endlessly, painted in shades of orange and pink as the sun began its descent. At the far end of the rooftop, sitting alone on the ledge, was a boy she didn't recognize. His posture was relaxed, one knee up, arms resting lazily. He was staring at the cityscape as if it held the answers to the universe. 

Supaporn cleared her throat. "Hey." 

The boy turned slightly, his gaze scanning her before a smirk tugged at his lips. "Well, well. If it isn't the ever-popular Supaporn. What brings you up here? Escaping your fan club?" 

Supaporn raised an eyebrow. "I could ask you the same thing. Looks like 

you're the one hiding up here, not me." 

The boy chuckled, his expression unreadable. "I'm not hiding. Just… enjoying the view." 

She walked closer, stopping a few feet away. "I brought you something," she said, holding up a bottle of iced tea. "It's hot today. Figured you might need it." 

He eyed the bottle suspiciously. "What do you want from me? A favor?" 

Supaporn smirked. "What makes you think I want anything from you?" 

He leaned back, studying her. "Let me guess—you think I'm some rich guy, right? All girls are the same. Looking for a guy to buy them things." 

Supaporn blinked. Then, slowly, a smirk curled on her lips. "Gold diggers?" She let out a soft laugh. "Well, if you're just a plain piece of aluminum metal, what gold could I possibly dig from you?" 

The boy blinked, thrown off. 

She took a step closer, voice dropping playfully. "If you're not valuable, then what am I even supposed to want from you?" 

His smirk faltered for a split second before he covered it with a scoff. "Nice try, but I'm not falling for whatever game you're playing." 

Supaporn feigned a dramatic sigh. "Oh no, my master plan is ruined." She placed the iced tea next to him and turned toward the view. "Trust me, you're not worth the effort." 

Silence stretched between them, interrupted only by the wind and distant laughter from the school below. 

She could sense his irritation, the way he shifted slightly, processing their conversation. But she didn't care. 

With a final glance at the horizon, she turned back to him. He was still seated, looking as though he was debating whether or not to reply. She chuckled softly. 

"Not every guy is worth my time." 

With that, she walked away, feeling lighter than before. Some people thought they could put you in a box. Supaporn preferred to remind them that they weren't even worth the packaging. 

As she descended the stairs, she smiled to herself. 

Sometimes, all you needed was a good view, a sharp comeback, and the knowledge that some people simply weren't worth the argument.

Meanwhile, in an empty corner of the library, four students huddled around a phone, their faces lit up with mischief. Pakorn, Thanakon, Ploynapat, and Warinya had spent the last ten minutes fine-tuning their plan, testing different settings on a voice-changing app. 

"Are you sure this will work?" Warinya asked, glancing nervously at the entrance. 

"Trust me," Pakorn grinned. "People believe anything if you sound confident enough." 

Thanakon tapped on the app, selecting a deep, authoritative voice. "This one should do it," he said. "Now, who are we excusing?" 

Ploynapat pulled out her phone, scrolling through the school's directory. "Let's go with—oh! Boonmee. She's always so serious. It'll be funny to see how she reacts." 

Warinya covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. "Okay, okay. Let's do it before someone catches us." 

Pakorn dialed the office number, pressing the phone to his ear while the others leaned in. After two rings, a voice answered. 

"Hello, school office." 

Pakorn quickly turned on the voice-changer and spoke in a deep, slow tone. "Yes, this is Boonmee's father. She won't be attending class today due to a… sudden illness." 

Ploynapat and Warinya nearly choked on their laughter. Thanakon elbowed them to stay quiet. 

The secretary on the other end hesitated. "Oh… Is she feeling very sick?" 

Pakorn nodded dramatically, even though no one could see him. "Yes, very. Coughing… fever… highly contagious. Best if she stays home." 

There was another pause. "I see. Thank you for informing us." 

Pakorn quickly hung up, and the group exploded into laughter. 

"No way that worked!" Warinya whispered, wiping tears from her eyes. 

Thanakon grinned. "Now let's find Boonmee and tell her she's officially excused from class." 

Little did they know, their fun was about to take an unexpected turn.

------------------------------------

The library was alive with a quiet hum—whispers of students cramming for their exams, the rhythmic flipping of pages, and the occasional stifled cough breaking the silence. Tall wooden bookshelves loomed over the scene, their spines lined with stories and secrets of the past. Sunlight poured through the arched windows, streaking across the wooden floor in golden lines. The scent of old paper and polished oak filled the air, a strangely comforting aroma for those lost in their studies. 

At one of the long, worn wooden tables, Wanida and Supaporn sat in contrast—one deeply engrossed in her notes, the other casually flipping through a glossy fashion magazine, her manicured fingers barely holding onto a thread of patience. 

Wanida, eyebrows knitted together, tapped the end of her pen against the open pages of her textbook. Supaporn, however, was far from academic focus. She glanced up, her lips curling into a mischievous smirk. 

"You know, Wanida, be careful," Supaporn began, her voice light but laced with amusement. "A man may call you his queen, but when the queen asks for 500 baht..." She trailed off dramatically, her grin widening. 

Wanida blinked, momentarily pulled from her concentration. "500 baht?" she echoed, confused. 

Supaporn leaned in slightly, her tone taking on an air of theatrical wisdom. "Yes, 500 baht. The kingdom scatters, and suddenly, all the loyal subjects are nowhere to be found. Poof! Like magic!" She snapped her fingers for emphasis. 

Wanida tilted her head, a small smile creeping onto her lips. "Are you telling me that for just 500 baht, the entire kingdom will abandon me?" 

"Abandon you? My dear, they'll vanish," Supaporn declared, flipping a page of her magazine with flair. "The royal elephants? Gone. The castle guards? Missing. Even the court jester? Nowhere to be seen. The moment you need something, everyone develops amnesia and an urgent appointment somewhere very far away." 

Wanida burst into laughter, shaking her head. "So basically, I'm a queen until I ask for money?" 

"A queen in title only, sweetheart. The second your royal purse runs dry, you're just another peasant," Supaporn quipped, tapping her magazine against the table as if sealing the truth of her words. 

Before Wanida could reply, the library doors swung open with a thud, drawing a few irritated glances from nearby students. 

Phakit stormed in, looking as if he had just sprinted across campus. His school uniform was slightly disheveled, his tie loosened, and his hair in a wild mess. His chest rose and fell with quick breaths as he scanned the room, eyes darting past bookshelves and students before locking onto Wanida and Supaporn. 

"Wanida! Supaporn!" he called out, jogging toward them. 

Several students turned, glaring at him for disrupting the peace. A nearby librarian, an elderly man with thick spectacles, narrowed his eyes but said nothing—perhaps choosing his battles wisely. 

Wanida raised an eyebrow. "Phakit, you look like you've been chased by a pack of stray dogs. What's going on?" 

Supaporn, unfazed, casually rested her chin on her hand. "Or did you finally realize that our school's cafeteria sells heartbreak disguised as fried chicken?" 

Phakit huffed, still catching his breath. "I've come for guidance, my wise counselors. I need help writing a love letter." He sighed dramatically, as if he were carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. 

Wanida and Supaporn exchanged glances before bursting into laughter. 

"A love letter?" Supaporn repeated, intrigued. "To who?" 

Phakit hesitated before mumbling, "To Noon... my class prefect." 

Wanida's eyes widened. "Noon? The girl who treats the rulebook like the holy scriptures?" 

"The same Noon who once reported a guy for chewing gum too aggressively?" Supaporn added, grinning. 

Phakit nodded, his ears turning a suspicious shade of pink. "She's my childhood friend," he admitted. "We made a promise when we were younger, and I... I've been wanting to tell her how I feel. But I don't know how to put it into words." 

Supaporn leaned back, arms crossed, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips. "Let me get this straight—you're asking us, of all people, to help you write a love letter to the perfect prefect?" 

Phakit fidgeted. "Uh... yes?" 

Wanida grinned. "You've got guts, Phakit. If this goes well, you'll be the ruler of her heart. If it goes wrong... well, you might need to find a new kingdom. One with no 500 baht taxes." 

Supaporn spun in her chair, clearly enjoying herself. "Alright, alright. Here's my expert advice: start with something dramatic. Something that really tugs at the heartstrings. Like... 'Noon, the stars have dimmed in the night sky, and only your smile can light up my world. I have loved you since the moment I first saw you... which, if I recall correctly, was when you scolded me for eating too many chips in class.'" 

Wanida nearly choked on her water, coughing between fits of laughter. "Supaporn, that sounds more like your love letter. Maybe you're the one who needs to confess." 

"I have plenty of admirers, thank you very much," Supaporn replied, tossing her hair dramatically. "Unlike a certain someone writing a letter to a disciplinary officer." 

Phakit groaned. "I don't even know where to start..." 

Supaporn patted him on the back, her tone mock-serious. "Phakit, you're asking us for romantic advice? That's like asking a fish how to climb a tree." 

Wanida, still giggling, decided to offer something more reasonable. "Okay, let's keep it simple. Try something like: 'Noon, I've always valued our friendship, but lately, my heart feels something more when I see you. I cherish our shared memories, and I've realized that I want to create more memories with you.'" 

Phakit nodded slowly, processing the words. "That... actually sounds doable." 

"Just don't ask her for 500 baht later," Wanida added, grinning. "Or you can say goodbye to being her king." 

Phakit sighed but smiled. "Thanks, both of you. I'll give it a try." 

He stood up, ready to leave, but hesitated. "By the way, Supaporn... does that mean you're going to write a love letter to... well, anyone?" 

Supaporn flipped her magazine lazily. "Oh, don't worry about me. I'm perfectly fine watching kingdoms fall apart. After all, I'm the queen of my own castle..." She dramatically flipped an empty wallet onto the table. "With a very empty royal purse." 

Phakit snickered and waved as he walked away. 

Wanida leaned back, stretching her arms. "I think Phakit's going to be okay. He's got more bravery than we thought." 

"Or," Supaporn mused, flipping another page, "he's just really desperate to avoid getting stuck in the 500 baht zone." 

The two girls laughed as the library settled back into its peaceful rhythm, the quiet rustling of pages and distant whispers filling the air once more.

In the afternoon - the students were met with something unexpected - a C.A.T.

The classroom buzzed with restless energy as students flipped through their notes, groaning in frustration. No one had expected a Continuous Assessment Test (C.A.T) today, and now, they were trapped under the weight of surprise questions and silent panic. 

"This is so unfair," Pakorn muttered, tapping his pencil against the desk. "No one said we had a test today!" 

Thanakon slumped in his chair. "I would've studied if I knew! Who even remembers half this stuff?" 

Ploynapat sighed dramatically. "I swear, they're trying to ruin our grades on purpose." 

Across the hallway, students from Class 1 overheard the complaints and immediately burst into laughter. 

"Wow," one of them chuckled, nudging his friend. "You guys really thought a subject was more important than your careers?" 

Another student smirked. "Imagine choosing to struggle when you could've just picked something easier." 

Pakorn clenched his jaw, but before he could respond, the teacher cleared her throat. "Enough talking. Focus on your test." 

Parima, sitting near the window, frowned at one of the trickier questions. She hesitated before scribbling a quick note on a piece of paper, folding it discreetly, and sliding it across the desk to Warinya. 

"Do you know the answer?" 

Warinya glanced at the paper, then at Parima. Without even thinking, she nodded confidently. 

Parima stared at her, waiting. Warinya blinked. 

"…Well?" Parima whispered, barely moving her lips. 

Warinya tilted her head in confusion. "What?" 

Parima sighed, rubbing her temples. "Write. It. Down." 

Realization dawned on Warinya's face, and she quickly scribbled the answer. The two exchanged a knowing glance before returning to their tests, trying not to laugh.

As the evening break settled over the school grounds, Kanya lingers behind, her books tucked beneath her arm. The rhythmic thwack of the shuttlecock echoes across the courtyard as Thanwa and Chanon engage in a spirited game of badminton, their movements swift and precise. Thanwa, his brow glistening with perspiration, delivers a powerful smash, prompting a grin from Chanon. 

Kanya watches intently, though her mind drifts elsewhere. In the golden twilight, she envisions Thanwa not just as a classmate, but as something more—her boyfriend. The mere thought sends a rush of warmth through her, her heart fluttering at the imagined scenario. She pictures them walking home together, his laughter mingling with hers, his voice low and affectionate as he teases her about her daydreaming. 

Meanwhile, at the school gate, Kamon and Supaporn stroll leisurely, their conversation punctuated by quiet laughter. Supaporn gestures animatedly, her eyes alight with amusement as Kamon listens, nodding in agreement. Just as they reach the entrance, Jirapat and Parima catch up, seamlessly joining their conversation. 

Jirapat, ever the lively one, throws in a playful remark, eliciting a chuckle from Kamon. Parima, more reserved but observant, takes in the exchange with a small smile. Together, the four weave through the departing students, their camaraderie evident in the easy rhythm of their dialogue. 

As Kanya remains seated, lost in her reverie, the sound of Thanwa's voice calling for the next serve jolts her back to reality. She exhales, shaking off her musings, but the warmth in her chest lingers—a quiet hope nestled within her heart. 

After an intense game of badminton, Kanya hesitated for a moment before approaching Thanwa, her heart pounding as she held out a neatly folded towel. Shaped into a heart, it was a subtle yet deliberate gesture—a quiet confession woven into fabric. 

Thanwa, however, accepted it absentmindedly, unfolding it without a second thought. The carefully folded heart unraveled in an instant, its meaning lost on him. Not noticing the flicker of disappointment in Kanya's eyes, he turned to Chanon, who was wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. 

"Here, use this," Thanwa said casually, handing him the towel. 

Kanya felt her breath hitch, her fingers tightening around the water bottle she was holding. She forced a smile, but her heart sank as she watched Chanon gratefully take what was once her carefully prepared gift. 

"Thanks, man," Chanon said, dabbing his face. Then, glancing at Kanya, he added with an easy grin, "Mind if I take that too? I'm parched." He gestured toward the water bottle she clutched. 

For a moment, Kanya stood frozen, her emotions a tangle of frustration and disbelief. Yet, with a practiced grace, she nodded and handed it over, swallowing the words she longed to say.