5- Thirsty

After his mother's seven-day ceremony, each moment was the darkest for Dara. Returning to the empty city, he found solace only in solitude, locked away in a silent house. 

Sleep consumed him, the hours blending into one another. Leaning against the wall, he gazed at her smiling face in the photo, bottles of wine lay strewn across the floor beside him. A laugh escaped him, hollow and unhinged, quickly swallowed by sobs so raw they stole his breath.

"You promised we'd take that trip together. You always said it was okay to make mistakes, that I could fix them responsibly. But you lied. You're not okay... You're in pain, you're suffering so much. Mom, it's impossible to live without you."

"Mom, are you ashamed of me? Is that why you're doing this? Why are you leaving me, hurting yourself in the process? I can't take this pain anymore. It's too much—how did you bear it all the way to the end?"

—

There are messages and missed calls in Dara's phone but he ignores everyone who tried to reach him. 

In a somber room, Dara lay on the floor, tears falling from his painful eyes, each one a silent testament to the agony within his body still. As he hovered on the edge of unconsciousness, his eyelids fluttered, ready to close, to escape the weight of it all.

"Mom, when I close my eyes, I see your face. You're so beautiful, your smile is like a divine medicine sent from above, healing my soul with every glance"

"Mom, I'm walking toward you—please, don't walk away from me... Mom! Mom?"

***

Ring Ring Ring…!!

The morning sun streamed through the window, its golden rays piercing Dara's closed eyelids as the persistent ring of the phone echoed in the room. With a groggy sigh and a pounding headache, he forced his eyes open. 

He found himself sprawled on the cold tile floor, his body heavy and unwilling to move. Sitting up slowly, he cradled his aching head, ignoring the relentless call that demanded his attention.

The phone continued to ring, its screen flashing the name "Bunrong" in bold letters. Dara squinted at the glowing display—9:49 a.m. His head throbbed as the incessant sound grated against his nerves, but he stayed seated on the cold tile, staring at the phone as if it were miles away.

The phone buzzed again, relentless. With a groan, Dara grabbed it and swiped to answer.

"Hello!" he barked, his voice rough with fatigue.

A man's voice came through, calm but insistent. 

"Can we meet?"

"What for? Did Seth ask you to call me?" Dara's voice was sharp, laced with suspicion.

"No," the man replied, his tone steady. "This is on my own. I wanted to see you."

Dara took a deep breath before answering, his voice cold and firm. "No, I didn't want to see anyone."

Bunrong leaned forward, his tone soft but insistent. 

"Dara, Seth isn't even in the country. His parents forced him to leave after that day. I came here just to check on you."

"Check on me?" Dara scoffed bitterly. "What a joke."

"Why are you so mean?" Bunrong's voice cracked with hurt. "I've always cared about you, and now you treat me like this?"

Dara crossed his arms, his expression unyielding. "So, what do you want me to do?"

"I'm sorry about your loss, Dara," Bunrong said softly. "Let's catch up, talk it out. It might help ease the stress... for both of us, okay?"

"Then thank you for your kindness," Dara said flatly, her tone sharp. "But I'm not free."

"But I think Leakena is hiding something from us," Bunrong said, his voice low, a hint of suspicion flickering in his voice.

Dara seemed intrigued. "What is that about?" he asked.

"Let's meet first," came the reply.

After a pause, Dara appeared to agree.

***

At the coffee shop, Dara and Bunrong sat face to face, two steaming cups of coffee placed on the table between them. The warm aroma filled the air, and the soft hum of the café blended with the quiet view through the mirror window.

Bunrong's voice softened with sincerity. "I'm really sorry for your loss... of your mother. Truly sorry."

Dara forced a nod, struggling to mask the pain as Bunrong offered his condolences for his late mother.

They both gazed out at the bustling city, the towering tree swaying gently amidst the steady flow of traffic. But as Dara's eyes drifted, his expression shifted, a subtle change marking his quiet retreat within.

Dara leaned forward, his eyes curious. 

"When did you meet Leakena, and what made you think she's hiding something?"

Bunrong took a deep breath, his voice barely a whisper. "Last week, when we heard about your mother's passing, she mentioned something...odd, like..."

"Like what?" Dara pressed, his curiosity piqued.

"Like she knew about the video footage with Seth," he continued, his words heavy with the weight of unspoken truths. "The one that leaked."

Bunrong hesitated, his brow furrowed as he recalled her words. 

"She said... unintentionally, a phrase—'Camera set up….'"

Dara's heart skipped a beat. "What do you mean?" he asked, her voice tinged with unease.

Bun couldn't shake the nagging doubt—

"How could she know if the police were working in silence, keeping their investigation under wraps? And Seth… Why was he free to leave the country while the investigation unfolded? It didn't add up."

"Seth was supposed to be abroad for just a few days on a mission—not even a criminal case," Dara said, his voice tinged with confusion. "But why…? No, wait. Who said he was forced to flee?"

"Leakena told me!"

Dara paused, a strange unease creeping over him. How did Leakena alone know so much about Sethya, when we are all supposed to be a circle?

But he held back, unwilling to push further—after all, their relationship had already ended. The mere thought of it sent a wave of lingering trauma through him, a wound that refused to heal.

"Anyway, I'm just glad to see you're doing fine," Bunrong said, his voice steady with encouragement. "Let's keep moving forward and make sure we're there to attend your mother's 100th day."

Dara nodded, his lips curving into a sad smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.