Chapter 10: The Confrontation I

The late afternoon sun beats down on the campus walkways, though the air-conditioned hum of the nearby lecture halls offers fleeting relief as Fah passes. She clutches her backpack strap with one hand, the other brushing a strand of hair from her clammy forehead. Her footsteps are brisk yet uneven, faltering in rhythm as her mind churns, preoccupied and restless.

The tension in the group has been building for weeks — subtle shifts in tone, lingering glances that feel too knowing, silences stretched just a second too long. It all presses in on her like the humid weight of the heat, thick and suffocating. But it's the secret she carries, the invisible thread tying her to Nara, that feels heaviest of all. She adjusts her blouse at the collar, a nervous habit she hasn't been able to shake. The fabric suddenly feels constricting, as though even her clothing might betray her.

She exhales sharply, trying to push the thoughts aside, but they cling stubbornly. Nara's face flickers in her mind — those sharp, perceptive eyes, the quiet confidence that Fah both admires and envies. They'd promised each other patience, caution, but how much longer can this last? How much longer until everything unravels?

-The Canteen-

The buzz of the cafeteria grows louder as she approaches, the murmur of voices mingling with the clatter of dishes. Even from a distance, she spots them: her friends clustered around their usual table by the window, where sunlight filters through slatted blinds and pools across the scratched surface of the table. Her steps slow instinctively as she nears, her chest tightening.

"Fah!" Beam's voice is bright, rising above the din, even before Fah reaches them. There's no hesitation in Beam's wave, no room for retreat.

Fah forces a small smile, nodding in acknowledgement. As her gaze sweeps over the group, it lands on Ton. He meets her eyes briefly, his expression softening into something unreadable but reassuring. His head tilts ever so slightly, a subtle nod that feels deliberate. Acceptance, understanding — or maybe just an attempt at solidarity. Whatever it is, it steadies her, if only for a moment.

Her fingers tighten on the strap of her bag as she closes the remaining distance between herself and the table. The knot in her stomach loosens slightly, but not enough. It never really does.

"Fah, over here!" Beam's voice cuts through the cafeteria's noise like a spark, drawing eyes from nearby tables. She waves her arms exaggeratedly, as though Fah might somehow miss the table she's been sitting at for years. The motion is so distinctly Beam that it tugs a reluctant smile from Fah, even as her chest tightens again.

Sliding into the open seat between Ton and Phat, Fah sets her bag down carefully by her feet. The table wobbles slightly as she does, nudging someone's untouched glass of iced tea; her fingers twitch to steady it before it can tip. A reflex. Always trying to keep things balanced. 

"Okay, okay, listen to this," Beam announces, leaning forward with her elbows on the table, practically vibrating with excitement. Her hands make sweeping gestures as if she's conducting an invisible orchestra. "This weekend, I've got it all figured out. You know Nong Ploy from chem, right? Sweet girl, pretty and smart. Perfect for—" 

"Beam," Ton interrupts lightly, his tone edged with amusement. "Khun matchmaker, give us a break." His teasing earns a ripple of laughter from the group, though he doesn't look away from his phone as he speaks. 

"Fine, fine," Beam says, waving him off without missing a beat. Her energy doesn't dim in the slightest. "But," she emphasizes, pointing a finger around the table like she's marking each of them as suspects, "you're all coming to dinner Friday night because I have a plan, and you'll thank me later when everyone's lives are dramatically improved." 

"Do we get a choice?" Fah asks softly, hoping her tone passes as playful and not strained. 

"Not really," Beam replies breezily, grinning wide enough to show her dimples. "Don't act so shy, Fah. You're always happy in the end." 

Fah lets the words hang in the air, unsure what to do with them. Her smile stays put — small, polite, and just convincing enough. Across the table, Nara stirs a drink absently, her face unreadable but calm. Beam's focus has already shifted elsewhere, sparing Fah from having to respond. 

"Phat, you in?" Beam probes next, her attention snapping to him. 

"Yeah, sure," he says after a pause, his voice quieter than usual. His gaze flickers toward Fah briefly, almost imperceptibly, before dropping back to the table. 

Fah senses it. That tiny shift, the weight of it. His silence feels louder today, heavier somehow, and when she chances a glance at him, the hope swimming in his expression nearly undoes her. It's subtle — the way his lips press together, the faint crease between his brows, like he's weighing something fragile in his hands and isn't sure how long he can hold on. 

"Phat?" Beam prompts again, oblivious to the tension threading itself tighter. 

"Mm?" He blinks and looks up, forcing a quick smile. "Sorry, yeah. Dinner sounds good." 

"That's more like it," Beam chirps, satisfied. As she launches into yet another scheme, one involving karaoke and far too many moving parts, Fah watches Phat out of the corner of her eye. 

He nods along where he's expected to, even offers an occasional chuckle, but there's a distance to him today. Not the easy warmth she's used to, the unspoken steadiness she's leaned on more times than she can count. Instead, his shoulders seem to sag under some unseen weight, his usual confidence replaced by something hesitant, raw. 

And then, inevitably, his gaze drifts back to her. 

It's fleeting, gone before anyone else might notice, but Fah feels it like a pulse beneath her skin. A question unspoken, a truth he's still reaching for. "Phat and Fah," Beam says suddenly, her voice cutting through the low hum of the cafeteria like a spotlight swinging to centre stage. "It just makes sense, you know?"

Fah stiffens mid-reach for her water glass, her fingers curling into the cool condensation as if it might anchor her. The words hang in the air, sticky and weighty, like the humidity before a storm. Across the table, Ton coughs lightly, but the grin tugging at his mouth betrays no real intent to intervene. Typical.

"Doesn't it, though?" Beam presses, leaning forward, her elbows propped on the edge of the table. Her animated hands wave as she speaks, sending the bracelets on her wrist jangling. "I mean, come on. You two are practically perfect for each other—" She pauses dramatically, tilting her head as if envisioning some grand romantic tableau. "Like a rom-com waiting to happen."

"Beam..." Fah's voice comes out quieter than she'd intended, barely audible over the clatter of lunch trays and chatter around them. She clears her throat and tries again, forcing a tiny smile that feels foreign on her lips. "You're exaggerating."

"Am I?" Beam raises an eyebrow, undeterred. There's no malice in her tone, only that relentless enthusiasm that Beam wears like armour. It's impossible to ignore, suffocatingly good-natured. "You're both sweet, both smart. Phat's already halfway in love with you—"

"Beam!" Fah blurts, her chest tightening. The word snaps louder than she means, sharp enough to draw a glance from the next table over. Heat crawls up the back of her neck. She doesn't dare look at Phat, though she can feel him beside her, every inch of space between them suddenly electric.

"Okay, okay, geez." Beam holds her hands up in mock surrender, though her grin remains intact, teasing and infuriatingly self-assured. "But I'm just saying. It wouldn't kill you to consider it."

"Not everything needs to be... considered," Fah mutters, more to herself than anyone else. Her gaze drops to the woodgrain of the table, eyes tracing its uneven ridges while her heartbeat races erratically.

"Actually, sometimes it does," Beam quips, unrelenting. "Otherwise, you miss opportunities, Fah. Life is short, you know?"

"Shorter if people keep trying to micromanage it," Ton interjects lightly, his tone laced with humour, though it's clear he's only half-invested. He scrolls idly on his phone, offering Fah a brief reprieve from Beam's probing. But it lasts all of three seconds.

"Look, I don't mean to push"—Beam tosses her ponytail over her shoulder, though her smirk suggests otherwise—"but you wouldn't have to try so hard to figure things out if you'd let yourself... you know, feel a little."

Fah's grip tightens around her glass, her knuckles aching against the cold. The irony of Beam's comment doesn't escape her. Feeling, if anything, has been the problem lately: too much of it, crowding into corners where it's not supposed to fit. Each word Beam throws feels like another hand pressing down, another weight added to the burden she's been carrying in silence.

As the conversation swirls around her, Fah retreats further into herself, her thoughts a tangled mess of contradictions and fears. She doesn't notice the subtle shift in the cafeteria's atmosphere, the way heads turn and conversations pause momentarily as Nara enters.

-The Unavoidable-

Nara moves with a quiet grace, her steps measured and purposeful. The late afternoon sun streaming through the windows catches on her dark hair, creating a halo effect that seems to separate her from the bustling crowd. Her eyes, sharp and observant, take in the scene at the table with a single sweep.

She approaches silently, like a breeze ghosting over still water. The sound of her bag settling on the floor beside the empty chair across from Fah is lost in the general din of the cafeteria. Only Ton acknowledges her arrival with a slight nod. Fah remains oblivious, her gaze fixed on a point somewhere beyond the table, beyond the cafeteria walls. Her fingers absentmindedly sketch patterns on the glass's condensation, leaving fleeting marks that vanish almost instantly. Her thoughts are miles away.

"Fah?"

Fah, caught off guard, blinks rapidly as she realises Nara is seated across the table—she hadn't even noticed when she arrived. As Beam continues to chatter away, Fah's eyes meet Nara's with a sudden clarity. Nara's gaze is steady and deliberate, offering a comforting presence filled with quiet conviction. There is no judgment in her eyes, no expectations pressing down. Instead, there is a calm understanding that offers exactly what Fah needs without a single word.

The bustling noise of the room fades into the background, just for a fleeting moment. Fah inhales deeply, clutching onto that fleeting stillness as if it were a lifeline thrown to her in a stormy sea. Yet, the pressure in her chest doesn't vanish; it shifts and settles, becoming a weightier burden now that she's reminded of the true gravity of the situation.

"Don't you think you and Phat could work?" Beam continues, her voice persistent and completely unaware of the emotional turmoil brewing beneath Fah's composed exterior. Nara, overhearing the exchange, instantly grasps the full scope of what's unfolding.

"Beam," Fah finally responds, her voice a soft but firm ripple breaking the surface of a tranquil pond. The word lingers in the air, seemingly small yet profoundly significant, marking the brink of everything she's been suppressing. Her fingers, which had been clutching the edge of her skirt, gradually release, trembling slightly before she carefully clasps them together atop the table.

"Why haven't you?" Beam presses again, leaning forward, her tone losing its teasing edge and sharpening into something more insistent. "I mean, everyone can see how good you two would be together. And now—" She pauses briefly, her eyes narrowing with curiosity. "Now there are these rumours? That you've been seen holding hands with someone on campus? Walking together late at night? Come on, Fah, spill already!"

The words hit like a series of small but deliberate strikes, each one cutting deeper than the last. Beam's enthusiasm doesn't falter, but her expression shifts slightly, betraying determination underneath her playful facade. Around them, the cafeteria hums with the usual clatter of trays and chatter, but to Fah, it might as well be silent. Every sound seems muffled, drowned out by the weight of Beam's question and the sudden shift in the group's attention.

Ton leans back in his seat, his arms crossed as he observes quietly, while Phat lowers his gaze toward the table, his jaw tightening just enough for Fah to notice. The tension radiates from him, though he remains silent, letting Beam take the lead.

"Fah, seriously," Beam continues, her voice softening slightly but no less direct. "Why not Phat? He's perfect for you. Everyone thinks so. I think so." A small laugh escapes her, an attempt to keep the mood light despite the heaviness settling over them. "Unless there's something you're not telling us?"

Fah swallows hard, her throat dry despite the iced tea sitting untouched in front of her. Her mind races, searching for the right response—any response—that won't unravel the delicate threads holding her world together. But every possibility feels wrong, too revealing, too risky. The truth rises unbidden in her chest, threatening to break free, but fear clamps down on it like a vice.

She glances across the table at Nara. Nara sits poised, her chopsticks resting neatly against the rim of her bowl, her expression unreadable save for the faintest flicker of concern in her eyes. It's a subtle shift, but Fah catches it, and it steadies her, if only slightly. Nara doesn't look away, doesn't flinch under the weight of the moment. Instead, she offers a quiet strength that Fah clings to, even as doubt gnaws at the edges of her resolve.

"Well?" Beam prompts, breaking the silence once more, her impatience growing. "Are you going to say something, or am I going to have to keep guessing who your mystery person is?"

The question lands like a challenge, daring Fah to respond. She feels their gazes on her now—not just Beam's, but Ton's, Phat's, even Nara's, though hers is gentler, more patient. The weight of their expectations presses down on her, making it harder to breathe, harder to think.

"I..." Fah begins, her voice barely audible. She stops, her words catching in her throat as a wave of uncertainty crashes over her. Her hands tighten around each other, her nails digging into her palms as she fights to stay composed.

"Come on, Fah," Beam urges, her smile tinged with exasperation. "You can't keep us in suspense forever."

Fah takes a shaky breath, her heart hammering against her ribs. The truth teeters on the edge of her tongue, ready to spill out and change everything. But the fear is still there, sharp and insistent, reminding her of what's at stake—the friendships she's built, the fragile balance of the group, the safety of the life she's carefully constructed.