Chapter 9: The Shadow in the Mirror

The night sky was nearly pitch black. The lights from towering skyscrapers reflected on the apartment’s glass wall. Transparent yet haunting, the luxurious buildings seemed to mock the storm inside Kao’s head.

He sat on the bedroom floor, leaning against the bed he had neatly made before leaving for filming. His jacket still clung to his body, his hair a mess, and the script from the last scene lay abandoned on the sheets. He stared blankly ahead—at the glass pane that should’ve meant nothing, yet tonight it felt like a mirror, one that returned countless memories back at him.

On the table, his phone buzzed. Once. Twice. Ming’s name appeared on the screen.

Kao didn’t pick up. His body refused to move. Three calls had gone unanswered since late afternoon.

He closed his eyes and pressed both hands against his temples. His breathing was heavy. Not from physical exhaustion—but from something deeper, something colliding within him.

“Why him?” he whispered. His voice nearly cracked. “Why… not Ming?”

Kao had no idea how to deal with this unplanned mess. He remembered the way Jos looked at him on set. Not just as a co-actor—but as someone who truly saw him. Without expectations. Without pretenses. Without masks. And that was what terrified Kao the most.

He gripped his hair, bowing his head. His mind was flooded with flashes of Jos’s hand almost touching his, the low timbre of his voice whispering, his gaze—one that never appeared in rehearsals. What he felt wasn’t acting. It wasn’t just professional chemistry. Kao knew that, too well.

But in real life, there was Ming. His girlfriend. The one who was always there. Who loved him without asking. Who supported him from the beginning of his career. Still, Kao couldn’t deny—his heartbeat for Jos was different than when he first met Ming.

After the casting that day, Kao had already begun to feel guilty. Ming had no idea that her boyfriend was now faltering… over someone who should’ve never even been a possibility.

Slowly, Kao stood up, his steps sluggish as he approached the mirror. He stared at his own face, tired from the endless filming schedule. And even more tired from the truth he had just begun to realize about himself.

“I’m not… like that,” he said quietly, rejecting the truth, though his voice hung in the air, uncertain. He touched his chest—not because it hurt, but because something inside him felt suddenly full and urgent, begging to be released.

He could still feel both Jos’s and Ming’s kisses on his lips, overlapping.

The phone buzzed again. This time, Kao looked.

A message from Ming: “I made your favorite. I’ll be waiting.”

For the first time in his life, Kao didn’t know what to choose. The woman he loved… or a feeling he had never planned for.

He sat on the edge of the bed. Thinking.

It might have taken an hour before Kao finally decided. He grabbed his car keys. Headed to Ming’s apartment.

Ming lived just fifteen minutes away. Like Kao, she still chose an old, cheap apartment building. Kao had opted for it because he was just starting out in his career, and had to be careful with expenses. Ming, a schoolteacher, earned just enough. Moving somewhere better wasn’t easy for her.

During the drive—still pierced by guilt—Kao recalled every happy moment he had shared with Ming.

One evening: rain drizzled gently outside, tapping the window of the tiny apartment where Ming often tutored Kao. A warm yellow light glowed over the round wooden table cluttered with notes, language books, and two cups of jasmine tea, slowly going cold.

“You’re fluent not just in English? Thai, Malay, and French too? Why didn’t you list that on your résumé?” Kao asked.

Ming smiled. “Because the job posting only required English fluency. So I tailored my CV to that.”

Kao’s lips formed a soft “o”.

“In that case, teach me French too.”

Ming picked a word.

“Repeat after me—je t’aime,” she said gently as she looked at Kao.

Kao furrowed his brow. “Juh… tem?”

Ming giggled, her laughter sounding like music in the rain. And then, she whispered. “Listen carefully—je t’aime. It means ‘I love you’ in French.”

Kao turned, his eyes meeting Ming’s—eyes as warm as the language she had just spoken. His tongue was tied, but his chest overflowed with something untranslatable.

“Je t’aime…” Kao murmured at last, softer this time, more accurate. More sincere.

Ming smiled. “Perfect. You’re a fast learner. I think… your heart really likes that phrase.”

Kao nodded slowly. “Maybe… I like it because you’re the one who taught me.”

In silence, their eyes met again. No need for books or more words. Their bodies were speaking now.

Kao arrived at Ming’s apartment. He pressed the doorbell in haste. The door opened. Ming stood there smiling.

Kao hugged her. Starving, he claimed her lips.

Ming gasped, struggling to catch her breath. She tried to steady him.

“Hey… wait… eat something first,” she said.

“I’m hungry,” Kao said, locking eyes with her. “But no food can satisfy the hunger I feel.”

A silence crept in. Their eyes locked again.

Ming liked Kao’s honesty that night.

She wrapped her arms around him, running her fingers down his back, warmth tingling through her. Her gaze dimmed, softened—like fire glowing beneath a veil of mist.

“Kao…” she whispered, barely audible.

“I’m starving for your presence. Your touch. Your voice teaches me words from other worlds. I missed your cooking… but tonight, I just want to drown in you.”

Ming blinked slowly. Her breath quickened. Her heart slammed against her ribs.

“Are you sure?” she asked, voice hoarse, heavy with storms held back.

“I’ve never been more sure,” Kao replied.

The next second, as Kao touched Ming’s cheek tenderly, there was no more distance between them. No more words. Their lips spoke of longing.

Kao lifted her, carried her to bed. The rest of the night was filled only with breath, with embraces, and things that couldn’t be said in any language but the language of the body.

Yes, this should’ve been the moment. Ming’s body writhed beneath him, her skin warm, her breath brushing Kao’s neck like silk. Everything seemed perfect—the dim light, the lavender scent of pillows, the breeze whispering outside the window. A night meant to quench longing… became something else for Kao: a mirror reflecting a face that didn’t belong.

Jos’s face.

In every kiss he gave Ming, there was a flicker of pause, as though his heart remained elsewhere. His eyes opened for a second—and what he saw wasn’t Ming’s cascading hair, but Jos’s quiet smile.

Kao shut his eyes tightly. He gripped Ming’s waist harder, as if he could drown out his doubts with heat and flesh. But the turmoil wouldn’t leave.

“What are you searching for, Kao?” a voice inside him whispered. “Why do you yearn for someone who isn’t here?”

Ming moaned, whispering Kao’s name—and for a moment, he almost believed it was enough. But deep in his chest was an emptiness Ming could never fill. A space only Jos could occupy—with his gentle eyes and the way he understood Kao’s silence without needing to ask.

When Ming cupped his face and kissed him again, Kao kissed back.

He was trying to remember his love for a woman—but his heart was slowly falling for a man he had no right to think about tonight. His body and soul were two continents separated by an ocean. Joined on the surface, fractured beneath.

Kao bowed his head, kissing Ming’s neck with a tenderness that felt like an apology. He explored her body with slow, deliberate movements, as if hoping time would stretch long enough to quiet his mind. But something had changed. His touch no longer held pure desire—it carried a yearning to forget. He wanted to escape.

Ming felt it. Kao’s movements weren’t spontaneous anymore. Not like their past nights. This time, he was a dancer weighed down by burdens—touching, but not fully present.

“My love…,” Ming whispered, her fingers brushing his cheek. “Are you tired?”

Kao quickly shook his head and smiled faintly. A forced smile, barely hiding the tears in his eyes.

Ming smiled back, though she felt a twinge of confusion. She didn’t understand what was wrong. Only that something about Kao’s touch tonight was different. There was an invisible distance—a shadow lurking behind their embrace.

Inside Kao’s mind, Jos’s voice still echoed. The way he said his name. His laughter on set. His silent, knowing glances.

Kao lowered his head again, kissing Ming with all the feelings he could gather. Deeper this time. More desperate. Guilt crept in like condensation on glass—unseen, but its chill seeped down to the bone. As their bodies merged, Kao tried to convince himself this was right. That Ming was where he should return.