A SHARED UNKNOWING

META'S POV:

I don't know why, but I'd noticed. That 'Snotty Kid' – Thyme, I'd grudgingly learned his name – moved through the bustling campus with an odd, almost practiced caution. It wasn't the wary vigilance of a fighter, nor the timidness of a recluse. It was something... subtler. He'd navigate the quad as if avoiding invisible tripwires, his eyes constantly scanning, his head tilted just so. He always seemed to be skirting the edges of crowds, ducking into opportune shadows, his steps precise and economical. He avoided people. All people. Most found solace in numbers here; he found an escape in their absence.

It was an unusual habit, one that piqued a dormant corner of my mind. Not enough to care, mind you. I had my own ghosts to outrun, my own carefully constructed walls. But enough to register, a minor anomaly in the predictable rhythm of university life. I'd mentally filed him away as 'Eccentric, possibly socially inept,' and dismissed it.

Who would have expected that the reason for his perpetual caution wasn't some deep-seated phobia of crowds, but something far more... ridiculous? I was cutting across the main walkway near the faculty building – a shortcut I often took to avoid the usual lunchtime crush – when I saw it. Thyme, darting out from behind the old Banyan tree, his face a mask of polite desperation. And behind him, not debtors or angry rivals, but a small, determined wave of students. Boys and girls, some clutching what looked suspiciously like hastily picked flowers, others with hopeful, almost feverish expressions. They weren't chasing him with malice, but with a terrifying, saccharine devotion.

They didn't look like debt collectors; they looked like lovesick puppies on a leash that had just snapped. This kid must be popular. Obscenely popular. And that was why he was running away from them. The absurdity of it was almost laughable. Craving attention was human nature; running from it was… perplexing.

But why couldn't I see the heartthrob aura in him? Rather, I saw an always hungry, snotty kid.

And then, just as I was about to dismiss the entire charade as another of humanity's baffling rituals, his momentum shifted. He saw me, a flicker of panic in his wide eyes, and in a desperate, split-second decision that defied all logic, he veered. Right towards me. Why did he need to include me in his running spree? My solitary peace, my carefully maintained distance, shattered by the desperate flight of the campus's most wanted heartthrob. Before I could fully react, he was pulling me along, a breathless apology tumbling from his lips, dragging me towards the parking lot where my car sat, an unwitting accomplice in his escape.

The abrupt, unexpected physical contact, the raw desperation in his grip, sent a jolt through me. For a split second, the campus blurred, replaced by a suffocating darkness, a memory of being seized, dragged, controlled. My chest tightened, a familiar cold dread coiling in my gut. I needed to get out. Now. This feeling, this claustrophobic terror, was a ghost I knew intimately. It demanded escape, demanded speed, demanded distance.

I drove the car without any real destination. He just said we needed to go anywhere his chasers wouldn't find us. The entire ride was strangely quiet after the initial burst of panic. The engine purred, the city lights blurred into streaks, and the only sound was the gentle hum of the tires on the asphalt. The silence was thick, but not uncomfortable. It was a shared space, a fragile bubble of calm that, for some reason, quelled the lingering tremors of my triggered memory.

"Why are you being chased by those students? What trouble did you cause, Snotty Kid?" I asked, breaking the silence, the teasing tone a familiar shield against anything too serious. I didn't hear any response for a while, so I turned my head towards him. That's when I noticed he had fallen asleep. His head was leaned against the window, his breathing soft and even. He looked utterly exhausted, perhaps from the adrenaline, or maybe just from the relentless weight of his own fears. Why is this guy so endearing? He looks like a gentle lamb, completely vulnerable in his sleep. A small, involuntary smile tugged at my lips. It was a genuine smile, a rarity for me, seeing him so utterly peaceful, so unburdened by the chaos that defined his waking hours.

I decided to pull the car over to the side of the road for a moment, the quiet hum of the engine the only sound. I reached into the back seat and grabbed a soft, cashmere blanket, a leftover from some forgotten road trip. Gently, carefully, I leaned over and covered Thyme with it, tucking it around his shoulders. I don't know why I wanted to be kind to this kid. It was only the second time we'd met, and he was annoying, but my heart and my mind were telling me to take care of him. It was a strange, undeniable urge. I don't know why, but he was like a peaceful place, a sanctuary. Every time I was with him, I felt relaxed, as if all my problems, all the swirling shadows of my past, would simply vanish. The quiet hum of the engine, the soft warmth of the blanket, his peaceful breathing beside me… it was a stillness I hadn't realized I craved.

I don't know how long I had been driving after that, maybe three hours, but I didn't care. I'd been driving instinctively, following a whisper in my mind, a pull towards a place I'd never consciously visited. I decided to go to Hua Hin Beach. Although it's 190-220km away from Bangkok, a significant drive, something inside me, an insistent, aching longing, wanted me to go there. I'd never been to this beach before, not truly, but the name echoed in my memory like a half-forgotten song.

We finally arrived. The first thing I saw was the shimmering expanse of the Gulf of Thailand, the morning sun painting streaks of gold across the horizon. The salty air filled the car, carrying with it a strange sense of déjà vu. And then, without warning, a wave of inexplicable emotion washed over me. I felt happy, yes, a strange lightness, but at the exact same time, a profound, aching sadness. My vision blurred. My tears, unbidden, started to run down my cheeks, hot and sudden. I pressed a hand to my face, confused. Why was I crying?

"Where are we?" Thyme's voice, soft and groggy from sleep, cut through my confusion, pulling me back from the edge of my overwhelming feelings. I turned my head towards him, still wiping furiously at my own wet cheeks. His eyes, still adjusting to the light, widened in alarm when he saw me.

"Why are you crying?" he asked, his voice laced with genuine concern, a stark contrast to his usual anxious tone.

"Hu...a...Hin Beach?" Thyme stammered, his gaze drifting past me, out the window, and towards the glittering ocean. His voice trailed off, a soft gasp escaping his lips, as if the name itself had unlocked a hidden vault. His eyes, wide and suddenly glassy, fixed on the shimmering horizon, and then, like my own, tears began to fall, silent tracks tracing paths down his cheeks.

"Why am I crying?" he whispered, almost to himself, his voice thick with a raw, desperate confusion, a sound like a broken gasp. His hands flew to his face, wiping furiously, helplessly, but they wouldn't stop, just kept coming, a silent, heartbroken cascade. "It hurts... it hurts so much, but I don't know why! It's like my heart is breaking, but nothing is broken!"

"I..." I wanted to say something, anything, but my own throat was tight, a knot of confusion and sorrow. My words were lost in the overwhelming tide of emotion that was engulfing both of us. I was just as confused, as lost in this inexplicable sorrow, as he was. Without thinking, without a single plan, I unbuckled my seatbelt and leaned across the console, pulling Thyme into a tight embrace. I didn't know why, but hugging him felt so warm, so incredibly comfortable. It was as if I'd been missing that kind of warmth, that specific, safe embrace, for a lifetime.

"Wh... Whyy do I feel so sad, Meta? As if I lost so-something important to me?" Thyme asked, his voice muffled against my shoulder, the words trembling with the force of his unidentifiable grief. He clung to me, his small hands clutching the back of my shirt, his body shaking, as if I were the only thing grounding him in this storm of emotion. I couldn't reply to him. I didn't know what to say. We were being buried, side-by-side, in the depths of emotions we couldn't name, couldn't understand.

"I've never been in this place before," he murmured, his voice cracking, pulling back slightly to look at the vast beach, his eyes still streaming. "But why do I know it? Why does it feel like... I've been here before? Like a forgotten whisper in my mind?"

I felt stunned. He was articulating the very thoughts, the very sensations, that were swirling through my own mind. My gaze was fixed on his tear-streaked face, seeing my own bewilderment reflected there. Why was I feeling the same? Why were we thinking the same?

Is this place related to the two of us somehow? I wanted an answer. A concrete, undeniable explanation for this shared, heartbreaking moment. But there was no one to answer it. Just the two of us, weeping silently in a quiet car parked by a beautiful beach, haunted by a past we couldn't recall but felt in every fiber of our beings. The sun was rising, painting the sky in vibrant hues of orange and pink, but all I could see was the reflection of tears on our faces, shimmering like fragile pearls under the dawning light.