Chapter 4: Your Art Speaks, But You Don’t

Pai avoided looking at him for the rest of the week.

It wasn't hard — Thana wasn't in all his classes, and when they were together, Pai kept his head down, his sketchbook open, his pencil moving like he had something to prove.

But Thana noticed.

He always did.

It was Friday afternoon, and the campus was quieter than usual — most students had already left for the weekend. The air was thick with humidity, the sky bruised with clouds that threatened rain.

Pai sat alone in the Midnight Café, tucked into the farthest booth with his hoodie pulled up and his coffee gone cold. He flipped through the pages of his sketchbook slowly, fingers tracing lines he'd drawn days ago — lines that felt like they belonged to someone else.

He wasn't drawing today.

Not really.

Just staring.

Thinking.

About the way Thana had looked at him in class. The way he'd said, "You pretend like you don't care. But you do."

It wasn't fair.

No one was supposed to see that much.

No one was supposed to get close enough to notice.

The bell above the café door chimed, and a gust of warm air followed.

Pai didn't look up.

Until the booth creaked beside him.

"You always come here on Fridays."

Pai stiffened.

Thana slid into the seat across from him, setting a paper cup on the table between them. He smelled like jasmine and something else — something familiar.

"You didn't have to follow me," Pai muttered.

"I didn't follow you," Thana said, leaning back. "I just know your habits."

Pai frowned.

Thana tapped the edge of his cup, eyes scanning the sketchbook still open in front of Pai. "You always draw in this booth. Same spot, same time. Even if you're alone."

Pai shut the sketchbook slowly. "Maybe I like consistency."

Thana tilted his head. "Or maybe you like knowing what to expect."

Pai didn't respond.

Instead, he reached for his coffee, only to find it cold. He frowned at it like it had betrayed him.

Thana slid his own cup across the table.

Pai looked at it. Then at him. "I didn't ask for this."

"I know." Thana leaned back again, arms folding across his chest. "But you needed it."

Pai hesitated.

Then, quietly, he took the cup.

The warmth seeped into his fingers.

He didn't say thank you.

He didn't need to.

They sat in silence for a while.

Not the kind that felt awkward.

Not the kind that needed to be filled.

Just… quiet.

The kind that said more than words ever could.

Outside, the first drops of rain began to fall, tapping against the window glass like fingers testing a rhythm.

Pai watched them, one hand curled around the cup, the other resting lightly on his sketchbook.

"You never answered my question," Thana said after a moment.

Pai glanced at him.

Thana was watching him again — not with curiosity this time, but something quieter. Something Pai couldn't name.

"What question?" Pai asked.

Thana reached into his bag and pulled out his phone. Without a word, he turned the screen toward Pai.

Pai's breath caught.

It was an image.

A drawing.

His drawing.

One he'd posted anonymously on a poetry forum weeks ago — a boy standing beneath a rain tree, face half-hidden, eyes shadowed. He remembered posting it. Remembered how it had felt like he was giving away something important.

He hadn't thought anyone would notice.

He hadn't thought anyone would see him in it.

But Thana had.

"You posted this," Thana said quietly. "Under the username ink_and_moonlight. "

Pai's fingers tightened around the sketchbook.

"I didn't know it was you at first," Thana continued, voice low. "I've followed that account for a long time. I didn't know it was you until I saw you drawing in class."

Pai didn't speak.

Didn't move.

Didn't blink.

Thana studied him for a long moment.

Then, "You draw like you feel everything."

Pai swallowed.

"I don't know what you want me to say."

"I don't want you to say anything." Thana's voice was softer now. "I just want you to know… I've been watching for a while."

Pai finally looked up.

And for the first time, Thana didn't look smug or teasing or even curious.

He looked… seen.

Like he was the one being understood.

Pai's hands trembled slightly as he closed his sketchbook.

He should've denied it.

Should've laughed it off.

Should've told Thana to stop pretending like he knew him.

But he didn't.

He just sat there, the rain tapping against the window like a heartbeat he couldn't match.

Thana didn't push.

He just watched.

And waited.

Until Pai finally said, "Why?"

Thana blinked. "Why what?"

"Why do you keep watching me?"

Thana didn't answer right away.

He looked down at his phone, at the image still on the screen.

Then, quietly, "Because I think your art speaks for you. Even when you won't."

Pai exhaled, slow and unsteady.

"I don't want people looking at it."

"I know." Thana looked at him then — really looked at him. "But I already did."

Pai stared at him.

And for the first time, he didn't pull away.

Didn't shut him out.

Just sat there.

Letting the silence speak for itself.

Letting Thana see him.

Even if just a little.

That night, Pai sat alone in his dorm room, laptop open, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

He hadn't posted anything in days.

But now, for the first time in a long time, he wanted to.

He typed slowly, carefully, like each word mattered.

"There are people who speak without words.

Who draw their truths instead of saying them.

And there's someone who sees me in them."

He hovered over the "Post" button.

Then, with a deep breath, he clicked it.