Sarayoot emerged from his office to find Wittawin hunched over his computer, scrolling through motorcycle listings with the focused intensity of someone trying to ignore the world around him. Though his nephew knew he was standing there, the young man kept his eyes glued to the screen, saying nothing.
"So you're acting unfazed, huh? Your expensive bike's been stolen." Sarayoot's voice carried the weight of exasperation.
Wittawin shrugged without looking up. "I'll get it back." His tone held an unshakeable confidence that made Sarayoot's eyebrows rise.
"Pamorn got lucky—police found his within the night. The thief probably got cold feet. But yours? You might not be so fortunate. I told you to drive a car."
Finally turning around, Wittawin flashed that maddening grin of his. "A car's more of a loss than a motorcycle, Uncle Yoot."
"A car's harder to steal. Steering wheel locks, gear locks, and you don't get soaked when it rains." Sarayoot ticked off the reasons on his fingers like he'd rehearsed this lecture.
"I have a rain jacket." Another shrug, another deflection, stubbornly.
"What's the news on that land deal?" Recognizing a lost cause, Sarayoot gave up. No point arguing about stolen motorcycles.
"Oh, right!" Wittawin's face lit up with sudden remembrance. He bolted to Pamorn's desk like a man who'd just remembered leaving the stove on. "Pamorn sent a text about a phone message from the landowner. This guy never—and I mean never—leaves notes where anyone can find them. Why even bother writing them down if you're going to... what the hell?"
The last words exploded from Wittawin's throat as he read the hastily scrawled message. His face darkened like storm clouds gathering.
Sarayoot crossed the room and plucked the paper from his nephew's white-knuckled grip. Pirayu's chicken scratch handwriting told the story in brutal simplicity. He looked up at Wittawin, whose expression had shifted from confusion to barely contained rage.
"Didn't you say you'd seen the property and worked everything out with the seller?"
"I did see it. We talked. We agreed on terms. I just asked him to wait for the bank approval, and he said no problem." Wittawin's words came out clipped, controlled—the kind of control that preceded explosions.
"Did you sign a purchase agreement?"
"A what?" Wittawin's blank stare was answer enough. "How does he just sell it to someone else? And who the hell swoops in and steals my land deal?" His voice cracked with genuine hurt beneath the anger.
Sarayoot set the paper down gently. "Find another plot."
"Just like that? We shook hands. I loved that piece of land. You can't just... you don't backstab people like this. It's not right." Wittawin's eyes blazed as he stalked back to his desk, reaching for his phone with the grim determination of a man preparing for war. "This needs to be settled face to face."
"Win, he's already sold it. There's nothing you can do now. What's the point of picking a fight over the phone?" Sarayoot's voice carried the gentle authority of someone talking down a friend from a ledge. He placed a hand on his nephew's shoulder, applying gentle pressure to drain some of the tension.
"Who said anything about fighting over the phone?" Wittawin's voice turned gravelly with menace. "I'll call to arrange a meeting. Then we'll fight face to face."
"You weren't thorough enough. No contract, just a verbal agreement. When someone comes along with a better offer or cash in hand, any seller would take it."
"But I wanted it." The words hit the air like a hammer blow, raw with frustration.
"I've been telling you to buy for months. Now that it belongs to someone else, you're heartbroken. Are you genuinely devastated, or just can't stand losing? Calling him won't change anything." Sarayoot's tone remained patient, weathered by years of managing his nephew's passionate outbursts. "I'll help you find another property. Beautiful land isn't exactly rare."
"This is so frustrating. I finally made up my mind." Wittawin's face crumpled into a sulk that belonged on someone half his age.
"Come on, take a break from all this after the company getaway trip. We'll think about land later. Right now, let's find some food." Sarayoot released his nephew's shoulder and gave his cheek a playful tap.
Wittawin jerked his head away, his lower lip pushing out in theatrical indignation. "Uncle, I'm not a child anymore. I'm almost twenty-eight. You can't keep patting my cheek like I'm five."
"You'll always be my kid, Win." Sarayoot's laughter was warm, affectionate. "My stubborn kid."
"I'm grown up now. Just watch—I'll buy land all by myself. You won't need to help me at all. I'll find something beautiful on my own, handle everything myself, then build my own house too." Wittawin drew himself up to his full height, radiating determination.
Sarayoot studied his nephew with an amused smile, nodding as if impressed while his eyes sparkled with gentle challenge. "We'll see if you can actually deliver on all that big talk."
"Of course I can. What can't Wittawin accomplish?" The young engineer's voice rang with unshakeable confidence.
"That's the spirit. Now you sound like the stubborn Wittawin I know." Sarayoot wrapped an arm around his nephew's broad shoulders, pulling him close in a brief, affectionate collision.
"Although... if the bank doesn't approve enough and I'm short on funds, then you can help out." Wittawin's voice carried a barely suppressed laugh.
"Clever devil." Sarayoot's laughter harmonized with his nephew's as he playfully shoved Wittawin's head, making the younger man stagger sideways in exaggerated defeat before looking up at the figure entering the office with unhurried steps.
"What's all the fun about?" Pamorn smiled, taking in the rare sight of uncle and nephew engaged in their playful wrestling match—something he hadn't witnessed in far too long.
"You labor bee, you didn't even mention the land situation." Wittawin immediately pounced on his friend.
"Hey, I left you a note." Pamorn's face was the picture of innocent confusion.
"A note that didn't explain what it was about. I almost forgot to read it. Plus, you didn't put it on my desk where I'd actually see it. If uncle Yoot hadn't brought up the land deal, I never would have known."
"Why blame him, Win? When reading the note you write for me, I have to decipher it too like Sanskrit." Sarayoot turned to scold his nephew with a grin, reaching out to flick the back of the young man's head. Wittawin pretended to stumble toward Pamorn, who quickly dodged out of the way.
Wittawin laughed and gave Sarayoot's chest a mock shove. "At least I put my notes on your desk every time."
"True, and almost every time I have to crumple them up and throw them away because I can't read them or understand what they mean." Sarayoot shot back.
"I graduated in computer science, not secretarial studies."
"Hey, who are you calling a secretary?" Pamorn protested. "And here you are having fun over a phone message? This is getting out of hand."
"Maybe I should send Win for penmanship lessons."
"With Khun Toey?" Wittawin teased his uncle.
"God, no. Training with Khun Toey means learning how to win men's hearts." Pamorn jumped in with a loud laugh. "Though I think Win doesn't need training—he's already captured someone's heart."
"Shut up." Wittawin spun around, pointing an accusatory finger at Pamorn. "Unless you want a fat lip."
"Hold on, let me eat first before you beat me up," Pamorn quickly replied.
"Let's go eat then. Win can pound Pamorn afterward. My treat today." Sarayoot extended the invitation.
"Win can ride behind me and hold onto my waist—his bike got stolen by some handsome thief. Uh, I mean, some sneaky thief. No more speeding around." Pamorn raised his eyebrows in mock sympathy.
"I'll get it back soon, don't worry. The thief will have to return it, just wait and see. But for now, we'll take uncle Yoot's car. He has to take responsibility for chauffeuring his nephew around."
"Nice to have an uncle like this, isn't it, Win?" Sarayoot gave Wittawin another playful shove, chuckling softly.
"An uncle should make sure his nephew lives well, eats well, and stays happy."
"Are we going or not? I'm starving. You two can play with each other later." Pamorn hurried them along, seeing no signs of urgency from the uncle-nephew pair who seemed content to chat and laugh.
Having fun over phone messages and stolen motorcycles...
Sigh, what's happening here? I really don't understand what's gotten into everyone...
***