✒️ Author's Note
[ From this chapter onward and for several chapters ahead, the character will be referred to as 'Stranger,' as his true identity remains undisclosed.
"I owed him nothing, and yet—
I kept returning like I did."
—Stranger
To Niloy, Stranger is now the most known name of all.
— The Author]
The rain had thinned into a lingering mist, as if the sky itself had grown weary of weeping. Niloy looked around—empty streets, shuttered homes, unfamiliar signs glowing dimly in foreign script. He took a breath that trembled in his chest, then another. Then, wordlessly, he followed Stranger's footsteps, soles pressing into the damp earth as if retracing a fate not quite his own.
"Where are we going?" Niloy asked softly.
Stranger stopped. His silhouette turned halfway, dark hair clinging to his jaw, eyes narrowing with visible annoyance. "Why are you following me?"
Niloy shrugged, his tone casual but his voice still shaking. "I don't know anyone else."
Stranger sneered. "Not my headache."
Niloy bit his lip. "About earlier—the slap... it was just—an accident. You saved me. But I don't have anywhere to go. I ran away from home."
That caught Stranger off guard. His brows twitched. "...Wha..."
"I'm not from Thailand," Niloy added.
A pause.
"...From Bangladesh."
Stranger turned fully now, expression unreadable. Niloy looked at the pavement, the growing puddle by his feet, and immediately regretted the confession.
Did I say too much?
Shouldn't have told him that.
What if he takes me to the police? Then everything—everything—will be ruined.
"Illegal immigrant," Stranger said flatly, placing his hands on his hips.
Niloy's eyes widened. "But... Stranger—"
The man turned away and began to walk.
"Stranger!" Niloy called, jogging after him, catching the edge of his sleeve. "Please don't report me. I came a long way—"
Stranger yanked his arm back. "What are you doing?"
"I have no one," Niloy whispered. "And you... you helped me already. Can't you help a little more?"
Stranger looked down into those eyes—tired, uncertain, but somehow still full of light—and though his face remained cold, his steps slowed.
Their journey resumed, trudging forward on weary legs. Niloy's clothes were soaked through, the mud caking at the hems, his gait unsteady.
"I... I can't," Niloy muttered. His legs buckled, body slumping into the gravel. "I need to rest..."
"Then stop following me," came the immediate reply, Stranger not even glancing back.
Niloy let out a breath through his teeth. "You've got a real thick skin, huh."
Stranger didn't answer.
"My stomach hurts," Niloy admitted, a dull plea in his voice. "Stranger... I'm starving."
Still no answer.
"At least tell me your name," Niloy tried again. "How long do I have to keep calling you 'Stranger'?"
Stranger gave a nonchalant hum, as if the effort of speech was too great a burden.
Eventually, he halted. "You're really annoying. Illegal immigrant."
Niloy didn't flinch this time. "Maybe so. But in Thailand, don't they say it's tradition to help those in need?"
Stranger snorted. "Bad deal."
But he kept walking, and Niloy followed, eyes lowered, lips pressed into a pale, tired line. "I had my reasons," he whispered.
After a time, they found themselves in Chiang Mai, at the edge of a closed-down shopping street. One by one, they knocked on shop doors, until finally, a woman answered. Her hair was silver, her eyes bright.
"Oh my," she chuckled. "Two young men—such handsome ones too! Are you a couple?"
Stranger opened his mouth—but Niloy was faster. "Yes," he said brightly. "We are. But he's shy."
The woman laughed, waving them inside. "Come, come. I'll get you both something clean to wear."
Inside, she led them to a narrow room with a flickering bulb above. "Here, change here. Together, of course."
Stranger flushed. "You first," he said stiffly.
"Oh dear," the woman cooed. "Your husband is so shy—is he like this in bed too?"
Niloy didn't miss the rising color in the Stranger's ears. "He's just... respectful," Niloy answered quickly.
"Don't be shy," she said, oblivious to their embarrassment. "It's good. Sleep together. Eat together. Change together. Shower together—"
Niloy interrupted with a gentle hand on her arm. "Grandma, it's cold. We'll change first, alright?"
She smiled again and left.
As soon as the door closed, Stranger turned on him. "Shameless."
Niloy grinned, unbothered. "She doesn't know you. Or me. And anyway... it's not like we're staying together forever. Are we?"
He began changing. Stranger respectfully turned away.
"We're both men," Niloy murmured. "You can change too. I won't look."
The tension thinned slightly, like steam escaping a boiling pot.
When they emerged, freshly dressed, they tried to pay—but the woman refused.
"My grandson..." she said softly. "He loved a man too. We didn't accept it. He took his own life."
She looked down, the weight of old guilt heavy on her shoulders.
"It's not about money," she said. "Or happiness, or pride. It's about peace. And love."
Niloy stood quiet. The Stranger, silent but sincere.
"If there's no love," the woman said, "then money becomes useless. Today, seeing you two together, I felt peace. How could I ruin that with money?"
She smiled, her voice trembling.
"You two look beautiful together. May the heavens keep you together."
With a sharp scowl etched across his brow, Stranger cast Niloy an irritable glance—silent, cutting—before turning on his heel and continuing forward, long strides unbothered by protest or plea.
Niloy lingered only long enough to dip his head to the elderly shopkeeper in a gesture of clumsy gratitude. "Thank you, Grandma," he murmured, voice low. Then he hurried after the man who refused to look back, the damp gravel crunching softly beneath his steps.
They walked in silence, the air now washed clean by last night's rain. Eventually, their path led them to a modest restaurant tucked into a quiet street corner, modest in scale but blooming with warmth. Flowers spilled from clay pots onto the cobbled path, and a gentle fountain murmured in the courtyard, its waters glinting under the soft morning light. It wasn't fancy—but it felt like a place where the world slowed down.
They sat at a table in the far corner, away from the windows. Niloy's eyes danced over every surface—wood polished smooth with age, curtains drifting gently in the breeze, lanterns swaying overhead like sleepy fireflies. It was the first place that hadn't felt hostile since he arrived.
Across from him, Stranger remained impassive. Arms crossed. Back straight. Gaze fixed somewhere in the vague middle-distance, as though even noticing the beauty around him would be a waste of energy.
Niloy peeked at him from over the menu. The letters blurred together in a foreign script, indecipherable and frustrating.
"Um... shouldn't we order something?" he asked quietly, afraid to disturb the silence but hungrier than pride could withstand.
Stranger gave a curt nod. No more, no less.
Niloy frowned down at the menu again, flipping the pages as if the words might suddenly rearrange themselves into something friendly. After a moment, he sighed and pushed it gently toward Stranger.
"I... can't read any of it," he admitted, sheepish.
Stranger took the menu with visible annoyance, but when he glanced up and saw Niloy's apologetic smile, the edge in his gaze dulled just slightly. He said nothing.
Then, quite suddenly, Niloy leaned forward, voice almost a whisper. "Stranger," he began, "could you... maybe... order one of everything?"
Stranger looked up sharply.
Niloy raised both hands in surrender, blinking. "Don't give me that look! I'm serious—it's been two days since I last ate."
There was no drama in the way he said it. Just quiet exhaustion. The kind that settled behind the eyes.
Stranger stared at him for a long moment, then exhaled, slow and almost imperceptible. With a flick of his fingers, he signaled the waiter and spoke a few brisk words in Thai.
Niloy blinked. "Really?"
No reply.
He smiled faintly.
As the waiter laid one fragrant dish after another on the table—golden-brown rolls still sizzling, steamed bowls releasing clouds of warm spice—Niloy's eyes widened with delight. The sheer abundance made his stomach growl, and before long, his hand shot forward toward a glistening piece of roasted duck.
A firm hand intercepted him mid-motion.
Startled, Niloy looked up. Stranger had caught his wrist. His expression, as always, was impassive—but his brows were faintly drawn, and a single sharp line appeared between them.
"What is it now?" Niloy asked, confused, a flicker of irritation slipping into his voice.
Stranger didn't answer. With a subtle pull, he stood and jerked his head toward the hallway. Then, without another word, he began walking.
"Ah—Stranger?" Niloy blinked, half-standing, his voice trailing as he hurried after him.
They passed a narrow corridor lined with old framed photographs and humming ceiling lights. Stranger didn't look back. He reached the washroom, pushed open the door, and dragged Niloy in behind him with a firm tug of the wrist.
The door clicked shut.
Niloy opened his mouth to speak—but Stranger had already turned on the tap, the rush of cold water filling the silence between them. He rolled up his sleeves in one practiced motion, exposing lean forearms laced with faint veins, and thrust his hands beneath the stream.
Niloy hovered uncertainly behind him. "You could've just said," he mumbled. "I would've washed..."
Still, no response.
Then, without looking, Stranger reached out again—this time, taking Niloy's hand and pulling it under the water alongside his own.
Niloy's breath caught.
Stranger's fingers, though cold, moved with an odd gentleness. The pads of his thumbs brushed over Niloy's palms, removing grime with the same quiet efficiency he did everything else. The sensation was startling—cold on warmth, strength wrapped in silence.
Niloy stared.
He couldn't look away.
Stranger's hair had dried into soft strands that framed his face, catching the harsh bathroom light in threads of muted silver. A breeze slipped in through the open window, lifting a lock into his eyes. He didn't brush it away. His profile remained still—carved and unfeeling.
How can someone look like this? Niloy thought, vaguely dazed. Even like this... he's still so—
"Extremely uncomfortable," Stranger said suddenly.
Niloy blinked. "W-What uncomfortable?! I wasn't—I mean—"
He looked away, ears red. "I wasn't looking at you... I was looking at—um—those curtains."
Stranger said nothing.
Niloy flailed on. "They're... nice curtains. Very elegant. Handsome even! I mean—no, not handsome, just... beautiful! The pattern!"
Still silence.
Stranger turned off the tap.
The moment his hands left Niloy's, the warmth in Niloy's chest dulled, leaving behind only a faint, embarrassing echo.
They returned to their table. The food was untouched, the dishes now glistening under the lantern light. Niloy sat carefully, his earlier appetite dampened by shame and something unnameable stirring in his chest.
After a moment of hesitation, he cleared his throat and asked, "Can I...?"
Stranger didn't glance at him. But a low sound escaped his throat—barely a syllable, just a soft, indifferent hum.
"...Mn."
"Stranger, what's your name?" Niloy asked through a mouthful of food, cheeks puffed like a chipmunk as he chewed.
Across the table, the man looked up with the barest tilt of his head. His answer was clipped, clear.
"No."
Niloy swallowed with effort, undeterred. "Well, alright then. I guess I'll share first."
He wiped his hands on a napkin, eyes drifting toward the soft golden light streaming through the restaurant window. "I'm Niloy. From Bangladesh. I want to become an actor." He paused, then added softly, "So I left home."
The words lingered in the space between them, bare and fragile.
A breath later, Niloy smiled faintly to himself. "Though... maybe I've already said too much. There's no need to step too deeply into my own mess."
He leaned forward, propping his chin on his hand. "So, can you at least tell me where you live in Chiang Mai?"
"Bangkok," Stranger replied, tone flat and disinterested.
Niloy straightened, intrigued. "Bangkok? That's great! Then what brings you to Chiang Mai?"
Stranger only shook his head.
"...Work?" Niloy guessed.
"No."
Niloy tilted his head, thoughtful. "Family, then?"
Stranger's silence was like a drawn curtain — not aggressive, just unyielding.
Undaunted, Niloy tried again. "Alright, then where are you going next?"
The question hung in the air. Minutes ticked by. The clink of distant silverware echoed faintly from other tables.
Then finally, Stranger replied.
"...Bangkok."
Niloy's heart lifted at once. "Then—take me with you!" he said earnestly, his voice trembling with hope. "Just to Bangkok. I won't ask for more. Once we get there, I'll find work, and I'll repay every single baht you spent on me. I swear."
Stranger said nothing.
He stood quietly, paid the bill, and exited the restaurant as if Niloy had never spoken.
Niloy hesitated before following. Outside, the world had shifted slightly — the air thicker with evening, the sky a deepening indigo. The street was alive with neon signs and passing cars, but all Niloy saw was the shape walking away from him.
He called out, his voice catching. "Stranger, please. I won't ask for anything else. Just this. Please..."
But Stranger kept walking, silent and unmoved.
Niloy stopped in his tracks. His hands balled at his sides.
I guess that's it.
A quiet breath escaped him. Maybe he's finally had enough.
"But now," he murmured to himself, "I think it's my turn to start walking alone."
He stared at Stranger's retreating back for a long moment—broad, upright, unreachable.
"...Stranger," he whispered, lips barely moving, "thank you."
Then he turned the other way.
He didn't take more than two steps.
Because behind him—like wind catching a kite just before it hits the ground—a cold hand caught him around the wrist.
Niloy's heart jumped. His breath tangled in his throat.
He didn't turn around.
He didn't need to.
The grip at his waist was firm, steady, wordless.
He smiled.
"I don't know why," he whispered, a soft exhale of knowing, "but I knew you wouldn't leave me."
"I don't even know your name. But somehow... you've already become someone I trust."
"It's only been a day. But you've amazed me at every turn."
''_Strangerr_"
The hand tightened...