The fever had loosened its grip, leaving me weak but restless — a bird too long caged.
By morning, I found myself walking toward the temple, Sorren padding at my heels, his ears flicking at every sound. He looked back at me every few steps, as if making sure I wouldn't vanish.
The temple rose quietly in the early sun, its golden spires catching the first light.
Children's voices floated from within, practicing the simple chants Anurak had been teaching them. The sound of his voice threaded through theirs — steady, resonant, unmistakable.
My chest tightened. Two days after that evening, and seeing him again already felt like a lifetime — a silence too sharp.
I stepped inside, Sorren slipping past me and curling near a column as though he belonged there.
Anurak stood at the front, dressed in a plain white cotton shirt and dark trousers, his posture straight, his movements precise.
He corrected a child's pitch with a low hum, his hands making the smallest gesture. His face was calm, composed — but when his eyes brushed mine for the briefest moment, something flickered. Then, just as quickly, he turned back to the children.
It was enough to unsteady me.
I sat quietly at the edge, watching him. Every time his gaze moved toward my side, it veered away, as though my presence burned too bright for him to touch.
He spoke with the children easily, but the space between us felt thick — unspoken and heavy.
When the lesson ended, the children gathered their books and left, bowing politely. Sorren sprang up to chase a butterfly that had flown in, his tail wagging wildly.
The hall emptied until it was only us — the dog, the man I couldn't stop dreaming of, and me.
Silence pressed in.
"Anurak…" I said softly, the name fragile on my tongue.
His shoulders tensed, though his back was still to me. For a long moment, he didn't turn. When he did, his eyes slid past mine, resting instead on Sorren nosing at the floor.
"You should still be resting," he said at last, his voice even — carefully even.
"I couldn't stay away," I whispered. The truth hung there, too naked to pull back.
His jaw tightened, his gaze still refusing mine. I rose and stepped closer, the wooden floor cool beneath my bare feet.
"Why do you look away from me?" I asked, the words trembling, spilling out before I could stop them.
Anurak's breath caught — barely audible. For a heartbeat, I thought he would walk past me, leave me with nothing.
Instead, he called softly, "Sorren... come here."
And like a wish made real, Sorren rushed toward him. Anurak's hand brushed over Sorren's head, lingering longer than needed — as if he could hide in the dog's warmth.
Finally, his eyes lifted — brief, sharp, then gone again.
"Because if I look at you," he said, voice low,
"I'm afraid you'll see too much."
The words lodged in me like a blade — not cruel, but aching.
I stepped closer still, my fingers trembling at my side.
"Then let me see," I whispered.
"Even if it's only once."
Sorren nudged my knee as though urging me forward.
I reached — unable to hold back — my hand brushing Anurak's sleeve.
His breath shivered at the touch, and for one fleeting moment, his hand turned — almost, almost closing around mine.
Then he pulled back, just enough to leave a gulf of air between us.
"Kael," he said, finally meeting my eyes. My name sounded different from him — like a prayer he wished he hadn't spoken aloud.
And in that moment, his voice softened, barely above a breath.
"Go home, Kael."