I woke with a calm mind.
It was a gentle morning — not with temple bells, not with chants — just the clinks of Granny's kettle and the creaking of bamboo windows as the wind nudged them awake.
I lay still for a moment, listening to the rhythm of her movements — slow, unhurried, full of that sacred peace only she could summon.
No temple today.
No Anurak.
Just Granny and me.
I rolled out of bed and found her in the courtyard, feeding rice to the chickens like she was conducting some ancient ritual.
"You woke up late today," she said without looking at me.
"It's seven."
"For me, that's noon."
I chuckled and walked over. "Let me help."
She didn't stop me. She just passed the rice basket, her wrinkled fingers brushing lightly against mine — even that small touch felt like comfort.
We spent the morning sweeping leaves, hanging laundry, arguing about whether Sorren had already eaten (he had — twice), and pretending the air between us did not hold a quiet understanding neither of us could name.
Around noon, my phone buzzed.
Mom. Video call.
I sighed before answering. "Prepare for drama," I muttered to Sorren, who tilted his head like he agreed.
"KAEL!"
I flinched.
"Good morning to you too, Mama."
"Don't Mama me, Kael! Two weeks — two weeks without calling me? You forgot you were born from my tummy?"
"I was born normally, not mailed by stork," I said.
"Ah, so you admit it! And yet no calls! You and your Mimi must be having such a good time you forgot your Mama entirely."
"Mimi is spoiling me too much," I said solemnly. "I live a blessed life here."
She narrowed her eyes. "You little chipmunk… just wait till you come home, I'll squish your face."
I couldn't help it — I laughed. A real one.
Granny came over, peeking into the screen.
"You're still loud," she told my mom.
"You're still stealing my child," my mom shot back.
They both burst into laughter like teenagers. I watched them, smiling so wide my cheeks hurt. I didn't speak — I just felt it. This warmth. This love. This now. Something I'd taken for granted so many times before.
After the call, Granny sighed.
"Your mama's still the same."
"She says the same about you."
She smiled. "Of course she is my girl."
Then we went back to our chores.
It was almost twilight when Granny pointed at an old chair leaning beside the shed.
"That one keeps wobbling. If you're free—"
"I'll fix it."
I gathered nails, a hammer, and some sandpaper. The wood was old but strong — the kind that remembered hands long gone. Sorren sat beside me, tail tapping the ground lazily.
I ran the edge, humming under my breath.
Then — slip.
A sharp sting.
"Ouch."
I looked down.
A splinter had lodged deep into my palm. Blood pooled quickly — warm and bright against my skin.
And just like that —
the world tilted.
—
The chair.
The courtyard.
Sorren.
Gone.
Darkness.
Cold, wet stones beneath my knees.
My own voice — but not mine — raw, broken, screaming.
And someone else —
crying.
Not loud. Not frantic.
Just... defeated.
A sobbing that had run out of strength, yet refused to die.
Then—
...Chaiyan...
My name — but not my name.
The way it was said — like a prayer. Like a farewell. Like the last breath someone ever took.
My vision snapped back.
The courtyard. The chair. The dirt. The sun.
But my hands were shaking. The blood wouldn't stop.
My lungs couldn't find air.
"Kael!"
Granny's panicked voice. Close. I didn't look at her.
She grabbed my hands — panicked — but I only heard her voice, no words.
Her mouth moved again, but sound had left the world.
Then silence.
Then, calmly, she said, "Come."
She guided me inside — slow, steady. I obeyed.
We reached my room.
She sat me down on the edge of the bed and cleaned my wound in silence.
She didn't ask Does it hurt? or Are you okay?
She simply stayed.
The sting of antiseptic barely reached me. My ears were still full of that distant crying.
I opened my mouth to speak.
Nothing came out.
So I stayed quiet.
She wrapped the bandages carefully, her movements gentle. Still no questions.
Only her presence.
Only her hands lingering a little longer on mine — like a promise.
When she stood to leave, I almost grabbed her sleeve.
Almost asked — Granny... do you know?
But I didn't.
I lay back, dizzy.
My eyes fell shut.
Somewhere between waking and sleep —
I heard it again.
Not words.
Just tune.
A soft, broken lullaby.
Familiar... so familiar.
I didn't know the lyrics.
But my soul remembered.
My heartbeat followed it into the dark.
And just before I slipped under completely, I heard Granny's voice — barely a whisper:
"Maybe it's time for the universe to answer."
I didn't ask what she meant — I couldn't — but her words wrapped around me like a quilt.
Before I could think more, the softness of the mattress pulled me down.
The smell of wood and jasmine oil drifted through the air.
Sorren had climbed into the bed at some point, pressing against my side like an anchor.
The world dimmed —
and the tune followed me into sleep.
At first, only the melody.
Then — footsteps.
Wet ones. Sloshing.
Someone running through mud. Through rain.
Breathless. Panicked.
My chest tightened as though I were the one running.
I wasn't seeing anything yet — only feeling.
A rope tightening around a wrist.
A sting of a slap.
The taste of blood.
And beneath it all —
a voice. Weak. Broken.
"Chaiyan."
The sound of it sent a shudder through my bones —
a plea,
a farewell,
a final prayer.
I gasped in my sleep — not in fear, but in recognition.
I felt like I was falling into the darkness...
and then, like a memory breaking open —
the truth began to return,
like a hurricane —
and the past began to show its true colours.