Chapter 12

Nani Hirunkit

The drive feels endless. The streets are empty, the only sound is the rain hitting the windshield and the low hum of the engine. The city lights blur through the water-streaked glass, and every now and then, my vision does too.

I grip the steering wheel tighter.

I should be exhausted. My body feels heavy, my chest even more so, but my mind won't stop. The weight of everything presses down on me, and no matter how many deep breaths I take, I can't shake it.

The roads start to feel familiar. The turns, the intersections—I know them all by heart. The closer I get, the more suffocated I feel.

When I finally pull up in front of my parents' house, the clock on the dashboard reads 3:47 AM.

I kill the engine and just sit there, staring at the dark house. The rain has slowed to a drizzle, but the cold lingers, seeping into my skin.

I should go inside.

But I don't move.

I can't.

I let my head fall back against the seat, shutting my eyes for a moment. My body aches. My chest feels hollow. There's a lump in my throat that refuses to go away, no matter how many times I swallow it down.

I don't know how long I sit there before I finally force myself to move. My fingers fumble with the door handle, and the second I step out, the cold air hits me like a slap. I shiver, grabbing one of the smaller bags from the backseat before making my way to the front door.

The house is dark and silent, just like it should be at this hour. My parents are asleep. They probably won't hear me.

But when I press the doorbell, it doesn't take long before I hear footsteps.

The door creaks open, and my mother stands there, wrapped in a robe, her hair slightly messy from sleep. She blinks a few times, as if making sure she's really seeing me.

"Nani?" Her voice is groggy, confused. "What are you doing here? It's almost four in the morning."

My father appears behind her, rubbing his eyes. He frowns when he sees me standing there, a bag slung over my shoulder, rain-soaked and drained.

"I'll explain in the morning," I say, my voice quieter than I intend. I step inside, brushing past them before they can ask anything else. My body feels too heavy, and I don't trust myself to talk right now.

My mother watches me carefully, her brows knitting together. "Nani, are you—"

"I'm fine," I cut in, not looking back as I walk toward my old room.

I know they don't believe me. I can feel their eyes on my back, filled with concern, with questions. But they don't press.

Maybe they see it—the exhaustion, the way my shoulders sag, the way my voice barely holds itself together.

Maybe they know now isn't the time.

I push open the door to my room and step inside. It's the same as I left it. Untouched. Frozen in time.

I let the bag drop to the floor and close the door behind me.

The silence is deafening.

I take a slow breath, but it doesn't feel like enough.

My legs finally give out, and I sink onto the bed, my hands gripping my face.

The lump in my throat swells. My chest tightens.

I made the right choice.

I tell myself that over and over.

Then why does it feel like I'm falling apart?

-----------------

The sunlight streaming through the curtains wakes me up before my alarm does. My body feels heavy, like I barely slept at all. Maybe I didn't. I don't even remember closing my eyes.

For a second, I forget where I am.

Then I see the familiar walls of my old room, the same shelves filled with books I haven't touched in years, the desk covered in dust, the faint scent of home clinging to the air.

Right. I'm back.

I stare at the ceiling, my mind still foggy from exhaustion. My chest feels tight, like something is pressing down on it, refusing to let me breathe properly.

Then there's a knock at the door.

Soft. Careful.

My mother.

"Nani?" Her voice is gentle, but there's concern beneath it. "Are you awake?"

I don't answer right away. A part of me wants to close my eyes and pretend I didn't hear her. Pretend I'm still asleep, that I don't have to face anything yet.

But I know her. She won't leave until I say something.

So I force myself to sit up. My body protests, sore and drained from everything.

"Yeah," I say, my voice hoarse. "I'm up."

A brief silence, then the door creaks open. My mom steps inside, dressed in her usual morning clothes, her hair in a sleek bun—not as messy as when I saw them at midnight. Her eyes scan me carefully, like she's trying to figure out what's wrong before I even say anything.

I look away.

"Come have breakfast," she says, her tone soft but firm. "Your father's waiting."

I nod without arguing. I don't have the energy to refuse.

When I walk into the kitchen, my dad is already sitting at the table, sipping his coffee. He looks up when he sees me, his brows slightly furrowed, but he doesn't say anything right away.

The smell of food fills the air—warm rice, eggs, something frying on the stove. It should feel comforting. It doesn't.

I sit down across from him, my hands resting on my lap. The silence stretches between us, thick and uncomfortable.

My mother places a plate of food in front of me before sitting down beside my dad. Neither of them touch their food. They're both waiting.

I know what's coming.

"Nani," my dad finally says, setting his coffee cup down. "Why did you come home in the middle of the night?"

"I told you. I'll explain in the morning."

"It's morning now," my mother reminds me gently.

I exhale slowly, staring at my plate. I don't even know where to begin.

What am I supposed to say?

That I packed my things and left without looking back? That I couldn't stay in that dorm with Sky anymore, that I couldn't bear to be around our friends when they were all keeping secrets from me?

That I feel like I'm drowning. That no matter how much I try to push everything down, it keeps clawing its way back up?

My parents are waiting, their eyes filled with concern. They deserve an answer.

But I can't give them the full truth.

Not when I don't even understand it myself.

So I settle for the only words that come out.

"I don't know how to tell you."

My voice is quiet, barely above a whisper, but it feels like the loudest thing in the room.

My dad leans forward, his expression unreadable. "Try."

I swallow hard. My fingers curl into fists on my lap.

"I just... I needed to leave," I say, my voice unsteady. "Everything felt too much. Like I couldn't breathe."

My mother's face softens. "Is it school? Your friends?"

I hesitate. "Yes. No. I don't know."

I drag a hand down my face, frustration bubbling up inside me. "They're acting weird. Like they know something I don't. And Sky—" I stop myself, biting the inside of my cheek.

I shouldn't have said his name.

My parents glance at each other.

"What about Sky?" my father asks carefully.

I shake my head. "It's nothing."

Lies.

But I can't say it. I can't tell them about the kiss. About the way Sky looked at me afterward, full of regret. About the way he said it was a mistake like it meant nothing to him.

Like I meant nothing.

I clench my jaw, forcing the words down before they spill out.

My mother reaches out, placing her hand over mine. Her warmth seeps into my skin, grounding me. "Nani," she says softly, "whatever it is, you're not alone. You can tell us."

I blink rapidly, my throat tightening.

Can I?

No.

Because if I start talking, I don't know if I'll be able to stop.

So I force a small smile and shake my head. "I just need time," I say, my voice barely steady. "That's all."

They don't believe me. I can see it in their eyes.

But they don't push.

My mother squeezes my hand once before pulling away. "Eat," she says, her voice quiet but firm. "You look exhausted."

I nod and pick up my fork.

But the food tastes like nothing.

And the weight in my chest doesn't go away.