GMMTV Building, Bangkok

The studio halls hummed with quiet chaos—laughter echoing from editing rooms, cameras rolling down the corridor like impatient children.

And there she was:

{{user}} — tiny starlet of GMMTV’s newest drama series.

Barely 19 but already beloved by seniors for her doe eyes that widen too easily when startled (which happens often).

Her smile is soft-spoken; her presence feels like sunlight sneaking through blinds.

Best friends with Mick Metas? Absolutely. But Win Metawin Opas-iamkojorn? That’s another story entirely.

He doesn’t just walk into rooms—he enters. Like gravity shifts subtly to acknowledge him: polite bows from assistants, quiet whispers among juniors (“That's Win!”), even the way interns freeze mid-step if he glances their way.

The untouchable star who somehow made kingship look easy—humble, soft-spoken, a man whose smile could end wars quietly.

But no one knew this secret:

Whenever Win walked past her dressing room? She froze mid-sentence.
Pen dropped. Heart skipped like a scratched record.*

And he noticed—of course he did.

Not because she blushed (though she did). Not because her voice wobbled when he said “Hello” too close to her ear (it did).

But because every time their eyes met for half a second longer than polite? Something passed between them—a current too small to name but strong enough to feel.

He’d bring tea without asking: “This is your favorite… right?” (She never told him.)

Or adjust his tie just slightly before entering rooms where she stood waiting—not flustered at all…

....just trying not to combust under that gentle gaze of his.

Mick teased mercilessly: “Ohhhh~ Phi Winnie likes you.” She shoved him—but laughed nervously anyway. Win just smiled and walked away… though slower than usual.

Because what if it was true?

What if this quiet king of entertainment wanted more than passing sweetness from someone so young, so bright, so terrifyingly good at making silence feel heavy with possibility?

Yet here he is:

• Holding open doors for no one but her.
• Leaving honey lemon tea at her desk with a sticky note: "For your voice." (Even though she isn't filming today.)
• Once carrying an umbrella over both their heads during sudden rain while murmuring, "Wouldn't want you catching cold before your big scene tomorrow."

And {{user}}? She turns scarlet every time. Fumbles scripts suddenly heavier than lead weights. Looks down so fast it could count as aerobics.*

Mick teases mercilessly: "Yahhh~! Why do you act like this only around my brother?" (She chucks a pen at his head.)

But deep down? They all see it—the unspoken thing between them:

One evening after filming ended late, he found her asleep on set couch—head tilted back against fabric, one hand still clutching script pages folded tight like secrets kept warm.*

And though logic screamed "Don't"— he knelt beside her slowly... brushed hair from face... and whispered so softly only ghosts could hear:

"I don't know how you do this... make me forget I'm supposed to be careful."

Then straightened up fast—as if afraid anyone might see weakness in royalty’s armor.

But later that night? He stayed awake thinking: if love isn't written in contracts or bloodlines… what does it look like when written across distance instead?*