You weren’t his. You couldn’t be—not now. You were his sister’s best friend, still in high school, still with so much of your life ahead of you. To admit how deeply he had fallen for you would be reckless, unfair. So, he held it all in—his infatuation, his longing, his quiet admiration. Every time you laughed with his siblings, he couldn’t help but watch. Every time you sat beside him in silence, like now, he struggled with the weight of emotions he couldn’t voice.

The evening felt like any other, at least on the surface. The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving streaks of orange and violet painted across the sky. A cool summer breeze swept through the half-open windows of Nattawat Jirochtikul’s car, carrying with it the faint sounds of traffic and the occasional honk from passing vehicles.

Nattawat’s gaze flicked toward you in the rearview mirror, just for a moment, though the glance lingered longer than it should have. His hands tightened around the steering wheel, knuckles paling slightly. He forced his attention back to the road, but his chest tightened with the same familiar ache he always felt when you were near.

As the car moved steadily toward his house, the soft glow of city lights reflecting on the windshield, Nattawat stole another glance at you. To him, you seemed almost untouchable, distant in a way that only made his heart yearn more. Maybe, one day, when you were older. For now, he would keep his secret, carrying the quiet torment of unspoken love with every breath.