Niran's POV
I kept scrolling.
Photos of café visits. Beach trips in Pattaya. Couples posing under soft yellow lights. Classmates posting notes and countdowns for university entrance exams, as if their futures were already neatly organized.
Everyone seemed busy becoming someone.
And I was still here.
Stuck.
The blue light from my phone was the only thing lighting up my room. My curtains had been closed since the afternoon, turning everything into the same dull gray.
On my desk were stacks of untouched books.
Mathematics.
Science.
English.
Three subjects.
Three disasters.
My midterm exam papers sat on top like evidence from a crime scene.
Red marks everywhere.
Circles.
Corrections.
Numbers lower than anything I had ever gotten before.
Not just bad.
Humiliating.
I stared at the mathematics paper the longest.
I used to be good at math.
Not just decent.
Actually good.
The kind of student teachers used as an example.
The kind classmates borrowed notes from.
The kind parents bragged about to relatives during family gatherings.
"My son wants to study engineering."
My mother used to say it with a smile.
Engineering at King Mongkut's University of Technology Thonburi.
That had been the plan.
The future.
Something solid.
Predictable.
A straight road.
Now it felt like I had somehow driven directly into a wall.
The ceiling fan above me clicked every few seconds.
Click.
Click.
Click.
It was starting to feel personal.
A LINE notification lit up my screen.
Class group chat.
Ignored.
Another.
Ignored.
Then one from my best friend.
Are you alive? You vanished after the exam results.
I stared at the message.
Then locked my phone.
No energy.
No explanation.
What was I supposed to say?
Hi, yes. Currently experiencing a complete collapse of identity. Thanks for checking in.
Almost funny.
Almost.
Outside my room, I could hear my mother cooking.
Oil sizzling.
A chopping board is hitting the kitchen counter.
Cabinet doors opening and closing.
Normal sounds.
Comforting sounds.
At least, they used to be.
Now they only made me feel separate.
Like I was listening to someone else's life from behind glass.
Someone knocked.
Then the door opened slightly.
"P'Niran?"
Namthip peeked inside.
Still wearing her school uniform.
White blouse.
Navy skirt.
Hair tied neatly.
Workbook tucked under one arm.
She looked offensively functional.
"What?" I asked.
"Dinner."
"I'm not hungry."
She raised an eyebrow. "You said that earlier too."
I sighed.
She stepped inside anyway and sat on the edge of my bed.
Her eyes scanned the room.
The closed curtains.
The mess.
The exam papers.
Probably my declining mental stability.
"You should open a window," she said.
"Are you here as my emotional support system?"
She rolled her eyes. "You're exhausting."
That was fair.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then she said quietly, "It's just midterms."
My jaw tightened.
Just midterms.
Easy for her to say.
Namthip was in M.3 and somehow already better at life than most adults.
Good grades.
Music competitions.
Sports.
Social life.
Functional emotional range.
A deeply annoying person, honestly.
"You don't understand," I muttered.
Her expression softened.
"Maybe not."
That somehow made it worse.
She stood up.
"Well. Mom said to come eat before Dad gets grumpy."
"When is he not grumpy?"
That made her smile.
A small victory.
Before leaving, she paused at the door.
"Mom's worried."
Then she left.
I stared at the closed door for a while.
Eventually, guilt dragged me downstairs.
Dinner was quiet.
Not a peaceful kind of quiet.
Strategic quiet.
The kind of families use when everyone is pretending nothing is wrong because addressing it directly might cause emotional property damage.
My father sat across from me, focused entirely on his food.
My mother placed more rice on my plate without asking.
Namthip talked about an upcoming art competition.
"I think our theme is city identity," she said.
"That sounds nice," my mother replied.
My father nodded.
No one mentioned my grades.
No one asked how I was doing.
Which somehow felt worse.
Silence can be louder than criticism.
At least criticism gives you something concrete to fight.
This just felt like quiet disappointment.
I pushed food around my plate.
Barely tasted any of it.
My father's spoon hit his bowl.
Too loud.
My shoulders tensed automatically.
"I'm done," I said.
My mother glanced at my half-finished meal.
"You barely ate."
"Not hungry."
She looked like she wanted to say more.
She didn't.
"Okay."
One word.
Heavy enough to crush concrete.
Back in my room, I locked the door.
Then picked up my phone again.
Not because I wanted entertainment.
Just a distraction.
Thinking was dangerous tonight.
So I kept scrolling.
Until I saw it.
A black image.
No stars.
No moon.
No visible horizon.
Just darkness.
Underneath it:
The Starlight Society
Tired of looking at the stars and seeing nothing but darkness?
Feeling like you're drifting alone in a cold, silent sky?
We are a society for those who have seen the emptiness of the universe.
We don't promise to give you light.
We only promise to sit with you in the dark.
No judgment. No lies. Only understanding.
Join us.
I read it once.
Then again.
Then a third time.
My thumb stopped moving.
For the first time all day, my thoughts went quiet.
Not because I felt better.
Just... interrupted.
It didn't feel like some random internet post.
It felt personal.
Like someone had reached directly into my brain and written down what they found there.
No fake positivity.
No inspirational nonsense.
No "everything happens for a reason."
Just honesty.
Dark.
Uncomfortable.
Honest.
And somehow that was more comforting than anything else I had encountered in weeks.
My fingers hovered over the message button.
This was obviously suspicious.
Anonymous account.
Cryptic messaging.
Emotionally concerning branding.
Any rational person would block this immediately.
Unfortunately, I was currently operating below recommended emotional standards.
I tapped the message box.
Blank.
What exactly do you say to strangers professionally advertising despair?
After a moment, I sent one thing.
⭐
Just a star.
Nothing else.
No explanation.
No dramatic confession.
Then I threw my phone onto the bed as it had personally offended me.
Five minutes passed.
Nothing.
Ten.
Still nothing.
I told myself it didn't matter.
This was stupid anyway.
Then...
Buzz.
I lunged for my phone.
One new message.
No greeting.
No introduction.
Just:
Friday. 9:00 PM. Old gym storage room.
A second message followed.
Look for the lost trophies.
I stared at the screen.
My pulse quickened.
I knew exactly where that was.
Behind the old gym at school.
A storage room no one uses anymore.
Dusty shelves.
Broken sports equipment.
Old trophies no one cared about.
A strange smile tugged at my lips.
A society for broken people meeting in a room full of forgotten achievements.
Honestly?
Strong aesthetic commitment.
Concerning.
But strong.
I reread the message.
Friday.
9:00 PM.
I should block the account.
Delete the chat.
Pretend none of this happened.
Instead, I opened my calendar.
Friday.
Empty.
Of course.
I lay back on my bed and stared at the ceiling.
The fan clicked above me.
Click.
Click.
Click.
A normal person would probably be alarmed.
A normal person would tell someone.
A normal person probably wouldn't be planning to meet anonymous strangers in an abandoned part of the school at night.
But lately, I wasn't sure I qualified as normal.
I turned off my bedside lamp.
Darkness filled the room.
Only my phone screen remained glowing beside me.
One unread conversation.
Friday. 9:00 PM.
For the first time in weeks, tomorrow felt like something.
Not better.
Definitely not better.
Just different.
And right now, different was enough.