At 5:00 a.m., I dragged myself out of bed to make breakfast for them. It was seafood rice porridge with soft-boiled eggs. After that, I showered, got dressed, and opened the connecting door to his room.
His walk-in closet was so luxurious it could practically pass for a boutique. More than twenty suits hung neatly, arranged from light to dark. Dress shirts, ties, slacks, shorts—everything had its place. Even his underwear was lined up perfectly. I checked the brands and—wow. All famous Western labels, each piece costing thousands. More expensive than the dresses I order online.
I looked down at the paper in my hand—a schedule listing his daily agenda and what he was supposed to wear each day—then picked out the items accordingly and ironed them, setting everything aside to wait. How can someone be this precise? A full-blown perfectionist, for sure. Sorry—I can't be like that. I really can't.
The owner of the room, freshly out of the shower, walked into the dressing area. I glanced over from the corner of my eye. A white towel was wrapped around his waist as the tall man reached for his underwear. It's not like I've never seen men in their underwear before—my dad, for one, or my nephews when they were little. But this… this wasn't little anymore. Just thinking about it made my blood rush. My face burned for an obvious reason.
Calm down, Kawintida.
"You can look straight at me. No need to sneak glances. I'm used to people looking at me like that."
"So full of yourself," I muttered under my breath, pouting.
"Are you planning to iron it until it burns? Hand it over."
I passed him the white shirt I was ironing. The Minister lifted the sleeve to inspect it, then nodded—apparently, as long as there was just one crisp crease and not two or three extra, it passed.
"Do I have to put it on for you too?"
He nodded, acting like a child who couldn't take care of himself.
"There's a meeting today about the recruitment criteria for assistant teachers," he said casually. "Many senior ministry officials want truly capable people to become teachers."
"So you give everyone the right to take the general exam. That's not fair at all."
"Don't be such a dog in the manger. If you're truly good, what's there to fear? Everyone deserves a chance."
Easy for him to say.
"Let me speak on behalf of those who actually studied education. I don't know about others, but I've never been possessive or jealous of people from other faculties competing for the job. I'm not afraid—let me be clear. I genuinely welcome it, no sarcasm at all.
But before that, they should prove they truly want to be teachers. We had to prove ourselves for a full year during teaching practice just to earn our teaching license. Sometimes we taught more hours than full-time teachers. It was practically forced labor. No pay. Then there were rent, living expenses, food—sometimes even covering the cost of students' projects. And on top of that, we had to smile through it all. If I'd graduated in four years, I would've been eligible to take the exam already. By now, I might've been a government teacher."
"Drama," he remarked, standing still while I buttoned his shirt and slipped the suit jacket over it.
"This isn't a joke. It's painful—quietly painful. It really hurts, seeing the lack of standards among those in power."
"Coming from a teacher, what do you think? I don't mean any disrespect—but people who studied the field directly tend to have deeper subject-specific expertise."
"Did you just… change the way you're talking to me?"
Wait—did I hear that right?
"That's not the point. I'm asking for your opinion."
Oh… I see. Talk like that, and you actually sound like a gentleman.
"I want capable people to help develop the country. I want to open opportunities for everyone to become teachers, because some subjects truly require specialists with specific expertise. But there have to be conditions. Otherwise, teaching licenses wouldn't even need to exist. People who deliberately study education would lose their motivation.
This profession would no longer hold its professional standing if anyone could do whatever they wanted. I won't compare it to other professions—every job matters to national development. And I won't say that education majors are more ethical just because they've been trained that way for years. I've seen enough to know it depends on the individual. People's nature doesn't change easily—and I certainly haven't reached any enlightened stage where my morals are that elevated. Humans have both good and bad mixed together. It all depends on which side we choose to show more."
Don't get me started on this topic—it could go on forever. An epic exposé of the dark sides of some teachers. (Some, please don't generalize.) Strangely, he didn't interrupt me at all.
"I'm done."
"Thank you."
"Mmm—"
He suddenly lunged in and kissed me, catching me completely off guard. My mind went blank. I had no idea what to do with a situation like this.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
My traitorous heart started pounding in rhythm. This was getting way too romantic.
"Pick a lipstick that's not too pale. You look a bit worn out."
He had already left the dressing room, while I was still standing there, frozen. What just happened? He kissed me—and then said that…
"So now you're saying I look worn out? You—ugh, Minister!"
It was the first morning I'd had breakfast together with my new family. The Minister seemed to talk more with his sons than usual, asking one question after another—how school was going, what activities they had, whether there were any problems, blah blah blah. Still, it was all very much his style: calm, restrained, no grand gestures.