The city had quieted by the time Phol drove home.
Unlike most executives in his position, he preferred driving himself. The black car rolled smoothly through the gates of the Rattanapong estate before stopping in front of the mansion.
The lights inside were still on.
Phol stepped in, loosening the collar of his shirt.
His father was seated in the living room, scrolling through a tablet.
Without looking up, he spoke.
"Back already?"
"Yes."
Now his father glanced at him.
"You should be at the company more often."
Phol walked past him without stopping.
"I was working."
A soft hum followed.
"Inspecting buildings again?"
"Yes."
A pause.
Then, casually—
"If you don't want to spend time at the company, at least bring me a daughter-in-law."
Phol stopped.
Slowly, he turned his head.
"I'm twenty-two."
"And?"
"And that sentence is ridiculous."
His father smiled, clearly entertained.
"Come eat first," he added.
Phol hesitated for a second… then turned toward the dining room.
Dinner was quiet, but not uncomfortable.
His father poured himself a drink, watching him over the rim of the glass.
"I heard you made a new investment."
Phol didn't look up.
"News travels fast."
"It's my company."
Phol picked up his chopsticks calmly.
"It's a small project."
"A band?" his father asked, amused. "Since when are you interested in music?"
"I'm not."
"Then?"
Phol paused for the smallest fraction of a second.
"Potential."
His father studied him for a moment longer… then smiled faintly.
"Make sure it's worth it."
Phol didn't answer.
Later that night, he sat in the living room, scrolling through reports on his phone.
A vibration broke the silence.
A message.
Not unknown.
Wut.
Pheet had given him Wut's number back at the hospital.
Phol unlocked the screen.
Fine. Who is this?
He had written a message before asking how his head was doing but he did not expect any answers.
His fingers moved without hesitation.
Someone you owe.
The reply came almost instantly.
You know I can block you right?
Phol leaned back against the couch, one arm resting lazily on the side.
You would have if you wanted to.
Also, can you block fifty numbers?
The typing bubble appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Then—
What do you want?
Phol stared at the screen for a moment.
Then locked his phone.
No reply.
Conversation over.
Hours later, the house had gone completely silent.
Phol lay in bed, the city lights faintly slipping through the curtains.
His phone buzzed again on the bedside table.
Another message from Wut.
He didn't check it.
Sleep came easily.
Morning arrived too quickly.
Phol reached for his phone, scrolling through notifications.
Meetings. Schedules. Responsibilities stacking like files on a desk that never emptied.
Then—
Messages.
From Wut.
What was that investment about?
Are you trying to get back at me?
And below—
You know, isn't it ridiculous? I owe you three times in three days even though I got hurt too.
Phol read it once.
Then again.
His lips moved before he could stop himself.
"…Cute."
He froze.
His hand immediately covered his mouth.
Silence.
For a brief moment, he just stared at the screen, as if the word had come from someone else entirely.
Then—
Another notification.
Pheet.
Phol opened it.
Are you free two days from now? For five days.
Phol's gaze sharpened slightly.
Interesting.