Rak
We're standing in the main courtyard of Silpakorn University.
"Okay, everyone! Last one! Professional faces, please!" our class rep shouts.
We all pile in together. I'm squeezed between a guy whose name I can't remember and Oh, who is currently trying to fix his glasses while someone's elbow hits his ribs.
Four years of late-night editing sessions, crying over lighting ratios, and wondering if I'll ever actually be good at this, captured in a single frame.
I catch Goya's eye. She signals toward the side gate, away from the chaos. We slip out, me, Goya, and Oh—walking across the grass that's been trampled by a thousand dress shoes today.
"I'm so glad we went through this together," Goya says, swinging her arms. She looks genuinely radiant, like she's already figured out the rest of her life. "Seriously, I would have lost my mind by sophomore year without you guys."
"We wouldn't have been here if you wouldn't have helped us study, though," Oh adds, nudging me with his shoulder. He looks at me, his expression getting all soft and serious. "I'm not just saying it because today's the day—I think you're gonna be the best photographer out of all of us."
I look down at the lens cap dangling from the strap around my neck. The weight of the camera feels like a lead brick. I passed. I have the degree. But "the best"? I'm just a girl who learned how to manipulate shutter speeds because I didn't know what else to do with my life.
"Yeah, sure," I mutter, trying to keep my voice light so I don't ruin the vibe. "The best at taking blurry photos of my own feet, maybe."
"Rak, stop," Goya laughs, but she reaches over and squeezes my hand.
"Let's just go get some food," I say, stepping forward into the street. "I'm starving, and this gown is basically a sauna."
.
.
.
"Remember the first week?" Goya asks, dumping a massive plate of cabbage into the pot. "When I accidentally walked into the wrong lecture hall and sat through forty minutes of Advanced Calculus before realizing I wasn't in Art History?"
I snort, nearly choking on my tea. "And you were taking notes! You were actually trying to understand the equations."
"I didn't want to look stupid by leaving!" she defends herself, laughing so hard she's turning pink.
"That's literally how we found Oh," I remind them, pointing my chopsticks at him. "He was the only one in the actual photography lab who didn't look like he was trying to be 'edgy' or 'misunderstood.' He just looked... lost."
Oh grins, leaning back in the booth. "I was lost. I couldn't figure out how to load the film into that vintage camera for the intro project. You guys walked in like you owned the place, saw me struggling, and instead of judging me, Rak just sighed and did it for me in like five seconds."
"I had to," I say, feeling a rare flicker of pride. "You were about to snap the lever off. I couldn't watch a piece of equipment suffer like that."
"My hero," Oh teases.
Oh's phone vibrates against the table. I watch his face change instantly.
"Oh, is Everything okay?" I ask him, worried beause of his expression. Oh just nods "yeah it's just Mark." His boyfriend who's kinda of a jerk.
"Oh? That asshole again? Why don't you just break up already!" Goya says proudly, almost angry, and Oh just singhs "It's not that easy, we share some happy memories together too."
His words make me pity him even more. Hes one of my best friends and seeing him like that makes me sad. Hes a really sweet guy, and Mark is just… an asshole with no shame. He thinks he own Oh and he's jealous of all his friends, including us, and he knows Oh is gay.
"So what did he say?" I ask him, trying to make the conversation lighter.
"He just said he's proud of me… and that I should go back home now." Oh looks kinda sad while he says that "Already? We've been here for twenty minutes." I answer with a sigh.
"Don't listen to the jerk, just stay with us," Goya says as he takes his hand "It's our graduation day Oh, if he won't let you go whether you want eve now he's—-"
"Talking with about me again?" I hear Mark's voice behind us, and then we all turn around.
"You're like an evil witch who always searches for me, to kill me." Mark says with a reading tone .
"Shut up asshole" She answers sharply.
"Let's go home Oh" He doesn't have to say it twice, Oh gets up and walks away with him hand in hand. I know he's afraid to say no to him.
.
.
.
Walking home alone at night is the worst. Every little noise makes me jump, and I'm definitely walking way faster than usual.
I pass this loud club with a bunch of drunk guys hanging out front. My anxiety levels are basically peaking, but then I see her.
It's the short-haired girl from that night.
She's leaning against the wall with another girl who has really long, dark hair. They're both smoking and laughing with the guys, looking totally chill. I'm just standing there like a dork with my graduation flowers, wondering if she even remembers me.
She seems so grown up from a college student, like she's got some experience in… well everything. The way she holds the cigarette, and the way she speaks is so cool.
Suddenly, one of the guys from the group stumbles toward me. He's tall, really handsome in that sharp-featured way, with olive skin and dark hair—but he's clearly wasted. Before I can even react, he grabs my hand and pulls me toward him.
My heart drops. I'm about to freak out when the short-haired girl steps in.
She doesn't even hesitate. She shoves him back so hard he actually hits the ground. "Keep your hands to yourself, Cir," she snaps, her voice like ice.
I'm standing there shaking, and then she looks at me. Her gaze is so cold and unreadable that for a second, I'm sure she has no idea who I am. I feel like a total stranger to her.
"I told you not to get into trouble," she says, her eyes locked on mine. "Go home."
She remembers me.