The day university results were announced,
the school that once felt familiar looked slightly different.
Voices filled the courtyard—laughter, excitement, names being called out.
But for me—
everything felt muted.
All that remained was the sound of my own heartbeat, louder than anything else.
I stood in front of the results board,
my eyes slowly searching for my name, carefully… as if I was afraid to find it, and afraid not to.
And then—
Phoraphat Thanakulwong
Accepted.
The breath I had been holding finally escaped.
Not joy.
Just relief… empty and hollow.
"Phat! You got in, right?"
My friend's voice came from beside me, excited.
I turned and gave a small smile.
"Yeah."
"You're amazing!"
I nodded.
The smile stayed on my face, but inside—nothing moved.
"And what about Kan?"
The question slipped in quietly.
I paused.
Then slowly turned to look at another board.
There were more people gathered there, voices growing louder.
I didn't want to go closer.
But my feet moved anyway… step by step.
My eyes stopped on one name.
Rawikan Sutpaisan
Accepted.
But not the same place as me.
Something inside my chest… dropped quietly.
Not loud.Not sharp pain.
Just an emptiness that slowly spread.
"That's good…"
I murmured to myself.
My voice barely louder than my breath.
"At least we won't have to see each other anymore."
Those words should have made me feel relieved.
But instead, they left something behind.
Heavier… for no reason.
The days after that passed quickly.
Graduation events, photos, laughter, congratulations.
Everything felt warm and meaningful.
Except me.
"Phat, come take a picture!"
My friend waved.
I walked over, trying to smile like everyone else.
But in every frame,
my eyes kept searching for someone—
without me even realizing it.
And eventually,
I found him.
Kan stood not far away, surrounded by friends. His smile looked the same as always.
Like everything was still in its place.
Like he didn't feel anything at all.
I quickly looked away,
as if trying to deny that image—
deny the feeling that was becoming clearer without warning.
"Phat."
His voice called out again, closer than I expected.
I froze.
Then slowly turned back.
Kan was standing right in front of me.
Close enough that I could see his eyes clearly.
"What is it?"
I asked.
My voice steady, but softer than before.
He went quiet for a moment, like he was choosing his words—something I wasn't used to from him at all.
"…You're going there, right?"
He asked.
I nodded lightly.
"Yeah."
"That's good."
He said, his voice calm but quieter than usual.
"That place suits you."
I didn't know how to respond.
So many words ran through my head,
but none of them came out.
In the end, only silence remained.
A soft breeze passed by.
The noise around us faded away,
leaving just the two of us—
and a distance that felt both close… and impossibly far at the same time.
"What about you?"
I asked, even though I wasn't sure if I should.
"I'm going somewhere else."
He answered.
Short. Clear.
I nodded, even though I already knew.
"That's good."
I said softly, almost too quiet to hear.
"At least we won't have to see each other again."
Those words made him freeze.
I didn't dare look at him.
Because I was afraid—
if our eyes met,
everything I had been holding back might fall apart in that moment.
"…Yeah."
He replied.
Short, just like before.
Silence settled in again.
But this time, it was heavier.
"Then…"
I took a deep breath, gathering something inside me.
"…good luck."
I turned, about to walk away.
But before I could take a step—
"Phat."
His voice called out again.
I stopped.
But didn't turn back.
"…take care of yourself."
His voice was softer, more sincere than I had ever heard.
My heart trembled instantly.
Like something had touched the deepest part of me.
"You too."
I replied quietly.
And then I walked away.
Without turning back.
That day,
we walked away from each other.
Like two people who had nothing left tying them together.
But what I didn't know back then was—
distance never makes feelings disappear.
It only makes the things that were quietly hidden
become clearer…
when it's already too late.