Pai didn't like being watched.
He didn't like how eyes lingered too long on his sketchbook, or how people leaned in when he spoke, as if trying to decipher something hidden beneath his words. He didn't like the way some classmates complimented his work, only to follow up with, "You should post this online," like sharing art was the same as sharing your soul.
So he stayed quiet.
And he drew in places no one could see him.
Like now.
He sat beneath the rain tree near Studio 4, hoodie pulled over his head despite the late afternoon heat. The sun was beginning its slow descent, casting golden light through the leaves, turning them into flickering stained glass above him.
His pencil moved slowly, deliberately.
Not on anything commissioned. Not on anything meant for class.
Just... something he felt.
A boy standing beneath a tree. A sky half-hidden by clouds. A silence so thick it almost hurt.
"You're still here."
Pai didn't flinch. Didn't pause.
He knew who it was.
Thanat Apirak.
Everyone called him Thana. Literature major. Too observant for his own good.
Pai flipped the page without looking up. "I don't talk while I draw."
Thana crouched beside him, resting an arm on his knee. "That's not true. You just don't like talking to me."
Pai finally lifted his gaze, brow slightly furrowed. "You're distracting."
"I'm just saying what everyone else thinks but won't." Thana tilted his head. "You draw better than most of us, and yet—"
"I don't care about being better."
There was a beat of silence.
Then Thana said, "You never show your work."
Pai shut the sketchbook with a quiet snap. "Maybe I don't want people looking at it."
Thana didn't move. "Or maybe you don't want them looking at you ."
For the first time, Pai hesitated.
It was barely noticeable — just a flicker in his expression, gone before anyone else would've caught it.
But Thana did.
And then Pai stood, tucking the sketchbook under his arm like it was something sacred. "I'm going back."
Thana didn't stop him.
He just stayed where he was, watching until Pai disappeared around the corner.
The wind picked up again, rustling the pages of the sketchbook tucked under Pai's arm. Somewhere inside, hidden between layers of ink and hesitation, was a drawing Thana would never see — not yet.
It was a boy with glasses, standing beneath a rain tree, asking questions no one else dared to ask.
Pai walked slowly, hands shoved deep into his hoodie pockets.
Bangkwan Arts & Design University had been overwhelming from the start — too many people, too many voices, too many eyes.
He wasn't here to make friends.
He was here to learn. To improve. To stay invisible long enough to forget the last time someone had betrayed him.
TK.
Even thinking the name made his chest tighten.
They used to be close once. Brothers who shared everything — pencils, paper, dreams.
Until TK saw one of Pai's unpublished comics and decided it was worth more coming from him than from his younger brother.
Pai remembered the day clearly.
The hollow feeling when he realized the comic he'd drawn — the one he hadn't even finished coloring — was suddenly all over social media.
Posted under TK's name.
No credit.
No warning.
No apology.
After that, Pai stopped showing his work.
Stopped believing that art was safe.
And especially stopped trusting people who asked too many questions.
Like Thanat Apirak.
Whoever he thought he was.
Thana stayed under the tree a little longer than necessary.
He liked this spot. It felt like a place where things could begin.
He wasn't sure why he kept coming back to Pai. There was no grand reason, no poetic justification.
He just... wanted to know him.
Not just his art.
Not just the quiet boy who always seemed to vanish before anyone could get close.
He wanted to know what was behind those eyes. What made him draw the way he did. Why he hid.
Thana had secrets too.
He wrote poetry under a pen name — The Midnight Poet — because his father told him real men didn't waste time with words.
But somewhere between scribbling verses in the margins of textbooks and reading anonymous illustrations online, he had started to change.
Started to believe in what he created.
And somewhere along the way, he had stumbled upon a piece of art that stayed with him longer than any poem ever had.
A boy sitting alone beneath a rain tree.
Drawn in soft lines and shadowed eyes.
He didn't know the artist's name.
But he wanted to.
More than he should.