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Day 1
Chay wakes up to silence.
At first, he thinks it’s just the usual—Kim slipping out early, maybe downstairs with the staff, maybe out getting coffee for himself, and the over sweetened croissant for him. But the bed is too smooth on the other side. Cold. Undisturbed.
Kim always left it messy.
On the nightstand: a note.
”Don’t look for me. You’ll hate what you find.”
No “I’m sorry.” No “I love you.” Just those two painful lines, like Chay was a mistake Kim finally got tired of.
His hands shake. He calls Kim’s number. It rings once, then goes dead.
He tries again. And again. Nothing.
He calls Porsche.
”Have you seen—“
”No.”
That’s all he gets.
Day 14
The house is too quiet without Kim.
Everything reminds Chay of him. The piano bench Kim refused to let the maids dust, was hauntingly still. The empty coffee mug, rim stained faintly red from Kim’s stupidly expensive lipstick balm. The hoodie still hanging off the kitchen chair because Kim always forgot to put things away.
Chay sleeps in that hoodie now.
He eats less. Talks less. Smiles never.
Porsche worries, but he’s got his own world to protect.
Chay doesn’t blame him.
After all, Porshce didn’t promise forever and run.
Day 39
Chay finally checks Kim’s room.
It’s been untouched.
Drawers still full. Clothes hanging in the closet like Kim’s body might still fit inside them.
Expect it wouldn’t. Because Kim isn’t coming back. Everyone keeps saying give it time, but time’s a bastard. All it does is stretch the distance longer, dull the color in Chay’s memory, make Kim feel like a dream that’s turning into a blurry fog.
He holds one of Kim’s shirts to his face. It doesn’t smell like him anymore.
Just laundry detergent and loss.
Day 103
Porsche asks him to see a therapist.
Chay says no.
Because therapy doesn’t fix heartbreak. It doesn’t undo abandonment. And it sure as hell won’t explain why Kim, who used to trace his lips with reverence, now pretends he never existed.
Chay keeps asking himself what he did wrong.
Maybe it was the way he loved too much. Or the way he trusted too fast. Or maybe Kim was always meant to leave—some people are just built for running.
And Chay’s always been the kind of person who waits.
Day 202
He hears rumors.
Kim in Macau. Kim in Chiang Mai. Kim with someone new. Kim dead. Kim married. Kim in rehab. Kim back in the Mafia. Kim never left.
Everyone has a theory.
No one has answers.
Porsche won’t talk about it anymore. “He made his choice,” is all he says now.
But Chay didn’t get a choice.
He just got left.
Day 300
Chay sings again. Once. For a university event.
His voice cracks halfway through.
People still clap, but all he hears is the echo of Kim’s voice in his memory, whispering. “You sing like you’re telling secrets.”
He finishes the song. Walks off stage.
Throws up in the bathroom.
Day 341
He sets the table again.
He doesn’t know why he keeps doing it. Ritual, maybe. Grief that turned into obsession. A way to keep Kim’s ghost fed.
Rice. Mango. Water.
Rice. Mango. Water.
Rice. Mango. Water.
Just like always.
And then—his phone buzzes.
Unknown number.
One message.
”I never stopped loving you.”
He freezes. For five long minutes, he doesn’t breathe.
Then deletes the text.
Because love, real love, doesn’t leave without a fight.
And Kim didn’t just leave. He vanished. He broke them like they were nothing at all.
So Chay finishes his cold dinner. Alone. As always.
And somewhere, deep in the hollow of his chest, something he called hope finally dies.
Day 459
It rains the night Kim returns.
Not dramatic. Not cinematic. Just a soft knock on the door around midnight.
Chay opens it. He doesn’t ask why. He knows.
Kim looks like hell. Thinner. Eyes red. A long scar down his cheek.
”I’m sorry,” he says, voice barely a whisper. “I had to disappear. To keep you safe.”
Chay stares at him for a long time. Long enough to remember every night he cried alone. Long enough to feel that old love crawl up his throat like bile.
”Too late,“ he says.
And shuts the door.
Because some wounds are sacred. Because not every love story gets a second chance.
Because no one stays for long.