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The island air was warm, thick with salt and nostalgia as Palm and Nuengdiao stepped onto the familiar wooden dock. Four years had passed since they had left for abroad, Nuengdiao to complete his master's degree, Palm to support him while working remotely, and now here they were, not just as lovers, but also as fiancés. They were basking in the afterglow of their engagement, a radiant promise of eternity hanging in the air.
They were in the honeymoon phase, no doubt about it. Every glance, every touch felt charged with a renewed adoration for each other. Tonight, they were back at the beachside bar, the very heart of Palm's world. His father, still sturdy despite the years, swept them into a bear hug as soon as they walked into the bar. "About time you two came back," he grumbled, but the smile in his eyes betrayed his joy.
Nuengdiao laughed, squeezing Palm's hand. "We missed this place."
"And missed you," Palm added, pulling his father into a tighter hug.
They spent the evening catching up, drinking fresh coconut water as the sun dipped below the horizon. Palm's father teased them about their matching engagement rings, and Nuengdiao blushed when Palm proudly announced they were already planning their future together.
"So, you two lovebirds planning a family soon?" his father winked, wiping down the counter with a practised hand.
Nuengdiao, still blushing, intertwined his fingers with Palm's. "We've been talking about it seriously, Dad. But we want to settle down first. Find the right time."
Palm chuckled, tightening his grip on Nuengdiao's hand. "We're not exactly in a hurry or anything. We've got time to figure it out. But yeah, we both want kids. Eventually." He pictured a little sandy fist in the palm of his own, a small laugh echoing through the bar. The thought warmed him from the inside out.
But the universe, it seemed, had other plans in mind.
Suddenly, a young woman, her face filled with terror, stumbled into the bar, gasping for breath. "HELP! Someone! A kid… a kid is drowning!"
The laughter died in their throats. Palm's father leapt over the counter, his years melting away, replaced by the instinct of a seasoned islander. "Where?!"
"Near the rocks! He was swept away!"
With no hesitation, Palm was already sprinting towards the beach, Nuengdiao and his dad following closely behind. He kicked off his sandals, his pounding heart slamming inside his chest. He remembered hours of surfing these waters, their ripples and whirls seared into his muscle memory.
He spotted the small figure struggling in the churned water, the turquoise water swallowing him whole. Without a second thought, Palm plunged into the ocean, the freezing surface shocking him into sharp awareness. He swam through the waves, the shriek of the woman on shore fading slightly but increasing in urgency.
It felt like an eternity, but finally, he reached the boy. He was small, maybe six or seven, his face contorted in fear, his lungs begging for air. Palm secured him in a fireman's carry and fought his way back against the relentless tide.
Nuengdiao and his father were waiting on the shore, their faces twisted with relief. They carefully took the boy from Palm's arms, wrapping him in a towel. The boy was coughing up seawater, his tiny body trembling, but thankfully, conscious.
"He's okay," Nuengdiao reassured him, rubbing his arms to warm him up, his voice gentle. "Just rest now. You're safe."
The boy blinked up at them with wide, terrified eyes and then burst into tears.
𓆉 ⋆.˚ 𓆝⋆.˚
They brought the boy back to the bar, wrapped him in more blankets, and gave him warm milk. The child, they learned, had no name or at least, none he would give them. He talked very little, flinching at loud noises, clinging to Nuengdiao's arm as though afraid they'd vanish if he let go.
They spent the next few hours trying to locate his family. They alerted the local authorities and questioned other tourists, but no one seemed to know him. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the beach, a grim realisation dawned. He was lost. Abandoned, perhaps.
𓆉 ⋆.˚ 𓆝⋆.˚
Palm found Nuengdiao on the porch at dawn, the boy cradled against his chest, both haloed in gold light. Something sharp twisted in Palm's ribs....the way Nuengdiao's fingers tangled through the child's hair, the way the boy's breath hitched when Nuengdiao shifted, as if afraid to be set down.
"We should call social services today," Palm said, voice low. He ignored how wrong the words tasted.
Nuengdiao's arms tightened. "And say what? That we’ll hand him over to a system that already failed him once?"
Palm did not answer. He huddled next to them, thumb brushing a sandal strap, digging into the boy's ankle. "Nueng…. we can't kidnap a child."
"We're not," Nuengdiao said. "We're just… borrowing him until the universe asks for him back."
The boy stirred, blinking sleepily up at them. When his tiny hand fisted in Palm's sleeve, Palm stopped pretending he wanted to let go.
𓆉 ⋆.˚ 𓆝⋆.˚
Days turned into weeks. They searched, asked around, but no family came forward. Then, the final answer came: the boy was an orphan. A runaway from a group home, with nowhere—and no one—to return to.
The boy was quiet and reserved, but slowly, hesitantly, he began to open up. He loved helping Palm's father in the bar, neatly stacking the coasters and mimicking his cleaning routine. He gravitated more towards Nuengdiao, drawn to his calm demeanour and patient explanations.
Nuengdiao's mother flew down immediately when she heard. She took one look at the way Palm carried the boy on his shoulders, at how Nuengdiao patiently taught him to read, and sighed.
"You've already made your decision, haven't you?"
Palm and Nuengdiao exchanged a glance.
"Yeah," Palm said. "We have."
"Fine, then do it. Love needs no blood relation. I know you can provide him with a good home and a loving family", she continued
Palm's father echoed the sentiment. He'd seen too much heartbreak in his life to know the worth of family, regardless of its form. "The boy needs you. And you, my sons, seem to need him too, so I don't see anything wrong with your decision."
𓆉 ⋆.˚ 𓆝⋆.˚
The adoption process was long, but worth it.
It was long and complicated, filled with paperwork and interviews. But with Nuengdiao's mother's unwavering support and Palm's father's steady presence, they made it through the maze.
By the time the adoption was finalised, the boy, now named Narin, a living reminder that love is earned not by blood but by belonging, had carved a place into their hearts so deep that none of them could remember life before him.
The memory of that day was permanently etched in Palm's brain. Narin, dressed in a brand new shirt with a picture of a whale on it, stood between them, his small hand clasped tightly in Palm's. He looked up at them, his eyes shining with an innocent trust that made Palm's heart ache and soar all at once.
Nuengdiao's mother spoiled him rotten, buying him toys and books. Palm's father taught him how to fish, grinning when Narin squealed at his first catch.
And Palm and Nuengdiao?
They loved him. Unconditionally.
One evening, as the sun painted the sky in gold, the five of them sat on the beach, Narin giggling as Palm spun him around in mid-air, Nuengdiao's mother snapping pictures, Palm's father grumbling (fondly) about sand in his shoes.
Palm observed them all, his heart overflowing with a happiness he'd never thought possible.
Their family wasn't what they had initially imagined, but it was perfect. It was love, in its purest, most unexpected way.
They had started a new adventure, a journey filled with challenges and joys, laughter and tears. But they were ready. They had each other, they had Narin, and they had the unwavering love of their family, both chosen and biological. And that, Palm realised, was all they needed.
Nuengdiao leaned against Palm, watching their son theirs run toward the waves, fearless now.
"Think we would've found him if we'd planned it?” Palm asked.
Nuengdiao smiled, interlacing their fingers. "Some things," he said softly, "are just meant to be."
And as Narin turned, waving at them with a grin brighter than the sun, they knew...
This was their future: three sets of footprints in the sand, the tide not washing any of them away.