Chapter Text
💽 Track 0: The Hidden Track
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Seven Years Earlier
Namtan’s POV
I woke up before she did.
She was turned away from me, curled on her side, one hand tucked beneath her chin. Breathing slow. Even. Peaceful in a way that felt borrowed, like sleep was the only place that still let her rest.
I didn’t touch her. I reached for my phone instead.
The email sat there, unopened.
Flight confirmed: Bangkok to Los Angeles
Departure: May 27
I stared at the date.
May 27. A full year.
Exactly one year since our son was taken before he ever had the chance to be born. Since everything split into before and after.
I waited for the grief to come. It didn’t.
No tightening in my chest. No ache behind my eyes. No memory pulling me under. Just… nothing.
A hollow quiet, like my body had finally given up on warning me about pain.
I should have cried. Instead, I felt relief. That was the part that scared me most.
I finally got what I had been working toward. But it didn’t feel like a dream anymore. LA didn’t feel like opportunity. Or ambition. It felt like an exit.
A way out of a house that no longer felt lived in.
I didn’t tell anyone.
Not her.
Not my sister.
Not my parents.
For a week, she didn’t scream.
She didn’t throw anything.
Didn’t flinch when I walked into the room.
Didn’t recoil when I brushed past her.
But she didn’t reach for me either.
No warmth.
No pull.
No fight.
Just quiet. And somehow, that hurt more than anger ever did.
I knew then. Not with doubt. Not with hope. There was no fixing this.
Not with time.
Not with apologies.
Not with another baby.
The morning I left, I didn’t pack.
No clothes.
No guitar.
No photos.
I didn’t leave a note.
I walked out with nothing but the guitar pick she gave me. That was the version of us I wanted to remember.
By the time the door closed behind me, I didn’t feel brave. I didn’t feel free. I felt empty.
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Film’s POV
I woke up without meaning to. No sound. No reason. Just something off.
I didn’t move right away. Didn’t reach for her. I hadn’t done that in a long time.
But I felt it anyway. The space beside me. Too still. Too… empty.
My eyes opened slowly. The ceiling came into focus. Familiar. Unchanged.
I turned my head. Her side of the bed was flat. No crease. No warmth. Like no one had slept there at all.
That didn’t make sense.
I pushed myself up, frowning.
Maybe she woke up early. Maybe she didn’t want to wake me.
That had been happening more often.
Careful steps.
Soft movements.
Doors closing gently.
Like she was always trying not to disturb something already broken.
“Phi?” My voice came out quiet. Unused.
No answer.
I waited. Nothing.
I sat up fully, the blanket slipping from my chest.
The room felt different. Not the silence I knew. This one felt… final.
I stood. The bathroom was empty. Lights off. Door open.
I paused.
“She’s probably in the kitchen,” I muttered.
I stepped into the hallway. Her shoes weren’t by the door.
I stared at the space longer than I should have. Something about it felt wrong.
I went back to the bedroom. Slower this time.
Her bag was not there.
The small things she always left scattered. Gone.
The charger on her side of the bed. Unplugged.
That’s when it shifted. Just slightly.
My chest tightened.
I reached for my phone. Called her. It rang. Then voicemail.
I pulled the phone away. Stared at the screen.
Called again.
Voicemail.
Again.
Still nothing.
“She’s busy,” I said. Like saying it would make it true.
I sat on the edge of the bed. The mattress didn’t dip beside me.
I stared at the wall. The same wall I used to face so I wouldn’t have to look at her.
A memory surfaced.
Her hand hovering near my waist. Not touching. Waiting. I never turned around.
My fingers tightened around my phone.
Another memory.
Her voice. Soft.
“Do you need anything?”
“I’m fine.”
Always that.
I exhaled.
This was different. This wasn’t space. This wasn’t her giving me room. This was absence. Real. Complete.
I stood again. Walked through the house.
Living room. Empty.
Kitchen. Cold.
No sound.
No her.
My chest tightened. Too tight.
I went back to the bedroom. Called again. Voicemail.
“Pick up,” I whispered.
My voice shook. “Phi… just—just pick up.”
Nothing.
The quiet closed in. Not something I chose. Not something I controlled. It wrapped around me.
I sat down slowly. The bed felt too big. Too wide.
I looked at her side again. This time, it didn’t look temporary. It looked left.
A thought surfaced.
You pushed her here.
I shook my head. “No.”
Too fast.
“She didn’t leave.”
She wouldn’t. She stayed. Even when I—
My throat tightened.
My voice. Cold.
“I don’t want to stop.”
Her face. Careful. Breaking quietly.
I swallowed hard.
“She’ll come back,” I said.
But the words didn’t land. For the first time, I didn’t know if she would.
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LA. Music. Opportunity.
I didn’t ask questions. I didn’t want answers.
Because answers meant this was real. And if it was real, she didn’t just leave. She chose to.
The morning I collapsed, I didn’t feel different. Just… lighter. Like something inside me had already been taken.
I stood up. The room tilted. Darkness crept in at the edges. I reached for something. Missed. Everything disappeared.
When I woke up, the world was white. Bright. Sharp. Unfamiliar.
Voices moved around me. Soft. Distant. “…you’re pregnant.”
The word didn’t land. It hovered. Waiting.
I stared at the ceiling. My hand moved slowly to my stomach. Flat. Still.
But not empty anymore.
My chest tightened. Not sharp. Something deeper. Quieter.
“She’s not here.”
My fingers curled against my shirt.
The silence felt different now. Not something I created. Something I was left inside.
She was gone. And somehow, I finally got what I had been fighting for.
But she wasn’t here.
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