Phum woke to the sound of a car horn outside the window — not his alarm.

The clock on his phone read 9:47.

Oh…

Fuck.

He sat up fast. His hand reached for the phone. His eyes were barely open.

In his mind he was thinking in English: standup. welcome session. 10 a.m. Hair a mess. Haven't brushed teeth. Traffic. BTS.

He was the kind of person who, when thinking about bad things, thought in lists of words, not sentences.

Three minutes later he was in the bathroom, splashing his face with plain water again, no time even to squeeze toothpaste from the tube. He grabbed a T-shirt off the chair, sniffed under the arm — okay. This shirt would do. Yesterday's jeans were still wearable. He combed his hair with his hand.

There was sweat in the shirt, and the sniff he had given it claimed it was fine, but it wasn't, really. It was the kind of smell that sat between fine and not-fine — the kind that told everyone near you that the wearer had not slept enough.

He grabbed a can of coffee from the fridge — then changed his mind and closed the fridge, because he realized that after this morning's coffee, there wouldn't be enough energy left to explain his life to a new person at ten o'clock.

10:08. BTS On Nut. Packed. A normal day for Bangkok people who did not sleep at four in the morning.

Phum stood squeezed in the middle of the carriage. He saw his reflection in the window: dark circles under his eyes, hair like he'd just rolled out of a roti shop. He was still thinking about *standup. welcome. new person.*

Pae messaged him: "P', Baitoey's already here. Looking *fresh*."

Phum scrolled past.

At the W4 building in Thonglor, he stepped out of the elevator at 10:22. The conference room door was open. Twelve people sat inside. P'Neung saw him at the doorway and made a hand gesture: *go check yourself first, then come in.*

Phum walked into the bathroom. The W4 bathroom lights were the cold white kind — the kind that made mirrors tell you the truth.

He looked at himself. Took a tissue, wiped the corner of his mouth, the side of his nose. The armpits — no. Leave it. He used water to flatten his hair into something like a style. Wondered whether he should look "worked hard" or "just woke up."

He pulled the door open.

A woman was about to come in.

They both froze at the frame.

He knew, instantly, this was Baitoey.

Shoulder-length dark brown hair, half tied back. White linen shirt, simple. Small silver earrings. A canvas bag with a MacBook across her shoulder. In her hand, a bottle of water from a convenience store.

The first thing she did was give a small smile and step back to let him pass.

Phum wanted to pass through normally, but his mind spent three seconds tangled over whether the men's and women's bathrooms in this building were across from each other or adjacent — something he had known for eight months — but right now his brain chose to forget.

"I— sorry. Wrong room. My bathroom."

Baitoey smiled. "Yes."

That was all. Nothing added.

Phum walked out, closed the door of the women's bathroom next to him as he went — and he would think about this for the next six hours.

In the conference room.

Phum sat at the back, next to Pae, who had a quietly amused face.

P'Neung was presenting the company to Baitoey — mission, team, current projects. Phum listened with half his attention.

Ten minutes in, P'Neung said, "Okay, let's introduce the team."

One by one the engineers introduced themselves. Baitoey wrote in a small notebook with a black pen. Phum noticed that she wrote quickly, holding the pen in a way that said she wrote often.

When his turn came, P'Neung said, "And this is P'Phum — our main fullstack, four years here."

Phum raised a hand. "Phum, hi."

"Hello, Khun Phum," Baitoey said back. Her voice was soft — not soft like a university student, soft like someone who had been through some things.

After the team introductions, P'Neung said, "Okay, Baitoey, please introduce yourself."

Baitoey stood. "Hi, everyone. My name is Baitoey — Preeya Sangkhawiset."

"I did ICD at Chula, worked at a consultancy for two years. Thank you for the welcome. I'm looking forward to working together."

Short. Professional. No detour.

P'Neung turned to Phum. "P'Phum, please show P'Baitoey around. Inventory v2 will have her doing the UX. We start next week."

Phum nodded. "Got it."

"Khun Baitoey, anything you want to ask the team?"

Baitoey considered the room for two seconds. "Just one thing — what time do people normally leave here?"

A few people laughed quietly. At Briskly, "leaving before 9 p.m." was considered doing well.

P'Neung smiled. "It depends on the day. Usually around seven."

Baitoey nodded. "Thank you."

People stood and headed back to their desks. Phum followed Pae.

Pae whispered, "P', go say hi to her again."

"Why?"

"You're senior on the team. Your one-line intro was cold. At least be friendly."

Phum turned. Baitoey was still at her seat, putting her notebook and pen into her bag.

Phum walked over. "Baitoey." She looked up. "Phum again. Welcome. If you have any questions about the codebase, just ping me."

Halfway through saying this his brain ran hot about the words his mouth was producing. Then — out it slipped.

"Erm… Baibua."

*Baibua.*

Baitoey was silent for half a second. Then a small smile.

"Baitoey, Khun Phum."

"…Right. Yes. Baitoey. Sorry."

"It's fine."

Phum walked back to his desk, unable to think clearly, his face hot. In his head he was screaming at himself: *Baibua* is a sweet shop. *Baitoey* is the pandan leaf in the sweets. Different thing. Different meaning. Different everything.

Pae was waiting at the desk. "Baibua?"

"Shut up."

"P'… up at one a.m., woke at 9:47 — I know, P'. I saw the standup message this morning."

"You eating lunch?"

Lunch.

Pae took him to a rice-with-stuff place beside the office. Phum got chicken rice. Pae got pork knuckle.

"P'Phum, do you actually have a girlfriend? Because that's why I'm feeling this sorry for you."

"Eat."

"P'Phum — no, not the girlfriend thing. Listen. Ever since that deploy broke last month, you've been letting yourself slide."

"It didn't break. P'Neung reverted in time."

"P'Phum, I'm being serious."

Phum looked up. Pae was eating pork knuckle without looking back.

"You're turning twenty-nine this year, P'Phum."

"At the end of the year. Not now."

"…you know."

Pae went back to eating. Silent for two minutes.

In his mind, Phum thought: today is the day everyone around me has started saying things I don't want to hear. Mom last night. Friend now. Tomorrow probably Baitoey again.

After lunch, Phum returned to his desk and opened the laptop. Five hours left of the workday.

He opened the stacktrace he had avoided yesterday — not the one he had fixed the night before, but a new one from this morning.

He worked. Really worked. For the first time today, forty minutes straight.

15:12.

Baitoey posted in #engineering on Slack: "Hi everyone, I'd like to start a design system audit for Inventory v2. Anyone available to pair through the codebase this week?"

Some people replied — but Phum was the one P'Neung had assigned. He knew he should answer.

"P'Phum can. Tomorrow 1 p.m. work?"

Baitoey: "Works. Thank you."

That was all.

Phum looked at the screen — knowing he had just scheduled one hour of his life where he would have to give full attention, when normally he allowed himself to be late to every meeting.

16:30.

The office started to quiet. People snacked at their desks. Some chatted on Slack. Phum kept working — the first day in months he hadn't opened Twitter.

17:48.

Baitoey stood. Put her bag on. Walked past his desk toward the elevators.

Phum didn't catch whether she had looked at him. He pretended to keep typing for three seconds, until he saw the edge of her cloth bag pass through the corner of his eye.

After she left, he looked up for real. The window glass reflected his face again.

Dark circles still there.

The hair he had wet-flattened earlier — now standing up the same as before.

20:30.

He finished work and stepped out of the building. Light rain. The office had no bus stop nearby, only motorcycle taxis. Twenty-five baht to get home.

Sitting on the back of the motorbike, wind whistling past his face, the small rain misting against the edge of his eyes, Phum opened his phone — there was a new message from his sister in Chiang Mai.

"P'Phum! Mom said you slept at the hospital one night? You okay?"

Phum read it. Didn't reply — in the moment the rain landed on his face, he felt something under the breastbone he hadn't felt in months. Maybe a small guilt. Maybe the feeling that someone remembered.

He didn't reply until eleven.

At home, Phum opened the fridge. Two packs of instant noodles. One can of coffee. The bottle of water that had been forgotten.

He reached — for the water.

Drank it.

A small thought passed through him: it was the first time he had reached for that bottle first.

Then he thought: this thought is nothing. Just coincidence.

Phum was asleep at 12:30 — three hours earlier than the night before.

But he didn't yet know it was earlier.

He just slept.

阿普是被窗外的汽车喇叭声吵醒的——不是闹钟。

手机上的时间是9:47。

啊……

完了。

他猛地坐起身,手伸向手机,眼睛还没完全睁开。

脑子里他在用英语想:standup。welcome session。十点。头发乱。还没刷牙。堵车。BTS。

他是那种一想到糟糕的事就用单词列表思考、不是用句子思考的人。

三分钟后,他在浴室里。又用清水冲了把脸——连挤牙膏的时间都没有。抓起椅子上堆着的T恤,闻了闻腋下——还行。这件还能穿。昨天的牛仔裤还能再穿一天。用手把头发往下压。

T恤上有汗味。刚才他闻过说还行,其实并不行——是介于"还行"和"不行"之间的那种气味。是会告诉身边人:穿这件衣服的人没怎么睡觉。

从冰箱里拿出一罐咖啡——然后改了主意,把冰箱关上。因为他意识到,喝完这罐之后,他就没有力气在十点钟跟一个新人解释自己的人生。

10:08。BTS翁努站。挤。对那些不在凌晨四点睡觉的曼谷人来说,是普通的一天。

阿普被挤在车厢中央。他在窗户上看到自己的倒影:眼下黑圈,头发像是刚从油条摊上掉下来的。他脑子里还在想着:*standup。welcome。新人。*

阿派发来消息:"阿普哥,拜黛已经到了哦,看起来超精神。"

阿普滑了过去。

在通罗的W4大厦,他10:22出了电梯。会议室门开着,里面已经坐了十二个人。阿能哥在门口看见他,做了个手势:*先去整理一下自己,再进来。*

阿普走进洗手间。W4的灯是冷白色的——那种能让镜子告诉你真相的光。

他看着自己。拿了张纸巾,擦嘴角,擦鼻子旁边。腋下——不,留着吧。用水把头发拍平,做出一种像是发型的样子。他在想自己应该看起来像"努力工作过"还是"刚起床"。

他推开门。

一个女人正要走进来。

两个人都在门框边愣住了。

他立刻知道——这是拜黛。

齐肩深棕色头发,扎了一半。白色亚麻衬衫,简洁。小银耳环。一个帆布包斜挎着,装着MacBook。手里拿着便利店买的一瓶矿泉水。

她做的第一件事是露出一个小小的微笑,后退一步让他出来。

阿普本想正常地走过去,但他的脑子花了三秒纠结这栋楼的男厕和女厕到底是面对面还是挨着——他已经知道这个答案八个月了——可此刻他的大脑选择忘记。

"我……抱歉。走错了。我的厕所。"

拜黛微微一笑。"嗯。"

就这样。没有任何补充。

阿普走了出去,在旁边女厕的门上又关了一次门——而他接下来的六个小时都会想着这一幕。

会议室里。

阿普坐在最后一排,旁边是阿派,脸上带着安静的好笑。

阿能哥在向拜黛介绍公司——使命、团队、当前的项目。阿普只听了一半。

十分钟后,阿能哥说:"好,介绍一下团队吧。"

工程师们一个个自我介绍。拜黛用一支黑笔在一本小笔记本里写字。阿普注意到她写得很快,握笔的方式说明她经常写。

轮到他时,阿能哥说:"这位是阿普哥——我们的主力全栈,在这里四年。"

阿普举了举手。"阿普,你好。"

"你好,阿普先生。"拜黛回答。她的声音很柔——不是大学生那种柔,是经历过一些事的人的那种柔。

团队介绍完后,阿能哥说:"好,拜黛,简单介绍下自己。"

拜黛站了起来。"大家好。我叫拜黛——蒲丽雅·桑卡威赛。"

"我在朱拉大学读ICD,在一家咨询公司工作了两年。谢谢大家的欢迎。期待和大家一起工作。"

短。专业。没有绕弯。

阿能哥转向阿普。"阿普哥,麻烦带拜黛熟悉一下。Inventory v2项目下周开始,她会负责UX。"

阿普点头。"好的。"

"拜黛小姐,有什么想问团队的吗?"

拜黛思考了两秒。"只有一个问题——大家平时几点下班?"

有几个人轻轻笑了。在Briskly,"九点前下班"就算不错了。

阿能哥笑了。"看情况……一般七点左右。"

拜黛点头。"谢谢。"

大家起身,回到各自的位置。阿普跟着阿派。

阿派小声说:"阿普哥,再去跟她打个招呼吧。"

"为啥?"

"你是团队前辈。刚才那句话太冷淡了。至少友好点。"

阿普回头。拜黛还坐在原位,正把笔记本和笔放进包里。

阿普走过去。"拜黛。"她抬起头。"再说一次,我是阿普。欢迎。代码库有问题的话,随时找我。"

话还没说完,他的脑子已经热得发烫,想着自己的嘴正在制造什么句子。然后——脱口而出。

"呃……拜莲。"

*拜莲。*

拜黛安静了半秒。然后是一个小小的微笑。

"拜黛,阿普先生。"

"……对。是。拜黛。抱歉。"

"没关系。"

阿普走回自己的位置,脑子里乱成一团,脸发烫。他在心里冲自己大喊:*拜莲*是甜品店的名字。*拜黛*是放在甜品里的香兰叶。不一样的东西。不一样的意思。完全不一样。

阿派在桌边等着。"拜莲?"

"闭嘴。"

"阿普哥……凌晨一点睡,9:47起床——我知道哦,我看到今早standup的消息了。"

"中午吃饭了吗?"

中午。

阿派带阿普去办公室旁边的盖浇饭店。阿普点了海南鸡饭。阿派点了猪脚饭。

"阿普哥,你到底是不是有女朋友的人,我为啥替你这么不值?"

"吃。"

"阿普哥——不是,不是女朋友的事。听着。从上个月那次deploy出问题开始,你就开始放任自己了。"

"没出问题。阿能哥及时revert了。"

"阿普哥,我认真的。"

阿普抬起头。阿派正在吃猪脚,头都没回。

"你今年要二十九了,阿普哥。"

"年底才二十九。还不是现在。"

"……嗯。"

阿派继续吃。沉默了两分钟。

阿普心里想:今天是身边的人开始说我不想听的话的日子。昨晚是妈妈。现在是朋友。明天大概又是拜黛。

午饭后,阿普回到位置上,打开了笔记本电脑。还有五个小时下班。

他打开了昨天回避的那个stacktrace——不是昨晚修过的那个,是今早新出现的另一个。

他工作。真正地工作。今天第一次,连续四十分钟。

15:12。

拜黛在Slack的#engineering频道里发消息:"大家好,我想为Inventory v2启动设计系统的audit。这周谁有空陪我过一遍代码库?"

有几个人回复——但阿能哥点名让他对接,他知道自己该回。

"阿普可以。明天下午一点行吗?"

拜黛:"可以。谢谢。"

就这样。

阿普看着屏幕——意识到自己刚刚把生命中的一个小时排给了需要全神贯注的事情。而平时,他允许自己每个会都迟到。

16:30。

办公室开始安静下来。有人在桌边吃零食。有人在Slack上聊天。阿普继续工作——今天是几个月来第一次没打开Twitter。

17:48。

拜黛站起身。背上包。从他的位置旁边走过,走向电梯。

阿普没看清她有没有看他。他假装继续打字三秒,直到布包的边缘从他眼角扫过。

她走了之后,他真正地抬起头——窗户的玻璃又一次映出他的脸。

眼下还是黑圈。

之前用水拍平的头发——现在又翘起来了,和原来一样。

20:30。

他下班了。走出大楼。下着小雨。这间办公室附近没有公交车站,只有摩的。回家二十五泰铢。

坐在摩的后座上,风从脸边呼啸而过,小雨在眼角飘洒,阿普打开手机——妹妹从清迈发来了一条新消息。

"阿普哥!妈说你住了一晚医院?你没事吧?"

阿普读了。没回——就在雨落在脸上的那一刻,他在胸骨下面感觉到一种几个月没感觉过的东西。也许是一点点愧疚。也许是有人记得自己的那种感觉。

他到十一点都没回。

到家了。阿普打开冰箱。两包方便面。一罐咖啡。那瓶被遗忘的矿泉水。

他伸手——拿了水。

喝了。

一个小小的念头闪过:这是第一次他先伸手拿了那瓶水。

然后他想:这个念头没什么意义。只是巧合。

阿普12:30睡着了——比昨晚早三个小时。

但他还不知道是早了三个小时。

他只是睡着了。