A HIDING PLACE

THYME'S POV (Age 18):

I walked further onto the rooftop, seeking solitude. Then I saw him.

He leaned against the railing—tall, imposing. Athletic build, sharp features. Handsome in that effortless way that makes ordinary people feel like intruders. My steps faltered, my breath catching slightly.

A familiar dread coiled tight and cold in my stomach. Just what I need. Another person invading the fragile emptiness I’d climbed six flights for. His quiet confidence felt like a physical spotlight, making my own shoulders instinctively hunch. I noted his appearance objectively—dark hair, sharp jawline—anyone would—but appreciation was instantly drowned beneath waves of nervousness. My palms started to feel clammy again. Who was he? Why here?

He turned slowly, sensing me. Dark eyes locked onto mine.

"Well, well," he said, voice deep and calm yet edged like a blade. "Not many make it up here. Fewer know I’m usually here." He pushed off the railing, stepping closer. His gaze scraped over me, and I resisted the urge to physically step back. "How’d you know? How’d you get up?"

My brain went completely blank. Words caught in my throat, forcing out a pathetic stammer. "I… I… didn’t know…" My gaze flickered away, unable to hold his intense stare, landing somewhere on the grimy concrete near his shoes. "...anyone was here."

He raised an eyebrow. Annoyance flickered. "Don’t tell me you’re another one." The calm vanished, replaced by cold precision. "You’ve been watching me. Figured out my spot. That why you’re not answering? You’re one of them?"

I froze, a chill prickling down my spine despite the rooftop sun. One of what? His admirers? The absurdity was a sudden pressure in my chest, making it hard to breathe. Me? Chasing someone? When I spend half my life running away? My silence, born from shock and a familiar inability to defend myself properly, seemed to confirm everything for him.

A humorless laugh. "Listen. I don’t have time for this." He gestured dismissively toward the stairs. "This is my space. If you’re from the fan club, leave. Now. I come here to escape stares."

The fear evaporated, replaced by a sudden, hot surge of irritation that made my hands clench into fists at my sides. His territory? The sheer arrogance of it! My voice, when it finally came out, was sharper, louder than I intended.

"Excuse me?!" A raw scoff tore loose. "Your territory? This rooftop"—my arm flung out, gesturing wildly enough that I almost lost my balance—"is on the Science building. You’re wearing Engineering colors. How does that even—"

He didn’t react. Didn’t glance. Just walked past me as if I were a particularly uninteresting patch of air. Went to a battered lounge chair in the corner. Pulled a textbook from his bag. Covered his face. Seconds later, steady breathing. Asleep.

I stared, my mouth probably hanging open. He ignored me. Completely. It was infuriating. Like I was less than air. I really wanted to kick that stupid lounge chair. Hard. Maybe with him still in it. But a familiar restraint held me back—Grandma's voice whispering don’t become what angers you. Fine. He could have his corner. I’d take mine.

My eyes landed on a chair beside him. Damn it. Of all the places.

"Just ignore him," I whispered, tiptoeing over like a thief whose clumsy footsteps suddenly felt deafening. Settled in. Leaned back. The sky stretched above—vast, blue, indifferent clouds drifting slowly. Beautiful. A small measure of the peace I'd sought returned.

Hunger twisted in my gut, sharp and insistent. My mind immediately conjured images: Som Tum, green papaya salad, glistening with lime and chili. Gai Yang—charred chicken skin, smoky aroma. Khao Niao, essential for soaking up every last bit of flavor. Mango sticky rice, dripping with sweet coconut cream. Eating here, with this sky… the thought alone made my mouth water. Peace.

"Argh," I groaned aloud, the sound embarrassingly loud in the quiet. Stupid. But he didn’t stir.

Then—GLORP.

My stomach let out a betraying roar that echoed in the rooftop quiet. Loud. Utterly mortifying. Heat flooded my face instantly. I froze, every muscle tensed. Did he hear? Oh god, please tell me he didn't hear.

Internal war: Check if he’s awake? Just a peek… No, don't be an idiot. But what if he heard?

Slowly, heart pounding, I reached. Lifted the corner of his book just a fraction of an inch.

His eyes were open. Waiting. A predatory gleam in their dark depths.

"Shit!" I yelped, scrambling backward so fast my foot caught on the chair leg, nearly sending me sprawling onto the concrete. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.

He pushed the book aside. Smirked. "Checking if I’m sleeping?"

"No! I—" Lies died in my throat. My face felt like it was radiating heat.

"Stop. You’re clearly an admirer." Arrogance cemented in his tone.

"I don’t care what you think!" Frustration ripped through me, raw and sudden. "I’m tired of being misunderstood by a bastard like you!" I turned away, stomping back to my chair, the plastic scraping loudly against the concrete.

His laugh boomed across the rooftop. "You’re funny!"

Every chuckle grated. I clenched my fists again, knuckles white. Stay calm. Don’t engage. Breathe.

Then, softer: "I was joking. I know you’re not an admirer… doubt any admirer has a stomach that sounds like a dying whale."

Heat flooded my face again. "It didn’t happen!" I mumbled the denial, knowing it was useless.

He laughed harder.

"Stop laughing, you stupid gorilla!" The words burst out before I could stop them. My hand immediately clamped over my mouth. Shit. Now he’ll crush me. I braced myself.

He tilted his head. Chuckled low, a sound that vibrated pleasantly despite my fear. "Fine. I’ll stop… Snotty Kid."

Snotty Kid? My jaw dropped. Indignation flared, hot and sharp. I'm eighteen! I'm in university! I wanted to yell. But the look in his eyes, that lingering amusement, triggered my survival instinct. Don't respond. Don't give him the satisfaction. Let the gorilla bore himself.

He sat up, swinging legs off the chair. "I’m hungry too." Pause. "Want to join me?"

My brain stalled. "Join a stranger? Do I look like a child?" Reflexive defiance shot out.

"I’ll treat you. Anything you want."

Free food. The words echoed in my head, my traitorous stomach giving another hopeful rumble. Pride screamed 'No way!', but hunger whispered, 'Think of the Som Tum!' Annoying, arrogant, definitely gorilla-like… but free.

"...Fine." I forced disinterest, shrugging one shoulder stiffly. "As long as it’s your treat."

"Okay." A genuine smile broke through—startlingly warm, crinkling the corners of his eyes. He extended a hand. "I’m Meta."

I hesitated, just for a second, then took it. Firm grip. Warm skin. "Thyme."

Silence hung thick. I nervously rubbed my thumb against my forefinger. What have I done? Escaped a mob of admirers only to walk willingly into… this guy's orbit. A free meal. That’s all it is. Definitely.

He dropped my hand, turning toward the stairs. "Coming?"

I glared at his back for a long moment. Sighed, the sound loud in the quiet air. Free food awaited. Maybe… maybe it wouldn’t be unbearable.

The lie tasted bitter, but I followed.

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2030'S THYME'S POV (Age 23):

Being forgotten by someone you love... it's like dying while still breathing. When I saw him again, every look he gave me—empty, unfamiliar—cut deeper than any knife. I thought leaving was noble. That I was freeing him from our broken past by vanishing. God, how arrogant that was. My running didn't fix anything. It just... broke us worse.

I wasn't saving him. I was a coward hiding behind some twisted idea of sacrifice. Now? I'd give anything to go back. Rip time apart if I had to. Burn every page of this tragedy we wrote. Stand there in the wreckage instead of fleeing. Face the pain. Face him. Because this? This hollow aftermath? I built it with my own hands.