The grandfather's record shop still stood in the same rather inconspicuous location. A mass of loneliness enveloped the somber shop, yet the young man's figure did not hesitate to walk inside.
Music was already playing softly. The melody lulled time to move along slowly. The old man, who was leaning back reading a book on his favorite chair, adjusted his glasses to stare more clearly at the new customer.
"You've been gone quite a while."
Aksorn smiled in acknowledgment, stepping inside to sit at the table immediately upon hearing the hoarse voice address him. Grandfather poured tea for him as he always did. However, this time, the junior's purpose was not to come and buy records.
"Are you well?"
"Well enough," the shop owner said in a teasing voice, staring intently at the person before him. "Has something good happened?"
"Why do you ask that?"
"Your eyes look happy."
Aksorn laughed brightly. He answered Grandfather's question by placing the brown envelope he had brought with him on the table. The old man's milky-white eyes narrowed, staring at it in surprise.
"What's this?"
"Open it and see."
The old man complied out of curiosity, deftly opening the brown envelope before pulling out a thick stack of paper from inside.
"You wrote this yourself?" he asked, flipping through each page with interest as the person sitting across from him nodded in confirmation.
"Yes."
"I never knew you wrote books too." Although feeling pleased, the elderly man turned to look at the young man's face with some confusion. "But why did you bring it to me?"
Aksorn met the other's gaze determinedly, his expression so seriously earnest that the old man couldn't look away.
"This is a manuscript that is very important to me, and I..." Please. Please acknowledge this immense hope.
"I want you to be the one to publish this book."
The music resonated loudly for a second. The old man stared at the person before him for a long moment in surprise, before placing the manuscript back on the table.
"I can't do it. I have nothing left now. Let someone else more capable than me take care of it."
Aksorn's eyes did not show any hint of despair. Instead, they grew more determined than before.
"You are the most suitable person for this novel."
The old man let out a soft sigh, even though the truth was, he wanted very much to return to doing what he loved.
"Why does it have to be me?"
"My mother, the one who wrote this story, once sent it to your publishing house for consideration. But before the novel was finished, she passed away..." For a moment, sadness enveloped this record shop. Aksorn lowered his eyes to hide the flicker of emotion in his gaze. "I decided to continue writing it to its conclusion and sent the manuscript to the same publisher Mother sent it to twenty years ago, because that must have been her wish."
It was a coincidence that made the old shop owner's heart race. But, he had nothing left...
"By myself alone, I probably couldn't do it."
"It's not just you." The voice that spoke up made them both turn to look. The young woman walked in with a smile so clear it made the old man stand up in shock.
"How did you get here?"
"That's not important," Napha said before picking up the manuscript from the table and handing it to the person who was still stunned on the spot. "What's important is whether we dare to take this risk again."
"But..."
"Manuscript delivery, Boss."
The moment of decision passed slowly. Then, a wrinkled hand reached out to take the manuscript 'Aksorn nai Khwam Songjam' (Aksorn in Memory) and hold it, before his tone quickly became brisk and lively.
"Please handle the documents for me now. I'll probably need some time to read this manuscript."
Aksorn smiled broadly, turning to look at Songjam, the one who had brought Napha here, with happiness.
His dream was close to being realized.
The book launch for 'Aksorn nai Khwam Songjam' was held at a gallery in the heart of the city. The organizers decorated the small space with mirrors. A record player was playing Wan's song, accompanied by the noisy chatter of people.
Aksorn stepped onto the stage upon hearing the host call his name. He made eye contact with as many people within the event as possible before sitting down on the prepared chair, feeling quite awkward.
Good grief... being the center of attention is sometimes awkward.
The interview began after that. What Aksorn was most happy about today was probably that everyone he knew had all gathered together in this one place.
Peach was sitting next to Auntie, the owner of the dorm, happily gossiping about the drinks served throughout the event. Meanwhile, Grandfather, the record shop owner and the one who had published this book, was standing talking with you, the capable editor. Actually, this event could happen because Grandfather and Napha had intentionally organized it to celebrate the publishing house's return.
Phîi Nai went so far as to close his shop to come congratulate him. Next to him was Father, who had a stern face but was dressed better than anyone else. Aksorn smiled amusedly, before his eyes searched for another person, wondering if he would make it in time or not. No.
"Can you tell us what your pen name means?"
The host's question shook Aksorn from his reverie. He turned to look at her face, remembering the owner of the name who was sleeping soundly in a place extremely far away.
"Likhit. It's the name of the most important person in my life," he answered, looking at Father, who was also smiling at him. "I use Likhit as a pen name because I don't want this name to disappear along with her body."
Silence ensued with no one saying anything. After a moment, the host hurriedly changed the subject to lighten the atmosphere from earlier.
"Many people are curious, there was a period where the novel stopped updating for several months. Where did you go?"
Aksorn let out a smile. He just needed time to continue writing from where his mother had left off, and it took quite a while.
"No reason. Sometimes those stories have their own timing."
"An answer truly fitting of you," the young woman teased, before her eyes shone with excitement she couldn't hide for the next question. "It's said that you wrote this story from your real life, is that true?"
The writer laughed evasively, shaking his head even though the answer wasn't firmly one way or the other.
"If I said yes, would you believe me?"
"Well, things like that should only exist in novels, shouldn't they?"
"Yes, I think so too."
"But perhaps Aksorn and Songjam could have real counterparts."
"For me, they have real counterparts."
That means, they still exist.
"Answering like that, I'm starting to believe it's a true story."
"Well, it is true."
A wave of laughter rose. Aksorn was secretly glad that everyone was enjoying it, because if so, he wouldn't have to lie to anyone.
"If that's the case, what was 'Aksorn nai Khwam Songjam' (Aksorn in Memory) written for?"
Aksorn fell silent, tilting his head in thought just as the figure of a young man walked into the event. He held the newcomer's gaze, conveying the answer for Songjam to receive simultaneously.
"To record my most valuable memories through words."
Songjam stopped walking, smiling warmly in response to those words now etched into his feelings.
"It's not just me. Many other writers are probably the same, recording a fragment of memory through their words, right? I am just one of them."
Only, for him, it wasn't just a fragment, but everything...
The interview continued, so Songjam chose to go wait next to his friend who was sitting in the very back row instead. They didn't speak more than making teasing eyebrows at each other, before listening to the person they loved so much with all the focus they had.
The event ended and people dispersed. Songjam walked towards the figure who was saying goodbye to his father within the event, taking the chance to wave goodbye to his friend as Phallop was stepping out.
"Coffee," Songjam said, handing a hot Americano to the person who turned to face him. The aroma of coffee was so fragrant that Aksorn's tiredness vanished completely, but he couldn't help but make eye contact with the young man before teasing him immediately.
"Thought you weren't coming."
"Sorry I'm late. It was busy at the hospital today."
"Can I not accept the apology? Not until you take me to walk around the gallery together." Aksorn grinned widely, which made the young man unable to stop himself from smiling back.
"Don't wander away from me."
The figures of the two young men walked side by side towards the exhibition area, where numerous art pieces hung on the walls, easily catching their attention.
"Remember? You're the one who told me to start writing books." Aksorn recalled the various events that had happened in his life with Songjam, from meeting, bonding, separating, and returning to each other. Coming to this day, those stories had settled into shared memories that the two of them owned.
"I remember."
"The story I wrote for you back then, it's been included in its entirety in the 'Aksorn nai Khwam Songjam' book."
"I've read all of it." Songjam could still remember the feeling when he saw that book. He was excited like crazy when Aksorn said he would be the first to touch it.
"How was it?"
"I could tell the difference between your writing style and your mother's."
"How so?"
"Likhit's style is gentle yet straightforward, while your style is full of poignant emotion and meaning. I almost died from emotion reading the parts you wrote."
"So, is that good or not?"
"It's good. Thank you for working so hard."
"Thank you for staying and taking care of me during those late nights I was writing too. It would have been terrible without you."
"You did well. Don't forget to thank yourself too."
They both knew well... every single word in that story was proof of our existence. Therefore, it was profoundly important.
Their conversation faded, allowing the music playing in the distance to have the loudest voice now. Aksorn stopped walking, looking at one photograph that caught his interest and made him stop there.
The coffee cup was empty.
So Aksorn spoke up.
"Keep love in your heart..."
Songjam followed the gaze of the person beside him. It was a photograph of a garden full of flowers. The soft sunlight hit it, creating beautiful colored light, and he understood what Aksorn was saying.
"...a life without love is like a garden without sunshine. When the flowers wither, and die."
"You asked me about this once."
"I got a perfect score because I answered following your suggestion," Aksorn stated the truth, even though he didn't even turn to look at his conversation partner.
"What was I like back then?"
"A man full of bitterness apparent all over his forehead."
"That's terrible."
"Yeah, quite terrible."
Songjam turned to look at his lover's profile, etching our words from now on, that they would not end.
"Now my garden has sunshine."
"Are the flowers blooming?" Aksorn turned to ask with interest, a smile adorning his face. Our conversation was strange and probably only we could understand each other.
"The garden is full of flowers."
"Will you accept me as the gardener? I like taking care of flowers."
"You were the one who planted them in the first place, didn't you know..."
We laughed together, for a moment filled with overwhelming happiness. This is life in the same world. No glass partitions, no getting lost in the abyss of time. This place would have only two people who love each other.
Walking side by side amidst the many people of the world will continue to be.
From now on, and
forever....
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