The rain was relentless that night, drumming against the windows like a warning.
Ngwe Nay Kha had gone to his girlfriend apartment, soaked with excitement, a small box in his hand—inside, a simple silver bracelet. It was their one-year anniversary. He'd planned to surprise her.
He never expected to walk into that.
The door had been unlocked.
He stepped inside quietly.
And then he heard it—her voice. Breathy. Moaning.
"Paing …"
He froze.
She wasn't alone.
In the faint light of the bedroom, he saw her body tangled with his best friend—half-naked, her fingers knotted in Paing Say Yan's damp brown hair.
Paing was on top of her. Smiling.
And then…
he looked up.
He saw Ngwe standing there.
And he smirked.
That smirk—calm, unashamed, almost proud—was what shattered everything.
Like he wasn't shocked.
Like he wanted to be caught.
Like he was telling Ngwe, Yes, I did this. And what are you going to do about it?
Ngwe Nay Kha didn't scream.
He didn't throw a punch.
He didn't cry.
He simply stepped back, the bracelet slipping from his hand, landing in a puddle by the doorway with a soft splash.
Then, without a word, he walked out—
into the cold, unforgiving rain.
And disappeared into the night.
Four years.
That's how long Ngwe Nay Kha had been gone—vanishing like smoke after catching his girlfriend in bed with his best friend.
Four years of swallowing his rage in a foreign city he never wanted to be in.
Four years of pretending he didn't dream of strangling Paing Say Yan in his sleep.
And now, he was back.
The airport buzzed with life, but Ngwe Nay Kha heard none of it. His fingers twitched by his sides—the old urge to bite his nails creeping in. He clenched his fists instead.
No. Not this time.
The plane touched down on the tarmac outside Yangon, Myanmar, but inside the cabin, Ngwe Nay Kha's heart was anything but calm.
He stood and adjusted the cuffs of his black button-up shirt. Every movement precise, quiet, almost robotic. A flight attendant smiled politely and stepped aside. He nodded once and walked off the plane without looking back.
He had no reason to.
Outside the window, the sky hung low and grey, thick with humid air. He refused to feel anything—not the bittersweet scent of home, not the pull of memory crawling up his spine, not even the tight ache in his chest when his phone buzzed.
Mom: "My son, Mom and your aunt are waiting outside."
Ngwe Nay Kha: "Yes, Mom. Landing now."
He muted the thread.
He hadn't opened any other chats in four years.
As if betrayal hadn't rotted in the walls.
"Nay Kha, my son!!" his mother cried, running toward him with open arms the moment he stepped into the grand foyer.
He let her hug him. He smiled. Let her cry against his shoulder.
His aunt, ever composed, stood behind her with misty eyes and a rare gentleness in her voice.
"It's good to have you back."
Ngwe Nay Kha nodded. "It's good to be home."
He lied through his teeth.
It was a day like no other.
In Burmese tradition, when someone returns from abroad, the house becomes a beacon—overflowing with family, relatives, neighbors, friends. From sunrise, it brims with life: warm laughter, curious questions, the scent of home-cooked meals. It's more than a reunion—it's a celebration woven with tradition, with belonging.
And now, as Ngwe Nay Kha stepped into his childhood home, it was full. Familiar faces everywhere.
He hadn't felt this surrounded in years.
And strangely, part of him… liked it.
But the questions came fast.
"Ngwe Nay Kha! Why did you stay away for so long?"
"You didn't even come back once in four years?"
"You look like a foreigner now—so handsome!"
"Do you have a girlfriend?"
"You've grown so much!"
"Such a gentleman now. Four years made a difference!"
"Studying in the UK? So impressive!"
He smiled, bowed politely, replied with practiced charm.
But inside, his mind went blank.
So many questions. Too fast. Too loud.
As an introvert, he felt like drowning—suffocating in noise, unsure which question to answer first… or if he had to answer any of them at all. So he just nodded and smiled.
It was awkward.
Until he saw him.
Just a shadow.
Just the sound of familiar footsteps.
His stomach twisted.
Paing Say Yan.
"Nay Kha," his mother said softly, touching his arm. "Your childhood friend Paing is here. Go say hello?"
"I'll stay here," he replied without blinking.
She hesitated. "Sweetheart..."
"I just need to use the bathroom. I'll be back."
She gave him a quiet look, then walked off.
From the shadows near the kitchen, Ngwe Nay Kha watched.
Paing Say Yan.
He stepped into the house with the same casual ease he'd always had—like he still belonged here. His brown hair was shorter now, still messy in that lazy, I-don't-care way. He looked taller. Broader. Still disgustingly charming.
He smiled at his mom, hugged her like she was his own, laughed with the relatives.
Like nothing had happened.
Like he hadn't stabbed his childhood best friend in the back.
Like he hadn't slept with Sapal Khin.
Ngwe Nay Kha's fists clenched in his pockets, fingernails digging into his palms.
He bit his thumbnail until it cracked and bled.
He didn't even feel it.
"Ngwe"
The voice came from behind him—smooth, casual.
The world froze.
Ngwe Nay Kha turned slowly. He already knew.
Paing stood just a few feet away, one hand in his pocket, a lazy grin curling on his lips.
"Long time no see."
Ngwe Nay Kha stared.
No smile.
No greeting.
Just silence.
Paing Say Yan raised an eyebrow. "No welcome hug?"
Don't react. Don't give him the satisfaction.
Ngwe Nay Kha tilted his head, voice low. "I don't hug trash."
Paing Say Yan laughed, brushing his hand through his hair. "Still got that sharp tongue, huh?"
He stepped closer, voice dropping into a murmur. "Miss me, My babe?"
The old nickname—once warm, now a knife—cut deep.
Ngwe Nay Kha's control snapped.
"Go to hell."
Paing Say Yan laughed again. Like it was all a joke.
"You shouldn't be here."
"Your mom invited me."
"You should've said no."
"Why?" Paing Say Yan's smile stayed, but his eyes narrowed. "Afraid you can't handle seeing me again?"
Ngwe Nay Kha stepped forward, close enough that only Paing Say Yan could hear.
"If I could kill someone without ruining my mother's happiness…
you'd already be dead."
Paing Say Yan smiled.
Actually smiled.
"Damn. I missed you." His voice softened. "That's what I missed the most."
Ngwe Nay Kha's hand twitched.
But just then, a relative passed by and greeted Paing Say Yan warmly. He turned, switching on his easy charm like nothing had happened.
He didn't even look back.
Ngwe Nay Kha slipped away.
He stepped into a small room near the kitchen, closing the door behind him.
He needed air.
He needed silence.
The door clicked open.
Paing Say Yan again
Ngwe Nay Kha's shoulders tensed.
"Why are you running away, Kitty?" He teased.
"I thought I told you not to talk to me."
"You didn't," Paing Say Yan replied, leaning against the doorframe. "You only said you'd kill me. Not the same thing."
Ngwe Nay Kha turned, his eyes dark. "What do you want?"
Paing Say Yan's smirk wavered. Just a little. Something flickered in his black eyes.
"I just wanted to see if you'd changed."
"I have," Ngwe Nay Kha reply coldly. "I'm not the same person anymore."
Paing Say Yan looked down. For once, his voice lost its edge.
"You never let me explain."
"There's nothing to explain."
"You think I did that to hurt you?"
"You think I care why you did it?" Ngwe Nay Kha's voice shook—not with weakness, but with rage. "You were my best friend. I trusted you more than anyone."
Paing Zay Yan didn't answer.
"I didn't care that she cheated." Ngwe Nay Kha's voice cracked. "I cared that it was you."
Paing Say Yan looked at him. Really looked.
"Do you still hate me?"
Ngwe Nay Kha stepped closer. Inches away.
"I hate you so much," he whispered, "that sometimes I dream of stabbing you in your sleep."
Paing Say Yan didn't flinch.
He simply said, "Then maybe we're even."
"…What?"
Paing Say Yan met his eyes. "Because I hate myself too."
And then…
he walked away.
Leaving Ngwe Nay Kha alone.
Fists shaking.
Heart pounding against his ribs.