Chapter 1

Jes lived in the quiet spaces between moments. He found them in the way light filtered through café windows, how steam curled from the rim of a fresh cup of coffee, and in the gentle, fleeting expressions people wore when they thought no one was looking. His world was framed through a camera lens, and that was how he liked it.

The morning was slow, the way Jes preferred. The café was his sanctuary—a modest place tucked between high-rises, the kind most people passed by without noticing. But those who did step inside found something warm, familiar. The scent of roasted beans lingered in the air, mingling with the soft hum of jazz playing from an old speaker in the corner. Customers trickled in, regulars who exchanged quiet smiles with Jes as he worked behind the counter, his camera always within arm's reach.

Photography wasn't just a hobby for him; it was a way of seeing the world without having to be part of it. Jes wasn't one for the spotlight. He had no interest in fame or attention, no desire to be seen. He liked observing, catching pieces of life in frozen stills. To him, a single candid shot could tell a deeper story than any posed photograph ever could.

Outside, the city moved fast, a blur of people chasing something—money, dreams, recognition. Jes had never been drawn to that kind of life. He had learned long ago that some people craved the world's attention, while others preferred to watch from the edges. He was the latter.

"Jes, your order's ready."

He turned to see P'Gwen, the café owner, setting a small plate on the counter. A croissant, his usual. Jes gave a small nod of thanks before reaching for it.

"Did you bring your camera today?" Gwen asked, wiping his hands on a towel.

Jes gestured toward the vintage film camera resting beside the espresso machine. "Always."

Gwen chuckled. "One of these days, you're going to start taking pictures of people instead of just their hands and coffee cups."

Jes smirked but said nothing. He didn't do portraits, at least not in the way most photographers did. There was something too intimate about looking directly into someone's eyes through a lens. He preferred details—the way fingers curled around a warm mug, the crinkle of laughter lines, the soft way someone reached for a sugar packet without thinking. Things that went unnoticed.

He had learned to keep his world small, contained. Life was easier that way. He had no interest in stepping into the chaos of the public sphere. His work, his photography, was his own, and that was enough.

.............................................................

Ngern's world was anything but quiet. It was loud, bright, and demanding. His life belonged to the public, his face plastered on billboards, magazines, and TV screens. Fame was a whirlwind he had stepped into years ago, and now it carried him along without pause.

Every day was a performance. He smiled on cue, laughed at interviews, and gave the perfect answers that kept fans charmed. He was used to it by now, the constant attention, the expectations. But no matter how much noise surrounded him, there was always a hollow space inside that nothing could quite fill.

Tonight was another event, another flashing of cameras and rehearsed words. He stood at the edge of a grand hall, dressed in designer clothes picked by a stylist, sipping champagne he didn't really want. Around him, fellow actors and celebrities mingled, their laughter blending into the hum of the party. Everything felt artificial—because it was.

"Smile, Ngern," his manager whispered as she passed by. "The cameras are watching."

He did as he was told, his lips curling into the charming grin that made audiences swoon. It wasn't that he hated this life. It had given him everything—money, success, admiration. But it had also taken something away. Something real.

Later that night, when the event was over, Ngern sat in the backseat of a black SUV, staring out at the city lights. He scrolled through his phone, dozens of unread messages from people who saw him as a brand rather than a person.

He sighed, locking the screen. He wasn't sure what he was looking for anymore.