Chapter 44

Sky Wongravee

I knew today was coming. We all did. But knowing doesn't make it easier.

The morning feels heavier than usual, like the air itself is pressing down on me. I wake up before my alarm, staring at the ceiling as the early light filters through my curtains. I should get up. I should move. But for a few minutes, I just lie there, listening to the quiet hum of the city outside, trying to convince myself that today is just another day.

It isn't.

Eventually, I force myself out of bed. Everything moves in slow motion—the cold splash of water against my face, the stiffness in my shoulders as I change, the weight of my bag slung over my shoulder. I go through the motions—shower, dress, grab my keys—but nothing feels real. Just moving. Just existing.

Nani leaves today.

For three weeks, I've watched him throw himself into work, bury himself in books and preparations, smiling like everything is fine. And maybe, for him, it is. Maybe he's been ready for this all along, and I'm the only one still stuck, still trying to figure out what to do with the space he's leaving behind.

We haven't really talked about it—not in the way that matters. There have been casual mentions, updates on his packing, brief answers to our questions about where he'll be staying, what his schedule will be like. He's told us he'll be busy but that he'll make time to call. That he'll send pictures, keep us updated.

But we haven't talked about what happens after.

What happens to us after.

The ride to the airport is quiet. I don't bother with music. My thoughts are already loud enough. Outside, the city passes by in a blur—cars weaving through traffic, pedestrians rushing across crosswalks, the distant hum of life continuing as if today is like any other.

But it's not.

By the time I arrive, the others are already waiting near the departure area. Dew and Win stand close together, their hands brushing occasionally in that unconscious way couples do, like they don't even realize they're reaching for each other. Joong, Dunk, Aou, Boom, Perth, and Santa linger nearby, talking quietly, but there's an unspoken tension in the way we're all standing—like we're holding our breath, waiting for something none of us are ready for.

And then I see him.

Nani stands near his parents, dressed casually but still put together in that effortless way of his. A simple sweatshirt and jeans, a thick coat draped over his arm. His suitcase rests by his side, his passport tucked into his hand, fingers curled tightly around it. He's smiling as he talks to his mom, nodding at whatever she's saying, but there's something in his eyes—something unreadable, something distant.

For a second, I just watch.

Then, as if sensing me, Nani turns. Our gazes meet.

And just like every other time these past three weeks, he smiles.

It's small, barely there, but it's real.

I exhale slowly, forcing my feet to move, closing the distance between us.

The moment I step into the group, the conversation shifts. Everyone takes their turn—Win ruffles Nani's hair, muttering something about not forgetting to call. Dew gives him a playful shove, teasing, "Don't be a stranger, son." Joong and Dunk hug him one after the other, and Aou and Boom tell him to send pictures, to keep them updated. Perth and Santa chime in with their own remarks, teasing him about coming back with a British accent.

Nani laughs at all of it. His voice is light, easy, but I notice the way his fingers tighten around his passport, the way his grip lingers a little too long when he hugs each of them back.

Then, his parents step forward.

His mom pulls him in, wrapping her arms around him tightly, whispering something I can't hear against his hair. He closes his eyes for a brief second, like he's holding onto the moment, before pulling away. When she finally lets go, there's a slight shine in her eyes, but she blinks it away quickly. His dad doesn't say much, just claps a firm hand on Nani's shoulder, nodding in that silent way dads do when words fall short.

Nani takes a breath.

And then he turns to me.

For a moment, neither of us speaks.

"Sky," he says finally, and somehow, just my name is enough to make my chest tighten.

I want to say a lot of things. I want to tell him that London's lucky to have him, that I know he's going to do amazing things. I want to tell him that I'll miss him, that the past years of knowing him—really knowing him—have changed me in ways I don't even fully understand yet.

But all I manage is, "Don't forget us."

Nani's expression softens, something flickering across his face. "Like I ever could."

The overhead announcement cuts through the moment. Final call for international boarding.

Nani exhales slowly, gripping his suitcase handle a little tighter.

And then, without thinking, he steps forward and pulls me into a hug.

It's quick, almost too quick, but in that second, I feel everything—the warmth, the familiarity, the quiet understanding between us. My arms tighten around him just slightly, a silent way of saying I don't want this to be goodbye.

When he pulls back, he looks at me for a long moment, eyes searching mine.

Then he steps away.

A few more goodbyes. A final wave.

And then he's walking toward the gate.

We watch until he disappears from view.

And just like that, he's gone.