I have something to say." A slight smile appeared on the man's face with a piece of paper slightly wrinkled in his hand. His school uniform is filled with unsightly traces of multi-coloured fountain pens. He looked at the owner of the natural brown hair, raised his lips and looked deep into his eyes as dark as the twilight sky. Last night, he had put a lot of words in his head, reflected several times in his mind, hoping that what he is about to do would become the most striking and memorable moment of his life, knowing in his heart that it would only be a slight dust stained in the memory of the other party. "I..." "..." "I like you." The listener showed no expression on his face because he had always experienced confessions like this. His eyes looked at the words written on the young man's school uniform. In their school, students write something about someone's uniform every semester. "Don't forget us, Nuea! Come back to visit us one day. ” "Who will let me copy the homework now? ” "Take Care Of Yourself. Don't forget me. ” "Who will be in charge of the cuts for us now? ” That is "I know you've never met me before." The words on his uniform are like saying goodbye. "We never talked to each other, and you may not know anything about me." "..." "But I know everything about you." Droplets of water too hot to be in the rain have flowed on his cheeks, even a sob does not escape from his lips in front of the man about seven centimetres taller than him. These hands that are too beautiful for a boy trembled while holding a piece of paper rolled in a cylinder. "Thank you for making me smile every day, something I never thought possible. Thank you, Khabkluen." He made a smile in tears afterwards. Silence wrapped around them as the strong wind breeze passed between the two. Over time, he knew he had to leave. Each confession seemed remarkable because it could easily be admitted and simply blown away by the wind. He wiped his tears with his sleeve before nodding his head, accepting the unheard-of answer, and turned to return to the car waiting for the only son of the Wattana-Wattanachot family. "Have a good flight." His beautiful chestnut-shaped lips moved, saying this deep, cold and low tone of voice as if it were a message from a father. These spoken words, his father, even his mother, spoke of such a tone, and Khabkluen imitates him perfectly. He, who heard these words after his unanswered confession, said nothing in return. He could only accelerate his pace to sore as hard as he could. Humans classify different types of waves (kluen). Independent waves are those generated by the action of winds or monsons. Some waves must conform to the gravitational force or rotation system of the Earth, Sun and Moon. However, if there is a type of wave, gravity does not have the power to drag or break. The more the waves spread, the less clearly we could see it, and before we knew it, it turned into something that splashed to the shore, leaving only unsightly wrecks. "Daonuea, why are you crying like that?" "Uncle Ya, I want to go home." In different types of people and waves... This anonymous wave (kluen) caused by Khabkluen seemed to splash for too long... It had always moved in his mind... ... Always and forever.