The Morning time
401 Words
Maki & Art
Setting: Morning of the wedding day, Bangkok. A quiet corner of the palace garden, where frangipani trees shade a stone bench. The world is still, just before the celebration begins.
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The palace was awake, but not alive yet.
Staff moved like shadows, setting the stage. The sky was a soft silver-blue. The air held the scent of rain-soaked earth and marigold garlands. Birds chirped like a faraway score.
Maki found Art sitting barefoot on a stone bench, his shoes in his lap, laces undone.
“You’re not dressed,” she said gently.
Art didn’t look up. “It’s not my wedding.”
“You’re still the best man.”
“I might be the worst man today.”
She sat beside him without a word.
“Want to talk about it?” she asked.
Art let out a long breath. “You ever fall for someone at the worst possible time?”
“Yes,” she said simply. “Your brother.”
He turned to her, startled.
Maki smiled, not unkindly. “Ayan wasn’t easy to love. Still isn’t. But he loved me in this quiet, unwavering way. He made space for me to be wild, and I learned how to be still with him.”
Art didn’t speak. His fingers curled tighter around the laces.
She went on, voice soft but sure:
“You’re not your brother, Art. And Arcon isn’t me. You don’t need to follow someone else’s story.”
He swallowed. “He’s scared. Of what we are. Of being something people whisper about in hotel lobbies.”
“And you?”
“I’m scared too,” he admitted. “But I still want it.”
Maki reached over, squeezed his hand.
“Then stop waiting for the world to approve. You’re not asking for permission. You’re just choosing him.”
The silence that followed wasn’t heavy—it was safe. Grounded. Like standing in the eye of a storm and realizing the sky hasn’t fallen yet.
Then she nudged him, teasing, “Also—get dressed. I love you, but if you ruin my entrance photos, I will throw you in the river.”
Art let out a laugh—real this time. Full.
“I love you too, Maki.”
She leaned her head against his shoulder. “Good. Then go fall in love properly. Loudly. And in great lighting.”
- Writer
