Haunted by Summer Nights

Darkness and suffocation—those were the only things that ruled his mind. His throat, as parched as a desert, yearned for even a single drop of water or a bead of sweat to quench the agonizing thirst."Water... please..."Then, his body collapsed onto the cold floor, losing all sense of reality. His last fading consciousness clung to the sensation of a thick, salty liquid dripping onto his lips. Believing it to be water, he swallowed it greedily. Only when the burning thirst began to subside did he try to close his lips, wanting to stop."Drink more. Drink while it's still there."A voice—the familiar voice of a young man. He tried to refuse, but the man firmly squeezed his cheeks, forcing his mouth open to feed him more of that liquid.As the thirst vanished, clarity returned. The "water" he thought he was drinking was actually a viscous, dark red liquid with a metallic, pungent scent. The moment he realized it was blood, he fought back in horror. It wasn't that the other man was too strong; it was that he himself was so utterly drained that he lacked even a spark of strength to resist. The blood, which had been dripping, began to pour like a torrent as he struggled. That was his final memory before the world went black. The rhythmic beep of the heart monitor echoed steadily through the room. The boy on the bed had just escaped the jaws of death, his entire body pale as a ghost. A woman gently stroked his hair, her voice trembling. "My son... please wake up." She clutched his hand. In her eyes, vulnerability, sorrow, and fear were intertwined. The flames of maternal anxiety seemed to have consumed her. The dark circles under her eyes were a testament to countless sleepless nights. As she kissed his hand, a flicker of hope ignited in her gaze. She felt a faint, almost imperceptible squeeze from his palm. "Son!" She frantically pressed the call button for the nurses and doctors. Within moments, the room was filled with medical staff. Her son had finally opened his eyes. Though he couldn't speak clearly yet, his condition had stabilized. "Congratulations, Daw Yi Yi. Your son is out of danger," the doctor said in cheerful Thai. Daw Yi Yi felt a surge of gratitude toward the Heavens for answering her prayers. "Son, what would you like to eat?" Since the bed had been adjusted to a sitting position, he spent his time staring out the window. Ever since he regained consciousness, he had been lost in thought, his mind drifting elsewhere. His mother squeezed his shoulder. "Son, what are you thinking about?" He snapped back to reality. "Oh... what did you say?" She sighed quietly. The doctors said his senses were fine, yet his soul seemed to be elsewhere. "I asked what you want to eat." "I'm not hungry." "You must eat, son. You're still recovering." "Anything is fine, Mom. But... no meat, please. And stay away from anything red. I can't stand the sight of red food." He didn't even notice when she left. His heart was still trapped amidst the ruins of a collapsed building in Mandalay. His past wasn't sweet; it was a nightmare of suffocation, the stench of decay, and the paralyzing fear of a youth who didn't know if tomorrow would ever come. Suddenly, a chill swept through the room, colder than the air conditioning. It felt as if someone was standing right beside him. Then, a familiar whistling sound reached his ears, and Dee Nyein’s heart warmed instantly. "Is it you?" His voice didn't tremble. The scent of fresh mint filled the air—the scent of someone who used to whistle while chewing mint. As his shoulder grew heavy, as if a head was resting there, he whispered: "Nay Saw... I know it’s you."