CHAPTER 6: THE DISTANCE BETWEEN THREADS
1595 Words
Wednesday, 5 August 2026
JARA Studio, Stutong, Kuching — 3:15 P.M. (MYT)
The signed Project KIZUNA addendum lay open at the centre of the table.
Beside it, three labels had replaced the hotel’s original production list.
Reception panel.
Guest-suite panel.
Furniture application.
Valerie stood over the revised schedule while Munirah adjusted the dates on her tablet. Indra watched through the conference screen from Kuala Lumpur, his jacket removed and his expression sharpened by the hour.
“Three prototypes,” he said. “Not fifty sets.”
“Three concepts for evaluation,” Valerie corrected. “Nothing has been approved for production.”
“And the next discussion?”
“Betong.”
Munirah stopped typing. “Friday afternoon?”
“If Uncle Edwin agrees.”
Indra glanced towards another window on his screen. “He replied ten minutes ago. He wants the drawings first.”
“I’ll bring them.”
“And Belaja?”
“Later.”
Indra looked back at her. “Later as in another day?”
“Later as in after the community decides whether he should enter the room.”
The answer came without hesitation.
Valerie had respected the way Shinji accepted correction that morning. She had also noticed the brief pause in his hand around hers—the faint current that neither of them acknowledged.
Neither fact gave him permission.
Munirah changed the travel schedule. “You and me on Friday. Shinji and Aris remain in Kuching until Edwin confirms.”
“Yes.”
Indra leaned closer to the camera. “Does he understand that a signed contract is not access?”
“He understood it before I said it.”
“That sounded almost defensive.”
“It was an observation.”
Munirah’s mouth moved, but she wisely kept the comment to herself.
Valerie closed the addendum.
“Send Uncle Edwin the three concepts. No investor notes. No London branding. Only the drawings, materials and proposed use.”
Indra nodded. “And if the answer is no?”
“Then the project changes.”
The screen went dark several minutes later.
Valerie remained beside the table, one hand resting near the empty space between the three labels.
For reasons she could not explain, the absence looked intentional.
Urban Residences, Kuching — 5:40 P.M. (MYT)
The studio felt quieter without Valerie in it.
Aris stood before the revised reception rendering while Shinji read Edwin Jubang’s message on the tablet.
Concepts received. Valerie arrives Friday. Wait for confirmation before travelling.
Aris folded his arms. “We could send a cultural liaison ahead.”
“No.”
“It would help prepare the discussion.”
“The community does not need to be prepared for us.”
“They may want clarification before we arrive.”
“Valerie will give them what they need.”
Aris studied him. “You trust her.”
“I trust that she will not simplify their answer for our convenience.”
The literal serpent had vanished from the rendering. In its place, interrupted lines crossed three separate surfaces, suggesting a body that could never be seen whole from one position.
At the bottom of the revised notes, Valerie had written:
Protection is not always visible. Sometimes it is the reason the river remains calm.
Shinji read the sentence again.
“She has not granted us access,” Aris said.
“No.”
“Does that frustrate you?”
Shinji placed the tablet on the table.
“No. It makes the work worth earning properly.”
Aris looked towards the untouched presentation case.
“So we wait.”
“We wait.”
Outside the windows, late sunlight moved across Kuching without entering the room.
Damai Peninsula, Santubong — 7:30 P.M. (MYT)
Joel used the catalogue number to locate the museum’s digitised record.
The same photograph appeared on the laptop between them.
A young woman stood near the textile display, her face partly turned away. A dark male reflection remained trapped in the glass behind her, blurred enough to resist certainty.
No new detail emerged.
“No higher-resolution scan?” Killian asked.
“Not in the public archive.”
“Metadata?”
“Date, exhibition title and collection reference. Nothing identifying the visitors.”
Joel opened a second page. “I requested other photographs from the same event. Not another scan of this one. Other angles, if they exist.”
Killian looked at the reflection.
He knew the angle of those shoulders. The stillness. The way the figure seemed to stand outside the logic of the room.
But familiarity was not proof.
“I think my mind wants it to be me,” he said.
Joel turned towards him. “Why?”
“Because the alternative is recognising someone who never existed.”
“You have slept badly for three nights. You are exhausted, and you have spent hours staring at textiles and museum displays while convincing yourself they contain messages.”
“You think I imagined it.”
“I think you need evidence before deciding you are haunted by a photograph.”
Killian’s phone began to vibrate.
James Sil.
“Tell me the flight changed again,” Killian said.
“It did. Your first leg leaves Kuching tomorrow night. You will connect onward and reach London before the campaign review.”
“What else?”
“The Autumn/Winter team wants final print approval. The documentary contract meeting is Friday afternoon. The studio reshoot remains Saturday morning.”
James paused.
“Dr. Brick confirmed Monday, eleven thirty.”
“No.”
“That was not a question.”
“I do not need a doctor.”
“You called me from a museum sounding as though you had misplaced seventeen years.”
“I was tired.”
“Excellent. Dr. Brick treats tired people.”
Killian looked again at the date beneath the photograph.
Dr. Alistair Brick had known him professionally for years, mostly through irregular consultations and incomplete disclosures. He had also spent those years reminding Killian that functioning well was not the same as being well.
A modern doctor. Medical records. Sleep assessment. Neurological explanations.
Measurable things.
“Fine,” Killian said.
James went silent for half a second. “I’ll send the itinerary before you change your mind.”
The call ended.
Killian saved the photograph inside an encrypted folder.
He named the file only with its date.
17_AUG_2009
Thursday, 6 August 2026
JARA Studio, Stutong, Kuching — 8:35 P.M. (MYT)
The studio had been empty for nearly an hour.
Munirah had finalised the Betong arrangements before leaving. Uncle Edwin would receive Valerie and the documents the following afternoon. Shinji and Aris would remain in Kuching until permission was given.
Valerie sat inside the private weaving room with a large sheet of paper across her lap.
The first line had begun as a variation of the river guardian.
It had become something else.
A curve travelled across the page, dipped sharply and divided into two strands before circling an empty centre.
Valerie stopped.
She had not planned the shape.
The faintest sound of water moved beyond the room.
Smith, who had spent the evening at the studio with her, lifted his head from the cushion near her feet.
Valerie looked towards the dark doorway.
Nothing stood there.
Her phone lit with a voice message from Uncle Edwin.
“Bring the original drawings with you,” he said. “Not only the digital copies. Come before the others. Some motifs should not be discussed through a screen.”
Valerie replayed the message.
Her thumb hovered above the reply field.
Did you teach me this?
She deleted the question before sending it.
Instead, she placed the drawing inside a folder and wrote one sentence beneath the divided curve.
Where did I learn you?
Kuching International Airport — 9:20 P.M. (MYT)
Killian stood near the departure gate with one carry-on bag and a schedule dense enough to discourage sleep.
Joel handed him the printed archive reference.
“If the museum finds additional photographs, they will send them to the secure address.”
“Call me when they arrive.”
“You will be in the air.”
“Then call James.”
Joel looked at him. “You still believe the reflection is you.”
“I believe my body recognised it.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“I know.”
A new message appeared on Killian’s phone.
Dr. Brick confirmed Monday, 11:30 A.M. Do not disappear.
Killian locked the screen.
The boarding announcement began.
He looked once towards the glass, where his reflection stood alone against the dark runway.
No second figure waited behind him.
He boarded without feeling reassured.
Departing Aircraft / JARA Studio — 10:18 P.M. (MYT)
The change began before either of them understood it.
As the aircraft climbed away from Kuching, the ache beneath Killian’s sternum loosened. The warmth along the exact line of his spine receded until it became a distant ember.
At JARA Studio, Valerie closed the folder containing the divided curve.
The invisible pressure around her wrist weakened.
Her next breath entered more easily.
No river crossed the room. No faceless woman waited beyond the glass. For the first time since Five Foot Way, silence felt like silence.
Valerie turned towards the dark window with the sudden impression that someone had left without saying goodbye.
High above the clouds, Killian watched his reflection in the aircraft window until even the coastline disappeared.
With every kilometre, both of them felt more normal.
Neither understood that it was not healing that had returned their silence.
It was distance.
- Writer
