The proposal

Namtan hated Saturdays for many reasons: she didn’t like how the mornings seemed hotter, even with thick clouds covering the sun; she detested the loud, dull music blaring from the neighbor’s apartment, making the walls shake while she got ready; she loathed the extra rehearsals for the university plays, which, besides being unnecessary, lasted an eternity; and then there was the fact that, for some reason, she always woke up in a bad mood. But the main reason, without a doubt, was that it was the receptionist’s day off at the university.

Namtan had never been the type to stay in a relationship for long. Flirting was fun. She loved being able to make a woman blush with just a few words and adored even more the messages and gifts she received after a date. What more could she ask for? She was simply the kind of person whose life goal was to make every woman who crossed her path feel special—even if it went wrong 70% of the time. But there was something about that woman that left her fascinated.

Rachanun Mahawan, or Film, was easily one of the most intriguing people Namtan had ever had the pleasure of meeting. Besides being incredibly attractive, she was clearly intelligent and even cultured—judging by all the times Namtan caught herself watching her read a book by an unknown author or heard her discuss politics and cultures of places Namtan had never even heard of with confidence. On top of that, Film was elegant, polite, shy, and extremely kind—to almost everyone.
But what threw Namtan off was the fact that no matter what she said or did, Film never looked at her. Ever. No matter how many notes, messages, gifts, or invitations Namtan sent, Film rejected them all. And she didn’t even bother forcing a smile, offering an apology, or giving a reason for the refusal, not caring in the slightest about hurting her. Yes, Namtan got extremely hurt—and offended—but that only fueled her to try again and again, tirelessly.

That morning, in particular, felt even worse.

The day was rainy, which ruined the jogging session she forced herself to keep up with. The neighbor didn’t play music, but the start of a renovation was an equally unpleasant melody. Her car was in the shop, forcing her to brave crowded buses in the middle of a storm. And as if that weren’t enough, the rehearsal had been canceled, and she only found out 45 minutes after arriving at the university.

Namtan was about to call her best friend and deliver a monologue about how she was having a shitty day—even though it was only 9 a.m.—when a pair of beige heels crossed her line of sight. Namtan couldn’t help but look.

There she was, Film Rachanun, in all her splendor. Striding toward the university reception desk, her long, silky brown locks swaying down her back, untouched by the rain and cold outside. An off-white silk blouse and a baby-blue pencil skirt hugged her figure perfectly. If Namtan hadn’t been completely frozen and slack-jawed, she might have noticed that the cardigan hanging from Film’s bag was dragging on the floor, risking an accident. But when Film leaned over the rough wooden counter, whispering something to the substitute receptionist, Namtan nearly fainted.

Namtan wasn’t a saint and would never deny the dozens of impure thoughts that raced through her mind just by thinking of that woman, but she hated how she turned into a teenager in the throes of puberty whenever Film was around.
It was ridiculous, and she knew it, which was why she tried her hardest not to let it show how much that woman affected her. It should’ve been easy, considering she was the best actress in the Performing Arts department, but it wasn’t—one glance in Film’s direction, and her armpits started sweating.

She huffed and shook her head, tearing her gaze away from the woman’s perfectly round ass. Running her hands through her hair, she tried to look at least somewhat decent—just in case Film was looking.

She wasn’t. She never was. And that drove Namtan insane! She didn’t know what else to do to get that woman’s attention!

For God’s sake! She was Namtan Tipnaree, the most sought-after senior in the Performing Arts program! Every freshman was head over heels for her. Why was Film different?
Namtan had her sources: she knew Film was single, bisexual, and even had a Tinder profile—which Namtan had swiped right on a few days ago and still hadn’t gotten a match. Was she the problem, after all?

She had a reputation, though she considered this whole “reputation” thing nonsense. But could that be the reason Film accepted flirtations from others with a smile but dismissed hers with disdain?

Whatever the reason, Namtan wasn’t one to give up easily and would do anything for a chance to go out with Rachanun. Even if it meant being rejected a thousand more times.
She sat on one of the wooden benches in the hallway and watched, cautiously and from the corner of her eye, the movement a few meters away. Film disappeared into the file room with the other receptionist and reappeared minutes later, taking her place at the desk. The other receptionist—whose name Namtan never bothered to learn—left the room, said goodbye to Film, and exited the building.

Namtan nearly let a smile slip when she looked around and realized she was alone with Film in the hallway. She stood up, adjusted her coat on her shoulders, pocketed her phone—after confirming her ride was on the way—and skipped over to lean on the wooden reception counter.

“Good morning, Khun Rachanun!” Namtan greeted, noticing Film was too busy with her papers to acknowledge her presence.

“Good morning! How can I help you?” She looked up with a friendly smile that faded the moment her eyes met Tipnaree’s face. “Oh, it’s you.”

“Please, don’t pretend you’re not happy to see me,” Namtan grinned, resting her chin in her hands.

“You guessed it, I’m not,” Film replied, looking away, already impatient, and returning her attention to her papers. “What are you even doing here? Classes were canceled, and reception isn’t open to students today.”

“I only found out when I got here. And good thing that happened, or I wouldn’t have had the pleasure of seeing you.” Film didn’t bother responding. “I want to ask you something.”

“No,” she preemptively refused. “I’ve already told you I’m not interested in going out with you. Now let me work, please.”

“Why not?” Namtan asked with mock hurt, as she always did when they reached this part of the conversation. Film parted her lips, the corners of her mouth lifting into an incredulous smile. “There has to be a reason.”

“You’re obnoxious and think you own the world just because you can get a few girls to go out with you with little notes and plastic flowers,” the brunette snapped, frustrated, slamming her hands on the counter and leaning forward enough to make Namtan flinch.

“Such a shame. I’m sure you’d love going out with me.” Namtan’s gaze roamed over Film’s flushed face and dipped to her chest as she settled back and started tying her hair up with a pen.

“There’s no world in which I’d love doing anything with you, Khun Tipnaree!” Film shot back sharply, finally meeting her eyes. Namtan’s smile widened at the reaction, and she leaned her weight onto the counter again, lifting her feet off the ground.

“You’ll never know unless you try.” Film fell silent, holding Namtan’s gaze, her dark brown eyes locked on the sly smile playing on her lips. “How about this? If you go on five dates with me and don’t fall for me, I’ll leave you alone.”

“Five? That’s too much, even for you.” Film scoffed, stapling some papers.

“You need to stop listening to those rumors. It’s not my fault the girls here are so easily hypnotized by my charm. Makes it all too easy.” Namtan bit her lip as Film rolled her eyes. “But with you? Even a thousand dates wouldn’t be enough to show all my charm.”

“So you just want to go out with me to prove you can win me over?” Film laughed and shook her head. “Sorry, I’m not interested in being another boost to your ego.”

“You’ve got nothing to lose,” Namtan said, stepping back from the counter and pulling her phone from her pocket, placing it face-up on the wood. “In fact, you’ve only got something to gain. If after five dates you still have no interest in me, I’ll leave you alone for good, and you won’t have to see ever again.”

Namtan watched as the brunette bit her lip and drummed her fingers on the counter, the sound of her nails on the wooden surface the only thing breaking the awkward silence between them. Film picked up the phone and cast one last glance at Namtan, noticing a flicker of anticipation in the way her eyes trembled.

“Two dates, and you disappear from my life,” she negotiated, typing her number into the phone without leaving room for debate.

“Five, but if things get too heavy, we can call it quits after the third,” Namtan countered with a raised eyebrow and a smug pout, making it clear that was her final offer.

Film limited her response to a sigh and a murmured agreement, shifting her gaze back to her papers. Namtan tapped her fingers lightly on the counter, creating a small snap. When Rachanun’s eyes met hers one last time, she saw Namtan throw a gallant wink before sliding her feet away from the desk.

“You’ll see, I’m going to give you the five best dates of your life! See you on our first date, Khun Rachanun!”

Film squinted, covering her face with her hands, regretting her decision the very second she agreed to this madness.