The proposal

“So, you did it? You finally got the receptionist to go out with you? That explains your good mood on a Saturday.”

“Mark, I told you I’d pull it off,” Namtan smirked, buckling her seatbelt after greeting her best friend with a playful punch to the shoulder.

“You wore her down. I bet she couldn’t stand looking at your face anymore and agreed out of desperation,” Mark teased, starting the car and pulling out of the university parking lot.

“The reason she said yes doesn’t matter. What matters is she won’t regret it,” Namtan replied, buzzing with excitement, tapping her feet. She reached for her phone to text the newest number in her contacts but stopped herself.

“And what’s your plan? Talk nonsense until she shuts you up with a kiss?” Namtan shook her head, sighing. It was no surprise her friends had so little faith in her.

“We’re going to a romantic dinner. I even know which restaurant,” she hinted, sighing again, lost in a daydream.

“Romantic? Since when are you romantic?” Mark caught Namtan’s mock-offended expression out of the corner of his eye. “Stop being so cynical. You always think you’re in love, but deep down, you know you’re just horny.”

“I have a heart. It’s just been searching for my goddess all this time.”

“Please, shut up,” Mark slouched back in his seat, embarrassed. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

🌹🌹🌹

The next day, Namtan woke up with a grin splitting her face in two. Despite the rain, the weather was still warm when she went for her run. The coffee she ordered every morning had gone up in price. And the renovation next door was in full swing, coating her living room with a fine layer of dust. Yet, despite it all, Namtan remained in high spirits.

She kicked off her running shoes at the door and left her breakfast on the coffee table before flopping onto the couch. Then, she pulled out her earbuds and slipped her phone from its armband, opening the messaging app.
Namtan was never the type to overthink before sending a text—especially not when it came to women. She knew exactly what to say and when to say it, and when she didn’t, she could always rely on her charm. To her, it was as natural as breathing. So, she was surprised when she found herself staring at a blank chat for long minutes, unsure of how to start a conversation with Film.

Should she say “hi”? Ask how her day was going? What was she up to? Maybe send a random sticker, hoping for a reaction? No, she knew it wouldn’t be that simple. Film didn’t want to chat; she wanted to get the dates over with as quickly as possible and be rid of Namtan. And as hard as it was, Namtan didn’t want to annoy her and ruin the slim chance she had of winning Rachanun over.

With a frustrated sigh, she scrolled through her contacts and called her favorite restaurant. After getting the reservation confirmed, she screenshot it and sent it to Film with a simple, “Picking you up at 8:00 PM in front of the university. Be ready :)”

The reply came hours later—a simple “ok.” And even though it was the driest response in the universe, it was enough to send Namtan bouncing around her apartment. She couldn't believe it. It was actually happening.

In minutes, she abandoned the movie she’d been watching and dove into her closet, scattering clothes and accessories across the room—mentally rehearsing every detail of the date that would make Film fall for her. After all, Namtan knew she wouldn’t need more than one date to make Film surrender to her charms.

The chosen restaurant was far from five-star or anything close to luxurious, but it was exotic and in-demand enough to be considered a city hotspot. It was practically impossible to get a reservation with less than a month’s notice—unless you were friends with the owner. And luckily, Namtan was.

With that in mind, Namtan wanted to look good, but not over the top. She wanted Film to notice and be impressed by her style and connections. She wanted to exude class without seeming like she was trying too hard.
She picked out wide-leg jeans, a cropped tank top that showed off the abs she worked hard to maintain, and a leather jacket she’d stolen from Mark months ago. Paired with sneakers, a few accessories, and her natural charm, she’d leave Film speechless.
Namtan rushed to the shower after tossing her rejected clothes back onto the racks and spent long minutes battling her freshly washed hair in a failed attempt to tame it.

The Grab notification blared through the room. She spritzed some perfume on her neck, gave herself a final once-over in the mirror, and left the apartment.

🌹🌹🌹

Meters before reaching her destination, Namtan paid the driver and hopped out of the car. It was a last-minute decision, but she thought it’d be nice to walk Film to the restaurant, which wasn’t far from the university. It’d be a relaxed moment to chat and lighten the mood—at least in her mind.
She had a habit of walking while gazing at the city’s skyscrapers, so she had to get close to spot Film. When her eyes landed on the woman—sitting on a bench in front of the university—Namtan felt her knees go weak.

Film was wearing a thin-strap tank top—so tight that Namtan had to look away to avoid staring too long at the outline of her bra—a long skirt, and white sneakers. Namtan shuffled toward her, admiring the perfection of the brown waves cascading over her shoulders, noting the pair of glasses perched on her nose—making her even more attractive—and how her makeup was so subtle it was almost invisible. A loud sigh betrayed her presence, and Film finally looked up from her phone to meet her gaze.

“You’re late,” Film said firmly, crossing her arms and tapping her foot on the ground.

“And you look gorgeous!” Namtan sighed, running her hands through her hair while sneaking another glance at the brunette’s figure.

“Can we go?”

“Ahem, sure! We’ve still got time,” she cleared her throat, checking the time on her phone.

“Walking?” Film stepped closer, her strides matching Namtan’s racing heartbeat.

“It’s not far, and the night’s so nice. I thought a little walk would be good.” Film narrowed her eyes, giving Namtan a quick once-over before taking the lead. “Uh, Racha?”

“Hm?” Film glanced over her shoulder, catching a look of pure shock on Namtan’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“I think we’ve got a little problem,” Namtan gave an awkward grin, baring all her teeth as she pointed to a sign nearly hidden by a bush that read: “Do not touch, wet paint.”

“What?” Film’s eyes widened in disbelief, twisting her arm behind her back and feeling the wet paint on her fingertips. “Oh my God, is it bad? Tell me!” she exclaimed, seeing Namtan press her lips together, unsure how to respond.

“Depends on the angle,” Namtan took a few long steps back before shouting, “From here, you can’t even tell!” Film’s expression sent her into a fit of laughter.

“Damn it, this must be the universe telling me this is a terrible idea,” Film squinted, tilting her head up as if speaking to the sky.

“Here,” Film felt a weight settle on her shoulders and a comforting warmth envelop her. Turning, she saw Namtan without her jacket. “No need to thank me.”

Film stood still for a few seconds. Part of her brain scrambled for ways to acknowledge the kindness without giving Namtan false hope. Another part secretly enjoyed the comfort and warmth of the jacket. And a smaller, fleeting part suddenly seemed to notice how the full moon’s light glowed on Namtan’s pale skin, giving her an ethereal air. But the conscious part of her brain—which snapped back after those seconds—quickly grounded her, and Film resumed walking.

“I wasn’t going to.”

🌹🌹🌹

When she suggested walking to the restaurant, Namtan had pictured a romantic stroll under the moonlight. She’d strike up pleasant conversation, crack jokes that would slowly break Film’s walls. Rachanun would laugh until her stomach hurt and—by some miracle—feel comfortable enough to hold Namtan’s hand. They’d get so lost in each other’s company that dinner would become secondary, a mere convenience.
What Namtan got instead was far less picturesque.
Getting paint on her clothes definitely wasn’t part of the plan, and Film made sure to voice her frustration as she marched five meters ahead. Her steps were quick and furious, like she was fleeing a stampede. Watching her back—and struggling to keep up—Namtan wondered how such harsh words could come from such a pretty mouth.

“Ahem, we’re here!” She cleared her throat loudly, catching the attention of the woman who’d stormed past the restaurant entrance.

“How long have you been planning this?” Film retraced her steps, her expression wary.

“I made the reservation yesterday,” Namtan suppressed a smug grin, trying not to brag too much. She knew how hard it was to get a table.

“Impossible! I’ve been trying to book a table here for a month!” Film exclaimed, incredulous, earning a suspicious glance from the host.

“A month? Must be someone special,” Namtan bluffed, gesturing for Film to follow the host. “Friend? Family? Boyfriend?” Film didn’t reply, offering a brief smile to the visibly annoyed onlookers. “Oh, come on.”
“It’s my best friend. She got a new job, and we wanted to celebrate. Happy now?” Film sighed tiredly.

“Does your friend have a name? I’m friends with the owner. If I say you’re my friend, it might help,” Namtan asked, tossing out some charm for answers.

“I’ll pass. I don’t want any connection to you after this is over. Not even for my own benefit.”

“Ouch, that hurts.”

Namtan caught a low chuckle from the host. He was clearly enjoying the scene. As a regular and part-owner of the restaurant, Namtan had been there through it all—from the grand opening to a pre-renovation financial crisis. She had free rein and never missed a chance to bring women here. But this was the first time he’d seen—with his own eyes—Namtan Tipnaree being blatantly ignored.
He led them to their table and waved over a waiter before excusing himself. Film couldn’t deny she was charmed by the place; online photos didn’t do it justice. Their booth was tucked into a corner, the dim lighting and hushed ambiance creating the intimacy perfect for a date, with a flawless view of the floor-to-ceiling aquarium in the center of the room. Namtan nearly bounced in her seat seeing her date speechless.

“Have the ladies decided what they’d like to order? Any recommendations?” The waiter asked, tablet in hand.

“I’ll have…” Namtan began.

“I’ve got this,” Mark cut in, placing a hand on the waiter’s shoulder and dismissing him with a nod. “You actually came. I’m impressed,” Mark noted Film’s confused look and introduced himself. “Pleasure to meet you. I’m Mark Pakin, chef and owner.”

“Film Rachanun. The pleasure’s mine,” she shook his hand.

“I hope you enjoy my restaurant. Everything’s made with love.” Mark smiled warmly, taking a moment to size up the woman who’d been keeping his best friend up at night. “Nice jacket, looks great on you!” Namtan slouched in her chair under his intimidating stare. “Anyway, you’re my guests. I’ll have them bring out the special menu. Anything to drink?”

“The best wine in your collection,” Namtan raised her brows and grinned, a gesture Mark pointedly ignored.

“Water, please.”

“In that case, I’ll take a non-alcoholic drink. So I can admire you all night,” Namtan propped her face in her hands, winking at Film, who shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Mark nearly laughed.

“Bring the bottle of wine, please?” Film almost pleaded.

Once Mark left, Namtan slouched back again, her gaze fixed on the woman across from her. Film turned to her phone, savoring the quiet minutes before the wine and appetizers arrived.

“Great place, huh?” Namtan broke the silence, sipping her wine.

“It is, but that’s probably not new to you. Seems like you come here a lot,” Film sighed, setting her phone down.

“Wonder if you figured that out on your own or if someone told you,” Namtan smirked, and Film tried—and failed—to hide her embarrassed look behind her glass.

“No one told me anything. I have eyes. It doesn’t take much to connect the dots.”

“Listen, I’m not a monster. I just haven’t had much luck in love and don’t like being alone, so I’m always looking for the right person.”

“You won’t find the right person by switching women every week,” Film rolled her eyes, taking another sip. She couldn’t believe Namtan was being serious.

“I know,” Namtan said, frustrated. “That’s why I’m trying to do things differently, but you’re not helping.”

“You call this different?” Film gestured at the date. “How’s it different if you brought me to the same place as all your other dates? You think I didn’t notice everyone here knows you? They’re probably laughing at me.”

“You’re overreacting,” Namtan smiled, brushing off Film’s words as a bluff. Who’d dare think anything of her?

Namtan could bring a thousand women to that damn restaurant, but none would compare to Rachanun Mahawan. Film might not believe it, but she has Namtan’s heart in her hands. Whatever she asked or demanded—as long as it brought them closer—Namtan would do it gladly.

“What do you want me to do?” Namtan asked after a few minutes of silence, lost in thought, watching Film’s every move without really seeing.

“Nothing. I’ve told you I’m not interested. Take your shots and move on. Next week, when you find someone more interesting, do it differently.”

Namtan didn’t want to show how much those words stung, so she slipped back into her flirty persona, slowly riling Film up while mentally plotting her next move. The dinner was ruined, she admitted easily. Film was right after all: if Namtan wanted to prove she was different, she’d have to act differently. No more plastic flowers, cliché restaurant dates, or notes at the front desk. Film deserved more, and Namtan would do whatever it took to break down her walls for good.

But until the second date, she’d have some fun. She’d play up the image everyone knew for one night, then show Film what she was capable of when she set her mind to something.

By the end of the night, Namtan almost felt bad. Her teasing and cheap lines had pushed her date too far, and Film decided one bottle of wine wouldn’t cut it to endure the rest of the dinner. By the second bottle, Namtan was ready to pay the bill while Film couldn’t even count her fingers.

“Listen, if all you want is to sleep with me, we can get it over with now.” Film slurred, sliding the jacket off her shoulders. Namtan found her drunken babbling cute, with her eyes half-closed and cheeks flushed from the alcohol.

“I don’t want to sleep with you,” Namtan shot back, and Film opened her eyes, looking offended. “I mean, I do want to sleep with you… No, wait, I don’t—” she stammered, watching Film’s expression shift with each attempt. “What do you want me to say?”

“The truth!” Film snapped. “After you get to sleep with me, you’ll leave me alone. So let’s just do it.”

“I don’t… God! What are you doing?” Namtan’s eyes widened as Film tugged at her shirt. “Stop that! I’m not going to sleep with you and ditch you. What kind of nonsense is that?” she whispered, standing and rounding the table.

“It’s what you do!” Film raised her voice, and Namtan clapped a hand over her mouth before she could say more.

“If you say so. Come on, let’s go.”

Namtan couldn’t tell what was harder after that: paying the bill and calling a cab while wrangling a drunk, stubborn, and later teary and clingy Film; or trying to pry her address out of her. The driver circled the same block three times before Namtan gave up and took Film to her own apartment.

Rachanun was already dozing off when Namtan carried her—struggling—on her back to the apartment, and fast asleep when Namtan laid her on the bed, swapping her paint-stained clothes for sweatpants and cozy socks. Fighting hard against herself not to take a look. Namtan collapsed on the couch minutes later after a long, hot shower. She texted Mark to say she’d gotten home safe and that Film was okay.

After tossing her phone onto the rug and propping a pillow behind her back, Namtan tried to sleep, but her mind was racing, plotting how to make the next date better. She couldn’t mess up again.