Orbit

🎵

Film’s pencil moved lightly over the paper, the lines taking shape with ease. She didn’t need to look up for reference—this image was etched clearly in her mind.

The curve of the bench came first, soft and familiar, its wooden slats carefully shaded. Then came the delicate petals of the plumeria flower, resting on the bench like a quiet memory. 

She paused, glancing briefly at the real flower lying beside her on the grass, the same one Namtan had given her that night. Its scent was faint now, but it lingered enough to pull her back into the moment.

Her pencil hovered for a moment before she began sketching the two hands.

She started with one—a slender, steady hand with faint smudges along the fingertips, her own. It rested lightly on the edge of the bench, palm down, as if waiting.

Then she moved to the other hand.

She remembered it clearly: Namtan’s hand, with its long fingers, her small, dainty veins almost embossed under her alabaster skin, and the way it had been so close to hers that night. Almost touching. Film bit her lip, carefully outlining the subtle tilt of the hand, leaving just the slightest gap between the two.

She stopped and studied the sketch, admiring her work as she took it all in. There was something so tender in the way their hands seemed to belong there, suspended in that almost-moment.

The flower came last.

Film drew it right there on the bench, in the tiny space between their hands. Her mind replayed the way Namtan had handed it to her, brushing it off as though it was no big deal. But the gesture had lingered with Film, soft and sweet, much like the flower itself.

She leaned back and stared at her sketch, her pencil still in her hand. It was simple, quiet, but it felt… meaningful. It wasn’t just a memory; it was a feeling—a mixture of warmth, awkwardness, and something new that she didn’t want to name just yet.

Film’s gaze drifted to the real plumeria lying next to her. She reached for it absentmindedly, twirling it between her fingers as her thoughts wandered back to Namtan.

She wondered if Namtan remembered the moment as vividly as she did—or if it had been just another fleeting night for her.

Film looked up for a moment, hoping to stretch her cramping shoulders when suddenly, she sees Namtan standing across the lawn, partly hidden by the dappled shadows of a nearby tree. Her posture was stiff, her gaze locked on Film like she’d been caught mid-thought.

Film’s heart gave an unexpected, sharp thud, followed by an odd fluttering sensation in her chest. 

For a moment, her brain scrambled to process the scene. Namtan wasn’t doing anything extraordinary—she was just… standing there, looking at her—but the intensity of her gaze made the air feel heavier.

Film swallowed hard, suddenly hyperaware of everything—her messy hair, the smudges on her fingers, the slightly crooked way she was sitting. 

She didn’t know what to do, so she smiled, small and hesitant, hoping it looked natural and not as awkward as it felt.

Namtan raised her hand in a shy wave. The gesture was so simple, so endearingly unsure, that she almost laughed at how her own hand trembled slightly as she returned the wave.

“Film!” she heard her friend say.

“Oh, hey, Love”

Film tucked the flower into her sketchbook, right next to the drawing. She closed it carefully, as though protecting the memory. 

With a sigh, she looked at Namtan, now seemingly turning around and walking away. 

- 🐥See you on the next chapter 🐼-