Hey everyone, as much as I'd love to post updates every day, I just can't. Between work and classes, my schedule is pretty packed, and writing is something I do as a hobby. I hope you all understand that I can't always post, especially if I feel pressured to do so. I want to make sure that when I share something, it's because I genuinely enjoy creating it, not just to meet expectations. Thank you for your patience and support!
It had been three days since Plawan started placing orders from Chef Oab's restaurant. Each time, it was the same order—deliberately chosen, a dish that Oab once made for him long ago. But each time, the order was either ignored or outright rejected. There was no acceptance, no response, just silence. And with each failed attempt, Plawan's heart ached a little more. He knew deep down that Oab was deliberately avoiding him. The alpha's actions—or lack thereof—made it painfully clear how much resentment still lingered. It wasn't just the restaurant policy; this was personal.
But despite the growing hurt, Plawan wasn't doing this for himself. The reason for his persistence was the little boy sitting beside him—Buea.
Buea had been unusually sweet and attentive these past few days, as if he could sense his dada's inner turmoil. The child didn't understand the complexities of the adult world, but he had an uncanny ability to pick up on emotions. Plawan noticed it in the way Buea clung to him a little tighter, in the way he offered more smiles and cuddles, in the way his chubby hands would pat Plawan's cheek as if to say, It's okay, dada, I'm here.
This morning, however, Buea's gesture caught Plawan completely off-guard. The little one, sensing that his dada was sad again after receiving yet another rejected order, toddled up to him with his most prized possession in hand: the scarf.
"Dada... Buea sca-f," the toddler whispered, his big eyes filled with innocent concern as he held the scarf out to Plawan.
Plawan's heart nearly broke. That scarf had been Buea's comfort item since he was a newborn, something he always carried with him. It was a symbol of security, of warmth, and of love. For Buea to offer it to him now, knowing how much it meant to the baby, was nothing short of a sacrifice in its own way.
Plawan knelt down and gathered his son in his arms, pulling him close. "Thank you, sweetheart," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. He kissed the top of Buea's head, feeling the softness of his hair beneath his lips. "But you keep your sca-f, okay? Dada is fine."
Buea pulled back slightly and gave Plawan a toothy grin, clearly proud of his gesture. But his little brows furrowed as if he didn't entirely believe his dada's words. "Dada sad?" he asked, his tiny hands gripping Plawan's shirt.
Plawan forced a smile, not wanting to burden his son with the weight of his emotions. "Dada's just a little tired, that's all."
Buea seemed to think this over, his small face serious as he considered his dada's words. Then, as if deciding that cuddling was the best solution, he snuggled closer, pressing his face into Plawan's chest.
Plawan held him tighter, inhaling the comforting scent of baby powder and innocence. I'm doing this for you, he thought, his eyes stinging with unshed tears. I just want you to have the best, even if that means facing the past.
He wasn't sure what hurt more—the rejections from Oab or the thought that maybe he was pushing too hard, too fast. But he couldn't stop thinking about how much Oab had meant to him once, and how that connection, however frayed, might still have value in Buea's life.
The boy had taken such a liking to Oab's scarf when they first met. Plawan couldn't deny that there was something about the chef that had caught Buea's attention. The way the little one had pointed at Oab's scarf, the way his eyes lit up with recognition—it wasn't something Plawan could easily dismiss.
