Fated Exchange [AkkAyan]

Chapter 9: The Secrets We Keep

Akk and Ayan had settled into their strange routine, learning to navigate each other’s worlds with cautious respect. But the more they became entangled in each other's lives, the more difficult it became to ignore the secrets and scars they uncovered. They’d started off wary of each other, but their nightly rooftop conversations had evolved into something deeper—a safe haven where they could shed the weight of their borrowed lives and simply be vulnerable.

The curse that bound them was still a mystery, and while they both wanted to return to their own bodies, they couldn’t deny that this experience had changed them in ways they hadn’t anticipated.

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In Ayan’s body, Akk had taken on the delicate role of an artist. And though he had no natural inclination for painting or sketching, he found himself drawn to Ayan’s work. One evening, as he leafed through Ayan’s sketchbooks, he discovered something that caught him off guard.

The pages were filled with intricate drawings of people—a portrait of Mew, laughing, caught in an unguarded moment; a young Ayan, eyes full of hope and wonder; sketches of strangers on the streets, captured with incredible detail and empathy. But scattered between these beautiful drawings were darker sketches—hastily drawn faces twisted in anger, images of shattered glass, rough outlines of people turning away. Akk could feel the pain seeping through the paper, each stroke of the pencil a raw glimpse into Ayan’s struggle.

One image, in particular, struck Akk like a punch to the gut. It was a drawing of a man, older, stern, with eyes that bore into the page with an intensity that made Akk shiver. There was a single word scrawled beside it: "Father."

Akk sat back, the weight of Ayan’s past pressing down on him. He realized how little he actually knew about the man whose life he was now living. And for the first time, he felt a fierce need to protect Ayan from whatever darkness had plagued him.

He closed the sketchbook, his heart heavy. He knew that if he were to truly help Ayan, he’d need to understand the pain hidden behind those drawings. But how could he ask such personal questions when they barely knew each other?

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Across town, Ayan in Akk’s body was also struggling. The weight of Akk’s corporate responsibilities pressed down on him like a lead weight. Each day, he faced a barrage of emails, meetings, and phone calls, all requiring decisions that felt alien to him. But worst of all was the constant presence of Akk’s father, a man whose expectations loomed over every aspect of Akk’s life.

One afternoon, Ayan found himself in a meeting with Akk’s father, Pipitphattana Sr., a man whose mere presence seemed to drain the air from the room. The older man’s gaze was sharp, his words curt, his tone filled with thinly veiled disappointment.

“Akk,” he began, his voice laced with impatience. “The investors are getting restless. They expect results, not excuses. You need to prove that you’re worthy of the Pipitphattana name. This company was built with blood, sweat, and sacrifice. Don’t let it fall apart under your watch.”

Ayan swallowed, trying to maintain the calm, confident demeanor he’d seen Akk wear. “I… I understand, sir. I’ll do my best to handle the situation.”

Pipitphattana Sr. narrowed his eyes, studying him with an intensity that made Ayan’s skin crawl. “Your best isn’t good enough,” he snapped. “You’ve been unfocused lately, distracted. If you’re not careful, you’ll lose everything I’ve built.”

The words stung, but Ayan held his ground, refusing to let the man see how deeply they affected him. “I won’t let that happen,” he said quietly, forcing himself to meet the man’s gaze.

After a long, tense silence, Pipitphattana Sr. finally nodded, though his expression was far from approving. “See that you don’t,” he said before leaving the room, leaving Ayan feeling like he’d just survived a storm.

As soon as he was alone, Ayan let out a shaky breath, his hands trembling. He realized just how much pressure Akk had been under, carrying the weight of his family’s legacy with no room for mistakes or vulnerability. And for the first time, Ayan felt a pang of sympathy for the man he’d once thought was cold and distant.

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That evening, Akk and Ayan met on the rooftop once again. The silence between them was heavy, each lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Akk broke the silence.

“I saw your sketchbook today,” he said quietly, glancing at Ayan. “The drawings of your father… and the others.”

Ayan’s face paled, his gaze dropping to the ground. He looked vulnerable, exposed, as if a part of himself he’d tried so hard to hide had been laid bare. “I… I didn’t mean for you to see those,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper.

“I’m sorry,” Akk replied, his tone gentle. “But… I think I understand now. I’ve been in your life for only a short time, but I can feel the weight you carry. Your art… it’s not just a talent. It’s a way for you to deal with everything you’ve been through.”

Ayan nodded, swallowing hard. “My father… he never understood. He wanted me to be someone I’m not. Someone who could fit into his world, follow his path. But I’m not that person. I never was.”

Akk reached out, placing a reassuring hand on Ayan’s shoulder. “You don’t have to be anyone you’re not, Ayan. You’re enough as you are. Your art, your passion—it’s real, and it’s powerful. Don’t let anyone take that away from you.”

Ayan looked at him, his eyes filled with a mixture of gratitude and pain. “Thank you,” he whispered. “I don’t think anyone’s ever told me that before.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the city lights casting a soft glow around them. Then Ayan spoke again, his voice hesitant.

“And you? How are you holding up with… everything?”

Akk hesitated, his gaze distant. “Your life isn’t easy either,” he admitted. “Your father… he has this way of making me feel like I’m constantly failing. Like nothing I do will ever be good enough.”

Ayan nodded, a sympathetic look in his eyes. “I know that feeling all too well. But… I think you’re stronger than you realize, Akk. You have this strength, this quiet resilience. It’s what’s helping you survive my world.”

Their eyes met, and in that moment, something shifted between them. They were no longer two strangers forced into each other’s lives. They were kindred spirits, two souls bound by a shared understanding of pain and resilience.

---

Later that night, as Akk prepared to return to Ayan’s apartment, something caught his eye—a small envelope tucked between the pages of one of Ayan’s books. Curious, he opened it and found a handwritten letter.

It was from Ayan’s late mother, her words filled with love and warmth, encouraging Ayan to pursue his dreams, to follow his heart no matter what. As he read her words, Akk felt a deep ache in his chest. He could see how much Ayan’s mother had meant to him, and how her loss had left a void that Ayan had tried to fill with his art.

Akk carefully folded the letter and placed it back in its envelope, feeling a renewed sense of purpose. He knew he couldn’t fix Ayan’s pain, but he could be there for him, support him in any way he could. And in doing so, perhaps he’d find a way to heal his own wounds as well.

As he left the apartment, he knew that this journey wasn’t just about breaking a curse. It was about finding themselves—and maybe, just maybe, finding each other.

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