Threads Of Desire

Shifting Tides

The morning sun filtered through the blinds of the studio, casting long beams of light that stretched across the polished wooden floors. Winny stepped inside, the usual bounce in his step subdued by a quiet contemplation. It had been weeks since that night at the bar, and every time his thoughts circled back to Satang, the photographer's elusive presence became more of a mystery he couldn't solve. The more Winny tried to understand him, the more he felt like he was only scraping the surface.

He was still thinking about Satang as he pushed open the back door and entered the studio. It was early, most of the crew hadn't arrived yet, and the place was quiet, save for the soft sounds of cameras being adjusted. Across the room, Satang was crouched over a table, his focus completely absorbed in his work. His posture was that familiar quiet intensity, but today, there was something different about him. He seemed almost... closed off. The usual aloofness was sharper, more pronounced.

Winny didn't hesitate; he made his way toward him, feeling the weight of the unspoken tension between them. He'd been avoiding this moment, but now, it felt inevitable.

"Morning,"

Winny called out, his voice light, though there was an edge of something softer behind it.

Satang didn't immediately respond. His hands adjusted the camera lens, clicking a few buttons, lost in his task. After a long moment, he finally looked up, offering the same small, nonchalant smile that had become his signature.

"Always ready. It's what I do."

Winny let out a small laugh, trying to keep things casual, but there was a feeling building in his chest, something he couldn't ignore. He glanced down at the camera in front of Satang.

"This thing looks like it's been here forever. Are you sure it's still working?"

Satang barely glanced at it.

"It works just fine."

Winny shifted, stepping closer, unable to shake the feeling that Satang was shutting him out even more now.

"You've been a little... distant lately. Everything alright?"

Satang paused, fingers hovering over the camera. There was a slight flicker of tension in his jaw, but his eyes stayed unreadable as he glanced up.

"I'm fine."

Winny's gaze lingered on him, sensing the layers beneath his words.

"Are you really? Because you don't seem fine."

A silence settled between them, thick and uncomfortable, like a wall that Winny couldn't break through. He tried to push forward, but something in Satang's posture stopped him—his shoulders tight, his lips pressed into a thin line.

"What do you want from me, Winny?"

Satang's voice was low, but the question wasn't harsh. It was flat, almost resigned.

Winny stood still, his heart racing. He hadn't expected that—he hadn't expected Satang to be so blunt. He searched for something to say, but the words stuck in his throat. Instead, he tried to deflect, like he always did.

"I... I don't know. Maybe I just want to know what's going on with you."

Satang's expression didn't change. He didn't respond right away, his fingers still playing with the camera lens in a mechanical rhythm.

"What's there to know?"

he said finally, his tone dismissive.

"You've got your own life. I'm here to do my job."