My Enemy, My Love

ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔉𝔦𝔳𝔢

Meili

The afternoons had grown unbearably dull. Weeks had passed since the wedding, and I had done nothing of consequence—nothing but sit in parlors, stitch embroidery I had no passion for, and listen to the same droning discussions at dinner about the West's movements, the betrayals that fractured the land, and the growing certainty of war. The talk felt endless; the thought of blood staining everyone's hands had evidently put immense pressure on the nobility to organise military defences. 

My father was drowning in time-consuming council meetings, aware to the point of exhaustion that we were running out of time. The West was pushing closer to the Northern borders, slaughtering innocent people, taking control over the land elite, and gaining allies. Those allies consisted of those that were tired with the larger Kingdoms, those that wanted freedom, independence - a purpose. Therefore, it wasn't surprising that Chiang Rai's defection had shaken the nobility to its core. 

Father shared that every evening gathering at the Temple, the conversation circled back to the same conclusion—this war would be unlike anything before. The West was no longer a ghost, a broken people clinging to the edges of civilization. It had allies now. Strong ones. How long before others joined the Western forces? How long until Chanthaburi falls...until we fall?

I had my own thoughts on the matter, though I was rarely given the opportunity to voice them. I knew my place. I was a daughter of a noble house, a woman of honor. My duty was to sit still, to listen, to be agreeable, to prepare for a marriage that would secure alliances and bear strong sons to fight battles I would never see. But the thought of it, the very idea of being relegated to a spectator when the world was shifting beneath my feet, made me feel sick.

I wanted more. I wanted to be on the front lines, where decisions were made in blood, where history bent to the will of those strong enough to seize it. But I had no training, no skill with a sword or a bow. I was not built for war, yet every fiber of my being called for it. 

I sighed, rubbing my temples as I sat in the garden, waiting for Anurak. We had arranged this meeting days ago—just a simple visit, but it had been weeks since we'd last seen each other. I wondered if he had been kept as busy as I had been kept idle. The thought was frustrating.

A breeze rustled through the trees, carrying the distant sounds of the city with it. Somewhere, a bell tolled the hour. A few minutes later, a servant led Anurak to the terrace, and I immediately noticed something was wrong. He looked unwell—gaunt, pale, dark circles bruising the skin beneath his eyes. His usual composure was gone, replaced by something frayed at the edges. It wasn't just exhaustion. It was something deeper, something raw.

"You look terrible," I said, standing as he approached. "Are you ill?"

"No." His voice was hoarse. He sank into the chair across from me, rubbing his temples before exhaling sharply. "Just tired."

"Tired?" I echoed. "Anurak, you look as if you haven't slept in days."

He didn't deny it. Instead, he leaned back, staring blankly at the garden. "It's all falling apart, Meili. The West is advancing. Chiang Rai has turned against us. The council can't agree on a course of action, and meanwhile, the enemy gains ground with each passing day."

"They're indecisive because they're afraid," I said bitterly. "Afraid of making the wrong move. They debate and delay, thinking strategy will win them this war. But strategy is useless if there's no action."

Anurak let out a short, humorless laugh. "You sound like Luka."

"Perhaps he's the only one who sees clearly."

Anurak shook his head. "No. Luka is reckless. Thyme is cautious. The council is stubborn. And I—I am nothing." He let out a heavy breath, his fingers curling against the armrest. "I was meant to be more than this. But I am powerless."

I hesitated, watching him closely. This wasn't just war weighing on him. And then it hit me—I had nearly forgotten in the chaos of the past weeks.

Ray's engagement.

I swallowed. "Anurak..."

He tensed.

"I heard about Ray."

He shut his eyes for a long moment. "Of course you did."

I hesitated before pressing on, lowering my voice. "How do you feel?"

He opened his mouth as if to answer, but no words came out. Instead, his shoulders trembled, his breath caught, and then, before I could process what was happening, he was collapsing forward, his head dropping into my lap as the first, broken sob tore from his throat.

I stiffened, startled, but as the weight of his grief settled against me, I instinctively brought my hands to his back, holding him as best as I could.

"I can't—I can't do this, Meili." His voice was barely above a whisper, wrecked and raw. "It hurts. It hurts so much. I thought—I thought I could endure it. I thought I could pretend it didn't matter. That I didn't care. But I do. I care so much I feel like I'm drowning."

I felt his fingers grip the fabric of my dress, as if anchoring himself, as if he might shatter entirely if he let go.

"He was never mine," Anurak choked out. "He was never supposed to be. And yet—it feels like I've lost him. It feels like I've lost a part of myself."

I closed my eyes, my throat tight. "I'm sorry, Anurak."

But there were no words that could mend him, no comfort I could give that would lessen the pain. So I simply held him, running my fingers through his hair as he wept.

The world was changing. The war was coming. My friends were breaking apart before my eyes, and I—

I was stuck.

Something had to change. I needed a purpose. I needed to do something, anything, before I, too, became nothing more than a spectator.

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