|| 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒎 || 𝑴𝒂𝒓𝒌/𝑮𝒖𝒏 || 𝗘𝗡𝗚 ||

𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 1

Torrential rain had ruthlessly descended on the capital of Thailand for several hours. Bangkok was plunged into a damp and dense fog, punctuated by the incessant rustle of rain and mingled with the bustle of rush hour.

Cars piled up on the roads, impatiently trying to force their way through. People were running around hoping to find shelter. Some city dwellers, smarter, were killing time in cafes, shopping centers, or queuing at bus shelters, desperately watching for the appearance of a bus that was slow in coming.

Teenagers ran recklessly through the rain laughing out loud and jumping through puddles as passers-by looked disapprovingly exhausted from a grueling day at work that was still far from over.

The week did not end, the rain clouded the spirits and the morale of the inhabitants for too long.

But this was not the case for everyone.

In the midst of this crowd, a young man was about to get out of the taxi he had managed to hail with great effort and determination. The vehicle had stopped at the bottom of an imposing building, but familiar to the passenger, and the taxi driver turned to demand payment. The young man did so, thanking the old man warmly, and gathered the things he had bought. Including food and some household products. Then, without an umbrella, he left the vehicle in a hurry to rush towards the hall of the building which he opened thanks to the access code which he typed in haste.

Once in the shelter, he sighed deeply of relief, while cursing himself for having forgotten his umbrella, an essential object since the start of the rainy season.

Fortunately, most of the rain had been avoided, as well as a potential cold that, for the moment, did not exist. The young man shook his clothes a little to dispel the dirty and polluted rainwater and ruffled his soaked black hair with annoyance. His body had been sweating a lot since the start of the day and all he wanted was a hot shower.

The young man hurried through the various corridors, impatient to regain the warmth of the condo and relieved to be finally at home. 

The thought earned him a smile. It had truly become "home," he thought warmly.

His footsteps led him to a door he wanted to unlock with his keys when he realized the door was not locked. Which only meant one thing : the resident of this condo had returned before him.

The door opened into a small entrance hall from which you could see a light coming from the main room, denouncing a presence in the place. The boy quickly took off his jacket and took off his shoes, while calling in a loud voice :

"Gun ? You are back ?"

"In the living room" replied the man named Gun in his distant voice.

Mark Siwat smiled with pleasure listening to that familiar voice he adored so much. Just hearing the intonations of his voice was enough to radiate warmth through his body. And now that he was rid of the external parasites - the rain, the world, the job, the annoyances of life - Mark could finally let go of the thought that he had missed his friend during the day.