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“Love is so short, forgetting is so long.”
-Pablo Neruda
In a world where society was split into two distinct groups, there was only a 10% chance that two of them might intertwining become one. They called it a convergence. The two groups moved along parallel lines, sometimes crossing, but always kept apart by laws and centuries of distrust. It was like standing on the edge of a sword and realizing you were part of its eye. No one truly survived a convergence unchanged, yet when it happened, it had the power to shift everything.
For Ohm Thipakorn and Mark Pakin, it began the moment their paths crossed.
Ohm was twenty then, a rising model just beginning to carve out his name. At first, it existed only in murmured backstage at photoshoots, growing louder each time his face appeared in glossy spreads. He carried a restless kind of beauty, the sort that seemed untethered, belonging everywhere and nowhere all at once. Until he met Mark.
It started with wounded skin and neat stitches, a simple accident that spiraled into something greater. A week later, Mark called to check on the healing, and from there, the ripples spread. Dinners followed, then nights, until Ohm found himself waking in sheets that smelled faintly of antiseptic and Mark’s perfume.
Mark was on the cusp of thirty, living the last days of his twenties with a quiet grace Ohm admired. He liked the idea that he would be the one to welcome Mark into the third decade of his life, a milestone Ohm himself was still years away from. Where Ohm’s world was chaotic, always shifting under bright lights and flashing cameras; Mark’s was steady, already written in the clean ink of hospital routines, polished shoes, and flat white corridors. And Ohm loved that certainty.
Some people said their convergence came too soon, that they lived on opposite sides of a world too vast to cross. But Ohm believed otherwise. To him, love was never too early. It always arrived exactly where it was meant to, when two people were destined to meet.
It was perfect for Ohm. Evenings blurred into the warmth of their apartment, where he curled up on the couch in one of Mark’s oversized sweaters, eyes half-focused on the silly rom-com he loved and had already watched a million times before. Across the room, the faint hum of jazz drifted from a vinyl player, its soft brass notes mingling with the sound of Mark’s voice as he paced back and forth, phone pressed to his ear, murmuring about patients and shifts to his junior resident.
When the call ended, Ohm glanced over with a grin. “You shouldn’t stay up so late,” he teased. “It’s bad for your skin.”
Mark laughed, sinking into the seat beside him. “So, you’re the doctor now?”
Ohm smirked, leaning into his chest and letting the familiar movie fade into background noise. “I don’t have to be a doctor to know frowning at thirty gives you wrinkles.”
“Hey, I’m not even thirty yet!” Mark objected, though his smile betrayed him.
“But still,” Ohm stole a quick kiss, the corners of Mark’s lips curving beneath his. “You’re always gonna be my old man.”
“An old man who knows everything about you,” Mark murmured, pulling him in for a longer kiss.
Everything felt steady then, perfectly in place. His kiss was soft, gentle, the kind of soft that felt like home, the kind of home Ohm had always longed for but never really had. The steady beat of Mark’s heart beneath his ear, the quiet reassurance in the arms circling his waist, they were extraordinary to him precisely because he had grown up without them.
These were the moments Ohm loved most. The quiet kind where nothing grand was happening, yet he felt like he could dissolve into the air, safe in the knowledge that Mark was there. Mark knew him in a way no one else ever had. This was the very thing he had always longed for, the very thing every rom-com movies had promised him.
“I need to stay at the hospital tonight,” Mark whispered, breaking their kiss. “There’s a VIP patient coming in. The attending doctor won’t be there for a while, so they need a Chief Resident to supervise.”
Ohm tilted his chin up, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “What kind of patient?” His voice was soft, not nosy, just eager to slip inside the part of Mark’s world that always hold so much of his entire life.
Mark smiled, brushing his thumb over Ohm’s cheek the way one might soothe a child. “You wouldn’t understand, baby. It’s complicated.”
Ohm’s lips parted, a hundred questions lingering on his tongue, but he swallowed them down. “Then explain it in baby language,” he teased gently, muffled against the fabric of Mark’s shirt. “I’m a fast learner.”
Mark chuckled, low and warm. “If I could explain it in one conversation, I wouldn’t need to spend my whole life studying medicine, would I?”
Ohm laughed too, because Mark made it sound like a joke, like he wasn’t shutting him out, just teasing. In that moment, he convinced himself that Mark was protecting him from things too heavy for him to carry. And so, he let it go.
“Then I’ll see you tomorrow,” Ohm murmured, nestling closer, inhaling the scent of Mark’s perfume mixed with faint traces of antiseptic he could never get enough of.
Mark pressed a kiss to the crown of his head. “Good night, fiancé. Sleep tight.”
Fiancé. Ohm liked the sound of that. To be engaged so young had never been part of his life’s plan. He had been reckless and naive, even sometimes trailed by bad decisions and worse outcomes at every corner. Yet this choice — to say yes to Mark — felt like the only decision that had ever truly made sense. When Mark slid the ring onto his finger, it was as if the world bent in their favor. Old beliefs he once clung to crumbled, rewritten by the man beside him.
Mark has opened his eyes to see a lot of things in the world. Ohm used to sip cheap cocktails at a dim bar off Lower Manhattan; now he knew the taste of Dom Pérignon resting quietly in Mark’s wine cellar. Once, his playlists were nothing but the country singers of his childhood; now he fell asleep to Mark talking about Miles Davis and the sharp ache of a trumpet solo. Mark explained things with such patience, such intelligence, that Ohm couldn’t help but falling deeper every time.
That morning, however, Ohm woke not to Mark’s voice but to the insistent buzz of his phone at 9 a.m. His friends, of course. It was the weekend, which meant another barrage of invitations to drinks, wandering through the city, hopping from one noisy bar to another. He was busy during the week, sure, but the truth was he had been dodging them. It wasn’t that he didn’t care. He just couldn’t stomach the thought of wasting unproductive hours escorting drunk friends home on the subway when there were bigger things on his mind.
Still, when he finally showed up, the welcome was loud.
“Oh fuck, finally the queen has arrived!” Java’s voice carried across the table with a made up British accent, exaggerated as always.
Ohm rolled his eyes. “Say that again and I’ll turn on my heel right now.” He slipped into the empty chair beside Jaoying, who was delicately picking anchovies out of her Caesar salad instead of asking the waitress to hold them.
“Okay, relax, wifey,” Java shot back, only to yelp when Jaoying smacked his thigh with the flat of her fork.
“Calling a gay guy wifey just because he’s a bottom — sorry, Ohm — is sexist!” she scolded, pointing her fork at him. “And also? Wifey? That’s cringe.”
“Okay, woke queen… slow down,” Java muttered, rubbing his leg.
Ohm couldn’t help but laugh, the careless kind of laugh that spilled too quickly, after weeks of being around people twice his age. For a moment, he felt like he was back in college again, in that cramped dorm room where Jaoying moved in unannounced because her roommate was unbearable, where nights blurred into arguments, bad Chinese food, and a kind of belonging that was simple and unpolished.
Around his friends, he felt twenty again. They teased each other mercilessly, stole fries off each other’s plates, and laughed so loudly the waitress gave them dirty looks. With Java and Jaoying, Ohm didn’t have to play the wise old Nanny McPhee, didn’t have to polish his words or pretend to be smarter than he was.
“Babe, are you even listening?” Jaoying snapped her fingers in front of his face.
He blinked, caught between the buzz of their voices and the ghost of last night’s quiet kiss. Mark’s words still echoed in his head: Good night, fiancé. Sleep tight.
“I’m listening,” Ohm muttered, though he wasn’t. Because whenever he was with them, there was always a tug of warinside him.
Here, he was still the boy who once snuck into clubs with a fake ID, who danced on sticky floors until dawn before rushing to auditions the next morning. Being with them reminded him he could still have that life, if only he let himself.
Java elbowed him. “Don’t tell me you’re daydreaming about your McDreamy again?”
Heat rushed to Ohm’s cheeks. “Shut up.”
Jaoying leaned in, her eyes softer now. “I’m just inviting you to my birthday party next week.”
“But your birthday isn’t until a fortnight,” Ohm said, brows lifting.
Java licked ketchup off his finger and made a face. “Now you’re just making up big words.”
“It’s real, you weirdo,” Ohm shot back, disgusted. “It means two weeks.”
“Then just say it as it is… two weeks!” Java grinned. “We’re not Dr. Pakin, you can drop the smartypants act.”
“Stop teasing him,” Jaoying scolded, flicking a fry at Java’s head before turning back to Ohm. “Bring Mark if you want.”
“I’ll invite him,” Ohm said, hiding half the truth. “He’d love to come.”
“Great!” Jaoying beamed.
Of course Ohm wouldn’t say no to his best friend’s birthday party, not when she asked him like that. But he also knew Mark wasn’t much of a party person, let alone the kind of New York beauty influencer blowout birthday party, where half of United States will be there. Still, maybe Mark would say yes. He made a mental note to ask him later.
That morning, Mark had texted that he’d be on shift until late afternoon, but would pick him up after. It wasn’t long before an Audi pulled up outside the diner. Ohm waved goodbye to his friends and slid into the passenger seat.
“Hi, baby,” Mark greeted, leaning over to press a quick kiss to his lips before pulling back onto the road. “How was the hangout? Fun?”
“Yeah!” Ohm nodded eagerly, launching into the stories of the day. “…and I still can’t believe Java is actually dating that surfer he hooked up with in L.A.”
Mark laughed. “That sounds exactly like Java. What about your other friend — what’s her name again?”
“Jaoying,” Ohm replied quickly.
“Yes, Jaoying! She’s still doing TikTok?” Mark asked, eyes on the road, his right hand resting casually on Ohm’s knee. “Is it sustainable, though?”
“Yeah, she’s even expanding her audience in Asia,” Ohm said, trying to make his best friend sound as impressive as possible. He wanted Mark to see them the way Mark always talked about his friends, so solid, successful, and admirable. “She’s planning to start a business once she grows big enough.”
“Sounds like a good plan,” Mark replied smoothly, though Ohm could tell it wasn’t his honest opinion. After a pause, Mark added, “Remember my friend Satang?”
Ohm nodded, waiting.
“He’s a plastic surgeon, but he makes TikTok videos explaining procedures. Calls it just a side hustle, though he earns pretty well from it,” Mark said, casting a quick glance at him. A faint smile tugged at his lips. “He hates when we call him an influencer, so of course we keep teasing him about it.”
Mark laughed, as if the word itself were ridiculous. Maybe he was right, maybe it did sound silly, especially in his world of specialists and doctors who actually saved lives, not the ones who posed in front of cameras. Still, the way he said it made Ohm’s stomach twist. He forced a laugh of his own, even as his mind flickered to Jaoying’s face, the way her eyes lit up whenever she talked about her plans, her determination to make something of herself. He wanted to defend her, defend the word that he thought was silly, but the words caught in his throat and never made it out.
So instead, he shifted in his seat, trying to sound casual. “Speaking of her… Jaoying invited us to her birthday party next week. She’d be glad if both of us came.”
“Oh?” Mark’s tone was polite, but distant. His hand slipped from Ohm’s knee to the gear shift and stayed there. “Next week? I can’t. I already promised my professor I’d be at his party. His son just finished his internship and will be starting residency at my hospital.”
“Oh,” Ohm said softly, staring at the blur of city lights outside the window. He forgot how much he used to love downtown Manhattan, before he got pulled into the quiet, polished order of the Upper East Side.
“You should come with me,” Mark continued smoothly. “It’ll be good for you to meet my people.”
The party was held at a country club just outside the city, the kind of place where valet drivers stood straighter than the guests they served and the air smelled faintly of cigars and polished mahogany. Inside, the dining room hummed with laughter, though not the kind Ohm was used to. This laughter was measured and wrapped in pauses, with knowing glances exchanged over wine glasses that probably cost more than his monthly rent back in Downtown.
Mark’s hand lingered briefly at the small of his back as they walked in. “Relax, baby,” he whispered, guiding him forward. “Just be yourself.”
Ohm nodded, forcing polite smiles as Mark introduced him around. Names blurred one into the next: consultants, professors, residents, and spouses in glittering dresses. Each handshake came paired with the inevitable question about his work, delivered with curiosity that felt more like a test than genuine interest.
“You’re a model?” one of Mark’s colleagues asked, swirling the dark liquid in his glass. “Interesting. My niece did a few campaigns in college. Of course, she moved on after graduating law school.”
Ohm returned the smile, polite and practiced. “That’s nice.”
Later, at the long dining table dressed in starched white linen and gold-lined cutlery, the conversation shifted to familiar rhythms he couldn’t quite keep up with. Stories of first successful surgeries streamed easily across the table, tales of research trips in Europe, policies being drafted for the health board. Ohm nodded when everyone else did, even laughed — always a beat too late — at a joke about residency rotations. His hand gripped the stem of his champagne flute as though it might anchor him to the room.
One of the partners turned to him with a sweet smile, though her tone carried weight beneath its softness. “And what about you, Ohm? You must be busy too.”
He cleared his throat. “Uh… shoots, mostly. I just did one for Marie Claire US last week. And a magazine cover coming out next month.”
“Great,” she said warmly. “It must be hard surviving in Hollywood.”
“Hollywood?” Ohm blinked, caught off guard.
She nodded. “Mark mentioned you’re trying out for some film auditions?”
Heat crept up Ohm’s neck. He had told Mark about that — in passing, like something tender and half-formed, but it wasn’t meant for this table. Acting wasn’t his priority; he was happy with how far modeling had carried him. But here it was, on display, a conversation piece.
A polite hum circled the table before the discussion veered back toward the latest cardiac technique. Ohm shifted in his chair, brushing his fingers toward Mark’s hand, but Mark reached for his glass instead with his eyes fixed across the table — maybe he did not see it. He nodded at someone’s point, never once glancing Ohm’s way until the dinner finally ended.
Ohm looked down at his untouched plate, the candlelight catching the rim of the porcelain. Somewhere across the city, he imagined Jaoying blowing out candles on her flourless birthday cake, Java shouting off-key, their laughter spilling without restraint. He forced a smile when the waiter refilled his glass. But this was Mark’s world. And he had to bear it.
Later in the evening, Mark guided him toward a smaller circle gathered near the pool. At the center stood a tall, distinguished man in his fifties, the kind of presence that drew every word, every glance toward him. Ohm recognized him immediately. Mark’s professor.
“Professor Sunny,” Mark greeted warmly, bowing his head in respect. Ohm followed suit a beat later.
“Dr. Mark,” the man smiled, then gestured toward the young man at his side. “My son, Ford. He just finished his internship and will be joining your hospital’s residency this month.”
Ford extended a hand, eyes bright with admiration. “I’ve heard so much about you, Dr. Mark. You’re the Chief Resident, right? My dad keeps telling me you’re the one to look up to.”
Mark chuckled modestly, shaking his hand. “Welcome aboard, Ford. Residency will be tough, but you’ll do great. If you ever need anything, just come to me.”
Professor Sunny’s gaze softened with pride, then shifted toward Mark. “If you weren’t already engaged,” he said with a teasing smile, “I’d have you set up with my son. But good men like you never stay single for long, do they?”
Laughter rippled through the group. Mark laughed too, a little sheepishly, but didn’t correct him. His hand brushed Ohm’s back almost absentmindedly, a polite gesture more than a claim. A moment later, Mark introduced him to the group as his fiancé, and Ohm forced a smile, nodding when Ford greeted him politely. The words slid past him like static. The professor’s praise echoed in his head. The best Chief Resident. The perfect candidate. The man everyone wanted for their children. And yet, Ohm was the one who would marry him someday. He should have felt grateful. Instead, a quiet ache told him he was out of place.
The conversation carried on, from another medical things he couldn’t understand to the quiet hierarchy of who had trained under whom. Ohm smiled when expected, laughed when the rhythm demanded it, but the truth pressed heavy on his chest: he was nothing here, no one, just Dr. Mark’s model fiancé, and probably not good enough even for that.
When it became too much, he excused himself for fresh air. Outside, the night air cooled his skin as he scrolled his phone. At the top of his feed, Jaoying’s story played: neon balloons spelling her name, sparklers raised high, her laughter caught mid-frame. The music was too loud, their voices even louder, but they were happy. He could almost hear her calling him an idiot for sitting at a table where his words held no weight. He almost smiled. Almost.
“Baby, you okay?” Mark appeared at his side, pressing a glass into his hand. His voice was gentle, as though nothing at all was wrong.
“Yeah,” Ohm said, slipping his phone back into his pocket. He looked up at Mark, his lips curving faintly. “I’m fine.”
And he brushed it off. Again.
The city blurred past in streaks of gold and red as they drove home. The car was suddenly too quiet, the silence between them heavier than the night outside. Since the event, Mark hadn’t spoken a word, and Ohm had no idea what was going through his mind. He stayed quiet too, waiting, because it was always Mark who broke the silence first.
Mark’s hands tightened on the steering wheel before his voice finally cut through the stillness. “Why are you being like that?”
Ohm blinked. “Like what?”
“You’ve been sulking since dinner.” Mark’s tone sharpened. “If you didn’t want to come, you should’ve said so. Don’t act like I dragged you into something terrible.”
“I wasn’t — ”
“Don’t tell me it’s nothing,” Mark snapped, cutting him off. “I could see it. You were distant all night. I kept making sure you didn’t feel out of place, but all you could think about was spending your night at some useless influencer party. You could’ve just gone, if that’s what you wanted.”
The words struck cold, stinging even though Mark’s eyes never left the road. Ohm’s chest tightened. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, tasting all the words he wanted to say but knew would never come out right.
“I just…” he tried, his voice barely audible. “I didn’t really know what to say.”
Mark scoffed, shaking his head. “That’s not an excuse. You’re smart, Ohm. You could’ve tried, if you were mature enough. You can’t just shut down whenever you feel out of place. That’s not how the world works.”
The words echoed. Ohm sat there replaying every moment of the night, every smile he should’ve forced, every line of conversation he might have added. If only he’d done more, maybe Mark wouldn’t sound so disappointed now. His vision blurred at the corners, tears threatening.
The silence stretched again, broken only by the hum of the engine. Ohm dug his nails into his palm and fixed his gaze on the dark blur of the East River as they crossed the bridge. His throat ached. He couldn’t cry here, not when Mark was speaking to him like this was a mature conversation. Crying would only make him looked childish. Maybe Mark was right. Maybe it was his fault.
By the time they pulled up to their building, they sat in the stillness of the car for a long moment. Mark exhaled, loosening his grip on the wheel.
“Look, baby… I didn’t mean to snap.” His voice softened. “I just wanted you to feel comfortable enough to show yourself among my peers.”
Ohm nodded quickly, the apology slipping out before he could stop it. “I’m sorry too. I’ll try harder next time.”
Mark reached over, brushing his thumb across the back of Ohm’s hand. The fleeting gesture made Ohm’s heart soften despite himself. He smiled faintly, though it never reached his eyes. Mark lifted his hand, kissed it gently — the habit he always used to seal their fights.
Inside, the elevator hummed upward. Mark was already scrolling through his messages, while Ohm stared at his reflection in the mirrored wall. His own face stared back at him: tired, faintly hollow. And still, when the doors slid open, he followed Mark out.
The apartment door clicked shut behind them, the familiar scent of bergamot from Mark’s diffuser curling softly through the air. Mark kicked off his shoes, loosened his tie, and slipped into the living room as though the night had never gone wrong.
“Oh Jesus,” he muttered, tossing his blazer onto the couch. “I need a long, warm shower before tomorrow. Back to back rounds and clinic… it never ends.” A faint smile tugged at his lips as he rubbed the back of his neck.
Ohm lingered near the door, slower with his coat, the echo of the car ride still weighing heavy in his chest. By the time Mark disappeared into the bedroom, the apartment had gone quiet, leaving him alone with the hum of the fridge and the muffled rhythm of traffic outside.
Nearly half an hour later, Mark reemerged, hair damp, a worn t-shirt hanging loose. He paused when he saw Ohm still perched at the edge of the couch, unmoved. Tilting his head, he studied him for a moment.
“You’re still upset,” he said gently, no accusation this time, just observation.
“I’m fine,” Ohm murmured, rising to stand, but Mark’s hand found his and guided him back down.
He didn’t press. Instead, he crossed to the record player, flipping through the stack of vinyls until he settled on one. Chet Baker Sings. Their favorite. The needle dropped, and the room filled with the soft hum of trumpet and voice. From the fridge, Mark pulled two bottles of sparkling water, the golden light spilling across the wooden floor.
When he returned, he held out a hand. “Come here.”
Ohm blinked, caught off guard. “What are you doing?”
“Putting a smile on your face,” Mark said simply, his mouth curving into that lopsided grin. “It’s been a while since we danced.”
Before Ohm could protest, Mark tugged him gently into the kitchen. The refrigerator light glowed around them as Mark slid an arm around his waist. They swayed at first awkwardly, then more certain as Ohm gave in and leaned into him.
Mark’s breath warmed his temple. “See? You’re smiling now.”
Ohm let out a small, shaky laugh, burying his face in the curve of Mark’s neck. The tension unraveled bit by bit until all that remained was the steady weight of Mark holding him. He knew there were things he shouldn’t swallow, words he shouldn’t silence, doubts he shouldn’t ignore. But in the dim glow of the kitchen, with I Fall In Love Too Easily threading softly through the air, none of it seemed to matter.
This was the Mark he loved, the Mark who belonged only to him in quiet moments like this. And Ohm clung to it, desperate to stretch the feeling as far as it would go.
Ohm had been longing for this moment.
The moment where he could finally brag about something he had built since the day he stepped into the modeling world. The moment he got recognized. The magazine that was delivered that morning, lay open on the counter, glossy under the sunlight. His own face stared back at him in sharp, perfect colors.
It was his first big advertisement for a high-end brand. His agent had secured him a rare opportunity to meet Christian Dior’s creative director, Tu Tontawan, during New York Fashion Week. They’d talked about vision, artistry, and how Dior had shaped the way Ohm understood fashion ever since he first knew the word. A week later, the offer came: be the face of their global campaign, alongside a name so massive it practically shook the industry.
And now here it was.
Ohm sat in the living room, nerves buzzing, while Mark moved around, buttoning his shirt and fixing his hair before heading to the hospital.
“Just five more minutes,” Ohm pleaded. “Please. The commercial’s about to air.”
Mark sighed but stayed. And then, there it was on screen. Ohm with a name who carried the entire box offices on his shoulders, Fluke Pusit, the Hollywood A-lister whose name got featured in a Best Picture Academy Awards winner. Together they looked electric as the pairing crafted to sell not just perfume, but desire itself.
Mark’s fingers drummed against the counter. “So this is it? Your surprise?” His tone was too casual, almost flat.
“Yeah,” Ohm said carefully. Pride swelled in his chest, but Mark’s unreadable expression dimmed it. “It’s Christian Dior, Mark. They picked me because they thought Fluke and I looked great together selling the product.”
“Looked great together.” Mark repeated the phrase with a low, sarcastic chuckle. His lips curved, not into a smile, but into something sharper. “You mean you two looked great because you’re half-undressed and pressed against each other?”
Ohm’s stomach twisted. “That’s the selling point, Mark. It’s an advertisement.”
“Right,” Mark muttered, moving across the room. “Of course. My fiancé’s a model, so he can do anything as long as there’s a camera around to justify it.”
“Mark, that’s not what I mean.” Ohm’s voice dropped, fingers fidgeting with the ring on his hand.
“Oh no, I understand perfectly.” Mark cut him off, his tone cool. “This is your job. This is what you do. Which means I don’t get to have an opinion about it, right?”
Ohm’s jaw worked, words stuck in his throat. Mark slipped on his watch with his movements brisk and deliberate. He didn’t even glance at the lunch he had cooked earlier, left cooling on the counter. That was how Ohm knew, Mark was angry. And somehow, the glow of everything he had worked for felt useless.
The echo of their fight that morning still clung to Ohm’s chest when he arrived at the hospital later that evening. The place where they first met. The place where everything between them had once bloomed, even though now everything felt like it was unraveling. He told himself he wasn’t here to cause a scene. Just to drop off the lunch Mark had forgotten, then head straight to work.
The hospital smelled faintly of antiseptic, that sterile tang of air scrubbed too clean. Doctors and nurses moved briskly in white coats, voices clipped and purposeful. Ohm’s steps felt slower and hesitant, as he made his way toward the residents’ lounge where Mark often rested between rounds.
Through the glass wall, he spotted him.
Mark, with his shoulders loose for once, laughing — like, really laughing — beside someone. It was Ford, Mark’s junior Ohm had met briefly once at a party weeks ago. Ford leaned in a little too close, his hand brushing Mark’s arm in a way that felt too casual to be innocent. Their heads bent together, conspiratorial, like they shared jokes no one else could understand.
Ohm froze. His fingers tightened around the lunch bag. To anyone else, the scene would’ve looked ordinary. But to him, it was a knife. A dagger carved, just for his chest.
So he stepped inside.
“Hey,” Ohm said softly, steadying his voice into something polite.
Mark’s laughter died instantly. His posture snapped back into something neutral. “Ohm. What are you doing here?”
“You left your lunch at the counter today,” Ohm replied, forcing a smile as his gaze flicked to Ford. “But… I guess you already ate.”
Ford stood politely, adjusting his coat. “I’ll let you two talk. Good to see you again, Ohm.”
The door clicked shut as the silence filled the space. Ohm’s chest burned. “You two seemed close.”
Mark arched a brow. “Close? He was just asking me about a surgery case.”
“It sounds fun the way you two are laughing,” Ohm shot back before he could stop himself. “You don’t laugh like that with me anymore.”
Mark leaned back against the couch, arms crossed, his voice laced with mock amusement. “Are you jealous? Because if you are, that’s a little ridiculous, don’t you think?”
Ohm’s pulse spiked. “Ridiculous? You got upset over a campaign I had no control over. And here I am, walking in to see someone’s hand resting on your arm, and I’m supposed to pretend it means nothing?”
“Yeah, that’s what exactly you’re supposed to do,” Mark snapped, pointing a finger at him like correcting a child. “Because it does mean nothing. Ford is my junior, we deal with life and death situations together. That’s not the same as you posing half-naked with another man for the whole world to see while you’re wearing my ring.”
Ohm swallowed hard, heat rising to his face. He felt the dam straining. “It’s my career, Mark. You knew what I did before we even started dating.”
“And you knew what I did,” Mark countered, fast and cutting. “So tell me, whose work do you think matters more at the end of the day? The doctor saving lives, or the model selling perfume fantasies?”
The words landed sharp, leaving Ohm reeling. He stared, tears pricking at his eyes. “So that’s what you really think of me.”
Mark sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Don’t twist my words. That’s not what I meant. You’re talented, Ohm. You know I’m the one who believes in you the most.” He stepped closer, voice softening. “But jealousy doesn’t look good on you. Don’t let it ruin what we have.”
Ohm wanted to scream. He wanted to tell him it wasn’t jealousy that was eating him alive, it was imbalance. It was the way Mark always brushed him aside, making him feel small in his own skin.
Before he could speak, Mark reached out, tilting his chin up. “Hey. Look at me.”
Ohm’s glassy eyes met Mark’s steady ones.
“You know I love you the most, right?” Mark’s voice was gentle, almost soothing. Like it was enough. Like it settled everything. And then, almost too casually, he added, “Let’s move the wedding up this year. No more waiting.”
Ohm blinked, caught off guard. The words hung between them, like a gift wrapped too neatly to trust. Mark smiled faintly, as if offering a solution, a new promise that could smooth over the cracks already showing.
Ohm nodded, because it was easier than fighting. But inside, the ache spread wider, carving out the hollow that had been growing for a long time. For the first time, he wondered if their love was really enough… or if it had already been slipping away, piece by piece without him knowing.
It all happened so suddenly. One moment, they were talking about moving the wedding up and the next, Ohm was knee-deep in planning — venues, florists, caterers, fittings. At first, he threw himself into it with the same energy he gave to photoshoots, telling himself Mark would join once things at the hospital eased. Jaoying and Java quickly stepped in to help, trailing him through venue surveys, curating playlists, even sketching table arrangements. They made it bearable. But still, the empty seat beside him was impossible to ignore.
Weeks stretched into months. The planning notebook became a mess of Ohm’s handwriting alone, smudged with ink where he had crossed things out in frustration. Every time he asked if they should sit down together, Mark’s replies were clipped, distant: “I trust your taste.” “You’ll make it beautiful.” “I’m good with whatever you decide.”
By the third missed appointment with the planner, Ohm couldn’t swallow it anymore.
It was past midnight when Mark finally came home, still in scrubs, exhaustion clinging to him like a second skin. For a moment, the sight almost undid Ohm. He just wanted to pull him close, let him collapse into his lap, run his fingers through his damp hair until he drifted off. But instead, he stayed rooted on the couch, invitation samples spread across the coffee table like unspoken accusations.
“You didn’t come today,” Ohm said quietly.
Mark sighed, setting his keys down. “Emergency surgery happened, baby. I told you already.”
“It’s always emergencies,” Ohm pressed, voice tightening. “Whenever it’s about us, you’re never there. Do you even want this wedding?”
Mark rolled his eyes, trying not to snap. “Oh, don’t start, Ohm. I don’t have the energy to argue tonight.”
“I’m not starting anything, I just asked!” Ohm snatched up one of the samples, then slammed it back down. His voice broke sharp, raw. “Because it feels like I’m only marrying myself at this point.”
Mark’s jaw clenched. “You think the ring on your finger isn’t enough proof that I want to marry you?”
“No, it’s not!” The words tore out before Ohm could stop them. “You asked me to marry you, then left me to build everything alone. You want me in your world, but you won’t even step into mine. And when I try to show up, when I needed you the most, you’re not there. You make me feel like I don’t belong anywhere with you, Mark.”
The silence that followed was taut, a wire straining under too much weight. Mark exhaled slowly, heavily, his gaze drifting to the ring on Ohm’s hand.
“I think…” he whispered, “this isn’t working, Ohm.”
Ohm’s heart stalled. “What?”
Mark rubbed his temple, leaning back against the counter. “We see the world too differently. You’re young, Ohm. You want the noise, glamours, but what I want is stability. I can’t keep fighting every time our worlds collide. A marriage won’t work if all we do is disagree.”
Ohm’s throat burned. “So you’re just… giving up?”
Mark’s eyes softened, but his voice stayed firm. “I’m telling you the truth. We’re not built to last. You’ll see that one day.”
Ohm didn’t remember how Mark left that night. Maybe it was the sound of the bedroom door closing harder than usual, or the faint shuffle of him tossing his scrubs into the hamper before climbing into bed without another word. What stayed with him was the silence that kept ringing unbearable. The kind of silence that lingered long after, leaving behind only the ghost of him in the air, in the walls, in the spaces they once filled together.
And all Ohm did was cry. Cry for all the times he couldn’t. Mourn for the moments he thought could be forever but slipped through his hands like water. He wept for every mornings Mark wasn’t there anymore, but his perfume lingered on his pillow. For all the nights they swayed clumsily in the refrigerator light. For the ring that still pressed cold against his finger, mourning for their vows that never made it to the aisle.
His twenty first birthday came a few weeks later.
Jaoying and Java showed up with balloons and a cake, decorating the tiny dining room that still had unpacked boxes stacked against the walls. The apartment felt a little too big for the three of them, but Ohm was grateful he’d found the strength to let people in again, even if just for tonight. They laughed too loudly, told the same lame jokes, and made him blow out the candles twice just to get a decent picture. Yet when the candlelight flickered against his face, a hollow ache spread through his chest.
Because exactly one year ago, on this same day, Mark had dropped to one knee in their old apartment, a velvet box clutched in his hand. Ohm had been twenty, still figuring out who he was, while Mark stood steady, certain, already a man whose path was written. They had both known their differences from the start, yet they were so sure then.
“Let’s not wait,” Mark had whispered, slipping the ring onto Ohm’s trembling finger. “I don’t care about our differences. I just want a forever with you.”
Now, sitting between Jaoying and Java, the memory replayed like a cruel trick of light — Mark’s determined gaze, the way his hands shook despite his words, the urgency that once felt like love. Back then, Ohm believed it was romance. Now, it only stung.
Because now he could finally see it. Maybe Mark hadn’t loved him, not really. Maybe he had only loved the version of Ohm that was still pliable, still learning, still easy to mold. And Ohm, in turn, had been so busy loving Mark like he was his whole world, that he never noticed Mark only ever offered him a corner of it.
Now he knew, the convergence was never meant to last. It was only ever meant to linger, a fleeting crossing of paths, just long enough to let them taste what it could be. But that truth did nothing to dull the pain. It only carved the wound deeper, because once, he had believed it would be forever.
Five years had slipped by like smoke, reshaping him into someone almost unrecognizable from the boy who once wept in that half-empty apartment. Ohm had grown into his name. No longer just a whispered face on magazine covers, but now a rising actor with his first big franchise set to premiere in Hollywood. Billboards bore his face, towering over the very city that had once made him feel so small.
And yet, the past had a cruel way of circling back.
It happened in the most unassuming place. Los Angeles, a hospital corridor humming beneath fluorescent lights. Ohm was there for a routine checkup, with his cap tugged low and sunglasses masking most of his face. He was halfway through scrolling his phone when he turned a corner, only for the breath to catch in his throat.
Mark.
Older now, yes, but still unmistakably him. The same steady posture, the same calmness etched into his features. For a second, it was as if nothing had changed, until Ohm’s gaze dropped, catching the band of gold glinting on his finger. And just like that, the illusion shattered.
“You look…” Mark faltered, as if startled by his own reaction. His lips curved into something caught between pride and disbelief. “Different. Mature.”
“Five years will do that,” Ohm replied, forcing a small smile, though deep inside, an old wound throbbed as if it had never healed.
They traded pleasantries after, Mark asking about his work and Ohm brushing it off with vague mentions of scripts and premieres. But the words blurred and hollow, because all he could see was that ring. And when Mark said it, almost casually,“Ford has been keeping me grounded through everything since we got married” …the air left Ohm’s lungs.
Ford.
The same name Mark had once told him not to worry about. Now it was carved into his life, his home, his vows. The future that once belonged to Ohm.
He smiled where he should, nodded at the right places, even managed a polite congratulations before walking away. But inside, a slow, splintering realization spread through him, he had always been replaceable. The forever Mark once promised wasn’t impossible, but it just wasn’t meant for him.
And when Ohm stepped out of that hospital, the weight of five years pressed down on his shoulders. Time hadn’t dulled the ache, it had only reshaped it into something quieter, something he would carried forever. Because maybe love hadn’t destroyed him completely, but it surely had scarred the biggest part of him.
And in the end, he did remember everything. A little all too well.