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There was a ringing in Jane’s ears.
“You don’t remember anything at all?”
Two girls stood in the school courtyard facing each other. There was a slight breeze that rustled the leaves of the trees behind them. Muffled chatter could be heard from the students moving in and out of the building. Sunlight beamed down from between wispy clouds.
Nano shakes her head.
The warmth of the day was a stark contrast to the cold, sickening feeling settling in Jane’s stomach.
She had been anticipating seeing the other girl since they’d been interrupted the night before—they hadn’t had time to talk given that Nalin had sent all the girls home following Sophie’s outburst. Nano had been so out of it that even when Khaopan begrudgingly offered to take her home, she hadn’t put up a fight. And Jane, just then noticing the messages from her father that were blowing up her phone, hadn’t been in much of a position to protest.
She clinged to the notion of picking up the next day, even going as far as to leave early so she could wait for Nano. She’d been standing outside for around 15 minutes, head perking up every time she heard footsteps approaching or saw a car pull up in her peripheral.
While she was attempting to be subtle—to mask her giddiness—she was well aware she looked like a fool, standing there alone, swinging her hands and biting down her grin.
The stares she was getting didn’t matter when Nano finally appeared though.
She was perfect and polished as ever, sun catching her hair, skin bright, and skirt swaying with every stride. She slowed her steps when she noticed Jane waving enthusiastically at her, hesitating only for a second out of surprise before making her way over. Jane’s heart did a double jump in her chest when she noticed the careful smile on her face, withheld but there.
Now, the head cheerleader’s face was scrunched into an adorably confused expression as she rubbed her temple. She looked like a disgruntled cat who was unceremoniously woken from their slumber, but not even that could revive Jane’s smile.
Nano didn’t remember.
Jane remembers it all.
She remembers the way they had arrived at the party, late, arm in arm. How no one bat an eye at the fact they were together. (Not together together, but… you know what she means). She remembers the buzzy feeling that had settled low in her gut from the first unsuspecting sip of alcohol at the door. How it had only spread outwards from her chest, into the rest of her body as the night went on. How Nano had laughed in Som’s face and downed her own cup without so much as blinking.
She remembers later, the way Nano had stumbled out of the bathroom, cheeks flushed and eyes soft, a different version of herself than Jane was used to. How the furrow in her brow was, for once, smoothed.
She remembers the way Nano had run her fingertips over her palm—slowly and purposefully—sending jolts of electricity up her arm and shivers down her spine. How the girl had interlocked their hands and used the contact as leverage to bring them closer, practically leaning the entire length of her body over Jane’s. How she was close enough for Jane to count every eyelash, every freckle, and every mole. How her eyes were dark and inviting.
Mostly, she remembers the softness of her lips and the taste of her cherry gloss that lingered in Jane’s mouth hours after they parted. She remembers the little breath she let out when Jane backed her against the wall—she had replayed the sound over and over again after, staring at her ceiling, too full of energy to fall asleep. She remembers the way Nano had pressed forward after recovering from her initial fear that Jane didn’t want this too (an absurd thought really). The feeling of her hands on her shoulders, shoving off Jane’s jacket, grasping at her shirt and her skin, tugging at her hair, dragging her closer. She remembers the heat that coursed through every corner of her body as weeks of pent up feelings were released.
Nano didn’t remember.
She was still looking at her expectantly.
Jane tried to shake herself out of her thoughts and say something back but her tongue was heavy and her mouth felt dry. The smile she attempted to plaster on came out more like a grimace.
“Um…” she managed after a minute. “Nothing really happened. Just a little chaos.”
Nano seemed satisfied enough with that answer, pausing only for a second to think about it before giving a small smile in return.
(Jane wasn’t paying much attention. She didn’t see how it didn’t quite reach her eyes.)
Her heart was now beating a million miles a minute. Suddenly consciously aware of every part of her body, she flexed her sweaty hands, balled them in fists, tugged at the hem of her skirt.
Nano didn’t remember.
Nano didn’t remember.
Out of all the ways Jane had imagined this day going, she hadn’t stopped to consider this as a possibility. She’d spent the whole morning wondering what Nano would say when they finally talked. What the moment meant. In most versions, it meant to her what it meant to Jane—that Nano liked her back. (She was the one that kissed her first. That had to mean something.) In others, Nano apologized and let her down gently. Told her it was due to the heat of the moment, a mistake, that it would be better if they went back to the way they were before. There were even a few particularly miserable scenarios (that Jane had tried not to think about) where Nano laughed in her face.
She’d planned for rejection. Humiliation. Awkwardness.
But she hadn’t planned for this.
Nano couldn’t tell her what it meant because she didn’t even know it happened.
Heat crept up Jane’s neck. The certainty she’d carried all morning was unraveling. Now, there was a nagging realization creeping into her mind, a familiar thought.
She’d known kissing Nano while she was drunk was a bad idea.
Well.
Maybe “known” was too strong a word.
She’d thought about it. Briefly.
Then Nano had looked at her, blue light reflecting off deep pools, and Jane had stopped thinking altogether.
But standing here now, watching Nano stare at her with a blank expression, the excuse felt thinner than it had the night before. Her giddiness turned to fear: that everything she thought it was might just have been a product of her own optimism.
Cause if it meant something she’d remember.
Jane swallowed hard.
It was too much, there was a hot sting at the corners of her eyes, and before it could get any worse she took a deep breath and ran.
She didn’t look back to see Nano’s reaction—not for the confused exclamation of, “Hey, I thought you were waiting for me!” that followed her as she made her way into the school—she didn’t look anywhere at all until she found herself in an empty hallway and could catch her breath. She sunk down against one of the support columns and blinked away the first real tears that made their way down her cheeks.
Stupid, she thought.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
-
Jane is sitting in her usual seat later, Belle to her right, when Nano walks in. Her chin is lifted as she strides toward her desk, still carrying herself like a queen—posture impeccable and expression composed—despite the lingering freshness of the incident Shisha and the other cheerleaders had hoped would make her fall. The damage seems to have mostly healed, as she retains the effortless authority that makes people straighten when she enters a room. However, Jane notices she now moves carefully, eyes keener, like a cat. She’s learned exactly where the traps are hidden and refuses to be caught by them twice. People have always stared at her but the reason for some may be very different now.
She pauses as she passes Jane and her polished pretense falls away, just for a second, when she gives her another hesitant smile—a private offering of warmth and affection, a break in her normally icy exterior.
Similar moments have occurred as they’ve gotten closer. Small pockets tucked throughout the day, brief glimpses of the softer girl hidden beneath a frosty facade. This time though it’s also a question, an “Are you ok?”, a somewhat lost expression hoping for relief.
Jane returns it, imbuing as much reassurance as she can while simultaneously a fire ignites within her at the gesture. She looks away first before she melts right then and there.
(She doesn’t notice Nano’s face fall slightly.)
Jane knows it’s not Nano’s fault that she’s forgotten but there is something uniquely cruel about being the only person haunted by a memory. Having this secret burning within her, slowly scorching every corner of her being.
She can’t get it out of her head: that the night ended for Nano when she fell asleep—or possibly even before that—because for Jane it follows her. She can’t shake away the feelings. They cling to her mind and stick in her heart and they’re slowly suffocating her.
She feels Nano’s eyes on her on and off during the whole period.
She refuses to look over.
When they’re finally dismissed, Nano is up and waiting by her desk to walk to the cat shelter as has become their routine. She’s looking at her again with that indescribable look as Jane collects her belongings at a snail’s pace. There’s a thick and unmistakable tension permeating the air between them.
Nano makes no comment on it and neither does Jane.
She knows it’s her own fault.
The air has cleared only slightly by the time they’ve crossed the province, the familiar soft sounds of cats’ meows saturating the space in place of words left unsaid (but there's still so many words). Inside, they crowd around a basket where a small ball of orange fur lays, mesmerized by the small head peeking out from beneath the blanket, scratching at the kitten’s ears.
The shelter has become one of, if not, Jane’s favorite part of her new home. It’s a place where, not only can she relax, but both her and Nano can truly be themselves with each other. Jane has noticed how much Nano opens up when she’s not surrounded by people she thinks she has to perform for and uphold her perfect reputation. She’s grateful Nano doesn’t consider her one of those people, but she wishes she could be around this Nano all the time.
It reminds her of the Nano at the party.
She shakes off the thought.
The doctor across the counter speaks up then, addressing Nano, “By the way, the extra donation money you transferred, did you put it in the donation box?”
The head cheerleader nods, her eyes lighting up. Jane tries hard not to coo at her the way she does with the kitten. “Yes, Doctor.”
He smiles warmly, “I wish there were more people like you two. A lot more cats would be happy.”
“Oh please Doctor,” Jane smirks, “Just Nano alone is stubborn enough.”
Nano whips her head to the side to glare at Jane, but there's no real anger in her expression.
“I didn’t ask you to get involved.” she pouts.
A laugh.
“I’ll help out next time too. So we can have another healthy cat.” So I can spend more time with you.
The doctor nods, “But treating them isn’t enough, we have to find a home for them too. Next time, maybe you two can help me make an announcement for this one.”
Nano nods enthusiastically and Jane wonders not for the first time if everyone would still think she was as bad as they do now if they could see her like this. “Of course.”
“Aww. Who’s getting a new home soon?” Jane murmurs as she lifts the cat into the air and cradles it against her cheek.
Nano gazes at her fondly, unnoticed.
When they leave, the awkward tension begins to creep back up, but it’s more muted now. Like a breeze that washes over them and makes them shiver rather than a cloud of smoke, choking and heavy.
Nano stands in front of Jane, eye level as she remains on the stairs, and her gaze flickers over the other girl’s face. Jane can practically see her brain working, cogs turning, figuring out how to bring up what she so obviously wants to address. Jane knows she's the one acting weird, but she doesn’t think she can handle that conversation right now. Doesn’t think it would make much of a difference anyway. Nano still didn't remember.
“About the money you owe the seniors,” she spits out suddenly. “I saw there’s an influencer market next week. There’s no booth rental fee either. Do you want to go sell more stuff? I’ll go with you.”
It’s obvious she’s deflecting. Her speech is fast and nervous and she’s avoiding eye contact. Nano raises an eyebrow and frowns but decides to humor her.
She starts slowly, “I have nothing left to sell. But thank you for always helping me out.”
Another pause.
“And I already paid back all the seniors.”
That gets Jane’s attention back on her.
“Huh?”
“Mhm.” Nano nods, scuffing the toe of her shoe on the concrete, “The modeling pay that was delayed finally came in. So I used it to pay everything off.”
“Wow,” Jane breathes. She then takes a step closer, her happiness for the girl overwhelming her own inner turmoil. “Nano, that's great!" And she means it.
"We should celebrate. My treat.”
Nano bites her lip, gaze lingering on Jane’s smile. A strange look flickers across her face before she drops her eyes and pulls out her phone. She seems almost relieved by Jane’s enthusiasm, but it fades quickly enough that Jane wonders if she imagined it.
“It’s ok,” she says finally, tapping furiously on her device before turning it around to show Jane the screen. Jane’s phone pings with a notification of the successful transaction. “I’ll treat you.”
-
Ok, now to make one thing very clear: Jane was not avoiding Nano.
Nope. That was not a thing that was happening.
They’d had a very nice lunch, as they’d planned, sitting outside a little cafe and sharing a plate of mango sticky rice. Nano had claimed she wasn’t hungry enough for her own portion but she proceeded to eat most of it anyway. Jane had laughed more than she had in weeks at the girl’s puffed cheeks, caught in the act of stealing yet another bite.
They’d then walked hand-in-hand by the river before finally ending up back at the shelter, leaning against each other in the quiet room, cats in their laps.
Everything had been perfect.
Nano had even seemed strangely attentive, watching Jane over the rim of her drink glass, a faint crease between her brows. Bumping their knees under the table, retaining her attention. Grazing their fingers on the walk back as if she was reaching out for her, making sure she was still there.
Unfortunately, all it had done was remind Jane of how badly she wanted something more.
It felt like a date.
Every smile Nano gave her felt dangerous. Every accidental brush of their hands lingered too long. Every unconscious, entirely too tender look sent her way dug the hole a little deeper.
Jane had gone home that evening, cheeks aching from smiling and stomach full of dread.
Because Nano was still Nano. Sharp and biting, but not cruel. Mean, but without malice, something ingrained deep in her that came automatically. Warm and thoughtful in ways no one else noticed and beautiful in ways Jane wished she didn’t.
But she still didn’t remember.
Gazing up at her ceiling then, Jane had wondered how much more of it she could take.
So, she decided to shift her focus.
Busy herself with other things.
As color president, she still had a lot of responsibilities. Sports Day was winding down and she had to prepare for the next event. If that consequently meant she’d been leaving class early and spending her evenings at home drafting future booths and performances instead of lingering outside the door to walk Nano home or showing up unexpectedly at the shelter under the guise of wanting to see the cats… well that wasn’t anyone’s business, was it?
Besides, there was no longer a reason for Jane to be butting her way into her business anymore (at least that’s what she told herself). She didn’t have the excuse of helping Nano with her debt since the girl had seemingly solved that problem herself. Even if Jane didn’t necessarily believe her, she didn’t want to pry.
The head cheerleader hadn’t called her out on it either. She hadn’t asked why Jane kept disappearing after class. She hadn’t confronted her about the increasingly one-sided conversations or the abrupt stop to their unofficial weekly hangouts. She hadn’t demanded an explanation for why Jane kept slipping away whenever they found themselves alone together. No. She just watched Jane occasionally from across the classroom, an odd look in her eyes.
And yeah, maybe Jane was dodging that gaze. Maybe she was offering little more than a rushed greeting each morning before finding somewhere else to be—focusing on anything and everything else except the one thing she couldn’t stop thinking about. Maybe she was ignoring text messages—replying hours later with flimsy excuses. Maybe she was acting like a startled deer every time she saw Nano coming her way and retreating too fast to notice if she was actually approaching her or just entering the room. It didn’t mean anything.
Distance was growing between them both literally and metaphorically.
But Jane was just busy.
And Nano always had a perpetually disgruntled look on her face. She was not looking more troubled than usual.
(She pushed away the memory of catching Nano lingering outside the gates after school, shifting her weight from foot to foot as she scanned the stream of departing students. The way her face had brightened when she spotted Jane, only to shutter when Jane turned and headed for the opposite exit, pretending she hadn’t seen her.
It was probably nothing.)
So yeah, Jane wasn’t avoiding her.
Sophie’s voice broke her out of her thoughts.
“Jane, are you ok? We can go over the logistics another time.”
She snaps her head over to the student council president. They were sitting in an empty classroom, the last ones left after a meeting with all the other teams to discuss the outcomes of Sports Day and redistribute the left over budget for the next event.
Loy Krathong celebrations were picking up and Jane was once again brimming with ideas for the decoration contests, but she had wanted to go over them with the other students first to figure out how the holiday was celebrated at An-Nur Utumporn Tipwal. Her scattered mind was making that very hard to do.
She clears her throat, focusing on the concerned face in front of her.
“I’m fine!” she chirps. Her voice sounds odd, even to her own ears, but it was the best she could do. “Honestly, I’ve just been a little stressed because of everything that’s been going on.”
Sophie nods her head in agreement, putting her notebook down and laughing a little, self-deprecatingly. “Tell me about it.”
Jane grimaces, “Right.”
She remembers the chaos of the party, arriving back at the living room and witnessing Nalin drag Sophie off of Shisha, her hair wild, fists flying, a kind of pure, unadulterated rage that no one had ever seen the prim, polished girl set free on full display.
“I never asked if everything was ok after… all that.”
Sophie leans onto the desk then, laying her face in her arms and letting out a groan. “Not really.”
Her voice is muffled and Jane chuckles slightly. Sophie glances up at her and pauses, seemingly wanting to say more but stopping herself. Jane scooches her chair to be beside the girl instead of across from her then.
“You know, you don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to… but you don’t have to sit alone in all of this.”
Sophie sighs, “That’s nice of you to say, but I’m not sure where I’d even start.”
Jane’s response comes too quickly.
“Anywhere.”
Sophie raises an eyebrow.
Jane feels herself flush.
“I just mean…” She picks at a scratch in the desk. “Sometimes it helps to just say it out loud.”
The words sounded suspiciously like advice she should be telling herself.
Sophie was quiet, but Jane found herself leaning forward despite herself.
It was ridiculous how badly she wanted the girl to say something.
It was even more ridiculous that she was refusing to admit why that was.
Sophie had a problem. A complicated, seemingly overwhelming problem that Jane had zero knowledge about and probably couldn’t understand even if she tried, but at least it was a problem she could point out.
And if she pointed it out, maybe they could fix it. If Sophie talked, maybe Jane could listen. Maybe she could offer advice. Maybe she could focus on something infinitely easier than the tangled mess her own feelings had become.
Helping other people had always felt easier.
She had no idea how to handle the feeling of the knot in her chest tying itself tighter every time Nano walked into a room. She always wanted to run away.
Jane was starting to suspect she would volunteer to solve everyone else’s disasters if it meant she didn't have to look directly at her own.
So she waited.
Sophie gives a small smile, relenting eventually, “It’s just hard. Wanting to do something that you’re aware is… wrong, but knowing you’re bound to regret it either way.”
Jane scoots even closer, slipping an arm around her back and patting at it soothingly. She gives the first genuine smile she’s been able to muster for a few days. She can do this—comfort.
“You know, my mom used to say, ‘If you have to choose between what is right and what you like. Choose what you like first.’ Because if you choose what you like at least it’s good for your heart.”
Sophie sits up, eyes gleaming slightly.
“What she meant is… we need to be much kinder to ourselves.”
Sophie is quiet for a minute, absorbing the words, lost in thought, before sayingly softly, “I’m jealous of you. Your mom sounds lovely.”
Jane knows there’s a lot more behind those words than Sophie is willing to admit right now, so she stays quiet as the girl lets out a deep breath, leaning her head on Jane’s shoulder.
“Thank you, Jane.”
Jane leans her own head against her, welcoming the warm presence, happy to have done something right.
“No need to thank me. Happy to help. Just remember to be kinder to yourself.”
Jane wishes she could be kinder to herself.
The moment stays still for another minute, white noise and quiet breathing laying unaccompanied in the space, before it’s broken by the sound of the door opening.
The two girls turn their heads towards the sound but don’t move much else, caught off guard by the sudden disruption.
The person entering the space stops dead in their tracks, arm suspended, hand still clutching the door handle as her bag hangs precariously off her shoulder, slipping into the crook of her elbow.
Jane’s heart seizes.
Nano’s eyes are wide and her mouth hangs open, just slightly, as she stands frozen in the doorway. Her gaze flickers briefly over the scene in front of her: Jane and Sophie, pressed close, bodies angled toward one another, alone.
Her jaw twitches.
It would be barely noticeable to anyone who hadn’t spent the last couple weeks learning the map of her face—catalouging every tiny tell hidden beneath all her practiced composure. Unfortunately for Jane, she’d been watching Nano far more than what is probably considered healthy.
“Sorry.” Nano says after what feels like forever, voice painfully controlled.
There’s not an obvious crack to it, but it’s strained, like she’s having to force the words out through something lodged in her throat.
Her hand on the door acts as an anchor as she straightens herself, clears her throat, and steels her expression into one of indifference, masking her initial shock. But Jane still notes the quiet tension there, can feel Nano’s eyes on her as Jane whips around and begins gathering her things off the desk.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt.” she continues. Again, slowly—carefully. “Khaopan left her bag.”
Jane coughs awkwardly, deliberately preoccupied. She feels her face flushing. “D-don’t worry about it. We were just leaving.”
Sophie watches her curiously, but follows suit, gathering her notes into a folder and shoving them into her satchel. They both get up, chairs screeching, agonizingly loud in the now dead silent room.
Nano doesn’t move, even when Jane is standing in front of her, attention fixed anywhere except her face.
She gazes at the wall. The floor. Their feet.
The silence stretches.
Nano’s grip tightens on the handle as her eyes bore into the top of Jane’s head. She’s waiting for Jane to say something, that much is obvious, but the air in the room feels impossibly thin. It’s suffocating.
Jane has nothing to give her.
“Excuse me.” she mumbles hoarsely.
Nano scoffs before throwing the door wide open and stalking to the back where Khaopan’s canvas bag sits.
Her shoulder connects with Jane’s.
Jane holds her breath.
She doesn’t look at Sophie the entire walk back out to the courtyard.
~
If Nano hadn’t been sure Jane was avoiding her, she was now.
But that’s not even the worst part.
Every time she closes her eyes, she’s back in the doorway of that empty classroom. Jane and Sophie are shoulder to shoulder. Sophie’s leaning against her. Jane looks softer than Nano has seen her all week.
It makes something raw claw at Nano’s insides.
She’s been tossing and turning for the better part of an hour, phone in her hand, open to her chat with the other girl. The last message was sent 3 days ago.
Nano stares at the little blue bubble.
Then at the ceiling.
Then back at the screen.
(Nothing happens—Jane doesn’t magically send her a text with an apology or explanation. Nano is left staring at the small gray letters that spell out read.)
Nano can’t even find it in herself to be angry, because Jane hasn’t done anything wrong. She can sit with whoever she wants. Talk to whoever she wants. Smile at whoever she wants. Nano has no right to police that.
Yet every time she thinks about Sophie resting her head on Jane’s shoulder, her chest tightens.
She knows Jane is friendly, learned it from the start with the way the girl practically attached herself to Nano on the first day they met and refused to leave her alone despite a rocky back and forth. It was one of her more hopeless character traits, the way she saw the best in people first, approached them without a care in the world, showed all of herself from the start and left nothing out. It was seen as endearing by some. Nano mostly thought it was naive.
The worst part is that Nano had started to get used to it. The constant smiles and upbeat attitude. The ridiculous jokes and impulsive yet somehow effective stabs at diffusing situations Nano got herself into but wasn’t prepared to get out of.
She’d started to expect it. The realization makes her grimace.
Expecting things from people was dangerous.
Depending on people was worse.
And yet, somewhere between Jane falling on her face in her rush to protect Nano’s already collapsing reputation and the intruding yet genuine attempt to provide Nano support through her self-inflicted mess—and all that despite everything Nano had said and done to her—she’d grown used to Jane's attention.
So, the unanswered texts, the rushed goodbyes, and constant excuses about being busy? They were unfamiliar. Different. They felt… intentional.
Now, she’s more sure than ever that they are.
Especially when Nano factors in the fact that it only seems to be her. That Jane is just as close (if not closer) with her other friends. As if nothing was wrong.
Nano unlocks her phone again.
Are you mad at me? /
She stares at the words for several seconds before deleting them.
Did I do something wrong? /
Delete.
Her thumb continues to hover over the keyboard, but the truth is she doesn’t know what she’s asking.
She just knows she misses Jane, aches for her, and for the first time, she’s forced to consider the idea that Jane might not miss her back.
That Jane isn’t feeling as alone as she is.
-
The next morning Nano arrives early to class. Not on purpose. Her body had decided it was too high strung to rest for much longer than 5 hours and after staring at the ceiling, head full of the same thoughts that plague her now, she chose to be productive instead of ruminating on the fact that the one person who had stubbornly inserted herself into her life no longer wanted to be part of it.
She’s sitting by the window, gazing outside with a pensive look on her face when the door opens. Her head snaps towards the new arrival.
Earn looks up from her phone and pauses as she registers Nano, the girl who had asked her to save her a seat because she was running late more times than she could count, bathing in the early morning light. She throws her an odd look before settling next to her.
Nano avoids her eyes and Earn takes the hint not to comment on her weird behavior or abnormally tense posture.
Nano can still feel eyes on her as more students start to file in though. She’s unable to resist glancing over at every sound of footsteps outside in the hallway and her shoulders tense briefly before falling once more as another one of their inconsequential classmates makes their way to their seat.
Nano hates it.
Hates being obvious.
When Jane finally walks through the door, Nano sits up like a shock of lightning made contact with her spine, gaze sharp. She deliberately grabs her notebook, which had been laying on her desk, unattended since she arrived, and begins scribbling. To anyone just arriving, she would appear extremely engrossed in her studying. (To Earn, she looked ridiculous).
Jane momentarily glances at her. Nano doesn’t look up. She can practically hear the crinkle between the other girl’s brows.
But Jane doesn’t say anything, so Nano continues ignoring her.
Then Earn leans forward. Taps Nano on the back.
“Did something happen between you two?” she whispers.
Nano snaps her eyes up from her nonsense drawing.
A giggle breaks off from their left and they find Jane with her hand over her mouth and Belle smirking proudly.
She glares.
“No.”
Right.
Her mood only sours further when Sophie walks in and waves at Jane. The girl doesn’t hesitate to wave back.
Something twists in Nano’s stomach.
She looks away.
It’s not even that it’s Sophie—Nano had had enough interaction with the student council president to know she was a perfectly nice girl. A little too perfect (she was obviously hiding some real repressed emotions under all her faultless records and folded hands and polished smiles) but she was nice.
It makes sense that Jane would get along with her so easily. Nano wouldn’t even blink at it under any other circumstances.
But at the moment… all Nano could see was Jane’s unsubtle attempts to pull away from her. The unease that rippled through her body whenever they made contact anymore. And the fact she was still so comfortable with someone else.
The problem wasn’t Sophie.
The problem, seemingly, was Nano.
She spends the entire walk home convincing herself she doesn’t care.
-
[5:46 PM to Jane] Are we ok?
[9:13 PM from Jane] Yeah lol
-
Even being at the shelter can’t help ease the quiet ache of Jane’s absence, because her absence was felt there too.
Nano leans on the counter, softly scratching the back of a gray Korat with patchy fur and stares at the empty chair next to her.
This was her space first, one corner of her life untouched by rumors, expectations, and appearances. Where she didn’t have to perform or worry about someone dragging the outside world in behind them and twisting it into something it wasn’t.
And yet someone had found their way in anyway. She didn’t force the door open, instead she slipped through every crack and crevice in Nano’s walls with impossible patience and care. The space was hers but it became theirs. And despite it only having been a handful of weeks, Jane had left an immeasurable chasm in her wake.
She looks up as the doctor enters the room, white coat unbuttoned and glasses slipping to the tip of his nose in the heat. He eyes Nano and gives her a warm smile.
“Where’s your friend?” he asks casually.
Nano blinks away the sudden rush of emotions.
“I don’t know.”
The answer comes out sharper than intended.
-
Nano was used to watching people. She was used to observing patterns and learning what made people tick. Spotting weaknesses, loyalties, and intentions long before anyone voiced them. It was a habit she’d cultivated over years of navigating social hierarchies—learning who wanted what, who could be trusted, and who was one bad day away from causing problems.
But even she could admit this was a bit much.
She was starting to notice every small interaction between Jane and Sophie. Every shared glance. Every quiet conversation. The way Jane relaxed around her. The way Sophie sought her out after meetings. The way they lingered in the same space after everyone else had left.
She saw them walking home together one afternoon.
Overheard Sophie thanking Jane for her help on another.
There was never anything concrete for Nano to point to as the reason for the unpleasant feeling that settled in her stomach whenever she caught them laughing together. Just a hundred tiny moments she couldn’t stop cataloguing.
She’d stopped trying to approach Jane at this point. Seeing the girl try to invent an excuse in real time just made her feel foolish. But the ache was still there. Stubborn and irritating, like something she couldn’t quite scratch away no matter how carefully she tried to ignore it.
It followed her.
Nano pushes open the classroom door.
The familiar noise hits her first—chairs scraping, soft chatter—and she moves automatically, posture straight, expression set, already preparing herself for the day in the way she always does, but she slows without meaning to.
Her eyes go straight to Jane. She can’t help it anymore, at some point she had become hyper aware of where Jane was in every room she entered. It happens before thought.
She notices her bright, toothy grin, her loud carefree voice, hands making big expressions in the air.
Then she notices Belle isn’t in her seat.
Sophie is.
Of course.
Jane is leaning slightly towards her, mid-conversation, giving her all her attention in a way Nano recognizes too well and craves for once again. Comfortable. Unguarded.
Her body reacts before she can talk herself out of it. The ache twists painfully. Her grip on her bag tightens. She tells herself to move.
Jane laughs.
It’s soft, unthinking. Easy in a way Nano hasn’t heard directed at her in days.
Her steps falter.
For a second she considers the possibility that Jane might look up—might notice her, might do that thing she’s been doing where she at least pretends to hesitate, pretends she’s deciding whether to come over or stay where she is.
She doesn’t.
Nano realizes she’s standing between the tables like an idiot and finally forces her feet forward, but each step towards her desk feels slightly wrong. She lowers herself into her chair, but it’s too careful, like anything more might give her away. She keeps her eyes forward, but her gaze drifts anyway.
Jane is still looking at Sophie.
She tells herself she’s not reacting to anything—because there’s nothing to react to—but her chest feels too full. Something is pressing outward, trying to make itself known. Her hand finds her satchel on instinct, fingers tightening around the strap. She focuses on the feel of the leather under her fingers, the way it bends and stretches as she wrings it in her grip.
She glances over again—catches Jane leaning in.
She’s close, closer than she was even before.
Sophie’s eyes are shining, transfixed.
She glances down.
A crashing sound fills the room.
Jane jumps, whipping around. Sophie looks even more startled.
Everyone around them falls silent.
Nano doesn’t even realize she’s standing, hands clenching the handle of her satchel which she had slammed down on the desk. Her knuckles are white. Her heart feels like it’s going to burst through her rib cage. She holds eye contact with Jane who, for the first time since Nano walked into the room, is looking directly at her. Really looking. Not past her. Not through her. Not away. At her.
Her breath catches, like her body only just remembered it’s supposed to be breathing as every thought she’s been trying not to think about is suddenly pressing up against the inside of her skull with nowhere else to go. Jane’s attention feels heavy. Not warm or soft like she’d been longing for. Just real. And Nano cannot tell if that makes things better or worse.
“Miss Pakonworrawong.” Nalin’s sharp voice cut through the congested silence that had settled over the room. “Seat yourself.”
Nano flinches, registers her audience, feels mortification set in. Her face flushes scarlet at her loss of composure.
She’s unable to focus on a single word the rest of the lesson, but she’s angrier at herself than anyone else.
-
That night, in bed, Nano remembers the kiss.
She never forgot it in the first place.
And that’s the problem.
She remembers.
She remembers her overconfidence, from the minute she entered the party—downing a cup she didn’t even know the contents of, feeling it burn as it slid down her throat and settled in her chest, calling it weak. She remembers realizing her mistake rather quickly as a rush of warmth drowned her senses. The almost instantaneous wave of lowered inhibition.
She had wanted to seem in control, but from that moment on it started slipping. Subtly at first, like the edges of a page curling under heat, then all at once.
She remembers her mind feeling like it was removed from her body, like she was watching herself from the outside. Watching herself let loose, tip into the noise and the crowd and the relief of finally letting go. She remembers leaning on one person in particular, clinging to her, wrapping her arms around her neck, nuzzling against her shoulder, and laughing, smiling, as her warmth enveloped her, different from the heat of all the bodies around them.
She also remembers her desire. It wasn’t a new feeling, the buzz that settled in her stomach when she was around Jane. The twisting, confusing thoughts that circled in her brain. The unexplainable attraction she had, allowing her to stick around and butt into her life—wanting her to do so. The fixation.
She remembers the two of them standing outside the bathroom, secluded from the rest of the house. The music in the background was muffled. Her thoughts no longer had something louder to drown them out. She remembers feeling so free in that moment, throwing caution to the wind, not thinking about consequences for once in her life.
She remembers Jane’s mouth. Her taste. Her feel. Her breath. The weight of Jane’s hands—hesitating before deciding to stay.
Nano stares at the ceiling.
She remembers.
But Nano had done what she always did when something threatened her control: She panicked. Pretended. Avoided.
The kiss had transformed something she couldn’t define into something real. And real things demanded explanations she wasn’t ready to give. Asked questions she didn’t have the answers to.
So Nano had taken the easiest path to steer clear of that uncertainty.
She lied.
The regret was almost immediate. Standing there in the courtyard, watching something flicker across Jane’s face, remembering the way Jane had held her and melted into her, Nano had wanted to take it back, but the words never came.
And then, unexpectedly, Jane had done the same. She pretended it never happened. She didn’t challenge her. She didn’t bring it up. Not that day, not the next, not the one after that. Nano had handed Jane an escape route and Jane had taken it.
To Nano, that revealed something. Something she’d wanted to exist only in the depths of her mind, surrounded by insecurity.
Because Jane threw herself at most problems headfirst with all the subtlety of a freight train. She spoke her mind. She took what she wanted and didn’t go down without a fight. If the kiss had mattered to her, surely she would’ve said something.
Jane letting Nano’s lie stand was a statement.
Really, what else was she supposed to think?
At the time, it felt almost like relief. They could move on. Go back to the way they were. Neither of them wanted to talk about the kiss or even acknowledge it. Neither of them wanted to deal with the change that it would bring.
Everything was fine.
(Nano was fighting with herself trying to accept this reality—that this is what Jane wanted. She tried to convince herself she wanted it too.)
Nano turns onto her side, fingers tightening around her blanket. Exhales slowly.
It should have ended there.
It was a misunderstanding. An embarrassing mistake. Something they both silently agreed to leave behind.
Then the distance started.
Jane became busy, her texts slowed and then stopped, and every time Nano worked up the courage to approach her, Jane seemed to find somewhere else to be. She slipped away faster each day, like contact itself was slowly becoming dangerous.
But Nano couldn’t control her own feelings. She wanted Jane anyway. No matter how much she tried to ignore it and push it away, she longed for her attention and her presence. The ease of being looked at without expectation. Even when everything only reinforced that Jane didn’t want the same from her.
Nano’s stomach tightens sharply.
But that wasn’t true… was it?
Nano was used to seeing things. Not imagining them.
And Jane always looked so happy whenever they were together—before, that is.
Nano remembers her elation when she learned Nano was helping out at the cat shelter, her early assumptions that Nano wasn’t like everyone said she was legitimized. She thinks about the proud look in her eyes when they tossed around designer bags in Nano’s room, deciding which to sell first, overjoyed at the fact Nano was righting her wrongs. She even sees the dazed smile she gave when she tripped and fell at Nano’s feet, how it broke onto her face despite the large red bump on her forehead.
Jane had waited for her that morning in the courtyard. Waved at her. Beamed at her. It wasn’t her usual smile—it wasn’t loud and easy—the one she gave everyone. It was brighter. Anticipatory.
Nano frowns. For weeks she’s been so focused on the after. She’s never stopped to think about before.
Jane had approached her first. Jane had wanted to talk. Jane had explicitly asked her if she remembered. And then Nano had lied and the look on Jane’s face had changed. Her smile disappeared, she suddenly struggled to speak, and she ran away. Actually ran.
The realization sends a cold feeling down her spine.
At the time, Nano had been too busy panicking over her own mistake to think about it.
Now, in the quiet of her own bedroom, she can’t stop thinking about it.
Because she’s realizing now that wasn’t how someone acted when a kiss meant nothing.
That wasn’t indifference, it was disappointment.
For the first time since that morning in the courtyard, Nano allows herself to consider that maybe she’d gotten it all wrong.
What if Jane hadn’t been accepting the lie, but believing it instead.
The thought lands with enough force to make her sit up.
Oh.
Jane hadn’t just heard Nano say she forgot, she’d heard Nano say it didn’t matter enough to remember.
Jane hadn’t been accepting the escape route, she’d been following Nano down it.
Her heart begins pounding, loud in the silent space.
Then she turns her face into her pillow and groans because the realization doesn’t come as clarity, it comes as recognition of damage already done.
Because if that’s true—if Jane had spent all this time thinking it meant so little to her that it had disappeared from her mind entirely—then every day Nano stayed silent wasn’t making things easier for either of them, it was making Jane believe she didn’t care.
Of course she’d created the exact situation she’d been trying to avoid.
All because she’d been scared of a fucking conversation.
Her face burns.
Jane wouldn’t have run away from her if Nano had simply told the truth.
Now they’re both miserable.
Nano turns her hot cheeks to the cool air and stares at the ceiling again.
Her embarrassment is still there. Joined by fear.
The questions haven’t magically disappeared.
She still doesn’t know how to explain exactly why she kissed Jane. Still doesn’t know what to call the feeling that settles in her chest every time she hears her laugh. Still doesn’t know what any of this means.
But suddenly that feels less important than simply telling the truth.
~
The shelter is quiet when Jane arrives. The sun is just rising above the horizon outside, spilling through the wide windows in long beams that turn dust into drifting gold. Everything looks softened by it. Warm edges. Muted colors. The kind of morning that makes even old linoleum feel gentle.
Jane likes it like this. Beautiful. Peaceful. She’s been visiting earlier lately for that reason alone—to be there before the day fully wakes up, before the noise.
(That and her thoughts have been overwhelming. She needed the break. And she can’t visit at her normal time anymore for obvious reasons. Morning is easier. It’s empty enough to breathe in.)
Plastic panels separate the kitten section from the rest of the room, and when she peers over them she sees the Korat with the patchy fur already awake, lying on its back in a ray of light, batting lazily at drifting dust like it’s something alive. Jane’s smile softens.
Then the bell on the door tinkles. A clean, bright sound.
Jane turns and finds Nano standing in the doorway very still.
For a moment, it feels like the air changes shape around her.
It’s reminiscent of the time in the classroom with Sophie, but there’s no sharpness to her posture this time, no tension held tightly in her shoulder. She looks composed, almost unnaturally so, as she meets Jane’s eyes. Jane unexpectedly feels her breath catch. Nano is looking at her like she already knows something. She’s looking at her with a softness that doesn’t quite match the weeks between them. There’s no anger. No confusion. No burning fire behind her gaze. Just something open and unguarded, stripped down.
It makes Jane think about—
“Hi,” Nano says.
Quiet. Careful. Like the word itself might disturb something fragile in the room.
Jane feels some of her own tension slip away unwittingly.
“Hi.” she returns, almost automatically.
A peace offering, neither of them naming it.
Nano walks in without hesitation and makes her way over to the enclosed section. She lowers herself onto the floor beside the kittens and an orange Tabby immediately makes itself comfortable against her leg, curling its tail around her. Jane watches for a second longer than she means to, debating an escape plan, but really sees no other choice but to follow. She settles a little distance away.
Silence settles between them, but it isn’t uncomfortable. It’s just… heavy.
Twenty minutes pass. There's only the sounds of the shelter waking up: distant footsteps as people pass by, the creak of an old air conditioner unit deeper in the building, the soft ring of the doorbell as other volunteers begin to arrive.
Jane strokes the fur in her lap and tries not to think about the shape of Nano beside her.
Nano doesn’t move much either. Just sits there, hands resting loosely in her lap, gaze lowered like she’s using the kittens as an anchor.
Until she seemingly can’t take the silence anymore.
“Jane.” she says in the same tone, fragile, as if afraid to break her.
Jane looks up immediately.
“Yeah?”
Her voice comes out lighter than she feels. She’s holding her breath but smiling without meaning to. Her body is trying to soften whatever is about to happen.
Nano doesn’t look away.
She visibly melts a little even, if you can believe it, as if all of her, inside and outside, was softening as she looked at Jane. She still looks kind of uncomfortable, and scared, but she also looks like she's figured something out and it's lifted everything that was weighing on her. There was clarity to her that Jane was sure was about to burst.
“I didn’t forget.”
A whisper.
It lands like something dropped in still water.
Jane blinks.
Once.
Twice.
The sounds outside thin for a moment, giving them space without knowing why.
“What?” Jane breathes.
“I didn’t forget,” Nano says again, quieter now. Her gaze drops like she’s annoyed at the air itself. “I remember…” A pause. Her cheeks go faintly pink. “…everything.”
Neither of them names what they’re talking about. They both know.
Jane doesn’t respond right away. How could she? This was a situation she’d long convinced herself she'd never be in but as she stares at the girl across from her she doesn’t get any less real. Bathed in yellow-orange, she actually feels more real than she ever has before.
The silence stretches. Nano shifts, suddenly less certain in her own body.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Jane says finally. Her words come out faster than she means them to, afraid she’ll lose momentum if she stops.
Nano exhales sharply, jaw tightening, and the words start spilling out, “Because… because I woke up the next morning and I was so embarrassed at how I let myself go I didn’t want to acknowledge it.” She looks up, earnest, pleading with Jane to understand, “I don’t…I don’t do things like that Jane.”
Jane knows. She’s seen many different versions of Nano as they’ve gotten closer. She’s seen her ruthless and uncaring, too wrapped up in herself to think about anyone else. She’s seen her pissed off, fists clenched and arm raised and words sharp and spitting. She’s seen her pretending to be annoyed while holding an icepack against her head. She’s seen her unguarded and clad in matching strawberry pajamas. But she’d never seen her like she had at the party. Unleashed.
Nano’s voice catches, just slightly, as she goes on, “And I panicked. I didn’t know how to talk about it because if I admitted I remembered, we would’ve had to talk about it. And if we talked about it, I’d have to explain why I kissed you—”
Jane’s breath hitches at the first acknowledgement of it—the kiss—spoken aloud finally like it exists. Because it did. They both know that now.
“—and I didn’t know how to explain that.”
Nano has tears in her eyes now. Her hands tighten slightly against her knees. When she looks at Jane again, her gaze is more raw than angry.
“And you didn’t bring it up either. You let me lie. If—if it meant something to you, you would’ve said something.” A breath that isn’t quite steady. “And then you started avoiding me and it all went to shit. What was I supposed to think? That I hadn’t completely fucked everything up?”
Jane’s expression shifts as her mind goes through a kind of stunned recalibration. She’s been handed a version of events she didn’t realize existed and she doesn’t know where to put it yet. But she’s slowly getting a vision of how badly they’ve been misunderstanding each other.
“I realize how stupid it all sounds.” She’s rambling now. “I realize how stupid I’ve been. I’ve been hurting both of us. And I’m sorry. Jane, I’m so sorry I messed it all up.” A hiccup.
“Do you think you can forgive me?”
Quiet. Smaller than intended. Sharper, like she’s trying to hide behind it. Unsure she should’ve said it at all.
Jane lets out a breath that turns into somewhat of a laugh. It doesn’t have humor in it as much as it does disbelief.
Jane finally looks at Nano properly. Really looks.
She softens in a way she doesn’t have a name for. She’s not as surprised a she should be. She’s flooded with relief and understanding. She’s been waiting for this moment, hates that it took this long to arrive, but she can’t even be mad at the messiness of it. She just feels overwhelmingly happy all of a sudden.
“I forgive you.” Jane says. A quieter exhale, “Of course I forgive you.”
Nano blanches slightly at that. The response is too simple. Too clean. It doesn’t match the mess in her chest.
Jane reaches up to brush aside Nano’s hair, settles her hand against her cheek, gentle, anchoring. It calms her.
Her voice drops, “Do you have any idea what I thought was happening?”
Nano doesn’t answer. She can’t. She can only stare into Jane’s eyes, so much closer than they were before. Breathe deeply, her chest rising and falling with the other girl.
Jane gives a small laugh again, but this one is different. Softer at the edges. Less broken, more overwhelmed.
“I thought you didn’t remember,” she says, like it still doesn’t fully make sense. “So I thought… it didn’t matter to you.” Her thumb strokes Nano’s jaw, “And it’s not an excuse but… it hurt to be around you, that’s why I was avoiding you. I was trying so hard not to want something that wasn’t real.”
Nano’s breath catches. Something in her expression breaks—not sharply, but like a dam finally giving up on holding back water.
“I forgive you,” Jane repeats again, firmer now, like she needs Nano to actually hear it this time. “You didn’t ruin anything. You just scared me.”
That last part sits between them.
Nano’s mouth parts slightly, but nothing comes out.
Jane’s smile splits her face, a breathless giggle now making its way into the space between them. Their noses are touching now, Jane’s hands are still on her face, thumb softly caressing the underside of her jaw, reverently, like she needed the contact to reassure herself this isn’t a dream.
“I forgive you, darling.”
And she kisses her again.
They both remember their first kiss, but it’s nothing like this.
That kiss was all passion—too much feeling with nowhere to go, a dam finally breaking under pressure and letting out every thought, feeling, and desire they had trapped there. It was heat and impulse and it was a rushed, messy collision of want, a craving finally unearthed, sharp enough to burn even as it pulled them closer.
This kiss is truth. It's warmth.
It’s not an overflow, it’s a steady current of feeling. There’s no hesitation in it. No rush. Just the soft press of lips against each other. The gentle caress of hands over jaws, slipping down over necks and shoulders, mapping the figure before them, memorizing each other with their fingerprints.
There’s no confusion clawing at the edges. Just the slow easing of something that has been tight between them for too long.
Nano leans into it, body slack, melting, practically migrating herself into Jane’s lap. The taller girl breaks the seal between them briefly to slide her arms around her waist and transition her more smoothly. She settles with her thighs bracketing her hips. Her hands spread over Jane’s shoulders. She tugs on the fabric of her shirt to reconnect their mouths.
Neither of them is thinking about what comes next. They’re just breathing in each other, deeper. The fact that it finally, finally makes sense is more than enough.
Their noses brush again when they finally break apart, sticking close. Soft, panting breaths fill the air. Jane’s hands have made their way up from Nano’s legs to her chest, her collarbones, right thumb resting absentmindedly now over Nano’s heart, like her body decided somewhere along the way that this was a place it was allowed to stay.
“I like you, by the way, if it wasn’t clear. A lot.”
One last, breathless laugh.
“I like you too.”
They meet in the middle once more.