Chapter Text
Namping had always known Keng would never be his, not in this lifetime, not ever.
It will be the perfect wedding, he thought, and the idea felt cruel in its accuracy.
The sky was bright, softened by clouds drifting lazily over the sun. The light wasn’t harsh, wasn’t demanding. It was the kind of light meant for vows and photographs, for memories that would be looked back on with warmth. The garden stretched wide before him, unreal in its beauty. White arches curved over the aisle, wrapped in ivy and pale ribbons, petals scattered at their base as if the ground itself had agreed to celebrate. Flowers bloomed everywhere, full and deliberate, their colors too vivid to ignore. Even the butterflies lingered, wings trembling as they floated from blossom to blossom. Everything looked enchanted. Everything looked right.
Just not for him.
This wasn’t only a wedding. Namping knew that. Everyone did, even if they pretended otherwise.
The Pingmuangs and Buayois families were finally becoming one. Not through force or ambition, but through something older and heavier. His grandfather had spoken of it often, back when Namping was younger, when it still sounded like a story instead of a sentence. Two old men. Two friends. They had navigated the economy together, climbed to the top in different ways. The Pingmuang shaping cities through real estate and development, the Buayois commanding the world of finance and investments. They had dreamed of joining families long before Namping or Keng were even born. When it failed with their own children, the expectation didn’t disappear. It simply waited.
Now it had a face. Two of them.
Keng Harit Buayoi and Janis Pingmuang. Perfect. Of course they were. The brilliant grandson with the steady gaze and quiet confidence, and his sister, graceful and composed in a way Namping had never learned how to be. They fit together so easily it felt deliberate, like someone had planned them from the beginning.
Namping sat to the side, his body present while his mind hovered somewhere far away. There was a faint, bitter taste in his mouth he couldn’t swallow down. Net, Namping’s older brother stood near Keng, adjusting his collar, saying something that made Keng smile. His brother looked comfortable there, like he belonged in that space beside him. A groomsman. Family.
Namping looked away before the thought could finish forming.
They were still waiting for Janis. The bride.
Around him, voices overlapped in excited chatter, laughter brushing past his ears without ever settling. He didn’t listen. He couldn’t. His gaze drifted back to Keng despite himself, committing every detail to memory. The way he stood. The way his hands rested so naturally at his sides. The way he looked like he was exactly where he was meant to be.
Look while you still can, Namping told himself.
Soon, Keng wouldn’t be just Keng anymore. He would belong somewhere else, to someone else, in a way Namping had never been allowed to imagine out loud.
His sister’s husband.
His brother-in-law.
The words echoed inside his head, heavy and final. Namping closed his eyes briefly, breathing in too slow, breathing out too shallow.
If wanting something this badly was a kind of sin, then surely, he thought dimly, he had already earned whatever punishment came next.
“Namping.”
The familiar softness of the voice made him flinch, his gaze snapping away from Keng too quickly to look natural. What would they think, he wondered, if they saw the bride’s younger brother staring at the groom like he’d misplaced his heart somewhere in his chest?
He inhaled, slow and careful, before turning.
His mother stood there, exactly as she always did. Poised. Composed. Smiling softly, as if nothing in the world ever weighed too heavily on her. Namping lowered his eyes almost immediately.
He was good at reading people. He always had been. He noticed the pauses, the stiffness in shoulders, the glances people thought went unseen. But his mother was different. She was a slate etched with meanings he could never decipher. That gentle smile. Those calm eyes. An elegance that revealed nothing. He never knew what she was thinking, only that she always seemed to know what he was.
“Mae…” he acknowledged quietly, already uneasy. Why was she even here with him? Shouldn’t she be with Janis, fussing over her, checking the dress, touching up something that didn’t need fixing?
“I was just checking on you,” she said. There was a trace of amusement in her voice. “You seemed far away for a moment.”
Far away. He felt like he was underwater.
“I’m fine,” he said, though the words felt thin. His chest tightened anyway. “Is Phi Janis ready?” he asked instead, steering the conversation away from himself. A reminder, gentle but pointed, that her daughter was somewhere else, likely needing her more. He kept his eyes fixed on the dessert table, the neat rows of pastel macarons lined up like decorations instead of food. He told himself he’d take one later.
“Your father is with her right now,” she replied. “How have you been lately? I heard you started teaching at your Aunt Sol’s academy.”
That was two months ago.
The weight in his chest sank deeper. He nodded, offering a vague hum in response. So this is where it’s going. His fingers fidgeted against each other, betraying him. He hated that tell.
He had graduated months ago with a Bachelor of Fine Arts in Art Education. Passed the board exam. Earned his teaching license. Topped the board, even. The offer from Aunt Sol had come almost immediately, and at first, he’d refused. He wanted distance. Space. A life not immediately stamped with the Pingmuang name. His art had never been meant for that world, and his family never failed to remind him of it.
Except Aunt Sol.
She was the exception to everything. The only Pingmuang he could never say no to. The one who had urged him forward instead of pulling him back. Who had believed in his art without conditions. She was the one who stood beside him in his graduation photos, the one who had been there when it mattered.
He still remembered the way he’d frowned when she somehow got hold of his portfolio, the one meant only for the universities he’d applied to.
Can’t you just give my little old academy a try, dear Ping?
The memory softened something in him. Her academy was anything but little. One of the best in the country, actually. And being there had turned out to be the right choice. He belonged there.
“So…” his mother prompted again. “What are your students like?”
Namping frowned, caught off guard. The question felt intrusive in its casualness. Why was she insisting on this conversation? What did she even want from him?
“They’re fine, mae,” he said after a moment, exhaling slowly. He hoped that would be enough.
He stood, deciding to end this himself. “I’ll grab a macaron, mae—”
He didn’t get to finish when his cousin, Tle appeared beside his mother, breathing hard as if he’d run all the way there. His suit remained immaculate, but sweat dotted his temples. Realizing how he looked, Tle quickly pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at his face, careful not to ruin his makeup.
Namping stepped back instinctively, creating distance. This wasn’t for him. And he was right.
As he retreated, he caught the urgency in Tle’s voice, low but insistent, calling his mother toward the room where Janis was getting ready.
Good.
Namping turned away, grateful for the excuse, the knot in his chest loosening just enough for him to breathe again.
Instead of heading straight for the dessert table, Namping veered off, choosing the narrow path at the back of the garden where fewer people passed. He slowed his steps until they barely felt like walking at all. If he moved quietly enough, maybe the day would forget him.
Daisies grew along the path, their white petals plain and unassuming, nothing like the lavish flowers lining the aisle. He stopped in front of them, crouching slightly as if drawn by something he couldn’t name. His fingers brushed over one bloom, then another, tracing the soft curve of petals. He plucked one and turned it slowly between his fingers.
Even when the music begin, even when vows are spoken, no one would notice if he wasn’t there. He wasn’t meant to stand anywhere important. He wasn’t meant to be seen. He was a background detail, a presence without consequence. A wallflower.
And maybe that was a mercy.
Because watching the love of his life marry someone else would have broken him in a way he didn’t know how to put back together.
He breathed in, slow and shallow, letting the scent of crushed petals ground him. If he stayed at the edge long enough, maybe the feeling would dull. Maybe wanting would finally learn how to be quiet.
The stone wall at the far end of the garden rose into view, gray and solid and reassuring. Once he reached it, he could lean against the cool stone, disappear into the periphery where no one would ask him questions or look at him too closely.
He stood up, planning to continue on the path.
“Namping!”
His name tore through the stillness.
The sound hit him hard enough that he flinched. The voice was familiar, but the panic threaded through it was not. It was sharp, urgent, wrong. His chest tightened as he turned.
His mother was hurrying toward him.
Tle was with her, moving too fast, his steps uneven. The sight of the two of them, converging on him at once, made something twist unpleasantly in Namping’s stomach.
Something’s wrong.
When his mother reached him, she didn’t hesitate. Her hands closed around his shoulders, fingers digging in as if she were afraid he might vanish if she let go. The elegant mask she always wore was gone. Her eyes were wide, frantic.
“Janis is gone, Ping,” she said, breathless. “Your sister ran away. Come.”
The words didn’t land all at once.
Gone.
Ran away.
They echoed, bounced around his head, refusing to settle into meaning. His vision blurred at the edges as his mother pulled him forward. His feet moved, but he wasn’t the one telling them to.
Janis. His sister. Gone.
“Wait—where are we going? Mae?” His voice sounded distant to his own ears. He tugged weakly against her grip, his heart beginning to race.
She stopped suddenly. Tle froze beside them.
“We can’t have your grandfather upset, Ping.”
The sentence made no sense. His mind snagged on it, scrambling to understand. Their grandfather loved Janis. He would be worried, yes, but upset? Furious? No. Was he the one supposed to talk to his grandfather about this?
This wasn’t something Namping was supposed to fix. He wasn’t the one supposed to be standing at the altar. He wasn’t the one in white.
This wasn’t his fault.
His mother looked at him then, really looked at him, and something in her gaze made his stomach drop.
“Be your sister’s substitute, Ping.”
Time collapsed.
The garden seemed to recede, sound draining away until all he could hear was the violent thudding of his heart. His throat closed, dry and tight, like he’d swallowed sand. His ears rang, a high, piercing sound that drowned out everything else.
My sister’s… substitute?