Chapter Text
︵⊹︵⏜︵୨୧︵⏜︵⊹︵
Chapter One
︶⊹︶⏝︶୨୧︶⏝︶⊹︶
The morning light filtered through the large kitchen windows, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air and the chronic chaos that reigned in the Potiwihok household. Jimmy, with a tight jaw and his gaze fixed on the mirror's reflection, struggled against the knot of his silk tie.
Time seemed to be racing faster than his fingers.
"Come on, Sunny, finish your breakfast, sweetheart," Jimmy urged, his tone oscillating between authority and pleading. "The clock isn't going to stop just because your cereal is floating."
Oblivious to her father's stress, Sunny swung her legs while sitting on the stool, stirring the milk with her spoon. Her eyes shone with an excitement that had nothing to do with school logistics.
"So… Teacher Sea has an incredible technique, Daddy. You should see him," the girl commented, with a smile that revealed the gap of a recently lost tooth. "Yesterday he did a live demonstration of a garden in front of the whole class and it looked amaaaaazing… Then we drew and he told me that I draw very well and that I'm very detail-oriented. He’s… he’s the beeest, you know? Plus, he’s veeeeery kind and…"
Jimmy sighed, finally giving up on the tie, which remained slightly crooked. He approached the table and, with the clinical eye of a perfectionist father, detected a disaster: Sunny's left pigtail was 1 centimeter lower than the right one. An unacceptable tactical error.
Without a word, he grabbed the comb from the entryway shelf. With a dexterity born of years of practice, he gently removed the elastic band, but impatience made him pull a bit harder than intended while untangling a stubborn knot.
"Daaaad! You're hurting meeee, ooouuuch!" Sunny shrieked, shrugging her shoulders while trying to protect her head with her hands.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, my little potato," he murmured, softening his expression and passing the comb with infinite tenderness until her hair was like a waterfall of silk. "I just want my princess to look impeccable. We don't want your fantastic new teacher to think you live with someone who doesn't know how to do pigtails, right?"
He adjusted the hair tie with millimetric precision, making sure every strand was in its place, and planted a loud kiss on the crown of his daughter's head. The scent of strawberry shampoo filled his lungs, calming his own heart rate for a second.
"You have exactly one minute to finish breakfast, honey. Otherwise, we’ll be late, and we don't want that…" Jimmy said, checking his wristwatch.
"Like I was saying… Teacher Sea…" she insisted, completely ignoring the temporal warning. Her hands traced circles in the air, trying to explain the magnitude of her teacher's charisma.
Jimmy put his hands on the table and leaned toward her with a half-smile, amused but firm.
"Sunny, sweetheart, leave your new art teacher alone and eat. If you don't finish your breakfast right now…" he made a dramatic pause, "there will be no time for drawings this afternoon. No watercolors, no charcoal. Nothing."
Sunny froze. The punishment was severe, almost cruel. She pouted so hard her cheeks seemed to inflate like two balloons. She felt the pressing need to tell him that the world had changed since Mrs. Nam had retired. Mrs. Nam smelled like mothballs and always asked them to draw bowls of fruit; Teacher Sea, on the other hand, smelled like freedom and told them the sky could be orange if they wanted it to be.
She ate in deathly silence, chewing with exaggerated slowness while maintaining her expression of absolute indignation.
"If you keep making that face, it's going to stay that way forever," Jimmy said, letting out a laugh as he pinched her cheek. "And then I won't be able to brag about how pretty my daughter is."
Sunny stuck her tongue out at him defiantly, but she couldn't stop a small spark of laughter from appearing in her eyes.
"You'll see when you meet him, Daddy," she declared, climbing down from the stool and grabbing her backpack. "You're going to like him a looooooot."
Jimmy only smiled, unaware that, very soon, his daughter's words would stop sounding like a childhood exaggeration and become a prophecy.
———・୨ ✦ ୧・———
The drive to school was a symphony of engines and Sunny's incessant chatter, as she seemed to have an inexhaustible reserve of anecdotes about her new mentor's brilliance. Jimmy maneuvered his black sports car with precision, stopping in front of the school's imposing facade just as the bell announced the start of the day.
Today was no ordinary day; it was the morning of the general orientation, the official presentation to the parent community of the man who had usurped the throne of their dinner table conversations.
«The famous Sea…» Jimmy thought, while the name resonated in his mind with an echo he couldn't quite decipher.
It had been exactly one month since Sunny had spoken any other name. A month in which every drawing, every story, and every "Daddy, did you know?" inevitably led back to the art teacher.
Was he jealous?
He asked himself the question while turning off the engine.
Was he irritated that a stranger had displaced his heroic figure from the center of his daughter's universe?
"Not at all," he lied to himself in a whisper, gripping the leather steering wheel. He knew he was lying, but his pride was as impeccable as his bank account. He would never admit that a primary school teacher was winning the game for his little girl's attention.
He stepped out of the car with studied deliberation. He walked around the vehicle and helped Sunny out, taking her hand with a delicacy that contrasted with his steely appearance. As he stood up and adjusted his jacket, Jimmy Jitaraphol became—without knowing it—the epicenter of every gaze.
He walked toward the classroom with an imposing elegance. His custom-tailored suit, with an Italian cut that screamed authority, fit his figure with insulting perfection, and the Rolex on his left wrist flashed with every coordinated movement. He walked seriously, his gaze fixed straight ahead.
In his wake, a trail of sighs and whispers formed that Jimmy, in his absolute emotional disconnection from his surroundings, was unable to register. He didn't notice how a group of mothers interrupted their chatting to follow him with their eyes, nor the suggestive smiles some threw his way in hopes of catching a millimeter of his attention.
To the rest of the world, he was the CEO of J-Tech, the tech giant redefining the future. The "Golden Bachelor Father." He was handsome with an intimidating coldness, imposing by nature, and above all, absolutely inaccessible.
However, Jimmy walked in a bubble of total isolation. He was as blind to the admiration of others as a lighthouse that doesn't know ships look at it to avoid shipwreck. To him, the women surrounding him were just blurry figures in the school landscape.
Many had tried with invitations to "logistical" coffees or playdates for the kids, but Jimmy always built a wall of professional courtesy that no one managed to climb.
In his world, the space was reserved for only one person, and that person was currently pulling on his hand with impatience.
"Daaaaad, come on, hurry up!" Sunny exclaimed, also oblivious to the stir her father was causing. "Teacher Sea must be inside already!"
Jimmy nodded, giving his daughter the only genuine smile he had shown all morning, unaware that this small gesture of tenderness had just broken three more hearts in the hallway.
He crossed the threshold of the classroom, a space flooded with the scent of colored crayons, fresh paper, and glue sticks. He instinctively sought out the last row, trying to let his six-foot frame melt into the shadows of the shelves filled with children's books. He wanted to be a silent observer, but his plan to go unnoticed failed the very instant he chose his spot.
As if drawn by a magnetic field, the other parents began to swarm around him, reducing Jimmy's personal space to its minimum expression.
"Good morning, Jimmy. So nice to see you here so early," a woman murmured, letting her fingers ‘accidentally’ graze the fine fabric of his blazer sleeve.
Jimmy looked at her out of the corner of his eye. He vaguely recognized that face from birthday parties at indoor playgrounds, but her name was lost in the sea of irrelevant data in his memory. Even so, he maintained the mask of courtesy he mastered so well: a dry nod, a cordial smile that didn't reach his eyes, and a perfectly modulated baritone tone.
"Good morning," he replied, marking an invisible but insurmountable distance.
Just as the murmur of the adults was beginning to feel suffocating, the sound of the door opening cut through the air. An expectant silence took over the room.
A young man entered who looked like he had been plucked from an Impressionist painting. He couldn't be more than twenty-five or twenty-six years old. He wore an apron stained with small specks of acrylic paint over a loose linen shirt, frame glasses that rimmed lively eyes, and his hair... his hair was an artistic disaster, tousled in a way that suggested he had run his hands through it repeatedly while creating something.
"Hi everyone!" he exclaimed with a clear, melodic voice that seemed to vibrate off the walls.
First, he crouched down to the children's level, giving them a knowing greeting that made Sunny light up like a hundred-watt bulb. Immediately after, he stood up and directed his gaze toward the back, where the parents waited. His smile was dazzling—the kind that doesn't just show perfect teeth, but crinkles the corners of the eyes with an almost overwhelming sincerity.
"I'm Sea," he introduced himself, and his name seemed to float in the air like a sea breeze. "I am your children's Plastic Arts and Art teacher, and this year I will also have the honor of being their classroom tutor."
He began to break down the school program with unusual passion. He talked about his teaching style and how the course would be restructured. He also spoke about his class specifically; about textures, the importance of emotional expression through color, and how he wanted the classroom to be a sanctuary for creativity.
"I firmly believe in active communication," Sea continued, leaning naturally against his desk. "Here is my corporate email. Don't hesitate to write to me with any questions, no matter how small. Or if you have suggestions, or if you simply want to tell me something about your children that I should know. I am available to you."
Jimmy, for the first time in years, forgot everything around him. He couldn't take his eyes off Sea. He was... insultingly cheerful. He radiated pure energy. He was incredibly handsome, but not in a manufactured way like magazine models, but with an organic, luminous beauty. Every time Sea laughed at a parent's comment, Jimmy felt the light in the room increase in intensity.
Suddenly, Jimmy's universe narrowed down to a single point.
Sea turned his head toward the back of the class and his eyes met Jimmy's. The teacher stopped mid-sentence, a "therefore..." that died on his lips. For a second that felt eternal, time stood still. Sea didn't look away; on the contrary, his smile transformed into something softer, more personal, while he kept speaking out of pure inertia, maintaining eye contact with an intensity that made Jimmy's heart skip a beat.
The CEO of J-Tech, the man who negotiated with sharks without blinking, felt his pulse hammering in his ears. An unfamiliar heat rose up his neck.
«What the hell is happening to me?» Jimmy wondered, feeling strangely vulnerable under that radiant scrutiny.
He glanced at Sunny, who was watching her teacher with absolute devotion, and suddenly he understood everything. He understood why his daughter couldn't stop talking about him, why every afternoon the name "Sea" filled their house. Because it was impossible to be in the same room as that man and not want to stay and live in his orbit.
Sea began to perform a small demonstration of his methodology, moving through the classroom with an almost choreographic fluidity. He wasn't the typical rigid teacher; he sat on the edge of desks, gestured with his hands, and lowered his voice to create an aura of mystery that kept the children spellbound. Under his command, the usual chaos of a primary school class was transformed into a reverential silence, a magnetic attention that Jimmy hadn't seen even in his most important board meetings.
Jimmy watched him from his corner, completely enthralled. There was something in the way Sea looked at the children—with genuine respect, as if each of their small ideas were a treasure—that tightened his chest in an unfamiliar way.
When the bell announced the change of subjects, the children began to pack up their pencil cases to head to the computer lab. Sunny, before crossing the threshold, stopped dead and sought out her father's figure.
Jimmy, whose stern expression crumbled only for her, gave her a smile filled with infinite tenderness. Without making a sound, but mouthing each syllable clearly so she could read his lips, he gave her their daily mantra:
"I-love-you-lit-tle-po-ta-to."
Sunny let out a crystal-clear giggle, blew him a kiss, and disappeared down the hallway.
Little by little, the rest of the parents began leaving the classroom amidst murmurs and promises of emails. Jimmy, however, felt anchored to the floor. His feet would not obey his brain's marching orders. He stayed there, standing, watching as Sea organized some brushes with slow, deliberate movements.
«Go talk to him» the voice in his head told him.
«Why should I?» Jimmy replied mentally.
«Because you’re dying to…»
Finally, he moved, not toward the exit, but toward Sea. When he was close, he cleared his throat, a dry sound that broke the silence of the empty classroom.
Sea turned around slowly. Seeing that the imposing man in the blue suit was still there, he stood very still, holding a jar of dried paint. Their gazes collided again, and this time, without the shield of the crowd, the impact was much more electric.
Jimmy, feeling strangely clumsy for the first time in his adult life, resorted to his most reliable armor: professionalism. He adjusted his posture, let his deep, velvety voice fill the space, and took the safe route.
"Good morning. I wanted to formally introduce myself... I am Jimmy Potiwihok, Sunny's father," he said, stepping forward and extending a firm, large hand with long fingers.
Sea looked down at that hand and then back up to Jimmy's face. A small smile, almost shy but full of curiosity, danced on his lips as he accepted the handshake. The physical contact was brief, but the warmth of Sea's skin seemed to pierce through Jimmy’s barrier.
"Pleased to meet you!" Sea exclaimed.
After shaking hands and letting go, Jimmy took a small step back, trying to maintain a diplomatic distance between them. Sea's voice sounded a bit softer as he continued speaking.
"Sunny is an incredible girl, in fact… I intended to ask you for a meeting… I would like to… speak with you about her, Mr. Potiwihok."
Jimmy's CEO facade cracked instantly. Sunny was his Achilles' heel, the center of all his anxieties and joys. The fatherly panic that always lives beneath the surface emerged all at once.
"Is something wrong with her?" he asked, unconsciously closing the distance between them a little. His voice lost its professional varnish, turning raspy and laden with genuine concern. "Is she not doing well in class? Has there been a problem?"
Sea watched him in silence for a second, fascinated by how quickly such an imposing man transformed into a vulnerable father at the mention of his daughter. He found it... adorable.
"No! No, no, nothing like that, truly," Sea said quickly, waving his hands to calm him. "Quite the opposite. Sunny seems to be well above average. She really has... how should I put it?... a prodigious hand for art. She enjoys the creative process in a way that isn't common at her age. It seems like drawing is vital for her."
Jimmy exhaled a sigh of relief so deep his shoulders dropped several centimeters. He relaxed, allowing himself a small, proud smile. He remembered the walls of his office, decorated not with degrees, but with Sunny's doodles that had evolved over the years.
"Ever since she was very little, she’s loved getting lost among paper and pencils," Jimmy confessed, and the glint in his eyes as he spoke of her made Sea's heart skip a beat. "Now that she's nine, I've realized that her passion isn't just a hobby. She sees the world differently."
"Exactly," Sea agreed. "That’s why... I'd like to propose something, Mr. Potiwihok. I’m going to start a small after-school activity here at the school, an advanced artistic expression workshop. And, as a personal suggestion, I would love for Sunny to attend. I think it could help her exploit all that potential she has stored up."
Jimmy remained silent for an instant, processing the proposal. The soft ticking of the wall clock and the distant echo of footsteps in the hallway were the only things accompanying the dull thudding in his chest.
"An after-school workshop…" Jimmy repeated, his voice dropping to a deeper tone. "She would love it. In fact, I think if I told her no, she’d banish me from her room forever."
Sea let out a clean, spontaneous laugh. His eyes narrowed with joy, and Jimmy found himself counting the small moles that adorned his face.
"So… can I count on her?" Sea asked, tilting his head slightly with a mischievous glint in his gaze. "Classes would be Tuesdays and Thursdays, right after school. I'll personally make sure she doesn't get her clothes too messy… though I make no promises."
Jimmy smiled. He found himself closing the distance between them, subtly invading Sea's personal space. The teacher's scent—a smell of vanilla—enveloped him like a warm mist.
"It's a deal," Jimmy said, extending his hand again to seal the pact. "But I have one condition, Teacher."
Sea arched an eyebrow, intrigued, looking at Jimmy's hand.
"A condition?" Sea repeated in a whisper. "Tell me, Mr. Potiwihok. I'm all ears."
"Don't call me 'Mr. Potiwihok,'" Jimmy asked, his gaze fixed on Sea's lips before returning to his eyes. "It makes me feel like I’m in an audit. Call me Jimmy. And if Sunny is going to be spending more time with you… I’d like to keep track of her progress personally…"
A voice in his head stopped him. « Jimmy… are you trying to find out his phone number? »
"You see… I receive hundreds of emails a day, and I feel like your email… would end up getting lost in the crowd…" Jimmy said.
«Jimmy, you know perfectly well you can set filters on your email…» the little voice of his conscience told him. But he ignored it.
Sea tilted his head, and for a second, time seemed to freeze in that primary school classroom. Then the teacher shook his hand in a firm grip. Without withdrawing his hand, he answered:
"That seems fair… Jimmy." He pronounced his name with a softness that made the CEO's skin crawl; his fingers almost imperceptibly grazed the back of Jimmy's hand before he spoke again. "In that case, I think I should give you my personal number. You know… in case an 'artistic emergency' arises."
Sea slowly let go of his hand, leaving a cold sensation of emptiness in Jimmy's palm, and reached for a yellow post-it on his desk. He wrote down a few digits with a quick, elegant stroke and handed it to him.
"Here you go."
Jimmy took the paper, tucking it into his suit pocket.
"Well then… Until Tuesday, Sea," Jimmy said, slowly walking backward.
"Until Tuesday, Jimmy. And careful with the tie, it’s… a bit crooked."
Jimmy looked down at his tie. Sea took a few short, decided steps, closing the distance between them. Jimmy stood frozen, breath held in his lungs, as Sea’s hands rose with startling naturalness toward his neck.
Sea's fingers brushed the silk of the tie, and for an unavoidable moment, the warmth of his skin grazed Jimmy’s chin. It was a fleeting contact that sent a jolt straight to the base of his spine. Sea tilted his head, concentrated on his task, oblivious to what he was provoking in Jimmy.
With an expert movement, Sea adjusted the knot, centering it with millimetric precision over the immaculate white shirt. His eyes brightened under the fluorescent lights when, after giving one last gentle tug to settle the garment, he slid his palms down Jimmy’s jacket lapels, smoothing an inexistent wrinkle.
"There..." Sea whispered, keeping his face just inches from Jimmy’s, with a smile that mixed mischief with a disconcerting softness. "Now it’s perfect."
Jimmy felt the air turn thick, almost solid. His eyes roamed the teacher's features, lingering a second longer than they should on the curve of his lips before he forced himself to regain his composure.
He swallowed hard, noticing how his throat felt dry and his heart was pounding with a force that threatened to break the elegance of his suit.
"Thank you..." Jimmy managed to articulate, with a voice that sounded much huskier and deeper than he intended.
He left without looking back, even though he was dying to.
———・୨ Sea ୧・———
Sea crossed the threshold of the teachers' lounge with clumsy steps, as if his own legs had forgotten how to coordinate after that encounter. The silence of the teaching sanctuary was interrupted by the dull, dramatic thud of his forehead hitting the wooden surface of his desk.
Bam!
The blow resonated against the walls filled with filing cabinets and half-finished coffee cups.
Beside him, the squeak of wheels on the floor broke the Greek tragedy atmosphere. Off, his coworker and a veteran in the art of dealing with parent-teacher meetings, pushed himself back in his swivel chair, observing the limp body of his friend on the table with a mix of curiosity and mockery.
"Sea… are you still alive, or do I need to call an ambulance?" Off asked, arching a skeptical eyebrow. "Are you okay?"
"No…" Sea’s voice came out muffled by the wood, a lament that seemed to come from the bottom of a well. "I am not okay at all, Off. Not at all."
Through his mind, like frames from a forbidden movie, the last ten minutes flashed by. He visualized himself, as if he were an outside spectator, handing that yellow post-it with his personal number to a parent.
«To a parent!»
The professional ethics he had taken such care to cultivate during his career seemed to have melted under Jimmy Potiwihok's obsidian gaze.
He should have been a retaining wall, an example of teaching decorum; he should have stuck to the cold, antiseptic school corporate email. But ever since his eyes had landed on Jimmy’s imposing figure crossing the courtyard that morning, Sea's common sense had taken an indefinite vacation.
He had tried, truly. He had made a titanic effort to distribute his attention among the rest of the fathers and mothers, but it was useless. His eyes, with a treacherous will of their own, always returned to the same spot: to the perfect line of that jaw, to the insulting fit of that blue suit, and to that aura of contained power that made him look too attractive for the rest of mere mortals.
«That man should be illegal within a five-kilometer radius of any educational institution» Sea thought, burying his face harder against the desk.
He had given his best speaking about Sunny, trying to keep his voice from trembling while praising the girl's talent, but inside he was a bundle of nerves. And then… then there was the thing with the tie.
«WHY DID I TELL HIM ABOUT THE TIE?! HAVE YOU GONE CRAZY, SEA?!» Sea lamented.
"Was the meeting with the parents that bad?" Off insisted, softening his tone a bit. "Look, it's normal. It's your first official orientation; there’s always some difficult parent who complains about grades or materials. Don't worry, it's not that—"
"Why did no one warn me?" Sea interrupted, suddenly snapping his head up. His hair was messier than usual and his glasses were slightly crooked.
Off blinked, confused by the sudden change in the direction of the chat.
"Warned? About what? That we’ve run out of decaf coffee?"
Sea passed his hands over his face, trying to erase the image of Jimmy from his retina, though he knew it was a losing battle.
"Do you know Sunny’s... father?" he finally blurted out, his voice a mere thread that betrayed his absolute defeat.
The silence that followed was brief, barely a second, before Off let out a boisterous laugh that made a couple of teachers on the other side of the room turn to look. Off leaned back, laughing hard while pointing a finger at his colleague.
Sea signaled for him to lower his voice.
"Oh!" Off exclaimed through his laughter, catching his breath, and lowering his tone so only Sea could hear. "I understand... I see... You’ve finally met the 'Great Shark' of tech. You’ve been hit by the Potiwihok effect full force, haven't you?"
Sea let his head fall back onto the table, emitting a pitiful groan. Yes, he had been hit. And he suspected he wouldn't be able to get back up for a long time.
———・୨ Jimmy ୧・———
The glass and steel skyscraper of J-Tech rose above the city like a monument to order and success.
Jimmy crossed the lobby. In his wake, a tide of employees moved aside with reverent respect; a rhythmic chain of "Good morning, Mr. Potiwihok" followed, which he accompanied with brief nods and that professional half-smile that kept everyone at just the right distance.
However, behind the oak door of his private office, the mask of the impeccable CEO cracked the very moment he dropped into his black leather armchair.
Jimmy exhaled a long sigh, unbuttoning the jacket of the suit that Sea had smoothed with such deliberation barely an hour ago. He still couldn't process the whirlwind of sensations that had been unleashed in his chest.
Since his wife's death, nine long and silent years ago, his heart had become a besieged fortress, a place where only Sunny had residency. It wasn't just a matter of lack of time or absolute devotion to his daughter; it was simply that the outside world felt monochromatic to him. No one, in almost a decade, had managed to ignite a spark of curiosity, let alone desire, in his gaze.
Until this morning.
Sea's image repeated in his mind like a film on a loop: his messy hair, the specks of paint on his apron, and that way of looking at him that seemed to pierce through every layer of his corporate armor.
Jimmy reached into his pants pocket, grazing the yellow paper of the post-it. He felt like a teenager committing his first indiscretion. He had used Sunny, his most sacred treasure, as a crude and transparent excuse to get that man's phone number.
«I’m a terrible father… but it’s just… I don’t know what happened…»
It had been an impulsive act, a flare of instinct he thought had long since been extinguished.
A familiar knock on the door broke his reverie. Junior, his personal secretary and the only friend who dared to address him informally without warning, entered with a tablet under his arm and an expression loaded with unbearable irony.
He planted himself in front of the desk, leaning one hip against the edge of the table while observing Jimmy with hawk-like eyes.
"Well, well… looks like someone has seen a ghost…" Junior quipped, letting out a mischievous giggle that Jimmy found especially irritating at that moment. "How did the parent-teacher meeting go, boss? Have you met the famous 'Teacher Sea' yet? The man Sunny won't stop talking about as if he were the reincarnation of Da Vinci."
Jimmy looked up, meeting his friend's inquisitive gaze. He didn't know what to answer. If he told the truth, he would admit that a teacher in his twenties had just dynamited his peace of mind. If he lied, Junior, who knew him better than anyone, would smell the lie from miles away.
He limited himself to adjusting a paperweight on his desk, feeling how the little yellow paper in his pocket burned against his thigh.
He tried to play it cool. But in front of him, he didn't have a subordinate who would settle for corporate silence; he had Junior. The man who had held the broken pieces of his life together when, nine years ago, Jimmy’s world shattered amidst diapers and heartbreaking absences.
"It was... informative," Jimmy blurted out, with a brevity so sharp it only served to make Junior’s smile widen with an almost predatory malice.
"Informative?" Junior let out a vibrant laugh and crossed his arms. "Please, Jimmy. I’ve been listening to the rumor mill on the twelfth floor for ten minutes. The secretaries say you walked in like you were stepping on clouds, distracted, and with a look they literally described as: 'he looked like he had just seen a unicorn.' Is this art teacher really that impactful?"
Jimmy said nothing. He kept his eyes fixed on an indeterminate point on his desk, feeling the weight of his friend's observation burning his forehead.
"Jimmy…" Junior stepped forward, his tone becoming inquisitive, almost clinical. "Did something happen that I should know about?"
"Nothing happened. Everything went normal…" Jimmy cleared his throat, adjusting the cuffs of his blazer with unnecessary urgency. "Perfectly normal. As normal as a meeting with my daughter’s tutor could go. Nothing out of the ordinary."
THUD!
Junior slammed both palms onto the desk, making the pen organizer jump a couple of millimeters. The noise shattered Jimmy’s bubble of denial.
"Spit it out… now," Junior decreed, leaning forward.
Jimmy exhaled a long sigh, an absolute surrender to the evidence. His fingers slid into his pants pocket and he pulled out the small yellow post-it, leaving it on the surface of the table as if he were handing over incriminating evidence in a high treason trial.
"It’s possible… that I asked for his phone number…" Jimmy confessed in a whisper loaded with a vulnerability he didn't remember possessing. "He’s… young, handsome… maybe… five years younger than me, perhaps a bit more. And he has paint on his fingers, hair like he just survived a storm, and a way of talking about art that..."
Jimmy paused, closing his eyes for a second. In the darkness of his eyelids, he saw Sea's smile again and felt that aroma of vanilla.
"...that makes everything else seem incredibly boring."
Junior slowly reached out his hand and took the post-it between two fingers, letting out a whistle.
"Wow… of all the things I imagined happening today, you getting the personal number on the first 'date' wasn't on my weekly bingo card… That is pure efficiency, Jimmy," Junior joked, though his expression softened as he noticed the genuine confusion clouding his friend's eyes.
Jimmy covered his face with both hands, sinking his fingers into his temples as if trying to massage away and erase the events of the last hour.
"It’s not funny, Ju…" his voice came out muffled, loaded with a drama he rarely allowed himself. "This… this shouldn't have happened. It’s a systemic error. A glitch in the matrix."
Junior let out a dry laugh.
"Listen, Jimmy. Nine years have passed. Nine long years in which your only known vices have been buying absurdly expensive toys for Sunny and working until 10 PM. Your life has the spontaneity of an IKEA instruction manual."
Jimmy slowly lowered his hands and glared at him, though his eyes betrayed an agitation he couldn't hide.
"But the thing is…"
"But nothing. If that boy, with his paint-stained fingers and his just-woke-up hair, has managed to make you forget about the stock market for a second… maybe you should stop analyzing it like it’s an audit and just write him a message."
"He is my daughter's teacher," Jimmy stated, tapping the table gently with his index finger as if he were quoting an immovable physical law or an article of the Constitution. "It's madness. An ethical negligence. I shouldn't have asked for the phone number, Junior. I’ve crossed a red line."
Junior arched an eyebrow, clearly amused by his friend's moral dilemma.
"Jimmy, Jimmy… But tell me one thing… how the hell did you manage to trick that poor boy into giving you his private number in five minutes?"
Jimmy looked at him with a mix of indignation and guilt.
"I didn't trick anyone, Ju. I just… well, he’s going to start an after-school art activity and he wants Sunny to attend because he says she has talent. And I, as the responsible father that I am, told him I wanted to be informed of every bit of progress… and that, obviously, instant messaging would be much more efficient and fluid than the official channels..."
Junior remained silent for a second, processing the information, before a smile of pure disbelief spread across his face.
"I can't believe it. You used Sunny as a human shield to get the teacher's Line ID," he said, bursting into laughter. "You are an evil genius, Mr. Potiwihok!"
Jimmy leaned back in his imposing leather chair, closing his eyes in desperation while the backrest creaked under his weight.
"I know, I know! I’m a despicable human being…" he exclaimed, throwing a hand in the air in a gesture of surrender. "But don't worry, I’m not going to do anything as stupid as writing to him. I’ll stick to the corporate email. I’ll be professional. I’ll be 'Mr. Potiwihok' and this will remain an embarrassing anecdote."
Junior simply placed the post-it back in front of Jimmy, right on top of his phone.
"Sure, Jimmy. And I’m the next King of Thailand. Good luck with your 'corporate email,' tiger."
Jimmy stared fixedly at the small yellow square of paper. Then he looked at Junior. Then back to the paper. It was as if he were analyzing a contract with a billion-dollar termination clause.
"Look, Jimmy…" Junior softened his tone, setting the jokes aside for a moment. "He’s the teacher who has managed to make Sunny the happiest girl in school for years. And, honestly, he’s the first person who has managed to make you interested in someone beyond a balance sheet. Don’t be an idiot and lose this chance over an excess of decorum."
Jimmy opened his mouth to protest, but Junior raised a hand, stopping him before he could utter another sentence about professional ethics.
"Write to him about the after-school thing, to say thanks, or for whatever you feel like. But just do it. That said, I’m heading back to my post; some of us actually have to work because we don't have a sweet art teacher to send little messages to," he concluded with a mischievous wink before leaving the office, leaving behind a silence that suddenly felt far too heavy for Jimmy.
Jimmy drummed his fingers on the glass desk. The rhythmic sound seemed to mark the countdown of his sanity. Finally, with a sigh of surrender, he picked up his personal phone.
He typed in the numbers with an almost ceremonial slowness and saved the contact:
”Sea (Sunny’s Teacher)”
He stared at the blank screen. «What do you write to a man who left you speechless in front of a chalkboard?» he wondered, feeling his hands sweat slightly.
Jimmy:
“Hello, Sea.”
Send.
His heart skipped a beat. There was no turning back now. He had cast the first stone. Immediately, he began writing the rest, but his fingers seemed to have forgotten how to construct human sentences.
Jimmy:
“This is Jimmy, Sunny’s father. I’m confirming her attendance at the workshop on Tuesdays and Thursdays, as we discussed in the classroom moments ago. I remain at your disposal for any administrative formalities.”
He deleted the message aggressively. «I sound like a robot programmed in the nineties…» he thought with frustration. He tried again.
Jimmy:
“Thank you for the thing with the tie…”
He deleted it before finishing.
Jimmy rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling his IQ drop ten points for every second he spent staring at that chat. He rested his thumbs on the phone again, determined to try something that sounded... human.
Jimmy:
“I haven't stopped thinking about what you said about art and freedom. I’d like you to tell me more about that workshop... and maybe about how you get Sunny to look at you like you’re a superhero. I struggle to negotiate with her even over dessert.”
"Too personal. Delete, delete, delete," Jimmy muttered, erasing the text with almost physical spite.
Then, a flash of audacity—or temporary madness—took hold of him. His fingers moved with electric speed, dictated by a part of his brain that had been dormant for nine years and by the memory of Sea’s vanilla scent.
Jimmy:
“I can still feel your fingers on my tie. It was the most interesting moment of my week, and it’s barely ten in the morning. Do you do personal image consulting at home or only in primary school classrooms? You have beautiful eyes and a light that…”
Jimmy dropped the phone on the table as if it had just burned his hands. He stared at the device, horrified by what he had just written.
"Jitaraphol, pull yourself together!" he scolded himself aloud, lunging for the phone to delete the text before his fingers committed a fatal error. "That’s harassment..."
Meanwhile, miles away in the teachers' lounge, Sea’s phone vibrated with a sudden spasm on the table. The young teacher jumped, nearly knocking over his cup of tea.
A notification appeared on the screen that made his pulse race instantly:
[Unknown Number]:
“Hello, Sea.”
And right below it, the little "Typing..." indicator began appearing and disappearing in an erratic dance. Sea sat petrified, eyes fixed on the phone, holding his breath as he watched the indicator emerge for long seconds only to vanish into the void, over and over again.
«Could it be Jimmy?» Sea thought, feeling an electric tingle in his stomach.
"Are you going to keep staring at that mobile until it melts, or are you going to breathe?" Off quipped, observing his friend with a mix of pity and amusement while biting into an apple.
Sea didn't respond. His hands were interlaced, squeezing his knuckles until they turned white. Finally, the notification stabilized and the message came in with a soft ping.
[Unknown Number]:
“This is Jimmy, Sunny’s father. I’m sorry to bother you during your break, but I couldn't wait to confirm the workshop. Count her in for Tuesdays and Thursdays. And thank you... again, for this morning. The tie has held up impeccably through all my meetings.”
Sea let out a sigh that seemed to empty his lungs of all their pent-up air. A slow, genuine smile spread across his face. Jimmy had been polite—distant, but attentive. The fact that he mentioned the tie made him smile.
His fingers flew across the screen.
Sea:
“Hello, Jimmy!”
“What a joy to hear from you.”
“It’s no bother at all; in fact, you’ve just made my schedule's day. Sunny is going to be the star of the workshop, you’ll see.”
Sea stared at the phone, «Should I write something about the tie?»
Sea:
“And… I’m glad to hear the tie behaved... though the credit goes to the model, who knows how to wear it. 😉”
Sea laughed to himself; he couldn't send that to Sunny’s father. He went to delete it, but accidentally hit send.
"No, no, no!" he exclaimed aloud, pounding the delete button as if his life depended on it.
He scrambled to select the message.
Delete.
«I deleted it fast… I don't think he had time to read it…»
On the other side of the city, Jimmy felt the world stop for a second. The winking emoji at the end of the message hit him harder than expected. He leaned back in his leather armchair, ignoring three emails marked "Urgent," and stared at the phone screen.
That phrase... "the credit goes to the model." It was a direct compliment, wrapped in a layer of naturalness that Jimmy didn't know how to handle. He felt an unusual heat creeping up his neck. He wanted to be witty and reply with something bold, but he saw the last message disappear.
Sea:
“Message deleted”
“See you Tuesday ☀️”
Jimmy smiled; he could tell him he’d read the message, but his protective instinct—the one that had been reminding him for nine years that his priority was Sunny and her stability—made him stop dead.
He couldn't afford to be impulsive. Not with his daughter's teacher.
«Not yet» the little voice in his head told him.
Jimmy:
“I’m glad you see it that way. See you next Tuesday then for the first class. Have a good afternoon, Sea.”
Short. Precise. Safe.
Jimmy placed the phone on the table, face down, as if the device were a dangerous temptation. He forced himself to concentrate on the charts on his computer, but the image of Sea smiling while adjusting his tie remained in his mind.
Back at the school, Sea read the reply and let out a small, relieved huff.
To be continued…