Offbeat Start

The loud blare of a motorcycle horn suddenly broke through the gauzy veil of morning haze that covered Bangkok International School. Lalin Chaiyaporn was startled out of her trance by it. The wrought-iron gates loomed before her like a threshold she wasn't sure she wanted to cross as she stood erect at the edge of the property. Beyond them, a flurry of children rushed like bees, their voices a chaotic murmur rising over the sharp crunch of gravel beneath restless feet, and the courtyard hummed with the restless energy of a new school year. In addition to the subtle, syrupy sweetness of mango sticky rice coming from a vendor's cart across the street, the air was thick with the musty smell of rain-soaked asphalt. It served as a reminder of the city's embrace of this exclusive community, a place she felt both a part of and separate from.

Lalin pressed the silk of her blouse smooth, her fingers grazing the embroidered symbol sewn over her chest, a symbol of expectancy she was unable to let go of. Under the surface of a well-practiced smile, her pulse pounded, a desperate staccato she was unable to control. She wasn't late yet, but the idea of entering that crowd made her palms moist with perspiration. She had been walking a tightrope since she was a young child, and another year of perfection awaited her, each stride measured under her parents' unwavering scrutiny. Their expectations were invisible, unavoidable, and pressed against her ribcage until every breath seemed borrowed. They held on to her like the humidity. Willing her legs to push her ahead, she sucked in a lungful of air that tasted of diesel fumes and resolve as she repositioned her bag, the leather cool and smooth against her shoulder.

Kiet Srisawat hovered halfway across the courtyard, close to a dying frangipani tree, its petals curling inward as though to protect secrets, its blossoms sagging in the stifling heat. He shifted his weight, the violin case in his palm a lifeline tying him to this strange land, and his uniform, a second-hand one, starched to an unnatural stiffness, pricked at his neck. Students were flowing about him like a torrent, their laughter piercing and careless, their fancy watches glinting in the sun's fleeting, brilliant rays. He heard snippets of their conversation—weekends spent at beach homes, teachers who were flown in from far-off cities—and with each word, the gap between their worlds grew wider. He was a scholarship student who had worked hard and sweated to get here, and every note he played was an appeal for acceptance. But he felt invisible, a ghost wandering the periphery of their circle, standing beneath that drooping tree. He wasn't sure he could overthrow the school's imposing glass façade and well-kept hedges, which loomed ahead. He pondered how long it would take someone to realise he didn't fit as he scuffed his sneaker against the gravel, the sole worn thin from months of pacing streets he knew well.

Nestled beneath a vaulted ceiling that seemed to hold the weight of the moment, rows of chairs spread out within the auditorium, which unfurled with the polish of a well-rehearsed performance. As Lalin took a seat close to the front, the air was filled with the murmur of expectation and the faint tang of polished wood wax, a perfume that lingered to the corners of her senses. Beneath the chair, her fingers twisted the hem of her skirt into tight knots, the cloth bunching under her restless hold, but her spine tightened into a dancer's pose. With his violin bag tucked down as though to protect him from prying eyes, Kiet slipped into a back row, the shadows enveloping him like a tiny favour.

Through the microphone, the principal's voice bellowed a sonorous litany of pride and aspiration. Words like excellence, legacy, and the future of Thailand's elite swept over the gathering like a wave Lalin was unable to ride. Instead, a sharp hook drew her beneath as her thoughts seized on the scene she had feared all summer. The principal said, "And now," his voice swelled with pride that crushed against her, "a special performance by one of our brightest stars, Lalin Chaiyaporn."

She was pushed out of her seat by the roar of acclaim that filled the room. The lighting pinned her like a specimen under glass as she made her way towards the stage, counting each step carefully—one, two, three. It was a beautiful Thai melody that she had learnt years before, with notes as deep-rooted as her own heartbeat. Her feet traced elaborate patterns engraved into her muscle memory as she started, her arms sweeping gracefully. She was weightless for a brief, bright moment, the world reduced to motion and rhythm, a place where nothing else could touch her.

Then it hit—her breath caught mid-rise, her chest constricted like a vice. The sea of faces melted into a smear of judgement, blurring the margins of the auditorium. Her feet froze as though they were fixed to the stage, and her arms wavered in mid-arc. The music continued to flow without her, and she stood there, a statue caught in the brilliance. Like a razor cutting through the mist, a faint but sharp whisper echoed through the audience.

Kiet stared, his breath slowing as he leaned forward from the shadowy back, elbows braced on his knees. Her hands squeezed like if they were reaching for something substantial to grab, and he could see the glint of fear in her eyes. She was someone who was falling apart, thread by delicate thread, rather than the composed person he had seen in the courtyard. He recognised that expression, having seen it firsthand while gazing down a stage while holding a borrowed bow that was shaking. In the silence of her collapse, his violin case pushed against his leg, a quiet witness to the instant their paths touched and their orbits brushed.

With a sharp and unexpected halt, the music echoed in the sudden silence, a cut-off chord. The ensuing applause was a thin layer of civility that covered tight silence. Lalin disappeared behind the curtain as she sprinted off the stage, her shoes clicking a staccato retreat. She staggered into the wings, her fingers sticky against the rough fabric, shame burning in her throat like a molten knot she couldn't swallow.

The principal's final words were overshadowed by the clamour of pupils leaving, their voices filling the empty room as the ceremony stumbled to a halt. Kiet stayed while chairs scraped and footsteps faded, the immensity of the hall edging away from him. He lifted his case and entered the hallway, where the dusty, waxy air was a welcome relief from the oppressive heat. A small amount of light poured from a broken door ahead, either a storage closet or a practice area. He caught a sight of Lalin through the opening, her back to him, her shoulders slumped as she placed her forehead against the wall, her body quivering with the strain of her unravelling.

He hesitated, trapped between the want to hide in the darkness and the impulse to cry out. Finally, he turned away, the echo of her silence following him like an unresolved, haunting minor chord as his fingers tightened on the strap and the leather creaked softly under his hold. The courtyard was shrouded in a muted haze as the sky outside grew darker and the clouds rolled in heavy and low. Even though the first day was not yet over, it already felt off-key, like the prelude of a song that neither of them could yet identify.