Christening The House

Love... And... Latte...

Now, I realise.....

He must think I am a stalker or something…

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“Thank you, Kongpob”

He replies with a beautiful smile on his face.

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A groan...

A curse...

A soft pleading of....

“No, no, no, please !!”

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As I walk over to him, Arthit takes off his glasses, letting them dangle between his fingers as he scrubs his face with both hands.

The light from his laptop screen is reflected in them, and I wince. I know all of his hardwork is on that laptop, and it looks to have died completely.

I hesitate.

I want to help, but the last few days have been awkward.

For me, anyway.

I have become quieter, more reserved. Didn't want him to think about me as a stalker.

Observing silently.... as I have let my latte art do the talking instead.

“Arthit ?? Can I help ??”

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I try every trick I know.

Nothing works.

I need my computer.

Smiling apologetically at him, I explain, praying he won’t think I am trying to lure him to my place. After his birthday, I wouldn’t assume myself... to be trustworthy if I were in his shoes.

It’s one thing for him to accept help here, in the safety of a crowd. But..... it’s quite another to go to some stranger's house. without knowing his real intentions, so to speak.

His eyes narrow briefly as he studies me.

“Can you fix it ??”

I nod, relatively certain in my abilities.

“I would be really grateful”

I smiled at his reply.


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Opening my door, I step back to allow him inside my room. I clear my throat, blushing as I see the laundry I didn’t get around to putting away, the papers and books strewn over my centre table, DVD’s and CD’s that haven’t been put in their place.

I glance at him nervously and stammer....

“Please excuse the mess ??”

His eyes roam the space before falling on mine. He nods, a soft smile on his lips.

“Can I get you anything before we start ??”

“No.... I am fine”

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Arthit mutters something, under his breath, as I work. I can’t hear the words, but the meaning behind them is obvious in the way his knee bounces as he constantly runs his fingers through his hair, pinching the bridge of his nose before adjusting his glasses.