The Sound of Your Name

Chapter 01: Static and Silence

Namping arrived at the campus café ten minutes early, as always. He ordered an Iced Americano, no sugar, and he picked the quietest table in the corner—strategically placing away from the speakers playing pop remixes and crowds of student laughing and taking photos with their lunch. He pulled out his iPad, apple pencil placed in his hand, opening Keng's academic record.

Music Theory II: 36.4%
Thai Literature: 46.1%
Sociology of Media: Incomplete.

He sighed. "What am I supposed to do with this??"

According to the department head, Keng needed to pass his midterms to stay enrolled in the music program. And since Namping was top of his class and fluent in "time management," "discipline," and "miracles," they figured he'd be the perfect tutor for Keng.

He tapped his pen against the table. Five minutes passed. Then ten. Then fifteen.

At exactly twenty-two minutes past the hour, Keng strolled in. No apology. No rush.

He was wearing a faded band t-shirt with loose pants, and had a guitar strapped to his back like it was part of him. His earbuds were still in, music leaking from them just loud enough for Namping to recognize the indie tunes. Keng's hair was slightly messy, like he'd just rolled out of bed and decided that was enough effort for the day.

"You're late," Namping said flatly.

Keng slid into the seat across from Namping, pulled out one earbud, and gave a lazy grin. "I'm not late. You're early"

Namping stared at him. "We agreed on 4 p.m"

"It's 4:22 p.m"

"My point exactly."

Keng shrugged, pulled iced tea from his bag—how did he even sneak that in?—and took a sip. "You're really doing this out of obligation, aren't you?"

"Yes. But I'd still prefer not to waste my time."

"Same."

There was a moment of silence. Charged, awkward, buzzing with quiet challenge.

Namping took a deep breath. "Alright. Let's start with Music Theory. You've missed most of the term. Do you even have the textbook??"

Keng reached into his backpack, pulled out a crumpled notebook, and tossed it onto the table. No textbook in sight.

"This is empty.." Namping said, flipping through the blank pages.

"I like to keep my mind open," Keng said, sipping his tea again.

Namping blinked, then looked away, trying not to let the irritation show on his face. This was going to be impossible.

And yet... there was something about Keng. Something in the way he leaned back in his chair like nothing could touch him, like the world was noise and he'd tuned it out. Something the way his eyes watched everything, even when it looked like he wasn't paying attention at all.

"You're serious about music," Namping said suddenly.

Keng raised an eyebrow. "Is that a question??"

"No, just an observation."

Keng didn't respond right away. He set his tea down, the ice clinking softly against the plastic cup. "I'm serious about the music I make. Not the kind they test you on."

"That's still music theory."

"That's just someone else's rules."

Namping wanted to argue. He really did. But something about the way Keng said it—quiet but firm—made him pause. This wasn't laziness. Not entirely.

"So teach me your way," Keng said, leaning forward just slightly, his gaze locked on Namping's. "And I'll try to learn yours."

Namping swallowed.

This was not how he thought tutoring would go.

And yet, for the first time that day, he found himself curious.