Arson

1

The sun gleamed over the airbase that morning, painting the runways in gold. The air hummed with precision—soldiers moving in formation, aircraft standing like sentinels under the blue expanse. It was a day of celebration, a day when ranks would change and shoulders would bear new weight.

Nani Changkam, however, was lost.

He stood by a signpost, bouquet of white lilies in one hand and his phone in the other, frowning at the map that seemed to mock him. “North hangar? East gate? Why can’t they just name it ‘big ceremony building’?” he muttered to himself, squinting at the sun as if it might offer directions.

He had promised his close friend—Ohm Pawat—that he’d be there for his promotion to Captain. But promises were easier made in texts than in military bases with labyrinthine roads. Nani was an actor, not an airman, and the pressed shirt and black slacks he wore—along with a baseball cap and sunglasses—made him look more like someone trying not to be noticed than a guest at a ceremony.

After a few wrong turns and an awkward attempt to ask a guard for help (“You’re attending, sir?” “Yes, I think so?”), he finally made his way toward what looked like a gathering spot—only to collide head-on with a cluster of uniformed officers.

The impact sent the lilies tilting precariously and his heart into overdrive. “Ah—sorry! I’m so sorry!” he blurted out, bending instinctively to pick up the fallen ribbon. In the process, his shoe landed squarely on someone’s boot.

That someone was a major.

The officer—tall, sharp-featured, with an expression that could freeze engine fuel—glanced down at his boot, then at Nani. He said nothing. His gaze was cool, almost indifferent, the kind of look that made Nani want to evaporate.

“I—uh—really didn’t mean to—” Nani started, words tripping over themselves.

Before he could melt into the pavement, another officer—also a major but with a far easier smile—chuckled. “You’ve got some guts stepping on Major Nateetorn’s boot.”

That broke the ice. The third officer, a lieutenant colonel with an amused gleam in his eyes, added, “Relax, son. You don’t look like you belong here anyway. What’s your business?”

Nani straightened, still gripping the bouquet like a shield. “I’m here for the promotion ceremony—my friend, Ohm Pawat. He’s being promoted to Captain today.”

“Ohm Pawat?” the smiling major repeated, recognition flickering. “Ah, the officer from Squadron 34. Good man. Come along—we’re headed there too.”

So he followed, trailing the trio of senior officers, feeling simultaneously relieved and mortified. The teasing continued as they walked, with the cheerful major elbowing his silent counterpart. “Come on, Nateetorn, the poor guy’s terrified of you already. Try not to glare him into dust.”

“I wasn’t glaring,” the major replied flatly.

“You were born glaring,” the lieutenant colonel said dryly, and Nani nearly laughed.

When they finally reached the venue, the sight took his breath away—rows of crisp uniforms, medals glinting, the air heavy with pride and ceremony. He spotted Ohm among the officers standing tall on the stage, his posture straight, his eyes gleaming with quiet pride.

When the ceremony concluded and the applause rose, Nani made his way through the crowd and handed the bouquet to his friend. “Captain Ohm Pawat,” he said with a grin, “permission to congratulate you, sir.”

Ohm laughed, pulling him into a quick, genuine hug. “You made it! I was starting to think you got lost again.”

Nani smiled sheepishly. “I did. But I met your superiors along the way. I think one of them now hates me.”

From across the crowd, Major Nateetorn glanced in their direction. Their eyes met for half a second—his expression unreadable—and then he looked away.

Nani wasn’t sure if that was forgiveness or a warning. But he’d take it.