The lost smile

Sunlight

"Kong, come here!" his friend called, running across the playground.

His childhood had been simple and bright — the kind of happy where sadness never lingered for long. Always smiling, always laughing, always surrounded by people who cared.

He grew up with many friends, a supportive and loving family, and a sense of contentment that felt unshakable.

School was fun too — the kind of place he never wanted to miss, where he begged his parents to let him go even on sick days.

His life in that little town in Bangkok was complete.

Even when some friendships faded — and it stung for a while — he found new ones. It wasn't hard for him to make friends; people were drawn to his charm. His loud voice and laughter could fill a room, and his warmth made others feel at ease.

And he had a dream — one he held close: to be an artist. Everyone recognized his talent. People gifted him art sets on his birthday; his friends knew how much creating meant to him.

But everything changed when he had to switch schools in middle school.

Kong was nervous. Very, very nervous.

At first, he didn't speak much. He spent most of his time in the art room, quiet and composed, letting the brush and pencil do the talking. Even the teachers noticed him there — alone, focused, thoughtful.

He tried to reach out, to make friends, but his shyness made it difficult. Some kids made fun of him, while others ignored him entirely.

He didn't mind too much. He had other things to deal with at the time.

Slowly, over weeks and months, people warmed up to him. Friendships formed, laughter returned, and he began to feel at home again.

And over time, his life felt perfect once more. But he didn't know then how fragile perfect really was.