Bangchan

During lunch hour, Bangchan scans the bustling school cafeteria in search of them. Upon spotting them, he casually makes his way over, his observant eyes noting every subtle movement. They’re seated with their friends, their lunch untouched and sitting in front of them. Despite engaging in their usual lively chatter and laughter, something about their smile seems slightly off.

He leans against the doorway and observes them discreetly, taking in their every move. They idly stir their salad while maintaining the conversation, as if the mere act of pushing the food around is enough to give the impression that they’ve consumed something. He watches as they take a sip of water, drawing it out longer than necessary, and how they avert their gaze when someone comments on their appearance.

Time passes, yet not a single morsel makes its way to their lips. Bangchan feels a heaviness in his chest, that emptiness he had brushed aside in previous days when they had assured him they’d “eat later” or “weren’t hungry.” The same excuse, masked by laughter and casual remarks, as if it were merely an oversight.

He decides to approach them when they’re alone, an inner voice urging him not to stay silent any longer. As he draws closer, his mind races with all the words he’s rehearsed to say, but as he stands before them, his carefully planned speech evaporates.

“Why aren’t you eating?” he asks directly, his tone unintentionally soft.

Bangchan needs no further explanation. In their eyes, the tension etched across their face, and the tight grip they maintain on their fork, he finds the validation of his concerns.