The rooftop hummed with the low buzz of strip lights fixed to the railing, their glow washing the tiles in pale warmth. Below, the Mae Klong[1] river caught streaks of colour from shop signs, reflections shivering with each passing boat. Cicadas rasped in uneven chorus, faint against the city's pulse. Four chairs sat in a ring at the centre, mismatched and scuffed, too deliberate to be casual. A paper note fluttered against the railing, corners taped:
Management thanks residents for attending. Rooftop Lounge, 6:30 PM.
No staff in sight—just the circle, waiting. Tawan reached it first, duffle heavy by his foot, lighter pressed in his pocket. Saint arrived next, bounding two steps at a time, humming tunelessly as if noise could smother silence. Dan followed, sleeves neat, papers in hand though no one had asked for them, eyes skimming everything. Imel came last, stride measured, expression unreadable, body sliding into the space without announcing itself. The circle closed, though none of them had chosen it.
Saint flopped into a chair with mock exhaustion, then sprang upright again, grinning.
"Alright, guess this is us. Chosen few."
His voice bounced off the tiles, restless.
"Name's Santisuk Niran, but everyone calls me Saint. Been here a couple months. I'm an artist/producer. Work nights at a bar sometimes. If your app glitches, Korn usually sorts it—staff guy, but he's working, not climbing stairs for this."
His grin widened, waiting. Imel took the seat opposite, folding his hands neatly. Dan settled with papers on his lap, posture rigid. Tawan remained standing, duffle strap still twisted in his grip, until Saint raised an eyebrow, half-daring, half-inviting. Slowly, he sat, chair scraping against tile. The lighter pressed harder into his thigh, its presence a weight more than comfort. Saint clapped once, sharp, cracking the air.
"Introductions. No hiding. We're neighbours now."
Imel's turn came first. "Imel Semat[2]," he said, voice level, almost flat. "Moved in days ago." Nothing more.
Saint tilted his head, intrigued.
"Imel. That's… unique. Half-half, right?"
Imel gave a single nod. The pause stretched, his silence heavy enough to fill the gap. Saint chuckled, shifting focus.
"Okay. Your turn, spreadsheets." Dan's lips tightened.
"Danuphob Saetang. Dan. A few weeks here. Work from home."
Each word clipped, efficient. Saint smirked, tapping his knee.
"Solid. Sleeves and spreadsheets."
Dan's knuckles whitened on the papers, but he didn't answer.
Saint's gaze flicked finally to Tawan.
"And?"
The pause caught, dragging long.
"Tawan Wirachai," he said at last, voice quiet, clipped.
Saint brightened instantly, grin snapping wide.
"Tawan. Sun, yeah? That makes you Sunshine. Fits."[3]
The word stuck, light but insistent. Tawan lowered his eyes, unsure if it cut or steadied.
The silence after lingered until Dan broke it, voice steady but edged.
"We should set rules. Noise. Rooftop use. Shared kitchen. Maintenance. It matters."
He straightened his papers, gaze fixed. Saint groaned, tipping back dangerously in his chair, hands thrown wide.
"Rules already? We've been here five minutes."
Dan didn't flinch.
"We live above each other. Noise carries. Respect matters."
Saint's grin sharpened.
"Respect's overrated. A little music won't kill anyone."
The chair dropped forward with a thud. Dan's eyes narrowed, jaw set, papers trembling slightly though his grip was firm.
"Not everyone works nights,"
Dan said, words clipped, pressing.
"Some of us wake early. Order matters."
Saint leaned in, elbows on knees, grin edging reckless.
"And some of us can't breathe in silence. Don't like noise? Earplugs exist."
The line snapped like elastic stretched too far. Tawan's hand clenched around the lighter, metal biting against skin, but he said nothing. Imel's gaze tracked between them, expression unreadable, not moving. The air thickened, rules no longer about quiet hours but something rawer: order against chaos, control against defiance. The rooftop held its breath.
Dan rose, chair scraping loud against tile.
"If this is how you treat neighbours, rules are pointless."
His voice held its precision but cracked faintly, strain bleeding through. Saint stood too, closing distance in three quick steps, reckless grin fixed. One hand braced against the wall near Dan's shoulder, too close, heat sharp between them.
"Relax, phi," he murmured, grin daring. "You'll pop a vein, and I'm not cleaning that up."
For a beat the air charged heavier than anger—something edged, uncertain. Dan froze, face flushed, breath caught. Saint's grin faltered, a crack in bravado, then snapped back as he stepped away, laugh forced, too light.
"Chill. We're just talking."
Dan's papers shook as he gathered them, knuckles white.
"Pointless," he spat, control unravelled. "Do whatever you want."
He strode to the stairs, footsteps pounding down, the rooftop circle collapsing in his wake. Silence pressed in behind him, chairs holding absence more than weight. Saint blew out a breath, half-laugh, half-release.
"Always that uptight, or just lucky timing?"
His grin searched for an echo but found none. For once, his noise didn't carry.
The quiet stretched until Tawan surprised himself, words slipping free.
"Maybe… a bad day."
The sound of his own voice startled him, almost foreign. Saint blinked, then chuckled, softer now.
"Guess we all have those." He turned to Imel.
"You think he's always like that?"
Imel tilted his head, eyes steady.
"He carries things. He will adjust. Or not."
His tone made it sound less like judgement, more like fact. Saint nodded, restless hands tapping against his leg. Tawan looked down again, lighter pressed firm, flame memory tugging, though unlit.
Saint forced his grin wider, masking the flicker of something unsettled.
"So it's Sunshine, the philosopher, and me—the noise hazard. Strong team."
He stood quickly, shouldering his bag.
"Enough rooftop therapy. See you around." He waved, careless bravado, but his steps hit sharper than he meant.
Imel rose next, pushing his chair neatly into place, precision in the small act. He glanced once at Tawan, then turned away. As he reached the stairwell, his voice caught faint under his breath, more to himself than anyone:
"I am… direct?"
It was not explanation, not for them. Just the question lingering in his own mouth. Neither Saint nor Tawan heard.
The rooftop quieted, cicadas filling the gaps. The river below shifted, neon bending across its surface, boats humming somewhere unseen. Tawan remained, leaning against the railing, lighter in one hand, vape in the other.
Mist curled silver in lamp glow until thoughts pressed too sharp, then he switched—cigarette sparked, smoke harsh, steadier than silence. The circle of chairs stayed behind him, holding argument like residue. Management's flyer fluttered faint, edges lifting in the night air, rules already dissolving before they began.
Alone, he drew the smoke deep, grounding against burn. The rooftop stretched empty around him, unresolved, leaving only the weight of flame and ash as the night carried forward.
[1] The Mae Klong, sometimes spelled Meklong, is a river in western Thailand. The river begins in Kanchanaburi Province and flows across Ratchaburi Province and Samut Songkhram Province.
[2] Imel Semat and his older sister Fahsai 'Fah' Semat (whom you see as the story unfolds) are Thai-European. Imel's name is pronounced like the 'im' in 'lim' but imagine the 'L' being silent.
[3] Saint calling Tawan 'Sunshine' is because Tawan's name primarily translates to "sun" or "day." The name is often paired with other words to create longer formal names, such as: Tawan-chai which means Shining sun or Tawan-wad which means Drawn by the sun. So Saint calls him Sunshine.