Ping woke up the next morning feeling lighter, his leg hurt less, the sharp sting replaced by a dull throb, but his heart-oh, his heart-felt warmer than it had in months.
He dressed quickly, almost clumsily, fumbling with his shoes and forgetting to tie his laces tightly. His mind was already racing, filled with memories of Keng-every smile, every teasing glance, every gentle touch replayed in a loop that made him grin like a fool.
He hurried to school, his bag swinging heavily on his shoulders, almost as if the weight of it could hold together the fluttering in his chest.
The hallways buzzed with the usual chatter-students laughing, lockers slamming, shoes scraping the floors-but none of it reached him.
He only saw Keng in his mind, imagined Keng's calm gaze and that soft, unhurried smile that had made the world feel smaller, safer.
But when he got to keng's classroom, Keng wasn't there.
Ping checked twice, scanning the rows of desks, the empty seats, the teacher's podium. He lingered by the door, just in case.
He looked down the hallway again, hoping for a familiar figure at the far end, and then back again. Nothing. Just the constant murmur of his classmates, the distant laughter that felt foreign and sharp.
"Maybe he's just late,"
Ping told himself, forcing a small, trembling smile.
At break, he went straight to the old pavilion, the one Keng usually claimed as his spot.
He sat on the familiar bench, hands folded neatly on his knees, eyes tracing the path that led to it.
He imagined Keng walking toward him, that casual, confident stride, the faint sway of his shoulders.
Every step he thought he heard made his heart leap-then fall, again and again.
Minutes passed.
Then an hour.
The pavilion, normally lively with whispers of students and the rustling of leaves, felt impossibly quiet.
Ping's chest tightened.
He tried to reason it out:
maybe Keng wasn't feeling well.
Maybe he had an errand.
Maybe it was just a busy morning.
He forced himself to breathe slowly, forcing a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"He'll come tomorrow," he whispered under his breath.
The next day, Ping searched for him the moment he stepped into school.
His eyes scanned every hallway, every corner, every familiar spot.
Keng wasn't there.
The warmth he had felt only hours before faded, replaced by a cold, gnawing unease that curled tight around his chest.
Each laugh in the hall, each cheerful shout, felt too loud, too cruel. It was as if the world had gone on without him, and Keng had been the only thing keeping it together.
Ping gathered his courage and approached Keng's friends, trying to appear casual even though his voice trembled.
"Have you seen P'keng?" he asked softly, almost too quiet for them to hear.
Their eyes met his, hesitant, and Ping's stomach dropped.
He already knew before they spoke that the answer would hurt.
They didn't know.
They had gone to Keng's house. They had even looked inside, hoping for a sign. And they couldn't bring themselves to tell him.
"It's empty," Tao said finally, voice low.
"No one lives there anymore... his house."
Ping froze.
The words echoed in his mind like a drum, heavy and relentless. His heart constricted painfully, and for a moment, he could not move. Not a single muscle would obey.
He didn't respond. He couldn't.
The pain in his chest swallowed him whole. Even as he blinked back tears, he could feel them threatening to spill, and keng's friends noticed-the quiet, unbearable grief in his eyes.
He walked the rest of the day like a shadow, classrooms and hallways blending together.
Words were meaningless. Laughter around him sounded distant, hollow, mocking. Every glance felt like it was pointed at him, reminding him of the absence, the gap that Keng had left behind.
At home, he barely touched his food. His mother noticed immediately.
"Ping, are you okay?" she asked gently.
He shook his head, unable to form words. He could not explain this emptiness, this ache that had taken over his chest. He locked it inside him, even as it throbbed relentlessly, even as it pressed down on him, suffocating and real.
Days passed.
Weeks.
A month.
Keng never came back.
Ping replayed every memory he had of him: the teasing smile, the playful wink, the way Keng had made him feel lighter just by being near. Those memories, once bright and comforting, had twisted into sharp stabs of longing.
He could no longer hide the ache in his heart, and eventually, he could no longer hide it from his mother.
One afternoon, he finally broke.
He ran to her, throwing his arms around her waist, burying his face in her chest. The tears he had kept locked away finally spilled over, hot and relentless.
He sobbed as though he hadn't cried in years, the sound breaking the stillness of their home.
His mother held him close, rubbing his back gently, whispering the same words she had whispered when his father passed:
"It's okay, baby. Let it out. Let it out."
"Mom... he left me," Ping gasped, words halting between sobs.
"He... he left me. I looked for him everywhere... he left me, mom. I can't find him anywhere."
His mother held him tighter. Her hands shook slightly as she comforted him. She remembered the pain in his eyes, the small tremble in his body when his father died. And she cried quietly too, not for herself, but for him.
Ping cried until his body ached, until his lungs burned, until there were no more tears to shed. Even then, the emptiness remained.
That night, he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. The silence of his room pressed down on him, thick and unyielding. Memories of Keng echoed louder than any sound outside-every smile, every gentle word, every teasing glance.
He whispered into the quiet darkness, voice barely audible:
"P'Keng... where are you?"
The question hung in the air, unanswered. He closed his eyes and felt the ache, the longing, the absence pressing down. Sleep wouldn't come. He could only imagine Keng somewhere far away, and the thought made the emptiness in his chest feel even colder.
And yet, even in the quiet, even in the loneliness, a small, stubborn hope remained.
Perhaps... someday, Keng would return.
Perhaps... someday, this emptiness would be filled again.
Until then, he would hold onto the memories, the warmth, the smile, and the love he wasn't ready to let go.