Debbie sat on her bed, scrolling through her phone, her thumb hesitating over Pasco's profile on social media. Though she had unfriended him months ago, she couldn't resist the urge to check his public posts, which offered glimpses into his seemingly perfect life in Bangkok.
Bangkok had been a dream for Pasco—he'd always talked about studying architecture in one of Southeast Asia's most vibrant cities. Now, he was thriving at Bangkok University, surrounded by a mix of modern skyscrapers and ancient temples, sketching his designs in bustling cafés and
attending exclusive networking events. His photos painted a life of success: group shots with his classmates, late-night projects at the studio, and even a few pictures at rooftop bars overlooking the city's dazzling skyline. Debbie felt a pang of jealousy and sorrow. While Pasco was
building his future, she was stuck in Phnom Penh, juggling a fragile existence with no job, no clear direction, and mounting pressure to prepare for her exams. Phnom Penh, with its chaotic traffic and its blend of old French colonial architecture and modern buildings, felt small compared to the bright, cosmopolitan world Pasco now inhabited.
Flashback: The End of Long Distance
Their relationship had started to unravel when Pasco moved to Bangkok four years ago, during the peak of the COVID-19 pandemic. They had promised to make the distance work, sharing late-night video calls and exchanging texts about their dreams. Debbie had clung to those moments, believing they were enough to bridge the thousands of kilometers between them. But as Pasco's life became busier with design projects, internships, and a new circle of friends, his messages became infrequent, his calls shorter. Debbie, in turn, struggled to adjust to the distance, feeling the growing void in their connection.
One day, out of the blue, Pasco had sent a text. A cold, distant message that ended everything:
"I don't think we can keep this up anymore. I'm sorry, Debbie. It's better this way."
No explanation, no chance for closure. After that, he ghosted her, leaving Debbie to spiral into heartbreak alone.
Present Day: Debbie's Lingering Questions
Even now, Debbie wondered if she had been too needy, too much for him to handle while he was chasing his dreams. Yet, another part of her seethed with anger. He had replaced her so easily, dating a woman he met in Bangkok, someone older, someone who seemed to fit seamlessly into his new life. The last straw had been a picture of Pasco and his girlfriend at an art gallery, their hands intertwined. That was the day Debbie decided to cut him off completely—blocking his number and unfriending him on social media.But the memories still lingered.
Pasco's Side of the Story
In Bangkok, Pasco had thrived academically, earning recognition for his innovative designs and securing an internship with a prestigious firm. His professors admired his ability to blend traditional Thai elements with modern structures, and he was well on his way to becoming a respected architect. But beneath the surface, Pasco carried the weight of his decisions. He avoided thinking about Debbie, convincing himself that ending things was for the best. She wouldn't have understood the demands of his life, he told himself. The sleepless nights, the pressure to succeed, and the constant networking—it was a world apart from the simplicity of their time in Phnom Penh.Still, her name lingered in the back of his mind. Every so often, he would open their old chat thread, reading her last messages:
"Happy birthday, Pasco. I hope you're doing well."
Her words were kind, but he could feel the sadness in them. He hadn't replied—not because he didn't care, but because he didn't know what to say.
Debbie's Turning Point
In Phnom Penh, Debbie was doing her best to rebuild. Her apartment was modest, tucked into a quiet neighborhood not far from Wat Phnom. She spent her days either at the library, trying to focus on her law studies, or wandering the city aimlessly, her thoughts consumed by Pasco. One day, while walking along the riverside, she stopped at a
small fortune-teller's stall. The woman, draped in colorful fabrics, beckoned her with a knowing smile.
"You're searching for something," the fortune-teller said. "Or someone."
Debbie hesitated, but then nodded.
The woman drew a series of cards, her expression
thoughtful. "You will see him again," she said. "Before the new year. But whether it brings closure or pain depends on what you choose to hold onto." The words stayed with Debbie, both a promise and a warning.
Filex's Role in the Present
Meanwhile, Filex was becoming a steady presence in Debbie's life. His ability to sense emotions gave him a unique understanding of her pain, though he rarely brought it up. Instead, he focused on grounding her in the present.
"You can't keep living in the shadow of someone who left,"
Filex told her one evening. They were sitting on the steps of the National Museum, watching the city buzz around them.
"It's not that simple," Debbie replied. "You don't just stop loving someone because they hurt you."
"I know," Filex said, his eyes meeting hers. "But loving someone doesn't mean letting them control your life." For the first time, Debbie felt the truth in his words.