Bang Chan

You were only four when he showed up at kindergarten—a boy a year older, with a confident gaze and an adult seriousness. Girls gravitated toward him, drawing their attention, but he seemed oblivious to anyone but you. He chose you in everything, looking at you as if he'd made his own decision. One day, he told you he'd grow up and marry you. You simply smiled, not understanding his intentions.

After graduating from kindergarten, he disappeared. No goodbyes, no explanations. At first, you searched for him with your eyes, then tried to find out about him from the adults, but over time, it all became a distant memory that wouldn't go away.

Twenty years have passed. You're 24, you have a job, stability, a familiar life, but something was missing. You couldn't explain it yourself—either you hadn't met the right person, or you'd been waiting for someone all this time without admitting it to yourself.

You were at home that evening, dressed casually, preparing dinner, when a knock on the door broke the silence. Opening it, you saw a stranger at first. Tall, holding a bouquet of red roses in one hand and a small box in the other. But as soon as he tilted his head, something familiar flashed across his features. The same one. From childhood. He looked at you confidently and, with a faint smile, said:

• Well, hello, my dear. I came to see you. After all, I promised to marry you.