Plan B to U

Introduction

"Does anyone have any questions?"

 

And there it was. The one sentence I'd been waiting two whole hours for, after enduring being hunched over the lecture desk this whole time, counting down the seconds until this excruciatingly boring class would finally end.

 

The professor at the front scanned us across the sloped rows for a moment. When she saw no one was raising a hand, she finally announced class was dismissed-and just like that, the silence shattered into a buzz of chatter, the entire room descending into chaos.

 

"Wanna go play soccer after this?"

 

Nikm, sitting next to me, sprang up to stretch lazily and turned to ask for my take while I was busy stuffing my school supplies into my backpack. He's the artsy type with a slightly airheaded streak, obsessed with fashion, and constantly producing the kind of 'art nobody else can quite get.

 

"Nah, my knee's barely just healed. Let's go find something to snack on and kill time instead." And this guy's name is Em—certified troublemaker, certified clown, and probably one of the top-ranked human ramblers on the planet.

 

As if to prove it, he grabbed his phone and started typing away rapidly, then his flat voice slowly morphed into something dripping with sarcasm.

 

"This place is great, but it's packed. Line up at six p.m., eat by eleven thirty."

 

"Then why the hell did you even bring it up?!"

 

Their bickering went on for a while longer. Since they couldn't agree on anything, we still hadn't landed on a plan for the evening.

 

Our group started with nearly ten people. But after surviving various obstacles and the passage of time, they slowly drifted off in their own directions. Some retook their entrance exams, some dropped out, some got glued to their boyfriends or girlfriends, and others just got addicted to sleeping. 

 

Once we hit our brutal senior year, going anywhere as a big group became rare. Just dragging each other to class felt like a small miracle, which is why, in the end, we're down to just three of us—closer than anyone else.

 

"I'm too lazy to argue anymore. How about this—you guys go wherever you want, and we'll regroup at ten."

 

As usual, it was Nikm who came up with the way out. Otherwise, we'd be going nowhere today.

 

"Okay."

 

"And as for you, Nile, keep your schedule clear." Nikm turned and stared me down as if he were issuing a sentence.

 

"It's your birthday today, ya know~ Don't you dare flake on your friends~"

 

He said it like he was scared I'd bail. But when your best friend has gone all-out booking a table at our usual Yaa dong' joint, skipping out would basically guarantee getting cut from the friendship registry. And then I'd have absolutely no one left...

 

"Yeah yeah, I'll finish my run and head over right after."

 

Bzzt!!

 

See? Before the words were even out of my mouth, my notification went off from the Eatsy food delivery app.

 

I shoved my stuff into my bag in a hurry and rushed off to the building's restroom, swapped my student uniform for something more practical: a T-shirt. Then topped it off with the orange jacket that's the trademark of that famous delivery app.

 

Done. I shoved the restroom door open and strolled back into the classroom to say goodbye to my buddies one more time—only to get Em's usual teasing thrown at my back.

 

[Yaa dong na= Thai herbal-infused rice liquor served at casual neighbourhood bars.]

 

"Whoa~ Quick costume change. Are you Spider-Man or what?"

 

"Nope, I'm Masked Rider." Which is literally true, since I'm a delivery rider who also occasionally gives people rides.

 

Em made a face of pure exhaustion while Nikm chimed in: "Terrible joke, but I'm still sitting here listening, huh."

 

"I'll come back to drop more flat jokes later. Off to work."

 

"Yeah, see you at Sopon Tam-Sang!"

 

I nodded and half-walked, half-jogged to the parking lot to my powerful motorbike, one of the few things I inherited from my dad. It's a bit old, sure, but it's the income-earning tool that keeps my life from being too rough.

 

Once the engine was running, it was time to head off to the restaurant for my latest customer's order. The order was pinned to a housing development not far from campus, which was well within the radius where I usually take jobs. So most of my customers cycle through the same locations: same faces, same houses. By now, we more or less greet each other like old acquaintances.

 

['Bar name - โสภณ (Sopon) is the owner's father's name; ตามสั่ง (Tam-Sang) means made to order.]

 

Like this house, for example. The owner's an auntie in her late fifties who usually orders Thai sweets, all kinds of desserts, or cold drinks.

 

I pressed the doorbell like always. Before long, she came out to receive the order and opened with her classic line:

 

"How's today treating you?"

 

To which I'd answer...

 

"Pretty good, ma'am." Paired with my heart-melting smile, the kind that makes any older person immediately think of their own kids and grandkids.

 

Out of fondness, Auntie usually slips me a small tip for encouragement. But her kindness or the tips aren't really the main reason I love working deliveries in this neighbourhood. No-it's because of the house diagonally across from hers.

 

Someone else's house-one I've completely fallen head-over-heels for. Why, you ask? Well, I'd have to rewind to about a year ago, back when I was on a delivery run.

 

It was just another ordinary day in life's endless loop. But after I cut the engine and parked in front of some house whose owner I'd never even seen, a drawer of dreams I'd long buried deep inside swung wide open.

 

From the day I was born until now, I've lived my whole life in a 65-square-meter monthly-rental apartment. So I never really understood what it felt like to be a homeowner. But then one day, out of nowhere, Mom mentioned that it'd be nice if our family could move into a house we actually owned.

 

I listened. Hope started to creep in. After that, bit by bit, I began etching a picture of our dream home into my mind through years of dinner-table conversations. What started as a hazy dream slowly turned into a real longing. But since we never actually had enough money to buy one, it all stayed just an idea.

 

Until...I came across this house.

 

The cheapest house in the development, tucked at the very end of the alley. By the time I'd weaved my motorbike through the winding lanes and finally pulled up at its gate, GPS had nearly led me astray for hours.

 

Originally, the house had been designed and built in modern style like all the others. But the owner had given it a full renovation. Wooden slat accents, awnings, repainted walls, window frames swapped out for wood, new doors.

 

It was small, but the garden was thoughtfully designed, with just enough space to wander around and unwind. The longer you looked, the warmer it felt, completely different from every other house in the area.

 

I wanted a house just like this. Mom's dream house. The house Dad wanted to live in. And eventually, the house I'd pieced together in my imagination until I just had to own it for myself.

 

"Auntie, does that house get a lot of people coming to check it out?" I asked the customer, pointing across the way to a 'For Sale' sign stuck to the fence.

 

"Hardly anyone, dear."

 

Apparently the owner had only just put it up for sale about two months ago. Once I heard there were no competing buyers, hope began to well up inside me.

 

Yeah, but... about two minutes into that hope, reality hit me. We don't have money, do we… Why has Dad never once told me I'm secretly an heir to a fortune?

 

Bzzt!!

Right. Reality calling.

 

My drifting thoughts shattered when my phone notification cut in. I peeled my eyes away from the dream house, turned to thank Auntie, then spun around and walked back to my motorbike.

 

On the screen was a message from a different food delivery app. No time to dawdle or stand around daydreaming, so I quickly tapped to accept the job.

 

Before heading off, I didn't forget to strip off the orange jacket, peel the Eatsy velcro sticker off the delivery box, then pop open the seat compartment to grab the blue jacket and the 'Goom' (Gourmet Goods) sticker to swap them in.

 

Done. Back to work.

 

Because right now, whatever the dream is, the truth

 

IS...

 

It's not just the house that's out of reach. I'm still grinding away at work trying to scrape together my final semester's tuition.