A call came in.

“Hello! Who am I speaking with?”

“Lila, ma’am. I’m calling about the flat. As mentioned before, I’m still very interested. I’ll have the down payment ready soon, and I can handle the monthly rent without any issue.”

“Oh, of course. Everything’s set just as we discussed,” The woman replied warmly. “If you don’t mind me asking again, where are you from?”

“My parents live in the neighborhood, just a few blocks away.”

“Ah, I see. That’s nice. So... are you working? I only ask because if you’re from around here, I wonder if you’ll actually spend much time in the place.”

“Yes, I work remotely,” Lila explained. “I live nearby, but I’ve been needing a quiet space just for work. I plan to be there daily, but only on mornings to evenings. I hope that’s alright.”

“Not a problem at all!” The woman chuckled. “I’m open to all kinds of tenants. And between you and me, steady occupancy is always good for business, if you know what I mean, ha-ha!”

That brief phone call marked the first encounter between Lila and the landlord, a warm, practical woman, who spoke with the ease of someone used to managing tenants but still curious enough to ask questions.

Lila had chosen her words carefully, balancing transparency with just enough vagueness to keep things simple. She needed a place, not a relationship. For her part, the landlord lady did not press further. Business was business, and Lila sounded like the kind of tenant who would not cause trouble.

In a crowded, modern area of Buriram, the flat was tucked away in a corner of the neighborhood, just a ten-minute away from Lila’s family home. It was not visible from the main road, hidden behind a small, narrow alley framed by bougainvillea vines and old brick walls. At first glance, one might miss it entirely. But if you knew where to look, it was perfectly accessible.

It was the kind of place that did not try too hard to be noticed, and yet it was exactly what many sought. Discreet, peaceful, and strategic. A fair setup often rented by commuters, remote workers, or short-term travelers in need of a place to land for a while. People from various backgrounds came and went. Digital nomads with laptops in backpacks, young professionals who needed some time outside their noisy family homes, bakers, insurance agents, students. It was a transient space that somehow still felt grounded.

The front yard was small but lush, dotted with leafy shrubs and flowering plants that gave the place a quiet charm. Two weathered wooden chairs sat beneath a papaya tree, casting long shadows in the late afternoon light. There was something rustic about it, not rural, exactly, but cozy in the way a countryside house might be. The stone path leading up to the door curved slightly, lined with potted herbs and old garden lanterns. 

Inside the flat was simple. A single large room with low ceilings, broken-white walls, a shared kitchen corner, and a veranda that looked out to the sky and greenery. Here, Lila was just a person in a room, carving a layout for her thoughts and work and privacy.

And that was all she needed. Or so she thought.

*

The sun was low when Lila finally finished bringing in the last of her things.

One suitcase, two cardboard boxes, a duffel bag, and her laptop. That was pretty much the stuff she took from home, just enough to get by, not enough to draw suspicion, though never satisfying to secure her runaway. Most of it was practical, but there were a few softer things, too. A ceramic mug she had painted in elementary school. A small framed photo of her and her mother, taken at a beach years ago when smiles came easier. She did not need these things, but somehow they were the first she had packed.

The flat was still, the late light stretching across the floorboards. She sat down on the edge of the mattress, legs dangling, staring at the half-empty room and the friendly shape of her own handwriting on the label, including bedside, desk stuff, misc.

It should have felt like freedom. A place of her own. A fresh start. But instead, it made space for the thoughts she had always managed to brush away when there were voices in the next room, or dinner waiting on the table.

She remembered how easy things used to be. If she needed a computer, her parents got her one. When she wanted swimming lessons, they signed her up. Piano? Her mother rearranged the schedule without blinking. Her dishes were always clean. Her health was always cared for. She was never told no when it came to things people wrote in gratitude journals.

And yet, here she was. Twenty-something, moving into a rented flat in secret. Hiding behind a schedule she invented. Lying gently, carefully, to everyone who believed they knew her. It was not exactly guilt that she felt. It was something more elusive. A quiet reckoning.

She was not displeased. But she also could not pretend she had not been shaped by the very structure that gave her so much. Somewhere along the line, all that comfort had become conditional. All that giving came with an unspoken cost of the life that was handed to her had to be lived a certain way. A respectable job. Predictable choices. No questions, no noise.

And she had complied for all her life.

“I should’ve done better,” She mumbled aloud, not looking at anything in particular.

Maybe there is no villain all along, just a quiet unraveling of someone who never felt fully seen.

She was never sorry for not being who people thought she was. She never meant to plot the lies viciously, she just did not think anyone would want her truth. It was not about grades, jobs, or marriage. It was about voice. About her presence. About the time she had wasted editing herself to fit a shape she no longer believed in.

She stood, crossed the room, and began arranging her books on the narrow shelf by the window. Titles she loved. Ones she chose. Here, no one would ask why she was not reading something more useful.

It was just beginning again. All on her own terms.

*

Fast forward to a year later when a young lady, early in her 20s, steps in to rent Lila’s flat. A room that used to be Lila’s world. It is now empty.

She sits on the edge of the bed. It creaks beneath her, and it strikes to her that this was where the previous person must have spent hours sitting down. Working. Contemplating. Buying time.

She traces the edges of the table. It is chipped. The room is bare, and that very moment she understands that this is not an exile. It was a declaration. The person who lived here before wanted to make something of themselves. By herself.

She notices a to-do list stuck with tape. One having the word Goals scribbled in silver ink, with bullet points beneath:
• Learn to do things slowly
• Breathe better
• Review & Report
• Be grateful

She touches the list with the tips of her fingers. And that is when the pride transfers. Swift and disarming.