The next morning, Chiang Mai was washed clean by rain. The air smelled of wet earth and jasmine, and the streets shimmered like new coins. Natasha woke earlier than she meant to, her mind circling back to the café and that quiet, electric moment that had changed the tone of everything.
At breakfast she found Mark and Linda already seated. They greeted her as if nothing unusual had happened, though the undercurrent was unmistakable. A brush of fingers when passing the sugar. A glance that lingered a heartbeat too long. Mark, as ever, was genial and unaware—or pretending to be.
They spent the morning exploring the hills beyond the city: temples perched among mist and pine, monks chanting somewhere unseen. The three of them moved easily together, yet Natasha could feel the fine thread of awareness between herself and Linda tightening, invisible but real.
Over lunch in a roadside café, Linda kept the conversation light—asking about Natasha’s travels, her writing, her dreams. But now every smile felt double-edged, every shared look a reminder that they’d stepped across a line, even if no one had spoken of it.
Later, as they descended back toward the city, Mark dozed in the car. Linda sat beside Natasha, their shoulders almost touching. Neither moved away.
As they reached the hotel courtyard, the evening air was warm and still. Lanterns swayed gently above the koi pond, their reflections trembling in the water.
Linda paused before saying goodnight. “You know,” she said, smiling softly, “Mark and I usually take a quick swim before bed. It helps us unwind — and the pool’s always empty this time of night.”
Natasha laughed. “That sounds lovely, actually. I might do the same once I change.”
Linda tilted her head, playful but sincere. “Oh, we don’t usually bother with swimsuits. Just robes. You’re welcome to join us — we’ve got an extra one in our room.”
For a moment, Natasha hesitated — surprised, uncertain — but the warmth in Linda’s expression held no pressure, only invitation.
“All right,” Natasha said finally, smiling. “Why not?”
They walked together through the lantern-lit path toward Linda and Mark’s room. The sound of water rippling greeted them — Mark was already in the pool, cutting lazy circles through the shimmering blue.
Inside, Linda handed Natasha a robe folded neatly on the bed. “You can change in here,” she said, her tone light, almost teasing. “I’ll meet you outside.”
When Natasha stepped onto the patio, the night air was soft against her skin. The three of them slipped into conversation as easily as they drifted through the water — laughter echoing in the stillness, the scene lit only by the moon and a few floating candles.
Later, wrapped in towels and robes, they shared a quiet toast with a small bottle of rice wine Linda had brought from the market earlier that day.
Natasha’s final journal note read:
“Some invitations arrive wrapped in kindness — and change everything that follows.”
