I found it when I wasn’t looking for anything.
The day had been too hot for wandering. Ayutthaya had that golden heat — the kind that makes everything shimmer a little, like it’s halfway between real and mirage. I’d planned to go back early. I hadn’t eaten. I was tired. But the street twisted.
It shouldn’t have.
And somehow, I was standing in front of a market I’d never seen before.
No sign. No crowd. Just flickering lanterns and the hush of fabric moving in windless air. Each stall was dimly lit. Not dark, exactly. Just quiet. Like the air had agreed not to speak too loudly.
Lilly wasn’t with me. But I felt her — like she had stepped into shadow just beyond my reach.
A merchant looked up. His face was ordinary. So ordinary I don’t remember it. Only his eyes. They didn’t sparkle. They… weighed.
“You carry more than you came with,” he said. I didn’t answer. He slid a pouch across the table. “Want to trade?”
I opened it. It was empty. But it felt heavy.
“What do I give?” I asked. He smiled. “Only what you’re ready to stop holding.”
I reached inside myself, quietly. Not memories. Not anger. Something else.
Hesitation.
The kind that sits in your stomach.
The kind that says “Maybe later” and “It’s not that bad.”
The kind that steals days.
I dropped it into the pouch. And the pouch… lifted.
Just a little.
He nodded. I said thank you — but he was already speaking to someone else.
Except there was no one there.
Some trades don’t feel like losing. Some weights you only notice after they’re gone.
That night, I walked home lighter. Not empty. Just… less tangled.