Weaving Webs

… when life gives you papaya, make somtam.

She sat on the edge of the bed, her phone clutched tightly in her hands. Her thumbs hovered over the screen, hesitant. How could she explain the situation to Toby? How could she make him understand?

Malee

It started with Phueng. Malee’s sister had always been wild, always chasing the next thrill, the next big score. But this time, she’d gone too far. Gambling with money she didn’t have, owing debts she couldn’t pay. Now there were men looking for her, men who wouldn’t take excuses or apologies for payment.

Malee had tried to help, of course. She’d worked longer hours, taken on more clients, done things she wasn’t proud of. But it hadn’t been enough. And now the men were getting impatient. Threatening Phueng, threatening Malee.

She’d thought about running, about disappearing into the crowded streets of the city. But she had nowhere to go, no way to start over. And Phueng… Phueng was too stubborn, too caught up in her own desperation to listen to reason.

Phueng

So Malee had done the only thing she could think of. She’d reached out to Toby.

It hadn’t been an easy decision. Part of her hated the idea of asking him for help, of admitting that she couldn’t handle things on her own. But a larger part of her remembered the way he’d looked at her. The way he’d listened when she spoke, the way he’d touched her like she mattered.

She took a deep breath, steadying herself. Then, slowly, she began to type.

Malee

“It started a month ago,” she said. “Men came to our apartment. Said Phueng owed them money.” She paused, remembering the fear that had spiked through her at the sight of them. The way Phueng had blustered and flirted, trying to sweet-talk her way out of trouble.

“They wanted 50,000 baht. Phueng didn’t have it.” Another pause. “I offered to work for them, to pay off her debt. They said no.”

Toby’s response was immediate. “Jesus, Malee. Are you okay?”

Phueng

She felt a flicker of surprise at the concern in his voice. For a moment, she was tempted to brush it off, to pretend she was fine. But something stopped her. Maybe it was the memory of his hands on her skin, or the way he’d smiled at her in the darkness. Whatever it was, she found herself answering honestly. “No,” she said. Then, before she could lose her nerve, she hit send.

There was a long pause this time, and Malee felt her stomach twist itself into knots. What was he thinking? Was he angry at her for contacting him, for dragging him into her mess? Or was he… was he considering helping her?

Malee

When his message finally came, it was short. “How much do you need?”

Malee stared at the screen, her heart pounding. How much did she need? The answer was simple—50,000 baht. That was what Phueng owed, plus a little extra for the trouble she’d caused.

But as she thought about it, Malee realized she wanted more than that. She wanted a way out, a chance to start over. To leave the bars and the tourists behind, to make something of herself.

And she wanted Toby. Not just for his money, though that was part of it. She wanted his attention, his approval. She wanted him to see her, to really see her, and to accept what he saw.

Slowly, she typed in a number. 100,000 baht. Double what Phueng owed, but less than what Malee dreamed of having. She hit send, then closed her eyes, waiting.

Phueng

Toby stared at Malee’s message, his mind racing. 100,000 Thai baht was a little over £2,500. Not an insignificant amount, but not an impossible one either. He could get it to her, if he wanted to. But did he want to?

He thought back to the nights they’d spent together, the way she’d challenged him, provoked him. There’d been a connection between them, he was sure of it. Something more than just physical attraction, though that had certainly been part of it.

Malee

But this… this was complicated. This was getting involved in something he didn’t fully understand, in a situation that could potentially be dangerous. And for what? So Malee could pay off her sister’s debts? So she could make a fresh start?

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. On the surface, it seemed like a bad idea. A very bad idea. But there was a part of him that wanted to help her, that wanted to be the man she thought he was. The man who could sweep in and save the day.

Phueng

“Do you have a bank account?” he asked finally. “Somewhere I can wire the money?”

There was a pause, shorter this time. When her response came, it was tentative. “Yes. But… are you sure? I don’t want you to feel like you have to.”

He smiled ruefully. Even now, she was complicated. “I don’t,” he said. And then, because he couldn’t resist, “But I want to.”

The next message was a string of numbers, an account name, a bank name and a branch number. Toby noted the exact details down on paper, then opened a new window on his phone.

It took longer than he’d expected to arrange the transfer. There were forms to fill out, security measures to navigate. But finally, it was done. The money would be in her account by morning.

Malee

He sent her a message to let her know, then leaned back in his chair. There was a strange sense of relief settling over him, mingled with something else. Anticipation, maybe. Or hope. All this mixed with an undeniable sense of stupidity.

Malee checked her bank account the moment she woke up. The transfer hadn’t shown up yet, but she wasn’t worried. These things take time, after all. And Toby had promised. He’d said he would help her, and she believed him.

For now, there were other things to focus on. Phueng, for one. Her sister was still sleeping off last night’s hangover, a tangle of limbs and sheets on the couch. Malee looked at her for a long moment, feeling the familiar stirrings of frustration and affection.

Phueng

“Wake up,” she said finally, nudging Phueng with her foot. “We need to talk.” Phueng groaned, rolling over to press her face into the cushions. “Malee, please. Not now.”

Malee felt her temper flare. “Get up,” she snapped, grabbing a handful of Phueng’s hair and tugging. Hard.

Phueng yelped, sitting up abruptly. “What the hell?” She rubbed at her scalp, glaring up at Malee. “That hurt.”

“Good.” Malee crossed her arms, glaring down at her sister. “Maybe it’ll help wake you up. Help you understand how serious this is.”

Malee

Phueng’s expression shifted, just for a moment. There was a flicker of fear in her eyes, quickly hidden behind her usual mask of bravado. “I said I was sorry, didn’t I? I said I’d pay them back.”

“With what?” Malee demanded. “You have no money. You’re drinking and gambling it away as fast as I can earn it.”

Phueng looked away. “It’s not my fault things are slow right now. There are less tourists…”

“Enough.” Malee cut her off. “I’m sick of your excuses. You got us into this mess, and now you need to get us out of it.”

Phueng

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Malee could hear the city waking up outside their window—the blare of horns, the rattle of carts, the distant wail of a siren. It was familiar, comforting. It wasn’t the paradise many think it is, but it was her life, her sister’s life and it was something she was going to fight for.

Malee

A Gentle Squeeze

The message arrived three months later. Just three words, no name attached. But he knew who it was from. Only one person had his number, had ever texted him from there.

He stared at the screen, his thumb hovering over the delete button. He could pretend he’d never gotten it, could go back to his life as it had been. But as he thought of Suchada’s face, of the spark in her eyes, he found himself smiling. He saved the number.

Suchada stared at her phone, her heart racing as she waited for Karl’s response. It had been three months since he’d left, three months of silence and uncertainty. She’d tried to put him out of her mind, to focus on the stream of tourists that flowed through the city like water. But she’d never quite managed to forget—the way he’d looked at her, really looked at her.

Pupae had laughed when she’d asked for Karl’s number. “Why you want farang phone?” she’d teased. “He go home now. Forget about him.” But Suchada hadn’t forgotten. She’d saved his number carefully, her fingers tracing the digits like a talisman. And now, finally, she’d worked up the courage to use it.

Her message was simple – “Can we talk?”. She hadn’t been sure what to say, how to start. So, she’d kept it vague, a thread of connection he could either pull on or leave dangling. When his response came, she felt a rush of relief so strong it left her dizzy. “For what purpose?” he’d asked, and she’d smiled. He was curious, at least. That was enough.

“I need help,” she’d replied, then hesitated. How much to tell him? How much would he want to know? She could hear Pupae’s voice in her head, mocking, warning. “Don’t be stupid, Suchada. Farang don’t care about Thai girls.” But Karl… Karl had been different. He’d looked at her when others didn’t, had listened when she spoke. And he’d paid her—well and on time. She owed him nothing, and he owed her nothing in return. But still, she found herself hoping. Hoping he might remember her as more than just a holiday fling.

The minutes stretched out, agonizingly slow. Suchada found herself checking her phone obsessively, her nerves fraying. What if he didn’t reply? What if he’d forgotten her entirely?

The ping of an incoming message made her jump, and she grabbed her phone, her fingers clumsy with haste. “What kind of help?” She let out a slow breath, her mind racing. What did she want from him? Money, of course. That was the obvious answer, the one Pupae would give without hesitation. But Suchada found herself hesitating. If she asked for that, if she reduced what they’d had to a simple transaction… she wasn’t sure she could bear it.

“I…” she began, then stopped. There were things she couldn’t say, not like this. Not in a message that might be ignored, deleted, forgotten. “Please,” she typed finally. “I need you to come.” She hit send before she could change her mind.

Karl stared at his phone, Suchada’s message glowing on the screen. She needed his help, wanted him to come. To Bangkok, she meant. To her. It had been three months since he’d last seen her, but her face was still clear in his mind—the sharpness of her features, the spark of mischief in her eyes. He’d thought of her more than once, wondered what she was doing. If she ever thought of him. And now, here she was. Asking for help.

He didn’t have to go, of course. He could ignore the message, just pretend he’d never received it. But as he stood there, his thumb hovering over the screen, he felt a flicker of curiosity. Of concern. He’d liked Suchada, more than he probably should have. She was young, yes, and street-smart in a way that had occasionally made him uncomfortable. But she was also clever, ambitious. She’d spoken of studying English one day, of leaving the bars behind. And Karl… Karl had wanted to believe her. Had wanted to be someone who could help make that happen.

Now, faced with the choice, he found himself typing a reply. “Tell me what you need.” The response came quickly. “Money,” she said, and Karl felt a pang of disappointment. So she did just see him as a farang, a walking ATM. He should have known better. But then another message appeared, and the disappointment faded. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

Karl frowned. That didn’t sound like her. Suchada was many things, but sorry wasn’t one of them. At least, it hadn’t been before. “Are you okay?” he asked, and waited.

 

When Suchada’s response came, it was longer this time. “No,” she said. “Pupae and I… we’re in trouble. She owes money. A lot. And they’ll hurt her if we don’t pay.” There was a pause, long enough that Karl wondered if that was all. Then, “I don’t know what to do.”

He swore softly. This was more than he’d expected, more than he knew how to handle. But Suchada was scared, he could tell. And he remembered the way she’d looked at him, the way she’d touched him. The way she’d made him feel like he was the only man in the room. “Tell me everything,” he said, and braced himself for what was to come.

Suchada sat on the edge of her bed, her phone clutched in her hand as she tried to gather her thoughts. Karl’s last message stared up at her, “Tell me everything” and she found herself wishing she could. Wishing there was some way to put into words the tangled knot of fear and fury that had been building inside her for days.

Pupae owed money, that was the simplest part … but only one part.

… to be continued.

Nok and Chompu

The heat clung to Richie like a second skin as he stepped out of the taxi onto Sukhumvit Road, the neon glow of Bangkok’s nightlife pulsing around him. He’d come to Thailand for the chaos, the freedom—the kind of anonymity that let a man reinvent himself. At 42, he was no wide-eyed backpacker, but the city still thrummed with possibilities, each alleyway a promise, every glance from a pair of dark, kohl-rimmed eyes an invitation.

He hadn’t planned on falling into the arms of the bar girls. Not at first. But then, he hadn’t planned on Nok or Chompu, and certainly not Nok AND Chompu! 

Chompu 1

She was waiting for him at Sugar Moon, a dimly lit club where the air smelled of jasmine and spilled whiskey. Nineteen, with a laugh like wind chimes and a body that moved like she’d been born to it. Her English was halting, but her hands were fluent—brushing his thigh under the table, tracing the rim of his glass with a fingertip. “You handsome man,” she murmured, and Richie, flattered, let himself believe it.

Her friend Chompu seemed quieter, more intense. Where Nok was all soft curves and giggles, Chompu watched him with a gaze that cut. She spoke better English, enough to tease him. “You butterfly,” she said once, smirking as Nok clung to his arm. “Fly from flower to flower, na?” He’d laughed, not understanding the edge in her voice.

 The three of them tumbled into the night, ending up in his hotel room. Nok straddled him, her hair tickling his chest, but his eyes kept drifting to Chompu. She was a few months younger, still 18 she’d said with a proud tilt of her chin—and thinner, fragile almost. But there was a fire in her that Nok lacked, a spark that drew him in.

Nok 1

He reached for her, but she slid away, landing on the bed beside him with a laugh. “Not so fast, farang,” she whispered, her breath hot against his ear. “Nok first.”

 Nok’s hands were on his belt, but Richie’s attention was on Chompu. On the way her hipbones jutted out, sharp and inviting. On the curve of her waist, the dip of her collarbone. She noticed, and he saw the triumph in her eyes. She was used to being overlooked for Nok, he realized later. This was her game, her way of taking control.

Chompu reached out, her fingers trailing down his chest. “She’s too slow,” she teased, shooting Nok a look. “Let me show you what a real Thai girl can do.”

 Nok pouted, but she moved aside, letting Chompu take her place. Her hands were smaller, her touch more precise. When she kissed him, it was hard, demanding, and when she straddled him, there was none of Nok’s playful hesitation. She rode him with a focused intensity, her eyes never leaving his face.

Chompu 2

After, they curled around him, Nok soft and drowsy, Chompu alert, her fingers tracing patterns on his skin. “You stay with us tonight, na?” she said, and though he’d planned to explore the city, he agreed. There was something about her that intrigued him—something he wanted to understand.

He woke in the early hours to find Chompu watching him, her face lit by the glow of her phone. “What are you doing?” he mumbled, and she smiled.

“Looking at you,” she said. “You sleep like a baby.” 

He shifted, aware of her gaze on him. In the dim light, she seemed younger, almost vulnerable. “What do you want from me, Chompu?”

She raised an eyebrow. “I want you to be happy. To enjoy your holiday.” Her fingers traced his jaw. “To remember us when you go home.”

“And Nok?” he asked, glancing at the sleeping girl beside him. “What does she want?”

Chompu’s smile turned bitter. “Nok wants what Nok has always wanted—to be loved. To be seen.” She leaned closer, her breath warm on his cheek. “But you see me, don’t you, Richie? You see what I am.”

Nok 2

He did, more clearly with each passing moment. He saw a girl who knew exactly what she was doing, who understood the game better than he ever could. And he was drawn to her, to the sharp edges and hidden depths.

In the days that followed, they were his guides, his confidantes. They showed him the hidden corners of the city—the street food stalls, the secret gardens, the rooftops where the city lights spread out like a sea of stars. And they gave him access to a world he’d never have entered alone.

He paid, of course. For their time, for their attention. It was understood, if unspoken. But Chompu… Chompu was different. She asked for less, gave more. There was a hunger in her that went beyond money, a need to be seen, to be wanted.

Chompu 3

One night, drunk on whiskey and the thrill of her, he asked, “Why me, Chompu? Why did you choose me?”

She laughed, the sound sharp and bright. “Because you look at me. Really look.” Her fingers tangled in his hair. “Most farang, they look at Nok. But you… you see.”

He kissed her then, hard and deep, tasting the salt of her skin. Later, as she slept beside him, he wondered if he was being used. If she was playing him the way Nok played the other tourists. But when he looked at her face, peaceful in sleep, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Nok 3

He left Thailand a week later, his wallet lighter, his heart heavier. The girls had been a vacation fling, a fantasy made flesh. But as his plane took off, soaring over the glittering sprawl of Bangkok, he found himself thinking of Chompu, of her sharp smile and sharper eyes. She’d been right, he realized. He had seen her. And she had seen him…

… to be continued. 

Michi

 "Not Everything is as it Seems"

Michi trudged home, her schoolbag heavy with textbooks she barely understood. Another failed science test weighed on her mind, and the setting sun mirrored her gloomy mood. She paused at Mr. Tanaka’s vegetable stall, its vibrant colours a stark contrast to her dull day.

As she absentmindedly picked up a ripe tomato, a familiar voice spoke behind her.

“You know, tomatoes are technically fruits, even though we treat them like vegetables.”

Michi turned to see Mr. Hayashi, her 30-year-old science teacher, smiling gently. Her face warmed. “I—I didn’t know that,” she admitted.

He chuckled. “Science is full of surprises.” His voice was softer outside the classroom, less stern.

They fell into an easy conversation—about the stall’s fresh produce, the changing seasons, even her struggles in class. He didn’t scold her; instead, he listened. When he leaned in to examine a persimmon, his sleeve brushed her wrist, sending an unexpected shiver through her.

For the first time, she noticed the faint lines at the corners of his eyes, the quiet confidence in his hands. A strange flutter filled her chest—something new, something grown-up.

“Do you live is this area?” her teacher asked. “Yes’, she replied, “about 10 minutes walk from here”. “So do I, just around the corner above the laundry. Maybe we will meet again and discuss fruit and vegetables”, he smiled “It’s good to see you”. 

“Thank you” said Michi, “That would be very nice, you are easy to talk to when there are fewer people around. I will be going to the laundry this evening, probably around 7 o’clock”. “Then I shall make sure to watch out for you, see you later” Mr Hayashi smiled. 

As they parted ways, Michi clutched her tomato, heart racing. Maybe science wasn’t so bad after all.