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.