Love Letters ( English Translation)

4

Co-translator : chawee

Chapter 4: Just a Man That Likes Writing
Rashane became more confident each time he saw that his letters hadn’t been thrown out after sending the fourth letter. It made him want to write even more; he wanted to tell all his different stories for the other to read. He felt as though writing to Puwanat every 3 days had become a part of his life already.

The young writer painted a smile on his face as he told the story of one of his life experiences through the page. He looked into the letters as if staring into the sparkling eyes of the recipient. Each and every stroke felt like personally whispering the story to Puwanat to hear for himself; he pictured how good it would feel to have Puwanat curled up against his chest on a big sofa, listening carefully to every word.

His little bundle of love would probably sweetly ask questions about this and that; a wonderful sight to see.

The young man’s smile grew slightly wider as he pictured it; gently stroking that cute little round head, softly kissing the forehead with an air of gentleness, telling him every single little thing his little love loaf wants to know. A chuckle escaped Rashane’s throat at the ridiculousness of his imagination. He knew not even the name of this boy but instead called him as his soft ball of love like this… When would the image he painted in his head become reality?

Rashane frequented the cafe for the second time that evening. The next day he would have to travel to the coastal attractions once more to collect further information. This made him want to see Puwanat’s face once more before then. This time around, the boy was standing at the counter since the moment he arrived. Rashane took a deep breath in, suppressing his heart to not beat any harder than it already was. He tried to gather his strength before approaching another staff standing opposite to Puwanat. He considered it a feat of bravery to be ordering coffee at such a close range today.  Once his coffee was ordered and paid for, he walked to the pickup counter whilst making an effort to avoid eye contact with the sweet-faced boy across the counter. He immediately rushed to his usual table with his drink in hand.

The handsome face focused on the notebook as usual, but this evening he seemed to write mindlessly until he completely lost track of time. It wasn’t until he halted his thoughts and reached for his coffee in hopes to drink it that he realized his cup had been empty for a while now. Rashane turned to look at Puwanat who stood ready to jot his coworker’s orders, nodding along to his words. He knew that any second now the young man had to smile. And sure enough, not long afterward the boy’s face lit up with a smile as expected. He watched him work for a little longer before packing his belongings and heading back to the other side of the street. Upon reaching the twelfth floor of the condo, he placed the fifth letter at the door of the person who’d been circling his heart and mind for almost a month now and returned to his own room.

. . . . . .
Rashane’s writing career turned out to be much different than he had imagined. He never would’ve thought that writing a travel journal would turn him into the writer he is today, as he wrote simply because he enjoyed it; It was a hobby that he never intended to do as a career. Though many things had changed since he’d first entered the industry, one thing that remained the same is that he wrote whatever he wanted without pressuring himself or caring about fame.

Since he began writing, Rashane knew that becoming a writer was the most fitting career for someone who loves solitude such as himself. Most communication between him and his editors was through messaging; perfect for a man of few words. They wouldn’t meet face-to-face for long periods of time, and because he was a freelance writer, he never signed onto a monopoly contract with a publisher- allowing him to write whatever his heart desired. Fortunately his editors and readers knew and understood his working style as well and work continued to go according to his wishes. And yet, Rashane respected rules and had a high sense of responsibility. He’d published no more than two novels per year, but his writing was always rich in quality and had long been ranked best sellers.

The young writer placed a small suitcase on the recliner of his accommodation and brought his stationary out onto the balcony. He observed the area before sitting to record the image of the resort’s private beach. On the left side of the page, Rashane noted brief descriptions before going into detail on the right. Once his written image was complete, he lifted his head to gaze into the distance whilst wondering if he would one day bring his bundle of love to share the delightful scenery together. Though, if he continues on unable to face him like this, that day may never become a reality.

Rashane had so much love for writing. It felt good to send letters to someone special to him, and he was more than happy to share his every story through the letters on the page. Yet, he was just like any other ordinary person that desires the touch of someone special. He wanted to feel him, to hear his sweet whispers and confess his love directly- but it was still too soon. Not only did he not have the courage to face him, but he also wanted to wait for Puwanat to be ready as well.

. . . . . .

The door of room 1204 closed when the owner returned from university. That evening, Puwanat would be free from working at the cafe. He finished showering and threw himself onto the bed as he didn’t feel like doing anything. Even so much as sitting to eat the dinner he bought from a stall beneath the condo felt like too much of a hassle. Finally after a long while of laying in bed, his stomach began to make sounds of protest. So he finally got up to plate the food and put his chili fried rice with chicken into the microwave. He took his freshly heated meal to his study desk to eat, planning to open his laptop to find something to watch as usual but instead browsed his phone as he was too tired and lethargic.

Time passed as he opened different articles on his phone, his eyes finally catching a glimpse of an envelope. He remembered bringing it inside from his doorstep the night before and tossing it onto his desk. One hand reached out to inspect the letter while the other shoveled food into his mouth. Upon inspection, he could recall several more similar envelopes he had found previously. The young man set down his phone and lifted the textbooks and documents that he had stacked on top of the other letters. In addition to the one he had brought in the night before, there were four more unmistakably similar envelopes on the desk. He flipped one over to take a closer look just as he finished the last bite of his food. He stood to wash his dishes and quickly returned to his seat.

Puwanat lifted a single letter and before he could open it any further his phone rang. He glanced at the screen, not moving as he read the displayed contact. His day off was the rare opportunity he had to relax his mind, not to mention he had no desire to speak with this particular caller in the slightest. It had already been almost a month since he first moved into his apartment, having no contact from the person he called father whatsoever. So why would he suddenly call now? Even with how much he didn’t want to speak to him, in the end the student extended his hand to accept the call.

“Hello, dad.” Puwanat greeted as one usually does. A tiny fraction of him wanted so badly to hear a warm and caring response from his so-called father- but the words that echoed through the speaker didn’t even include a greeting.

“Why was a bank document of yours sent here?? Have you not gone to change your address or what?!”

The sharp words of his father, Pasathon, caused the young boy to freeze in his tracks. What in the world had he expected? This man had never once spoken to him nicely for as long as he could remember. What gave him the audacity to think the other would call to check up on him?

“I’m sorry, dad. The thing is since I moved I’ve just been really busy so I forgot. I didn’t think the bank would send anything during this time-” once the words left his lips, on the other end of the line was that cynical sigh that he absolutely hated the most. Puwanat sat motionless for a moment before continuing, “Tomorrow I’ll hurry to notify my address change everywhere. As for the document at the house, next time I have a day off I’ll stop by to pick it up.”

“Don’t bother!” a deep voice suddenly rang out. “If I have time I’ll come drop it off at the condo myself. Don’t bother coming back to this house. And get everything taken care of; don’t let me see another thing of yours delivered here again! Keep that in mind.” Leaving no chance to reply. Pasathon hung up with no concern for his own son’s feelings.

With the smartphone still against his ear, Puwanat sat stunned for what felt like forever before finally taking a deep breath in and placing his phone back on the desk. He walked like a zombie and threw himself back onto the bed. Though he knew he should be used to it already, nothing could prepare an ordinary kid like him for his father’s words. It was nothing strange for him to still hope that his father would have even an ounce of empathy in his body. But every single thing Pasathon has ever done forced Puwanat to remind himself that the very person who gave him life had never loved him at all. Even knowing this, it still hurt him deep inside his heart. The feeling of loneliness crept into his chest once more. The pain revealed itself as warm tears spilling over the edges of his eyes. He couldn’t help but wonder if the days of holding himself in tears would never really end.

Puwanat laid curled into a ball on his bed for a long while before getting up to wash his face and eyes. He walked from the bathroom to his study desk and retrieved his abandoned phone, choosing a song to lighten the mood a bit. He glanced at the five letters still waiting to be opened and decided to open the first one. In his mind he expected it to be some sort of legal notification document as there were many pages inside. But as he unfolded the paper, there was no print. Instead were rows of unique handwritten words.

So it’s a letter…?

Puwanat pondered to himself as he skimmed the content briefly. It didn’t take him long to notice the handwritten date, causing him to quickly pull the other pages out of their envelopes. He compared each of the dates, arranging them in chronological order and sitting back to observe them all with an indescribable feeling.

It wouldn’t hurt to take a look. After all, nothing these letters say could hurt him more than his father already did.

With that thought, the young student picked up the first letter and read the brief message on its single page 2-3 times before becoming still again. Eyebrows furrowed in a knot and lips pursed in thought, he scanned the dates for the second letter. Puwanat took a deep breath to calm his beating heart. He had no idea why he felt so excited to receive a letter from someone he doesn’t even know. In this day and age, are there really still people that think to write letters to each other?

After being hung up on by his father and the emotional distress that caused, he felt he had nothing to take his mind off of it while being stuck in this small room. Yet somehow, reading the messages that were left at his door must be entertaining enough to make him forget his state of mind for a bit. Moreso than that, the short message left by the author in the first letter gave the impression of a delicate, polite, and warm man that described himself as…

Just someone who loves to write…

And this person abbreviated on the letter as R.K. proposed to tell him different stories of his life. He, too, was curious as to what stories the mystery man would write to him. If he were to read something that makes him uncomfortable, all he’d have to do is leave the letters where he found them, just like Mr. R.K. instructed.

Puwanat set the first letter on the table and got up to make himself a cup of tea before returning to grab the second letter. He set his teacup on the nightstand beside the bed and lowered himself to sit, taking a deep breath. His eyes looked at the letter in hand with mixed emotions. Without even reading it he could already feel the warmth radiating from the message materialized on the paper. Others may have thought it seemed a bit weird, but for him it was a form of comfort that wasn’t any lesser than others. No need to talk to anyone, no need to answer questions, no need to tell about the things that hurt him- just reading those stories was enough.

Thin lips pressed into a straight line, his pretty eyes laid upon the neat handwriting spread across many sheets of paper. He leaned his head back against the headboard of his bed and began to read the letters sent from the unknown person, a smile gradually appearing on the sweet face as Puwanat read the first sentence of the letter in hand:

Are you ready to explore the stories I will tell yet?




Translator’s notes:
Sorry to all who waited so long for this update! I was injured at work so writing/typing has been very difficult. Thank you for being patient and especially to HanaYuki for being so understanding :) Please continue to read this translation and support P’Jamie!        -chawee