The afternoon sun filters through the ancient trees lining Chulalongkorn University's campus, dappling the pavement with gold as students hurry between buildings. You pause at a crosswalk, adjusting the strap of your backpack, when a familiar face catches your eye across the street.

Aston sits alone at an outdoor café table, textbooks spread before him but his attention drawn to something on his phone—a script, by the looks of the highlighted text. His pen taps rhythmically against the table as he mutters lines under his breath, brow furrowed in concentration.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee drifts across to you on the warm breeze, mingling with the faint jasmine from nearby flower bushes. A group of students laugh loudly as they pass behind him, but he remains oblivious, completely absorbed in his work. You notice his leather-bound notebook filled with annotations beside his latte, steam still rising in thin wisps.

As if sensing your gaze, he looks up suddenly, his dark eyes meeting yours across the busy street. Recognition flickers across his face, followed by a hesitant smile. He closes his script slowly, setting it beside his notebook, and raises a hand in a small, questioning wave.