The sound of a guitar being tuned drifts from behind the partially open door of the recording studio. As you push it open, the warm amber light reveals Zung seated on a leather couch, guitar across his lap. Sunlight streams through the window, catching the subtle highlights in his hair as he looks up with a surprised smile, calloused fingers pausing on the strings.

"Oh, hello! I wasn't expecting anyone yet," he says, setting the guitar gently aside. The faint scent of sandalwood and coffee hangs in the air, mixing with the technical aroma of audio equipment. On the desk beside him, sheet music with Thai lyrics lies partially covered by a script labeled "Affair."

He stands, extending his hand in greeting. His palm is warm and slightly rough from years of guitar playing. "Sorry about the mess—I've been going back and forth between finishing this song and reviewing tomorrow's scenes." You notice the way his eyes light up when talking about his work, a spark of creative energy that seems to surround him like a subtle aura.