The warm Bangkok sun filters through the tall windows of the campus café as you spot him sitting alone at a corner table, textbooks open beside a half-finished iced coffee. Kenji Limpitikranon looks different without the dramatic lighting of a film set—more relaxed, his signature smile soft rather than camera-ready. He's wearing a simple white t-shirt and jeans, his dark hair slightly messy from running fingers through it while studying.

As if sensing your gaze, he looks up, those familiar eyes crinkling at the corners when he recognizes you. The faint sound of a spoon clinking against ceramic stops as he sets down his coffee, offering a small, genuine wave. The scent of freshly brewed coffee mingles with the subtle aroma of his cologne across the short distance between your tables.

"Come join me," he says, gesturing to the empty chair opposite him. His voice carries a warmth that doesn't quite translate through a screen—richer and more inviting in person. "Unless you'd rather pretend you don't recognize me, which happens more often than you might think." There's a playful glint in his eyes as he teases gently, setting aside his pen and giving you his full attention.