LETHAL LOVE
CHAPTER 1
"The Land of Smiles"
---
The air hit Dek like a wall—thick, humid, alive with smells he couldn't name. He stood frozen at the arrival gate of Suvarnabhumi Airport, his backpack straps cutting into his shoulders, watching the sea of unfamiliar faces flow around him like water parting around a stone.
*You're really here*, he thought. *You're actually here.*
"Dek! Don't just stand there blocking everyone." Nala's voice cut through the haze of jet lag and wonder. She grabbed his elbow, pulling him toward the side of the corridor. "You look like a lost goat."
"I feel like a lost goat," he admitted, his voice coming out smaller than he intended.
Nala laughed—that warm, full laugh that had been the soundtrack of his childhood. At twenty-six, she carried herself with a confidence that Dek envied. She was taller than him by half a head, her hair twisted into neat braids that fell past her shoulders, her dark skin glowing under the harsh airport fluorescents. Where Dek was all nervous energy and uncertain glances, Nala was steady. Unshakeable. She had to be.
"Come on, little brother. Our new life is waiting."
She said it so easily, as if they hadn't spent the last eighteen months scraping together every shilling, as if their mother wasn't buried in red Kenyan soil six thousand miles away, as if everything they owned wasn't packed into two suitcases and a dream.
Dek followed her through the terminal, his acceptance letter crinkling in his grip. He'd read it so many times the paper had gone soft at the creases.
*Dear Mr. Odhiambo,*
*We are pleased to inform you of your acceptance to Kasetsart University...*
Kasetsart. The name still felt foreign on his tongue. But it was real. He was here. Somehow, impossibly, he was here.
---
The taxi line stretched forever under the covered pickup area. Dek watched the other travelers—mostly Thai, speaking in rapid tones that rose and fell like music, punctuated by smiles that seemed to come easily. *The Land of Smiles*, his mother had called it once, showing him pictures in an old travel magazine she'd found at the clinic where she worked.
*"Maybe one day you'll see it, Dek. All those temples. That beautiful water. People who smile at strangers."*
He'd been twelve then. She'd been healthy then.
"Next!" The taxi coordinator waved them forward, his English sharp and efficient. He eyed their luggage, eyed them, his expression flickering with something Dek couldn't quite read. "Where going?"
Nala pulled out her phone, showing the address. "Lat Phrao. Near the MRT station."
The coordinator nodded, flagged a pink taxi, and rattled off instructions in Thai to the driver. Dek caught none of it, but the driver nodded, popped the trunk, and grabbed their bags with an efficiency that suggested he'd done this ten thousand times before.
They slid into the backseat. The car smelled of air freshener—synthetic jasmine, almost overwhelming—and the seats were wrapped in plastic that stuck to Dek's arms. A small Buddha figurine sat on the dashboard, garlands of tiny flowers draped around it.
"Air con okay?" the driver asked, adjusting the vents.
"Yes, thank you," Nala said.
The car pulled away, merging into a river of traffic that seemed to operate on rules Dek couldn't comprehend. Motorcycles weaved between lanes, some carrying entire families. Buses loomed like painted whales. Tuk-tuks buzzed like angry insects. And above it all, the sky was turning pink with the setting sun, casting everything in a surreal, golden glow.
Dek pressed his forehead against the window, watching the city unfurl.
Bangkok. *Krung Thep*. The City of Angels.
It looked nothing like Nairobi. The buildings were different—ornate temples rising between glass towers, spirit houses perched on every corner, wires crisscrossing overhead like a nervous system exposed to the air. Even the trees were different, heavy with broad leaves and unfamiliar fruits.
"It's so..." Dek trailed off, searching for the word.
"Big?" Nala offered.
"Different."
She nodded, her reflection ghosting in the window glass. "Different is good. Different is what we needed."
Dek wanted to believe her. He wanted to feel the excitement he knew he was supposed to feel—the thrill of adventure, the promise of possibility. But something in his chest felt heavy, like a stone he'd swallowed and couldn't digest.
He touched his pocket, feeling the outline of the photograph he kept there. Mama. Her smile. Her hands, always busy, always healing.
*Don't think about it. Not now.*
---
The apartment was on the fourth floor of a building that had seen better decades. The elevator groaned as it lifted them, and the hallway smelled of cooking spices and mildew. But when Nala unlocked the door—their door—and flipped on the lights, Dek felt something loosen in his chest.
It was small. One bedroom they'd have to share, a living area that doubled as a kitchen, a bathroom barely big enough to turn around in. The furniture was sparse and mismatched: a faded blue sofa, a wooden table with three chairs, a bookshelf with no books. The walls were bare white, interrupted only by a small window that looked out onto the city.
But it was theirs.
"Home sweet home," Nala said, dropping her suitcase with a thud. She turned in a slow circle, hands on her hips, assessing. "It's not much."
"It's ours," Dek said quietly.
Nala looked at him, and her expression softened. "Yeah. It is."
They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of the journey—all those months of planning, saving, hoping—settling around them like dust.
Then Nala clapped her hands, breaking the spell. "Alright. I need a shower. You need food. There's a 7-Eleven on the corner—go get us something. Nothing too spicy; I don't trust your tolerance yet."
Dek almost smiled. "I've been handling Mama's *pilau* since I was eight."
"Thai spicy is different spicy. Trust me—I did my research." She tossed him a small wallet of Thai baht. "Go. Explore. Don't get lost."
"How would I get lost? It's on the corner."
"You got lost in our own neighborhood until you were fourteen."
"That was *one time*."
"It was three times, and once involved the police."
Dek grabbed the wallet and headed for the door, Nala's laughter following him into the hallway.
---
The 7-Eleven was bright, cold, and overwhelming. The shelves were stacked with products he didn't recognize—onigiri triangles, seaweed snacks, drinks in bottles shaped like cartoon characters. He wandered the aisles, feeling like an alien studying human artifacts.
Other customers glanced at him. Not with hostility, exactly, but with a curiosity that made his skin prickle. He was aware, suddenly, of how visible he was here. In Nairobi, he'd been one face among millions. Here, he was different. *Other*.
*You'll get used to it*, he told himself. *People stare at what they haven't seen. It doesn't mean anything.*
But the stone in his chest grew heavier.
He grabbed rice, some kind of curry in a plastic container, two bottles of water, and a package of buns that looked harmless enough. At the register, the cashier smiled at him—one of those famous Thai smiles—and spoke in Thai. Dek froze.
"I'm sorry, I don't—English?"
The cashier's smile didn't falter. She pointed to the total on the screen, and Dek fumbled with the unfamiliar bills until she gently extracted the correct amount from his palm. She handed him his change and a receipt, nodding politely.
"*Khob khun ka*," she said.
Dek had practiced that one. "Khob... khun khrap." His pronunciation was terrible; he heard it in the way the words stumbled out. But the cashier's smile widened slightly, and she gave him a small nod of encouragement.
He left the store feeling both foolish and oddly hopeful. One interaction. One small success. Maybe it would get easier.
---
When he returned, Nala was on the balcony, her hair wrapped in a towel, wearing the oversized t-shirt she'd slept in since she was seventeen. The city sprawled beneath them, a galaxy of lights flickering to life as darkness fell.
Dek handed her a rice container and joined her at the railing. The air was warm, thick with humidity, but a breeze carried the sounds of the city—traffic horns, distant music, voices calling in languages that blurred together.
"It's beautiful," Nala said quietly.
"It is."
"Mama would have loved this view."
The words hung in the air, and Dek felt the familiar ache rise in his throat. He didn't trust himself to speak, so he just nodded.
Nala reached over and squeezed his hand. Her palm was warm and calloused—the hands of someone who had worked since she was sixteen, who had taken on their mother's debts, who had raised her little brother when she was barely more than a child herself.
"It's fine, Dek."
He looked at her, at the determined set of her jaw, at the exhaustion she was trying to hide behind her smile.
"We made it," he echoed.
But even as he said it, his gaze drifted back to the glittering unknown sprawling before them. Somewhere out there was his university. His future. His chance.
Somewhere out there were people who didn't know his name, didn't know his story, didn't know the boy who used to run barefoot through the streets of Kibera, who used to sell mandazi with his mother at the market, who used to dream of becoming something more than his circumstances allowed.
*What if I'm not ready?*
The thought came unbidden, and he pushed it down, locking it away with all the other fears he couldn't afford to feel.
---
That night, they pushed the two small beds together and lay side by side, too wired to sleep despite their exhaustion. The ceiling fan rotated slowly above them, stirring the thick air.
"Tell me about the job," Dek said. "You never really explained it."
Nala shifted, tucking her arm under her head. "It's an import-export company. International trade—mostly agricultural products between Southeast Asia and East Africa. My contact from the NGO recommended me. It's entry level, nothing glamorous, but the salary is stable and they sponsor work visas."
"And they know about... me? That you have to support me?"
"They know I have family responsibilities. It's fine, Dek." She turned her head to look at him. "This is the plan. I work, you study. You graduate, get a good job, and then you can take care of *me* for a change."
"I'll buy you a house."
"A big one."
"With a garden."
"And a maid."
Dek snorted. "Let's start with a house that has more than one bedroom."
Nala laughed, and the sound filled the small room, pushing back the shadows. For a moment, Dek could almost forget the fear. Almost.
"Dek?"
"Yeah?"
"Are you scared?"
He was silent for a long moment. The fan whirred. Outside, a motorcycle engine revved and faded.
"Yes," he admitted. "I don't know anyone here. I don't speak the language. I don't know how anything works. And I'm—" He stopped, not sure how to articulate it.
"Different," Nala finished.
"Yeah."
She reached over and found his hand in the darkness. "You've always been different. Even in Nairobi. Remember how the other kids used to tease you for reading all the time? For using big words?"
"They called me *msomi*." The know-it-all. The one who thought he was better.
"And you were. You *are*. Not better than them—but better than what they expected. Better than what anyone expected." Her grip tightened. "Mama knew it. That's why she made me promise."
Dek closed his eyes, and suddenly he was back in that hospital room. The smell of antiseptic and slow decay. His mother's hand, so thin he could see the bones beneath her skin, gripping his with surprising strength.
*"Promise me, Nala. Promise me you'll get him out. Promise me he'll have a chance."*
And Nala, barely twenty-three, already carrying the weight of funeral costs and medical debts, had nodded. *"I promise, Mama. I'll make it happen."*
And she had. Against all odds, against all logic, she had made it happen.
Dek opened his eyes, blinking back the burning.
"I won't waste it," he said, his voice thick. "I won't let you down."
"I know you won't."
---
He must have slept eventually, because he woke to sunlight streaming through the thin curtains and the smell of instant coffee. Nala was already dressed, her hair pulled back, a steaming mug in her hand.
"I have to go to the office—orientation starts today. There's bread and peanut butter in the cabinet, and I left some baht on the table." She gulped her coffee, grimacing at the heat. "You should explore. Get your bearings."
"I will," he said.
Nala grabbed her bag, then paused at the door, looking back at him. For a moment, the confident mask slipped, and Dek saw the exhaustion beneath—the fear she never admitted.
"We're going to be okay," she said. It sounded almost like a question.
"We're going to be okay," he repeated, making it an answer.
She smiled, nodded, and was gone.
---
**END OF CHAPTER ONE**
