I'm Somchai, 28, a quiet Thai guy from Bangkok, good with numbers but not much else. In March 2025, I started work as an accountant at a gym in Sukhumvit. The owners were Amir, a tall Egyptian with a booming voice, and Naree, a fit Thai woman with long legs and a smile that made me shrink. They were kind at first - greeting me, asking about my life. I liked the job.
The gym was loud - weights clanging, feet pounding, sweat in the sticky air. My work was simple: count cash, log it, keep it tidy. But after a few weeks, I got greedy. I took a little - 50 baht, then 100 baht - thinking they'd never notice. I fudged the books, feeling smart. No one caught on, or so I thought.
End of the month, they handed me my pay in an envelope, smiling big. "Somchai, stay for dinner," Naree said. "A thank-you." Free food sounded great. We ate in the back - pad thai, sticky rice, cold water - laughing together. But when I stood to leave, my head spun, dizzy and wrong. My lips wouldn't move to say goodbye. Everything faded, and I hit the floor.