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A series that may have wanted to say more than it managed to organize
The Boy Next World enters the Thai BL universe with a tempting promise: to blend romance, fate, and the always appealing idea of parallel worlds. At first glance, the series seems eager to move away from the comfort of university settings and straightforward love stories, choosing instead a narrative where emotions cross realities, memories, and different versions of the self. The result is a drama that does not always explain everything it proposes, but that, interestingly, finds its strength more in what it makes us feel than in what it tries to rationalize.
The plot revolves around Phu, a sweet and introspective young man surrounded by protective friends, and Cir, a charismatic boy shaped by a strict upbringing and a mother who confuses love with control. When Cir appears claiming to be Phu’s boyfriend from another world, the series plays its main card: what if love were inevitable, able to repeat itself across any timeline? From that point on, the story flirts with fantasy, psychological drama, and melodrama, even if it does not always balance these elements with clarity.
This is exactly where The Boy Next World both stumbles and shines. The idea of parallel universes, while intriguing, is rarely explored with the depth it deserves. There are gaps, unfinished explanations, and subplots that seem to ask for more screen time. A sense of an unfinished story follows much of the journey, especially when family conflicts and unclear rules of this “in-between world” come into play. Even so, the script succeeds in turning confusion into atmosphere. The audience shares the same emotional uncertainty as the characters, never fully sure of what is dream, projection, or reality.
Where the series truly holds its ground is in the relationship between its leads. Boss and Noeul show a familiar chemistry, now more relaxed and mature. Boss portrays Cir as someone caught between tenderness and intensity, a character who watches, protects, and loves with almost silent devotion. Noeul, as Phu, delivers a fragile character without making him childish, someone learning how to desire while dealing with guilt and the fear of taking a place that may not truly be his. Even when the writing falters, their connection carries the story and gives truth to the most intimate scenes, both emotional and physical.
Visually, The Boy Next World knows exactly what it wants to convey. The cinematography works with distinct color palettes, small symbols, and costumes that help translate emotional states. Phu’s cardigans, for example, say as much about him as his silences. The soundtrack, while not groundbreaking, works as emotional glue, reinforcing the melancholic and romantic tone of the story. There is a clear aesthetic care that elevates the series and gives it a more mature feel than many contemporary BLs.
The supporting characters move between charm and underuse. Friends steal scenes with lightness and humor, while the side couple sparks curiosity and affection but suffers from limited development. Cir’s family storyline is the most controversial aspect of the series. The controlling mother and the idea of “possession” can feel excessive and, at times, out of step with the tone the story aims to build. Still, these conflicts help reinforce the central theme: the struggle between imposed fate and personal choice.
In the end, The Boy Next World is a series that may have wanted to say more than it managed to organize. There are questionable narrative choices, missing explanations, and an ending that feels like it lacks one final emotional chapter. Yet there is also courage in taking risks, beauty in accepting what is unfinished, and sensitivity in treating love as something that endures, even when the world, or worlds, seem to fall apart.
It is not a perfect romance or a strict sci-fi story. Above all, it is a story about people who find each other again and again, in different versions of themselves, because love here seems to be the only constant. And perhaps that is enough for The Boy Next World to remain in memory as an imperfect, confusing, but surprisingly engaging experience, one that is not fully understood, only felt.
The plot revolves around Phu, a sweet and introspective young man surrounded by protective friends, and Cir, a charismatic boy shaped by a strict upbringing and a mother who confuses love with control. When Cir appears claiming to be Phu’s boyfriend from another world, the series plays its main card: what if love were inevitable, able to repeat itself across any timeline? From that point on, the story flirts with fantasy, psychological drama, and melodrama, even if it does not always balance these elements with clarity.
This is exactly where The Boy Next World both stumbles and shines. The idea of parallel universes, while intriguing, is rarely explored with the depth it deserves. There are gaps, unfinished explanations, and subplots that seem to ask for more screen time. A sense of an unfinished story follows much of the journey, especially when family conflicts and unclear rules of this “in-between world” come into play. Even so, the script succeeds in turning confusion into atmosphere. The audience shares the same emotional uncertainty as the characters, never fully sure of what is dream, projection, or reality.
Where the series truly holds its ground is in the relationship between its leads. Boss and Noeul show a familiar chemistry, now more relaxed and mature. Boss portrays Cir as someone caught between tenderness and intensity, a character who watches, protects, and loves with almost silent devotion. Noeul, as Phu, delivers a fragile character without making him childish, someone learning how to desire while dealing with guilt and the fear of taking a place that may not truly be his. Even when the writing falters, their connection carries the story and gives truth to the most intimate scenes, both emotional and physical.
Visually, The Boy Next World knows exactly what it wants to convey. The cinematography works with distinct color palettes, small symbols, and costumes that help translate emotional states. Phu’s cardigans, for example, say as much about him as his silences. The soundtrack, while not groundbreaking, works as emotional glue, reinforcing the melancholic and romantic tone of the story. There is a clear aesthetic care that elevates the series and gives it a more mature feel than many contemporary BLs.
The supporting characters move between charm and underuse. Friends steal scenes with lightness and humor, while the side couple sparks curiosity and affection but suffers from limited development. Cir’s family storyline is the most controversial aspect of the series. The controlling mother and the idea of “possession” can feel excessive and, at times, out of step with the tone the story aims to build. Still, these conflicts help reinforce the central theme: the struggle between imposed fate and personal choice.
In the end, The Boy Next World is a series that may have wanted to say more than it managed to organize. There are questionable narrative choices, missing explanations, and an ending that feels like it lacks one final emotional chapter. Yet there is also courage in taking risks, beauty in accepting what is unfinished, and sensitivity in treating love as something that endures, even when the world, or worlds, seem to fall apart.
It is not a perfect romance or a strict sci-fi story. Above all, it is a story about people who find each other again and again, in different versions of themselves, because love here seems to be the only constant. And perhaps that is enough for The Boy Next World to remain in memory as an imperfect, confusing, but surprisingly engaging experience, one that is not fully understood, only felt.
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