Runaway Series Review: When a Sapphic Dream Turns Into a Plot Maze

So you give us a Thai GL in a fresh, underused genre and cast two T-pop legends as the leads? That’s basically every sapphic’s collective manifestation board finally coming to life. We were seated, hydrated, emotionally stretched, and ready for greatness.

But unfortunately… this one was a dis-aca-pointment. A top-tier concept with bottom-tier execution, landing Runaway squarely under our “Biggest Flops of 2025” list (full rankings in this article).

Let’s break down what derailed this potentially iconic GL.

The Premise Had Promise… Until It Didn’t

A woman haunted by a relentless ghost. A hottie shaman who’s supposedly her fated soulmate. A ticking-clock curse. On paper? Delicious. We should’ve been eating GOOD.

Instead, we were nibbling on confusion, washed down with editing whiplash, desperately trying to follow a plot that kept slipping through our fingers.

What Didn’t Work

1. The Story (Or… the Story Adjacent?)

   The pacing? Rough. The series spends a huge amount of time upfront grounding us in Win’s trauma, her family dynamics, the haunting, and the curse. And don’t get us wrong — it worked at first. We were invested in her world, her pain, and her stakes. But here’s the problem: they poured so much energy into setting up Win’s family arc that they forgot to build the foundation for the actual core of the series — the love triangle between Win, Khwan, and Boon.

   
   

   So when Boon suddenly enters the picture — boom — shaman, soulmate, supposed cosmic partner… yet there’s absolutely nothing rooting her in the narrative. No emotional groundwork. No relationship buildup. No reason for us to believe this connection is fated, romantic, or even mutually understood.

   
   

   Then, as the finale approaches, the show slams on the gas and sprints through rapid-fire POV flashbacks to reveal who wronged who, who cursed who, and who holds the final thread to break the cycle. Except it all happens so fast there’s no depth, no emotional weight, and no space for the viewer to feel anything. We’re left asking:“…Wait, who is that again? And why exactly should we care about this dynamic?”

   
   

   Because the show never gave us the essential building blocks — the chemistry, the shared history, the emotional contrasts between the three women — we never had anything solid to root for. No relationship earned our investment. And in a love-triangle-based narrative, that’s the fatal flaw.

   
   

   And the ending? Please. Make it make sense. Tragic endings are fine — sapphics will eat a well-crafted heartbreak — but they must be logical. Combine that with Win’s heavily emphasized family arc being abandoned entirely by the end, and it’s giving “first draft thrown into production.”

   
   

   And can we talk about the curse timeline? There was supposedly a deadline for breaking it, yet there was zero urgency from anyone. Then the finale hits us with:How did Khwan kill Win if the deadline had already passed?We’re confused.com.

   
   

   An A for effort.An F for execution.

   
   

2. Boon (Character Potential: Wasted)

   Boon spoke fewer lines than a background extra with laryngitis, and by the finale, we were still no closer to understanding who she was, what she felt, or why she mattered. And honestly? We can’t even pinpoint where the breakdown happened. Writing, directing, acting — or a combination of all three — something in the creative chain simply didn’t translate.

   
   

   We weren’t given emotional reactions to invest in, no depth into her abilities or what she may have sacrificed to gain them, no meaningful connection built between her and Win, and absolutely zero explanation for why she cared about her. Even in the ending flashbacks, we were never shown enough of Win and Boon’s supposed past-life or fated connection to make their love feel earned — or to convince us it held more weight than Win and Khwan’s deeply established bond. Without that foundational backstory, the “soulmate” angle never lands.

   
   

   And that string of injuries at the end? Oof. We winced… and not because the moment delivered. You could literally see her bracing for impact — the kind of telegraphed movement that reads more like stage blocking than on-screen realism.

   
   

   Boon had potential, but the execution — across the board — simply didn’t land.

   
   

3. The Soundtrack (A Horror GL… with a Lullaby?)

   Our Thai language coach has always joked that “Thai music is either a slow ballad or a slower ballad,” and Runaway really said: double down.

   
   

   Here’s the thing: in the T/J/K-pop world, skinship is practically a sport. Idols feed fans crumbs of intimacy on-stage, backstage, in interviews, rehearsal clips, fanservice segments—you name it. It’s constant, it’s charged, and it fuels half the fandom’s imagination.

   
   

   So when two icons from that industry step into a sapphic storyline? It’s the sapphic jackpot. A fantasy unlocked. The “oh we are SO seated for this” moment of the year.

   
   

   We’re ready for chemistry. We’re ready for tension. We’re ready for teasing, micro-touches, shoulder brushes, lingering stares—all the classic idol-to-idol energy turned into a GL fever dream. And because they’re actual performers with real musical chops? We were expecting a banger to carry the series. Something dark. Something addictive. Something the queer internet would turn into 30,000 TikTok edits within 24 hours.

   
   

   Instead… we got a soft ballad for the intro. To a horror GL. Starring two music powerhouses. Come on. This didn’t just miss the mark— it set up the fantasy and then ghosted us.

   
   

   No dark pop track. No edgy duet. No mid-series OST moment to make us scream “oh THIS is the vibe.”

   
   

   Two idols capable of giving us a hit, and we fast-forwarded through every intro and outro.Tragic.

   
   

   Chemistry (Spoiler: It Was Missing)

   Listen—we love a slow burn. We live for tension. We do not require heavy PDA or an abundance of kisses.

   
   

   But we do require chemistry.

   
   

   This gave us flickers… and then nothing. This love triangle had potential, but instead of longing and tension, it gave confusion. By the finale, we genuinely thought Win had circled back to Khwan because the emotional cues were so unclear.

   
   

   Compare it to Friendly Rivalry, which had ONE kiss (in a dream!) and sapphics were still feral. It’s possible to build heat without contact—this series just didn’t.

What Actually Worked

1. Win – Miusic Carried This Entire Show

   Miusic delivered her whole chest in this role. Every emotional beat? On point. The hospital possession scene where she creeps toward her sister’s bed? Chills. She was gripping, grounded, and the sole reason we made it to the finale.

   
   

   Protect Miusic at all costs—and cast her again immediately.

   
   

2. The Special Effects (A Respectable Effort)

   Were they Western-level? No. Did we appreciate the attempt? Absolutely.

   
   

   The ghosts looked like ghosts, the gore appeared when it needed to, and the team didn’t shy away from blood and bruising—something many recent Thai dramas (Denied Love, Poisonous Love, we’re looking at you) keep dodging.

   
   

   Give credit where it’s due: the effects team said “we’re doing horror, so let’s actually do horror.”

Final Thoughts: High Hopes, Low Delivery

We root for the Thai GL landscape every day because it’s a vital space for sapphic storytelling, representation, and community. Runaway had the ingredients to be groundbreaking: a fresh genre, three talented actresses, and a fandom ready to scream about it.

But the story structure, character development, pacing, and soundtrack choices dragged the whole production down. We want to see these three women get another shot—because they deserve scripts that support their talent.

Grow Entertainment, we’re begging you: Keep the ambition. Fix the execution. The GL community will thank you.