Chapter 11 - I could walk you by, and I'll tell without a thought
After weeks of intense training, Orm was finally back in full swing. Her vocals were stronger, her dance routines sharper, and her schedule had returned to its usual demanding pace.
Junji and Fluke were currently outstation, handling business for Only U Records. With both of them away, the office felt a little quieter than usual—well, as quiet as an entertainment company could get.
Orm sat alone in the training room, absently flipping through the music sheets in her hands. The walls were lined with instruments—keyboards, guitars, even a drum set—but she barely noticed them. Her mind was somewhere else.
It should have been exciting. It should have felt like she was moving forward.
But as she skimmed through the new songs Fluke had given her, something made her pause.
Another song by Tawan.
That wasn't surprising—most of her greatest hits had been written by Tawan. The mysterious songwriter had practically paved the way for her career. Even before Ayla became a household name, Tawan's songs had been there, shaping her music, understanding her in a way no one else did.
But this time, there was something different.
Another name was listed under the songwriting credits. Korn.
Orm frowned. That was new. Tawan had never collaborated with anyone before.
Her gaze flickered back to the music sheet, and for some reason, a strange familiarity settled over her. She hummed the melody under her breath. Then, without thinking, she moved to the piano, pressing down the keys.
A chill ran down her spine.
She knew this song.
Somewhere, somehow—she had heard it before.
And then, like lightning striking, it hit her.
The guitar duet.
The song she had played with Lingling by the lake, the one Danny had recorded.
Her breath caught.
No.
No, it couldn't be.
She fumbled for her phone, hands shaking as she scrolled through her gallery.
There.
The video Danny had sent her. The duet.
She pressed play.
The screen lit up with the image of two figures sitting on the grass, each holding a guitar. The sound of strumming, soft and steady, filled the air—then her own voice, followed by Lingling's, weaving together seamlessly.
Orm's heart pounded in her chest.
She looked back at the music sheet.
The song was the same.
Tawan had given her this song.
But how?
Orm inhaled sharply, the pieces in her mind shifting—rearranging—forming a picture she hadn't seen before.
A picture she should have seen all along.
***
She barely remembered leaving the training room.
Her feet carried her through the halls of Only U Records, her mind a whirlwind of memories—conversations, small details, things she had overlooked.
The flu-stricken voice on the phone that morning in Kalasin.
Lingling, standing by the window, speaking softly—
"...And don't forget to take care of yourself. Your voice is barely there..."
A hoarse, teasing reply. A best friend with the flu.
Orm's breath caught.
Then—Junji, sitting across from her weeks later, voice still slightly raspy as Fluke scolded her.
"...She's been sick for nearly a week."
The pieces clicked into place.
Orm's heart pounded in her chest.
She knew where she had to go.
Her pulse thundered as she pushed open the door to the Legacy Room.
Trophies, awards, framed newspaper clippings—all celebrating the company's success.
Orm barely glanced at them.
Her hands moved before her thoughts could catch up, digging through the archives, pulling out old files, flipping through yellowed pages.
And then—
She found it.
A photo.
Junji, Fluke, and—Lingling.
The three of them, years younger, standing together in front of a banner that read ONLY U RECORDS – OUR FIRST WIN.
Orm's breath came short.
She dug deeper, past old competition posters and contracts, until her fingers brushed against a sheet of music—handwritten, slightly faded.
Her heart stilled.
It looked... familiar.
Orm's fingers trembled as she carefully lifted the paper. The neat script, the way the notes were arranged—it stirred something in her.
No. It couldn't be.
She fumbled for her phone, heart hammering as she scrolled through her gallery.
There.
The photo she took at Lam Pao Dam.
She stared at the two images—one on her phone, one in her hands.
The same notes.
The same handwriting.
The same three names at the bottom.
1. Junjera Junpitakchai
2. Pongsapat Kankam
3. Lingling Sirilak Kwong
Orm's breath hitched.
Her fingers curled around the paper, gripping it tightly as the weight of realization crashed over her.
Junji. Fluke.
Those were their real names.
And Lingling.
Tawan...
Orm's vision blurred.
Tawan wasn't just someone who had been guiding her career from the shadows.
Tawan had been there all along.
Lingling was Tawan.
She stumbled backward, her mind spinning.
All this time.
All these years.
Lingling had been the one writing for her. The one shaping her music. The one who had understood her better than anyone, even before they met.
A breathless laugh escaped her—disbelief, shock, something too tangled to name.
She flipped through more documents, her breath catching as she found an old framed photo tucked behind a row of past award-winning albums.
A corporate event. A lineup of executives.
And there, standing among them—her father.
Beside him, Junji and Fluke. And Lingling.
Orm's grip tightened.
All this time...
She pulled out her phone, scrolling to the video of Lingling and her at the picnic—their song, their voices.
How had she not seen it?
How had she not known?
She clenched her jaw, blinking away the rush of emotions.
There was only one thing left to do.
***
The drive home was a blur of honking cars and flashing lights—Bangkok's traffic was relentless, but Orm barely noticed.
She pulled up to the mansion, cutting the engine with a sharp twist of her wrist.
Her father was in his office when she found him.
Mae Koy must have sensed something, because she followed Orm into the study, standing quietly by the door.
"Papa," she said, her voice strained. "You invested in Only U Records years ago."
Mr. Sethratanapong looked up from his desk, raising an eyebrow. "Yes."
Orm's hands curled into fists. "Did you do it for me?"
Her father sighed, leaning back in his chair. "I did it as a business decision. But when I saw how much you loved music... I reached out to Junji. To make sure you had the right people guiding you."
Orm swallowed hard. "And Lingling?"
Her father's gaze softened. "She was there from the start."
Orm exhaled shakily, turning to her mother. "That's how you know her, right? Because she was Papa's business partner?"
Mae Koy met her gaze, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "That, and much more."
Orm's heart pounded.
She didn't wait for another explanation.
She grabbed her keys, her mind set on one thing—getting to Kalasin.
She needed to see her.
***
She was on the next flight to Khon Kaen.
The entire way there, her heart refused to slow down.
Lingling had known this whole time.
She had been there from the very beginning.
And now—Orm was going to find out why.
By the time she arrived at Lingling's house, the sun had already begun to set.
But Lingling wasn't there.
Mae Chu pointed her toward the resort.
Orm felt it the moment she stepped inside.
Something was different.
She followed the staff's directions to a building she had never noticed before—a soundproof recording studio attached to the resort.
Her stomach clenched.
She pushed open the door.
And there they were.
Junji. Fluke.
And Lingling.
Sitting between them, headphones resting around her neck, fingers brushing the strings of a guitar.
They all turned as Orm entered.
Fluke's shoulders stiffened the moment he saw her. His usual teasing smirk was nowhere to be found—replaced instead by something uneasy, something almost guilty. Junji, on the other hand, remained still, her expression unreadable, as if she had been expecting this moment all along.
Silence stretched between them.
And in that silence—Orm saw the truth in Lingling's face.
Lingling had always been there.
Always.
Her chest tightened. Her pulse roared in her ears. Every answer she had searched for—every truth she had missed—was sitting right in front of her.
Orm exhaled, stepping forward.
She had come all this way.
And this time—
She wasn't leaving without answers.