Another Chance

Chapitre 2

Orm stood on the balcony of a bustling café in downtown Bangkok, gripping a half-finished iced coffee. She’d arrived early, anxious energy making it impossible to stay put in her condo. Her phone vibrated with a steady stream of notifications—fans tweeting excitedly about her upcoming project, gossip blogs speculating on “LingOrm.” Each alert made her heart pound all over again.

Then she spotted Kwang, her best friend, weaving through the crowd with an easy grin. Tall and effortlessly stylish, Kwang had always been her sounding board, especially during that messy breakup with Ling four years ago. He was one of the few who never took sides, insisting he could support both Orm and Ling equally.

“You’re always so punctual,” Kwang teased, offering Orm a side-hug. “Or maybe you’re just jittery today?”

Orm sighed, setting her coffee aside on a small outdoor table. “Probably the latter. Feels like everyone keeps reminding me that tomorrow’s the big day—like I can just snap my fingers and be ready to meet Ling.”

Kwang studied her face. “Well, can you blame them? You two used to be the industry’s golden girls. Even I’m kinda excited,” he admitted with a wry grin, “though I also remember how much it hurt you back then.”

A flicker of pain crossed Orm’s features. “Yeah. Everyone saw how we broke up, but no one really knows how we felt,” she murmured, recalling the heartbreak, the rumors, the tearful nights. “And now we’re supposed to stand side by side for a new show. I’m not sure if I can handle it Kwang. Even seeing her from afar was hard”

Kwang leaned against the railing, elbows propped. “You both were huge, Orm—still are, actually. People want to see that spark come alive again. The question is, can you do it without getting your heart shredded?”

Orm’s gaze dipped to her phone, the lock screen flashing a new mention: #LingOrmReunion??? She locked it hastily. “I don’t know,” she confessed in a shaky voice. “I keep telling myself it’s just a job. But every time I think of looking into Ling’s eyes, I—” She trailed off, cheeks flushing with a tangled mix of longing and dread.

Kwang placed a hand on her shoulder. “Then maybe it’s time to face those feelings, however messy they are. You’ve been running on autopilot for ages. Maybe this is your chance to get some closure… or find out if there’s still something there.”

Orm shot him a weak smile. “Closure? Or more heartbreak.”

Kwang grinned. “Only one way to find out. Either way, I’m here—and so’s half the country,” he joked, nudging her lightly. “Let’s grab something to eat. Stressing on an empty stomach never helped anyone.”

Orm nodded, grateful for his support. As they made their way inside the café, she couldn’t shake the sense that her life was about to tilt off its axis. Tomorrow, she’d be face-to-face with Ling in a controlled environment—for the fans, for the cameras, for the story. And for a tiny, hopeful piece of her own heart.

Lingling slid into a booth at a cozy noodle shop just off Sukhumvit Road. The savory aroma of broth and spices wafted through the air, instantly making her stomach rumble. But the hunger was nearly overshadowed by the nervous knot in her chest. Junji, her best friend since college, had insisted they meet here, claiming hot noodles were the perfect cure for anxiety.

Sure enough, Junji arrived moments later, sporting an oversized sunhat and the breezy confidence of someone who knew Bangkok like the back of her hand. As soon as she spotted Ling, her face broke into a beaming smile.

“Ling, you look… tense,” Junji teased, plunking down across the table. “Let me guess: tomorrow’s the big day with Orm?”

Ling inhaled sharply. “Does everyone in this city know my business?” she grumbled good-naturedly. “But yeah, that’s definitely on my mind.”

Junji signaled for two bowls of noodles, then turned to Ling, her expression softening. “Well, how are you, really? It’s been a whirlwind, what with the gala and then rumors about this GL series. And now you’re in Bangkok—back where all the memories are.”

Ling fiddled with the chopsticks on the table, gaze drifting toward the window. “Honestly? I’m a wreck. Part of me wants to see Orm—maybe talk about everything we never resolved. But another part is… terrified.” She lowered her voice. “I’ve changed so much. She’s changed, too. What if it’s just—awkward and painful?”

Junji reached out and squeezed Ling’s hand. “It might be. But you can’t avoid it forever, right? You’re practically the top pick for this new show, and the fans are screaming for a ‘LingOrm’ reunion.”

Ling chewed her lower lip, the reminder of fan expectations sending a fresh spike of anxiety through her. “I don’t want to disappoint them,” she admitted. “We were… big. I get that. But we’re not the same people we were four years ago. Since we broke u, I’m not the same, and I’m pretty sure Orm changed too”

“I know,” Junji said gently. “But maybe that’s a good thing. You’ve grown—look at your amazing film career in Hong Kong. And Orm’s a superstar here. Maybe you two can bring the best of your new selves to this project… or at least find some peace.”

Ling smiled wryly. “Peace sounds nice.” She thought of Sui, waiting back at the hotel, calmly reassuring her that everything would be fine—even though Ling sensed her girlfriend’s quiet worries. “It’s not just about me anymore,” she added, voice dropping. “I have Sui to think about.”

Junji studied her with thoughtful eyes. “Sui’s a sweetheart, and I’m sure she trusts you. But be careful, yeah? Old sparks can be tricky, especially if there’s unresolved feelings. But be honest with her, always”

Ling gave a small nod, heart thudding. Before she could respond, the waiter arrived, placing two steaming bowls of noodles before them. Junji handed her a pair of chopsticks, and she forced herself to breathe in the comforting smell.

“Eat,” Junji commanded, offering a playfully stern look. “You’ll need the energy for tomorrow. Who knows—maybe a well-fed Ling is a braver Ling.”

A soft laugh escaped Ling’s lips. “Thanks, Junji. I appreciate it.”

As she dug into the noodles, the warm broth momentarily soothed her nerves. She shot her best friend a grateful glance. Tomorrow would be a test like no other—a chance to see Orm up close, to share lines, to look into eyes that once held all her dreams. Whether it led to closure or fresh heartbreak, she had no choice but to face it.

_____

The kitchen faucet dripped in an otherwise silent condo. Orm absently tapped her nails on the countertop, a half-eaten takeout container forgotten beside her. She’d barely touched dinner—her stomach wouldn’t stop twisting. Kwang had left an hour ago, after coaxing her to eat and trying to talk her through tomorrow’s impending chemistry workshop.

But now that she was alone, Orm felt the full weight of her anxiety resurface. She had spent years cultivating a poised, glamorous image in front of cameras and fans. That façade never cracked—except when it came to Ling.

Phone in hand, she drifted onto the balcony, letting the warm night air brush against her skin. Bangkok’s skyline glimmered like a sprawl of neon constellations. Normally, the view brought her comfort, a reminder of how far she’d come. Tonight, it felt like a glaring spotlight on her emotional vulnerability.

She slid her thumb across the phone screen, reflexively checking social media. Ling’s name popped up in trending searches, alongside Orm’s. Fans had begun hashtagging #LingOrm with wild speculation: “Will they reconcile?” “They must still love each other!” “Please don’t hurt Orm again!” “Is Ling’s girlfriend okay with this?”

Orm let out a shaky breath. She’d be lying if she said she was over Ling. The love they shared had been more than a PR fantasy; it was raw, real, and had shaped much of who Orm became. Yet that breakup—full of misunderstandings, rumors, and career pressures—still haunted her. In the quiet moments, she couldn’t deny a tiny spark of hope flickered at the thought of seeing Ling face-to-face, unmediated by tabloids or Twitter.

The recollection of Sasha—the casual fling who offered her temporary solace—drifted through her mind. She felt a wave of guilt. She hadn’t texted Sasha all day, not because she didn’t care, but because thinking of Ling had consumed her. Am I being unfair? she wondered. But Orm couldn’t bring herself to open that can of worms right now.

A gentle breeze ruffled her hair. She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply as if to calm the storm inside. In less than 24 hours, she’d stand mere inches from Ling, reciting lines, taking direction, possibly even touching—for the camera’s sake. Could she keep it strictly professional when her heart was tangled in a decade of memories?

Orm pictured Ling’s eyes, how they’d once lit up whenever Orm cracked a joke. Stay focused, she told herself, echoing the mantra she’d used so many times. But her heart pounded too loudly to obey.

Eventually, she turned on her heel, heading back indoors. Sleep would be hard to come by tonight, but she had to try. Tomorrow promised a collision of past and present, and Orm needed every ounce of composure she could muster.

By the time Ling returned to the suite, Sui was curled up on the sofa reading through her phone, a steaming cup of tea on the coffee table. The gentle glow of lamps lit the space in soft amber. At the sound of Ling’s keycard, Sui looked up with a warm, welcoming smile.

“You’re back,” she said, standing to greet Ling with a brief kiss. “How was dinner with Junji?”

Ling forced a small laugh. “Let’s just say she’s the best friend a stressed-out woman could ask for,” she replied, sinking into Sui’s embrace. The lingering aroma of Sui’s perfume—floral, crisp—helped ground her, if only for a moment.

“How are you feeling about tomorrow?” Sui asked, guiding Ling over to sit. The question hovered between them like a fragile bubble, threatening to burst at the slightest hint of truth.

Ling took a breath, weighing how candid to be. Sui’s gaze was open, unwavering—she’d always been so patient, so understanding. She deserves honesty, Ling thought, even if the truth wasn’t pretty.

“I’m…terrified,” she admitted softly, fiddling with a loose thread on her blouse. “It’s not just stage fright. It’s Orm. Four years ago, we had this…blow-up, and we never resolved anything. Part of me is scared”

Sui’s hand found Ling’s, fingers weaving together. “It’s normal to feel that way,” she said gently. “You two shared a lot. But that was a long time ago, Ling. You’ve grown. You have a life now that’s… well, different.”

Ling swallowed. “That’s the thing,” she whispered. “I have you. You’re amazing, Sui. You’re supportive and loving and… everything I want in a partner. I don’t want to hurt you by dredging up old emotions for Orm.”

A flash of pain flickered in Sui’s eyes, but she masked it quickly. She pressed her free hand to Ling’s cheek, forcing a gentle smile. “I’m not going to lie—it’s hard knowing you’ll be face to face with her. But I trust you to figure out what you need. If it’s closure, if it’s forgiveness—whatever it might be. We’ll deal with it together. I love you Ling”

Ling leaned into the touch, eyes stinging with tears she refused to let fall. “I don’t deserve you,” she murmured, voice unsteady but she couldn't say these three words, never could since Orm, and she knows Sui won’t push her, even if she needs it.

“That’s nonsense,” Sui replied, brushing her thumb over Ling’s cheek. “We choose each other, remember?” She paused, searching Ling’s gaze. “Just… promise me if you realize you’re feeling things you can’t ignore, you’ll talk to me. Don’t shut me out.”

Ling nodded, tears finally slipping free. Sui caught them with the pad of her thumb, leaning in to press a tender kiss to her forehead. “Thank you,” Ling managed, her voice trembling. 

For a moment, they held each other in silence—a fragile bubble of comfort in an otherwise chaotic world. But as much as Ling wanted to lose herself in Sui’s warmth, she couldn’t deny the undercurrent of turmoil raging beneath her ribs. Memories of Orm—her laugh, her touch, the way she’d once made Ling feel invincible—kept rising to the surface.

Finally, Sui stood, offering Ling a hand. “It’s late. Let’s try to get some sleep, okay?”

Ling nodded, allowing Sui to guide her to the bedroom. She changed into a soft cotton nightgown, deliberately avoiding the reflection in the mirror—she wasn’t ready to see the guilt and confusion swirling in her eyes.

Climbing into bed, Sui draped an arm over Ling’s waist. Ordinarily, it was a soothing gesture, but tonight, Ling’s mind refused to settle. She lay awake, listening to the steady rhythm of Sui’s breathing. Why am I so anxious? she scolded herself. This is just a chemistry workshop. I’m a professional. Orm’s a professional.

But she knew it was more than that: a collision of heartbreak and unresolved longing, set to play out under bright studio lights. The entire entertainment world would be watching, hungry for any sign of “LingOrm” magic. And somewhere deep inside, Ling recognized that part of her still yearned for Orm’s presence, if only to figure out what had truly ended and what still lingered.

Eventually, Sui drifted off, breath soft against Ling’s shoulder. Ling stared at the ceiling, recalling the earlier conversation with Junji, who’d warned her about old sparks. A surge of guilt flared in her chest—she loved Sui, truly. But love was never a clean thing. Sometimes it bent, sometimes it blurred, especially in the face of a history so intimately shared with someone else.

One day, she thought, blinking back tears, I’ll understand why it has to be so complicated. For now, all she could do was face tomorrow head-on and hope that she didn’t shatter either her own heart or Sui’s in the process.

As midnight approached, Orm sat on her sofa, arms folded protectively around herself, the quiet strains of piano music drifting through the dark condo. She stared at her phone one last time, resisting the urge to scroll through social media again. Just breathe, she told herself. It’s almost tomorrow.

Across the city, Ling burrowed deeper under the hotel duvet, listening to Sui’s slow, rhythmic breathing. The warmth of Sui’s body should have lulled her into safety, yet the ghost of Orm lingered in her thoughts—stirring unresolved hopes, regrets, and what-ifs.

In two separate rooms, two women wrestled with the same question: Could they handle whatever tomorrow brought—professionally, personally, or both? The distance between them felt immeasurable, yet fate (and a powerful production team) had pushed them to the brink of reunion.

Outside, Bangkok shimmered, indifferent to the hearts pounding within its high-rises. A few floors below Orm’s condo, a lone scooter buzzed through the empty streets. Further across town, traffic lights blinked in silent intervals near Ling’s hotel. The city never truly slept, and neither could they.

At last, Orm switched off the piano track on her phone, letting darkness envelop her. Ling, too, finally drifted into a restless doze. Neither found much peace—how could they, when the past was about to crash into their present at full force?

Yet in the grip of lingering dreams, one thought pulsed like a steady drumbeat: Tomorrow would be more than a chemistry test. It would be a confrontation with everything they’d lost… and maybe, if some miracle allowed it, a chance to rewrite the narrative they once believed was over.

__________

Lingling’s alarm blared in the pale dawn light, jolting her awake from a half-restless sleep. She silenced it with a shaky hand and immediately felt the surge of adrenaline. Today was the chemistry test with Orm—the day she’d spent the entire night dreading and anticipating.

She sat up carefully, trying not to disturb Sui, who was still wrapped in the hotel comforter. The swirl of emotions in Ling’s chest felt heavy, like a stone lodged beneath her ribs. So this is it, she thought. No more delaying—today, we do this.

Quietly, she tiptoed to the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face. In the mirror, she saw hints of fatigue under her eyes, but also determination. She reminded herself of her reasons for being here: her career, her fans, and a nagging desire for closure—or at least some clarity about what remained between her and Orm.

When she emerged, Sui was awake, propped against the pillows. “You okay babe?” Sui asked, voice husky with sleep.

Ling forced a reassuring smile. “Yeah. Just…nervous baby.”

Sui slid out of bed and walked over, wrapping Ling in a gentle embrace. “You’ll do great,” she murmured. “You always do. I’ll be there when you’re over, I’ll wait for you”

Ling’s heart squeezed at the warmth in Sui’s words. She clung to her girlfriend for a moment, inhaling the familiar floral scent. “Thank you,” she whispered, pressing a light kiss to Sui’s shoulder. “I’ll keep in touch throughout the day—let you know how it goes.”

Sui nodded, stepping back to let Ling gather her things. “I’ll be waiting,” she said, her eyes reflecting a mixture of pride and worry.

Across the city, Orm scrolled through her phone while waiting for her manager, Peeyot, to pick her up. Despite her vow to avoid social media, she’d caved—dozens of new messages flooded her feed, all variations of:

LINGORM REUNION—FINALLY!”

“#LingOrmForever”

“Don’t break Orm’s heart again, Ling!”

“I hope you two can make magic together.”

Her stomach churned. It was one thing to do a professional chemistry read; it was another to stand under the weight of the entire fandom’s expectations. With a sigh, Orm locked her phone and grabbed her jacket, wishing she’d had more than half a slice of toast for breakfast.

A knock at the door signaled Peeyot’s arrival. He stepped in, offering a friendly salute. “You ready?”

Orm shrugged, exhaling slowly. “As ready as I’ll ever be. Let’s go before I change my mind.”

Peeyot laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You’ve got this,” he said, guiding her out the door. “Just focus on being professional. Everything else is secondary.”

Orm nodded, though she couldn’t quite silence the swirl of hope and apprehension brewing in her chest. Is it really just secondary? she wondered. Or is it everything?

8:15 AM, GMM Studios

A sleek black SUV pulled up to the studio entrance, and Ling stepped out, heart pounding like a drum. P’Mam, her agent, stood waiting by the glass doors, clipboard in hand. The building was abuzz—production assistants whisked props and equipment around, a few reporters lingered outside hoping for a glimpse of the stars, and other actors arrived for various shoots.

“Morning, Ling,” P’Mam greeted, ushering her inside. “Everyone’s in the rehearsal room on the second floor. The producers want you and Orm to do some basic line reads before filming the teaser.”

Ling nodded, her eyes darting around as she tried to absorb the environment. The hallway’s fluorescent lights felt harsh, and the hum of the air conditioning did little to calm her nerves. “Has… Orm arrived yet?” she asked, voice catching slightly.

P’Mam hesitated. “Not yet, I think. But you can settle in. I booked a dressing room for you.”

Ling swallowed, forcing a nod. Not yet. That meant the collision was still minutes away—minutes that felt like hours.

Meanwhile, just outside the studio, another SUV pulled to a stop, and Orm emerged, sunglasses perched on her nose despite the gray morning sky. Peeyot led her through the side entrance, away from the prying eyes of any lurking paparazzi.

Inside, the bright corridors teemed with busy staff. Orm’s pulse thrummed louder with each step. She tried to maintain her usual confident stride, but everything around her seemed surreal—the environment she’d been in countless times, now pregnant with personal stakes.

“Second floor, room 214,” Peeyot murmured, checking a text. “We’re supposed to meet the producers there.”

Orm gave a tight nod. Don’t freak out, she told herself. It’s just lines, just a scene. Yet her chest felt like it was caving in under the flood of what-ifs.

Ling stepped out of her dressing room, script pages clutched in slightly trembling hands. She wore simple, casual attire—jeans and a fitted T-shirt—at the producers’ request, so the focus would be on her face and not on wardrobe glamour. Even so, she felt more exposed than if she’d been wearing a red-carpet gown.

At the end of the hallway, a door opened—Orm, stepping through with Peeyot. The moment Ling’s gaze landed on her, time seemed to suspend itself in the charged space between them. Ling’s breath caught painfully in her throat, heart pounding as if demanding she acknowledge the woman she’d spent years trying to forget. In the bright overhead lights, Orm’s features looked both familiar and impossibly distant—neatly styled hair framing eyes Ling once swore she could read like an open book. Now, those eyes held a guarded intensity that made Ling’s chest tighten with equal parts longing and dread.

Orm froze, too, as if her body refused to take another step. Their eyes clashed—a surge of unspoken memories rushing in: late-night confessions under dim apartment lamps, whispered apologies that never found resolution, painful words in their final fight, and the soft comfort of arms that once felt like home. In that single heartbeat, the hallway around them blurred; the bustle of staff and the hum of fluorescent lights faded, replaced by the echo of what they had been, and what they might still be.

Peeyot finally cleared his throat, slicing through the spell. “Orm,” he murmured, inclining his head toward the next door. “We should…”

Orm blinked, as if pulled abruptly from a trance. Her composure slid back into place, but not before a flicker of vulnerability passed across her face. She managed a taut, almost apologetic smile at Ling. “Hey,” she said softly, her voice barely carrying in the charged silence of the corridor. Ling swore she heard the faintest tremor in Orm’s tone, a whisper of the pain they’d both buried.

Ling forced a nod, mind whirling. “Hi,” she replied, her own voice trembling like a nervous echo. A thousand words lodged in her throat—questions, regrets, maybe even an apology—but she could only manage that single syllable. As if sensing the depth of her struggle, P’Mam stepped in, guiding her forward with a gentle hand.

And just like that, the moment fractured beneath the everyday clamor of producers calling instructions and crew members rushing by. Yet for a few lingering seconds, both women felt a fine tremor in their fingertips, as though their bodies remembered a closeness their minds insisted on denying. The tension in the air—heavy with what once was and what could never be again—remained, long after they parted to follow their separate paths down the hallway.

Producers, assistant directors, and a handful of other staff milled around a large, open rehearsal space marked by taped lines on the floor. Bright overhead lights illuminated the area where each GL couple would soon stand for the show’s teaser filming. Englot and FreenBecky, fellow power couples, weren’t scheduled until later that afternoon, so for now, it was just Ling and Orm.

The bright overhead lights glared down on the makeshift set—a simple table and two chairs arranged to resemble a bustling café corner. A few production assistants scurried around, double-checking the microphones and adjusting camera angles, while nearby crew members quietly observed the two actresses. In the midst of it all stood the show’s lead producer, a tall woman exuding an almost magnetic authority. She offered Ling and Orm a confident smile, clipboard tucked under one arm.

“Ling, Orm, thank you for being punctual,” she said, voice warm yet decisive. “We’ll jump right in. We want to see a short scene that demonstrates your on-screen rapport—especially now that you’ll be portraying these new roles. Ling, you’ll be Malin, and Orm, you’ll be Theora.”

She handed each of them a single page of script. Ling’s gaze flicked over the typed lines: it was a brief excerpt showing two ex-lovers reuniting in a cozy café, the dialogue laden with longing and unspoken tension. Too close to real life, she thought, feeling a spike of unease flutter through her chest. The corners of her mouth quirked in a wry, nervous smile.

Orm held the sheet with stiff fingers, her posture betraying a hint of tension. She skimmed the dialogue, pressing her lips together when she realized how closely it paralleled their own history. “We’ll do our best,” she said softly, deliberately avoiding Ling’s eyes.

“We’re not worried about word-for-word accuracy,” the producer continued, gesturing to the small cluster of cameras positioned at various angles. “We’ll be recording this, just for reference. It’ll help us figure out how to shape the main storyline for Malin and Theora in the final show. What matters most is the emotion you bring—so don’t hesitate to improvise if it feels right.”

Ling swallowed, trying to calm the sudden rush of adrenaline. She noticed a camera operator giving them a thumbs-up, the red light on his rig indicating they’d be filming soon. Her pulse thrummed in her ears. Deep breath, she told herself. This wasn’t just about nailing a scene—it was about surviving the collision of her past with the spotlight of the present.

“Take a few minutes to get familiar with the lines,” the producer encouraged. “Then we’ll roll. Whenever you’re ready, just let us know.”

In the hush that followed, Ling and Orm stepped aside to read through the script more closely. A wave of unease passed between them, as if both recognized just how unsettlingly apt this setup was. They exchanged a fleeting glance—loaded with memories and uncertainty—before silently returning their focus to the page, preparing to step into the roles of Malin and Theora… and, in a way, into each other’s arms again.

Ling and Orm took their places on the marked tape, the camera operator adjusting focus. P’Mam and Peeyot stood off to the side, arms folded, apprehension etched on their faces. The producer gave a countdown:

“Three… two… one… Action!”

Ling inhaled on cue, slipping into her character with a practiced poise that betrayed none of the turmoil roiling beneath the surface. Her first line, delivered in a trembling whisper, perfectly matched the script’s emotional note. She projected longing, uncertainty—everything the director wanted. For a moment, it was easy to forget they weren’t actually in a small café, making amends after years apart.

Orm, standing opposite her, tried to echo that same professional focus. She knew this scene by heart—only a few lines, but so agonizingly close to their real history. As she spoke, a wave of memories swelled, threatening to drown her carefully maintained composure. With every syllable, her heartbeat pounded harder, reminding her how impossible it was to separate Malin and Theora’s reunion from her own with Ling.

When their eyes met for the scripted apology, Orm felt her throat constrict. Ling’s gaze was so steady, so heartbreakingly familiar, that it was almost worse than if she’d looked away. A surge of guilt and regret choked Orm’s line in her mouth. For a fleeting second, she stood there—silent—her mind replaying the final argument they’d never resolved. Her palms grew clammy, and she balled her fists at her sides to keep from trembling.

Ling, ever the professional, pressed on. Her expression flickered with genuine concern, a slight furrow in her brow that wasn’t entirely “acting.” As she coaxed the conversation back on track with her next line, Orm managed to find her voice. She forced the words out, each syllable tasting like raw truth. A hush fell over the rehearsal room, every crew member riveted by a palpable electricity neither actress could fully hide.

By the time they reached the end of the page, a wave of exhausted relief swept over Orm. She took a shaky step back, swallowing the knot in her throat. Ling, cheeks flushed, looked equally taxed but kept her posture firmly composed.

“That was… excellent,” the producer said, voice resonant in the sudden quiet. “Very raw. We might do another take, but let’s give you both a break first.”

Still riding an adrenaline rush, Ling nodded, turning away to gather her breath. Orm—hands trembling—tucked them behind her back, hoping no one would notice how shaken she was. Where Ling’s professionalism acted as a shield, Orm’s every emotion felt like it lay bare for the world to see.

She was about to head for a corner to regain her composure when the producer spoke again. “Actually, I’d like to see one more thing before you break,” she said. “In the scene, Malin and Theora are ex-lovers with unresolved feelings, yes—but I’d love a glimpse of the romantic tension that might still linger. Just a moment—maybe a gentle touch, or a close hug—to hint at what they once had. Think you can handle that?”

Orm froze. The mere thought of a physical closeness—beyond locked gazes and trembling voices—sent a quiver through her frame. Ling cast a quick glance her way, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her features before she schooled her expression back to calm.

“Of course,” Ling replied, voice measured. She stepped back onto the taped area, letting the stage lights warm her skin.

Orm swallowed hard, nodding. She couldn’t protest without appearing unprofessional. With a trembling exhale, she moved beside Ling, their arms almost brushing. The crew shifted, adjusting cameras and lights.

“Just pick up from the final lines,” the producer instructed, “then add a brief, tender moment—whateve feels natural for Malin and Theora. Ready?”

Orm’s breath caught; her heart hammered. “Yes,” she said, though her voice barely carried. She summoned every scrap of her acting talent to keep from crumbling.

Ling spoke her lines again, stepping closer. Orm replied, her tone thick with unspoken apologies. Then, on cue, Ling raised a tentative hand toward Orm’s arm, a small, trembling gesture meant to convey both hesitation and longing, and then her arm circled her waist. Orm’s instincts warred inside her: she wanted to recoil, afraid of how real this touch might feel, yet ached to step closer, to let memory override pretense.

In the end, she managed a shaky approximation of a tender hug, her arms slipping around Ling’s waist for the briefest moment. Ling’s breath hitched, her body tensing in Orm’s hold, but neither moved away. Every inch of Orm’s skin felt ablaze, torn between the role she was supposed to play and the echoes of a love that once felt unbreakable.

After only a few seconds, the producer quietly said, “Cut.” The moment broke, and Orm released Ling like she’d been burned. Ling’s chest rose and fell in shallow pants, her cheeks tinged with color, while Orm stared at the floor, a dizzy swirl of heartbreak and relief flooding her mind.

“That’s exactly what I wanted to see,” the producer said softly, smiling at them both. “You two have a natural chemistry that can’t be taught. I see something never changes. Great job.”

Orm forced a smile and murmured her thanks. Inside, she wanted to collapse. Ling nodded curtly, her face still flushed but maintaining that composed facade.

Finally, the producer gestured toward the break room. “All right, now you can take ten. We’ll reconvene for notes afterward.”

Grateful for the reprieve, Ling and Orm parted ways, neither quite meeting the other’s eyes. Ling strode off with brisk professionalism, while Orm lingered a beat behind, her pulse echoing in her ears. The hug had lasted seconds, but it felt like an eternity—enough to remind her that some scars never truly fade, and some sparks refuse to die, no matter how desperately you try to snuff them out.

______

Both agents approached their respective clients with cautious optimism:

P’Mam to Ling: “That was surprisingly good—very emotional. Are you holding up okay?”

Peeyot to Orm: “You killed it out there. How are you feeling?”

Ling offered a wan smile. “I’m fine. Just… need some water,” she murmured, her voice trembling. She couldn’t decide if the scene had been cathartic or if it had ripped open old wounds, her heart couldn’t stop pounding in her ears.

Orm released a shaky breath. “I’m—alright,” she lied, her heart still thudding in her chest. A tiny spark of relief mingled with sorrow. We still have that connection. But at what cost? I don’t know if I can do this.

Staff buzzed around, prepping for the next take, praising the authenticity of their read. The producer chatted happily with her assistants, clearly pleased by the “LingOrm” magic. But for the two women at the center of it, the magic felt like a powder keg ready to explode.

Ling caught Orm’s eye across the room, and for a split second, a hundred unspoken words passed between them: regret, longing, fear, hope. Then Orm looked away.

Tomorrow’s official filming would require even more proximity—physical closeness, perhaps even affectionate touches. How will I survive that? Ling wondered, pressing a hand to her fluttering chest.

Orm, meanwhile, felt a surge of guilt and yearning. She had stepped back into a world where Ling’s presence both thrilled and terrified her. Maybe we should’ve stayed apart, she thought, but it’s too late to turn back now.

After the workshop ended, a heavy silence fell over the rehearsal space—a silence that spoke louder than any words could. Ling and Orm stood apart, each lost in the echo of the emotions the test had unleashed. They exchanged only fleeting glances; Ling’s eyes held a mixture of regret and reluctant resolve, while Orm’s shimmered with a heartbreaking vulnerability. No one dared break that unspoken accord.

Outside, in the quiet corridor leading away from the studio, Sui waited. Her presence was a tender anchor in the storm of Ling’s emotions. As Ling stepped out, Sui moved to greet her with an embrace. In that moment, Orm—still lingering near the doorway, unnoticed by everyone—saw it all. She watched, heart shattering, as Sui gently kissed Ling on the cheek, a soft, intimate gesture that punctuated the finality of the day.

Sui didn’t speak a word about it; instead, she gently took Ling’s hand and led her toward the exit. “Come on, love,” Sui murmured, her tone both tender and firm. “Let’s go grab your favourite” Ling, trying to steady her quivering heart, forced a small smile and allowed herself to be led away, even as she stole one last glance back at the doorway where Orm still lingered—a silent witness to memories that refused to fade.

___

Later, Orm slipped away from the studio too, the weight of the day bore down on her, and she felt compelled to seek refuge somewhere familiar—at her parents’ house. The journey felt like an escape, a chance to finally release the torrent of emotions that had built up over these agonizing hours.

When Orm arrived, the soft hum of conversation and gentle clatter in the home immediately enveloped her in a sense of nostalgia and safety. In the living room, she found her mother, Mae Koy, quietly reading on the couch—a small, everyday act that had once been a cornerstone of their shared life. Mae Koy looked up, her eyes reflecting both concern and warmth. She knows her mother is aware of all the turmoil going on in her life, she even texted her when she knew Ling was coming back.

“Orm, dear,” Mae Koy began, her voice a low, gentle murmur as she noticed the way Orm’s shoulders slumped, the shadows beneath her eyes. She carefully set aside the rich purple fabric she’d been working on, the soft material whispering against itself as she moved. It was a cherished project, but Orm's arrival eclipsed everything. "You look utterly drained, sweetheart. How was your workshop?”

Orm’s reply was barely more than a breath, her voice catching and trembling like a fragile thing about to break. “I’m… I’m not okay, Mama. Today… today was too much. Just being in the same room as Ling… it’s suffocating.”

With a weary sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the day, Orm let her bag slide heavily off her shoulder, the thud against the nearby table echoing in the quiet room. She didn't even glance at it as she moved, almost stumbled, to the couch and sank down beside her mother.

Before Orm could fully collapse, Mae Koy’s arm was around her, pulling her close. Orm leaned into the embrace instantly, burying her face against her mother’s neck, the familiar scent of lavender and home a small anchor in the storm of her emotions. She gripped Mae Koy’s blouse, clinging to the soft fabric as if it were a lifeline.

“I know baby, I know it must have been hard,” Mae Koy whispered, her breath warm against Orm’s ear. She held her daughter close, stroking her hair, letting the silence speak volumes until Orm shifted slightly, easing back just enough to look at her mother, though she remained nestled in her side.

“Hard is… laughable,” Orm managed, a choked sound that was meant to be a laugh escaping her lips, but it cracked and dissolved before it could truly form. She roughly swiped at the tear that escaped her control, leaving a damp streak on her cheek. “It was… it was unbearable, Mae.” The slip of ‘Mae’ instead of ‘Mama’ was a tiny sign of her fractured state.

Mae Koy’s expression softened with even deeper understanding. “Alright, sweetheart,” she said, her voice laced with gentle purpose as she rose from the couch, drawing Orm up with her in a loose embrace. “Let’s eat first, hmm? Nourish you a little. Then, if you want to talk… we’ll talk.” She didn’t wait for a verbal answer, simply guided Orm gently towards the kitchen, the unspoken promise of warmth and comfort hanging in the air. Everything was laid out on the kitchen counter, a silent testament to Mae Koy’s foresight and care – a simple meal prepared and waiting, because even before Orm walked through the door, her mother had known she would need tending to. Papa Oct and Att had eaten earlier, a quick, quiet meal before they’d headed out – somewhere, it didn’t matter where, some evening activity that felt utterly inconsequential in the face of Orm’s distress.

After having dinner and In the quiet of that familiar room, Orm finally allowed herself to speak the words she’d held back for so long. “You remember how Ling and I... how we broke up?” she began, her eyes distant with old pain. “It wasn’t just about our careers. There were so many things left unsaid—rumors that tore us apart, hurtful accusations I never had the strength to refute... I felt betrayed, not just by her actions, but by the way the world painted our love as a scandal. I never told you that sometimes I wondered if I was too vulnerable, if I was the one who let everything slip away. I was scared of being hurt, so I built walls so high that even Ling couldn’t reach me.”

Mae Koy moved closer, wrapping her arm around Orm. “Oh, my child,” she whispered, her voice thick with empathy. “I know how much that love meant to you. And I know it hurt to see it turned into something you couldn’t bear. And I know how painful it was for both of you before your breakup, after each rumor, concerning you or Ling cheating was always another stab in both of your hearts, you don’t have to tell me you didn’t cheat, because I know you didn’t baby and __”

Orm’s eyes brimmed with tears and she cut her mother as she confessed, “I did kiss that girl Mae, and Ling was furious about it when she found out on social media rather than me. I didn’t do anything more but in this sudden moment I don’t know why I kissed back this stranger in England, I shouldn’t have, but I was drunk, and Ling just announced me by phone that her dream job might happen in HongKong and I don’t know I never ”

Her mother squeezed her hand gently. “You should forgive yourself, and then you will heal, Orm. And sometimes, confronting those memories, no matter how painful, is the only way to let them go. I’m here for you, always.”

In that tender moment, as Mae Koy’s words wrapped around her like a comforting shawl, Orm felt a bittersweet mix of sorrow and relief. She knew that the day’s events—Ling’s lingering glance, the charged energy of the workshop, and the silent heartbreak in the studio corridor—would haunt her for a while longer. But now, with the support of her mother, she had the space to start unraveling the tangled truths of a love lost and the secrets of a breakup that had never been fully understood.

As the night deepened, Orm sat quietly, allowing herself to feel every raw emotion, every unanswered question. And though the path ahead was uncertain, she knew that tonight was a step toward reclaiming the parts of her heart that had been locked away for too long.

________

Later that night, after the tumult of the workshop, Ling and Sui retreated to the quiet refuge of their hotel suite. Ling sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes distant and her expression carefully composed. Though her heart still pounded with the residual ache of the day—the sting of every unspoken word with Orm—she tried desperately to mask it. She knew the industry’s gaze was unyielding, and any hint of vulnerability could fuel endless speculation.

Sui, ever perceptive, watched Ling from across the room. She saw the way Ling’s eyes occasionally clouded with pain, the slight tremor in her hands as she reached for the nightstand. Yet Sui chose silence over confrontation, understanding that Ling needed time to process the day’s emotional turbulence. Instead, she stepped forward and wrapped an arm around Ling’s shoulders, pulling her into a warm embrace that promised safety and intimacy without judgment.

“Come on,” Sui murmured softly, guiding Ling toward the balcony where the city lights danced like distant stars. “Let’s leave this day behind us for a while.”

Determined to ease Lingling’s heavy heart, Sui led her through a sensual ritual—soft music, dimmed lights, and tender touches that slowly coaxed Lingling’s defenses to lower. As Sui’s fingers traced comforting patterns along Lingling’s arm, she whispered gentle reassurances, promising that tonight was theirs alone. But even as Sui spoke, Lingling felt herself growing detached, lost in the relentless echo of Orm.

Her mind wandered: she remembered the jolt of electricity when, during that first tender moment of the workshop, Orm’s hand had brushed her waist. Her heart had pounded wildly then, as if trying to break free of its constraints. That physical contact, so brief yet so potent, sent a surge through her body—a mix of longing, regret, and the bitter residue of a love that once burned bright. In that detached state, Lingling’s thoughts drifted back to that fateful night—the fight that had shattered everything.

In a sudden, vivid flashback, she saw them arguing four years back, and still today it broke her heart at the thought of Orm’s breaking face, and hearing her own heart break in her ears, like literally.

Orm arrived home late from work, the weight of her decision pressing down with every step. Determined to tell Ling the truth, she fumbled with her keys before pushing open the apartment door. The familiar scent of Ling’s lingering perfume mixed with the quiet tension in the air. She paused in the doorway, heart pounding, as she saw Ling sitting on the couch, suitcase open and half-packed—a painful reminder of the imminent departure to Hong Kong.

“I saw it, Orm,” Ling said, her tone steady despite the storm behind her eyes. “The picture from London… you were kissing her.”

The words fell like shards of glass. Orm’s face tightened, a flash of regret and shame flickering across her features. For a long moment, she said nothing, her gaze fixed on the patterned rug beneath her feet.

Ling continued, voice softening into a confession of betrayal and disappointment. “I thought… I believed you wouldn’t do this, that you’d come clean if something was wrong. But you said nothing. And now I’m leaving for Hong Kong, and you—” Her voice cracked, the pain evident, “you’ve been hiding this from me.”

Orm’s shoulders sagged as if the weight of the unspoken truth pressed her down. She drew a slow breath before speaking, her words heavy with remorse. “Ling, I—I was so stupid,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m so sorry Ling .”

For a moment, silence reigned as Ling’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears. Ling’s voice, soft yet resolute, broke through the quiet. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, her tone wavering between anger and heartbreak. “I needed to know… even if it hurt.”

Orm’s eyes filled with sorrow as she took a step forward. “I was scared,” she admitted, her voice cracking. “Scared that if I told you, it would shatter what little we had left. I was in London, lost in my own chaos, and I made a mistake. I never thought I’d hurt you this deeply.”

Ling’s gaze dropped, the pain in her expression deepening. “I thought we trusted each other,” she said quietly. “I thought our love was strong enough to bear the truth.”

Orm reached out a tentative hand, her fingers trembling. “I do trust you, Ling,” she pleaded. “I love you. I wish I had been brave enough to tell you then, to be honest about everything. I’m so sorry for keeping this from you.”

Ling’s heart pounded, conflicted between the desire to pull Orm into a forgiving embrace and the crushing betrayal that cut her to the core. “I’m leaving for Hong Kong soon,” Ling said, voice low and pained. “I thought that maybe, if we faced the truth, we could find some closure. But now…I don’t know if I can ever move past this silence.”

Orm’s eyes crumbled with tears as she whispered, “I wish I could follow you, Ling. I wish I had the courage to fix this, to be honest from the start. But my opportunities... they keep me here. And I was too afraid of losing you completely.”

A heavy silence settled between them, filled with the unspoken echoes of their past—the laughter, the late-night confessions, and the devastating fight that had torn them apart. Ling stared at Orm for one last, lingering moment, a farewell full of sorrow and unspoken longing in her eyes. Then, with a trembling sigh, she rose, gathering her suitcase.

Before Ling left the room, she turned back, her voice barely audible, “I needed the truth, Orm… even if it breaks me.” With that, she stepped toward the door.

Back in the present, Sui’s soft presence anchored Lingling momentarily, yet her eyes would occasionally glaze over with distant sorrow. Lingling tried to smile, nodding along as if the pain could simply melt away with the warmth of Sui’s touch. Still, every so often, a flash of that memory—of Orm’s fierce eyes, the raw edge of their argument—would cross her mind, a silent reminder of the day’s heartache.

“I know tomorrow is going to be a big day,” Sui said quietly, her tone both supportive and tender, an anchor in Lingling’s storm of emotions. “Meeting everyone from the GL series, facing it all again.” Sui’s words were meant to soothe, to refocus Lingling’s attention on the present. “But tonight, let’s focus on us. Let’s let the music, the softness, and the quiet intimacy help you forget just for a while.”

Hours passed in a cocoon of sensual comfort—a slow, gentle dance of whispered words, shared laughter, and tender caresses. Sui’s calm presence, bolstered by her subtle knowledge of the intricacies of this high-stakes industry, lent Lingling a fragile sense of hope and reassurance, even as her mind continued to drift back to that painful flashback.

Before the night ended, as dawn threatened the horizon, Lingling and Sui lay entwined. The lingering taste of whispered promises still hung in the air, and though Lingling’s eyes remained shadowed with the residue of pain, there was now a flicker of relief—a small, tentative promise that perhaps, with Sui by her side, she might eventually confront the tumult of memories and the heartbreak that still clung to her. And for that night, in the quiet intimacy of their shared solace, Lingling allowed herself to believe she was more than the shattered remnants of a love lost.

____________

In a spacious, modern conference room at one of Bangkok’s top production studios, all the GL pairs gathered for the first official meeting about the new series. The room buzzed with quiet excitement—and a few raised eyebrows. The polished table, large windows streaming in natural light, and subtle décor set an atmosphere both professional and intimate.

Engfah and Charlotte arrived first, their easy banter filling the space as they exchanged pleasantries with other guests. Nearby, Milk and Love engaged in light, teasing conversation about the buzz surrounding the project, while Freen and Becky made their entrance with their characteristic warmth and confident smiles.

Then there was Ling and Orm. Ling stood poised and professional, her eyes steady despite the heavy undertow of unresolved emotions. At her side, Sui stood as a silent pillar of support, though the tension in her gaze betrayed a deeper worry than she’d expected. Whispers had already spread around the industry about Ling and Orm’s turbulent past—a breakup marked by betrayal, lingering pain, and a silence that spoke louder than words. Many were shocked that the two had agreed to work together again and you could feel it in the room.

Under the soft glow of the conference room’s ambient lighting, a woman stepped forward to address the gathering—a figure who immediately set her apart from the local luminaries. Jessica, a Hollywood producer known for her daring sapphic series, commanded attention with a quiet, determined presence. Though she wasn’t well known in the Thai industry, her reputation had preceded her; her films were celebrated for their bold portrayals of queer love and complex female relationships.

Jessica’s eyes sparkled with passion as she spoke, “Thank you all for joining us. I’m thrilled to introduce ‘Under the Sun,’ our new GL series that weaves together the vivid stories of married couples in the beautiful city of Jade.” She paused, letting her words sink in, her gaze sweeping over the room filled with Thai GL symbols and personalities. “I have always been inspired by the fierce spirit and unique narratives emerging from Thailand. It’s my dream to blend the cinematographic flair of Hollywood with the raw, authentic energy of Thai GL culture—symbols that represent not just a market, but a movement of true, unapologetic love.”

Her voice carried a blend of warmth and resolve that resonated deeply. “We’re not here to simply recreate past glories. We’re here to challenge norms, to embrace the beauty in every scar, every story, and to let real emotions guide us. I believe that by honoring these voices, and your voices, we can create something transformative—something that shines as brightly as the sun above us.”

As Jessica continued, the room fell into a reverent hush. Her presence, unconventional yet magnetic, had everyone listening intently. Even amidst the quiet murmurs about Ling and Orm’s complicated history, it was clear that Jessica’s vision would redefine the narrative for all the couples involved—promising a series that was as bold and unfiltered as the lives it sought to portray. 

Across the table, Engfah casually remarked to Charlotte, “I never thought Ling and Orm would even consider this project. Do you think she knows about them?” Charlotte nodded thoughtfully, her eyes lingering on Ling and Orm before shifting to Sui, whose expression was harder to read than she had imagined.

“Maybe, who doesn’t? But I don’t know if Orm or Ling can do this. Have you seen their shoulders? Both are super tensed” Charlotte added.

“Who wouldn’t be? I’m more shocked by Sui’s presence to be honest” teased Engfah, eliciting a few quiet chuckles.

“Yeah I was not expecting it too” answers Charlotte

A murmur of assent spread among the other couples. Milk and Love exchanged knowing looks—Love added quietly, “It’s a bold move from this producer, but maybe it’ll finally give them a chance to sort out what’s really between them.” Freen and Becky nodded in agreement, their expressions a mix of amusement and empathy.

Before the conversation could spiral further, Jessica raised her hand, and the room fell into a respectful hush. With an unwavering tone, she said, “Enough chatter for now. I know there are many personal histories and complexities here—particularly the story of Ling and Orm—but in this project, I need you all to focus on what we’re here to create. This project demands your full commitment and professionalism. I want each of you to bring your unique essence to the screen, not let personal matters distract you from the art we’re about to craft.”

Jessica’s words cut through the tension like a balm, urging the room toward unity. “Ling, Orm,” she continued, her tone gentle yet firm, “I’m aware that your past is a well-known part of your story. However, I ask you both to let the characters you portray speak for themselves. Let us see the magic of your talent rather than the echoes of old heartaches. This is your moment to transform pain into art.”

As the energy in the room steadied, Jessica smiled softly. “Tonight, let your truth shine through on screen. I promise you, what we create here will be as raw and transformative as the lives you lead. Now, let’s get started.”

With that, the chatter subsided completely, and the focus of the room shifted to the task ahead—a collective effort to capture the raw, untamed beauty of their stories, despite the lingering tensions that history had woven into every glance.

Ling and Orm, nodded, sat side by side at one end of the table. Ling’s gaze, cool and measured, occasionally flickered toward Orm, whose eyes remained guarded and distant. They could see everyone looking at them while Jessica and executive producers were talking about the script and characters.

On the other side of the room, Sui stands in one of the corners, phone in hand but even she couldn’t completely mask the worry that Ling’s unresolved history might come back to haunt them on screen—and off. She felt a bit out of it, she didn’t even know how she’s going to stand all of this

A heavy silence fell over the group, punctuated by the soft clink of a coffee cup being set down, veryone focus on their task. Ling’s heart pounded as she forced herself to maintain her professional facade, though every fiber of her being recalled that painful chapter of her life. Orm, sitting slightly apart, stared at her hands, grappling with the inner storm of regret and longing.

Sui caught Ling’s eye for a moment, offering a brief, supportive smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes—there was worry there, a silent question: Can Ling truly leave the past behind? Ling’s response was a determined nod, though internally she wondered if the unresolved hurt would ever truly fade.

The meeting progressed with discussions of schedules, rehearsals, and creative vision. Yet every time the topic drifted near the subject of chemistry tests and on-screen reunions, the tension between Ling and Orm was palpable. Even the other couples, though cheerful and confident, couldn’t help but cast sidelong glances toward the pair, their shared history as notorious as it was bittersweet.

At one point, Orm found herself gravitating toward Freen and Engfah, whose easy camaraderie offered a subtle comfort during their breaks, this project was a lot of work. Freen leaned in, her voice warm as she said, “Orm, I have to say—I never imagined you’d return to the stage with Ling.” Engfah nodded in agreement, adding, “We can see it unsettles you a bit”

Orm managed a small smile. “It’s hard, yes, facing the past,but facing her present worst, what is she doing here? Since when do we bring girlfriends in our workshops” she admitted quietly, her eyes downcast for a moment. Freen’s reassuring grip on Orm’s shoulder spoke volumes of support without judgment.

“Honey, you know that Sui is famous in the entire world, I bet she even knows Jessica, you can’t be surprised for her to be here, especially if you’re in the picture.” says Engfah

“What does that even mean Engfah?” asks Orm looking around to see Ling, with Sui by her side, talking and smiling.

“Maybe you have not noticed but she keeps staring at both of you. And I can tell that this gaze she has on you isn’t the soft one she has for Ling” says Engfah with a knowing smile, she knows Sui from reputation, a very delanding model, very serious in her job and also knows to be friendly

Across the room, Ling stood close to Charlotte and Becky. Charlotte’s gentle humor and steady presence helped keep Ling’s professional composure intact, while Becky offered a knowing glance whenever Ling’s gaze seemed to wander, as if searching for an echo of a memory she wished to forget. “Don’t let anyone dull your shine tonight, Ling,” Charlotte whispered encouragingly. “We know how much you’ve grown.”

Ling’s lips quirked in a half-smile, though the heaviness of her past still lingered in her eyes. “I appreciate that,” she murmured, keeping her tone even, though every now and then, her gaze drifted toward the opposite side of the room.

Meanwhile, Milk and Love lingered at the fringes of the group, still trying to gauge the dynamics among the couples. Milk exchanged curious glances with Love, who, after a moment of silent deliberation, excused herself from their little circle. “I need to check in with Sui,” Love announced softly. “I’m friends with her, and I think I’ll go say hello to Ling. There’s something about this whole reunion that intrigues me. Stay there babe”

Love’s words drew a surprised but approving nod from Milk. “I think that’s a good idea,” Milk agreed, a smile tugging at her lips. 

As the conversation continued, the room’s energy subtly shifted. The glances Ling and Orm exchanged earlier were hard to ignore—fleeting, but laden with unspoken histories. While the rest of the couples talked and laughed, the invisible tension between Ling and Orm lingered like a quiet secret.

Love made her way through the gentle hum of conversation, her steps purposeful yet unhurried. Approaching Ling and Sui, she greeted her with an affectionate smile. “Hey, Ling,” Love said, voice warm. “I’m glad to see you here today. How are you Sui?”

Ling’s eyes met Love’s briefly—a mixture of guarded professionalism and wistful nostalgia. “I’m managing,” she replied softly, choosing her words carefully. “It’s been a challenging day, but I’m here, and that’s what matters.”

“I’m fine Love, can’t xait to see your work, it’s been awhile. How are you?” answer Sui smiling at her

“I’ve been doing great, I’m happy to be on this project, Milk and I couldn’t wait” says Love smiling back

The spacious lounge of a sleek Bangkok production studio buzzed with an energy that was both celebratory and charged with underlying tension. Soft ambient lighting played off polished surfaces, casting gentle reflections on the faces of the gathered GL couples. This was the first official meeting for the new series—“Under the Sun”—and every pair in attendance carried not just professional ambitions, but personal histories that the industry knew all too well.

At one corner, Freen and Becky moved as an inseparable duo, laughing easily and sharing light-hearted banter. Their familiar camaraderie stood in stark contrast to the silent gravity of Ling and Orm’s presence. Across the room, Milk and Love chatted amicably, their intertwined hands a quiet testament to their committed relationship. They were largely unaware of the full extent of Ling and Orm’s painful past, treating the matter with the detached curiosity of industry outsiders.

Ling and Orm, however, could not hide. Despite their best efforts to maintain a polished, professional façade, the tension between them was palpable—a residue of years filled with passionate highs and bitter heartbreaks. Ling, always composed and meticulous, stood with her back subtly turned toward the crowd. At her side, Sui lingered, her supportive presence a steady, yet complicated anchor; every time Sui’s eyes softened as they fell on Ling, Orm’s heart ached.

Elsewhere, Charlotte and Engfah—exes who had evolved into steadfast friends—occupied a quieter space near the refreshment table. Their eyes occasionally met with a mutual understanding of past love and present forgiveness, a silent reminder that even broken relationships could transform into something beautiful over time.

A low murmur of conversation filled the room until a brief lull allowed one of the producers to step forward. Jessica, a Hollywood producer celebrated for her daring sapphic series and a visionary in capturing Thai GL stories, addressed the room with a commanding yet warm presence.

“Thank you all for being here tonight,” Jessica began, her tone both inviting and assertive. “‘Under the Sun’ is not just another project—it’s a celebration of real, unapologetic love. I know many of you carry histories that are as complicated as they are beautiful. I ask that tonight, while we embrace our personal truths, we leave our personal dramas at the door. Let your talent and passion shine through on screen, not the scars of yesterday.”

Her words, delivered with a practiced sincerity, brought a respectful silence over the gathering. Yet the unspoken undercurrents remained—Ling’s guarded glances toward Orm, Orm’s pained eyes following every supportive gesture from Sui toward Ling, and the knowing looks exchanged by Charlotte and Engfah.

As the meeting continued, clusters formed naturally. Ling gravitated toward Charlotte and Becky, who offered gentle smiles and encouraging whispers. “You’ve grown so much, Ling,” Charlotte confided quietly. “Tonight is about new beginnings—let the past be your strength, not your shadow.”

Across the room, Orm found herself in a tight circle with Freen and Engfah. “I know today feels like walking on thin ice,” Freen said softly, “but sometimes, we have to take that risk to heal. Orm, have you spoken to her?”
Orm shook her head, her gaze drifting painfully toward the other end of the room where Ling stood with Sui. “Not yet. We’re only here for professional matters.” Her voice faltered as she admitted under her breath, “Seeing Ling with Sui… it’s like a knife.”

At the fringes, Milk and Love watched the dynamics with curious interest. “It’s a bold move from our producer,” Love murmured to Milk. “Maybe it’ll give Ling and Orm a chance to finally sort out what’s really between them.” Milk simply nodded, the smile on her face mingling with gentle intrigue.

Throughout the meeting, the energy in the room was charged with anticipation. Every pair was not just a partnership on screen but a tapestry of personal histories, triumphs, and scars. Ling’s and Orm’s shared past was the subject of hushed industry whispers, and every subtle glance exchanged between them ignited memories of a love that had been as passionate as it had been painful.

As the meeting drew to a close, the room slowly emptied. Ling, gathering her things with practiced detachment, kept her eyes fixed on the door. Each time she caught a fleeting, lingering look from Orm—a look heavy with regret and longing—her heart pounded briefly, but she forced herself to look away. Sui waited in the corridor, her supportive hand tight around Ling’s, though her eyes betrayed a quiet sorrow. The sight of Ling with another woman, even as a comforting presence, stung Orm with a bitter reminder of what was lost.

In the quiet of the nearly empty corridor, Freen approached Orm with a compassionate smile. “Orm, I can see it in your eyes—you’re hurting. Are you sure you want to do this?” she asked softly, her voice full of genuine concern. Orm’s shoulders slumped as she struggled to steady herself. “It’s… it’s hard, Freen,” she confessed, her voice low and tremulous. “Seeing Ling so composed with Sui by her side—it’s like I’m looking at a past that I can’t change. I hate feeling this way, and I hate that I can’t make it stop. But yes…I have to face it. I need to, somehow.” Freen gently squeezed Orm’s hand. “Take your time, darling. It’s okay to feel hurt. In time, these scars might tell a story of growth rather than loss. But remember, you still need to talk to Ling—no matter how painful it is.” Orm’s eyes glistened with unshed tears as she nodded silently. In that fraught moment, the weight of unresolved love and regret hung heavily in the air.

Outside in the corridor, Ling paused at the doorway. Sui’s gentle squeeze of her hand offered a quiet reassurance, but Ling’s eyes, for one last lingering moment, met Orm’s. In that brief, charged exchange, a silent farewell passed between them—a final admission of pain, love, and the impossibility of moving on completely. Then Ling stepped away with Sui, leaving Orm in the dim light—a figure marked by the past, uncertain of the future.

For everyone present, it was clear: this meeting of GL couples was more than a project. It was a raw, transformative journey where the echoes of personal histories would collide with the promise of new beginnings.

________

Ling was in the living room, methodically packing a few last items into Sui’s suitcase. Sui sat nearby on the sofa, quietly watching Ling’s measured movements. Every so often, Ling’s eyes flickered toward her, as if she wanted to say something. Sui’s gaze followed those glances, and although she tried to maintain a supportive smile, there was an unmistakable note of concern in her eyes.

“I’m trying to keep it together,” Ling murmured, barely above a whisper, her voice steady but distant. “It’s just… every time I think about this project, I feel that same old sting—like a part of me is still lost.” She paused, folding a sweater carefully, her hands trembling ever so slightly. Her thoughts raced back to the glances exchanged with Orm, the unspoken words that had filled the conference room and, now, the silent corridors of her heart. She felt bad for Sui because she knew just by seeing Orm again that her heart was not so sure now.

Sui reached out, gently taking Ling’s hand. “I know, love. But remember it is just work. Let’s focus on making it through together okay? When I’ll get back” Her tone was soft, trying to offer comfort, even though the sight of Ling’s haunted eyes made her own heart ache.

As Ling and Sui stepped out of the apartment, Sui’s gaze was troubled. Even as she held Ling’s hand firmly, her eyes betrayed a worry that went beyond simple support.

“Ling,” Sui said softly as they reached the quiet corridor, “Since I need to head back to Hong Kong tonight, then Paris, and after that, New York for my fashion show. Will it be ok for you?” Her tone was measured, but there was an unmistakable heaviness in her words.

Ling’s heart sank a little. “Don’t worry baby, we’ve discussed this, You’ll come abc every two months but I guess I was not ready yet for you to leave me”

Sui paused, glancing back toward the closed door of their room. “I’m not leaving you, Ling,” she reassured, though her voice wavered. “I trust you—I know you’re strong. But I… I just can’t shake the feeling that with Orm around, things will get even more complicated for you. I worry about what might happen when I’m not here to protect you.”

Ling’s eyes softened with a mix of gratitude and sorrow. “Sui, you know it’s not about not trusting me. It’s just… it hurts, seeing Orm and feeling that pull of the past.” She swallowed hard, trying to steady the storm inside.

Sui stepped closer, her hand still tightly holding Ling’s. “I know,” she murmured. “I hate the thought of leaving you in Bangkok with all that unresolved pain hanging over you.”

For a long, heavy moment, Ling didn’t respond. Instead, she looked down the corridor, recalling every painful glance exchanged with Orm. The mix of professional determination and personal heartache was almost too much to bear.

Sui continued, her voice gentle yet firm, “I promise I’ll be back as soon as I can. And when I return, we’ll face everything together. Just… please, take care of yourself. And try not to let the past weigh you down too much, okay?”

Ling nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. “Yes love thank you don’t worry about me” she whispered, though the uncertainty in her eyes was unmistakable.

“I’ll always worry for you” says Sui leaning to kiss Ling

_______

Later that night, the apartment was shrouded in a quiet darkness that seemed to press in on Orm, she sank onto the worn sofa, her mind a tumult of regret and raw, unhealed pain, she didn’t think it would have been that hard, maybe she hadn’t moved on as she thought.

She reached for the remote, flicking on a muted channel, but the television’s flicker barely held her attention. Instead, her thoughts drifted back to Ling—Ling’s hurt, her disappointed gaze, and the final, shattering admission of her moving on with someone else. The image of Ling with Sui haunted her, a painful reminder of everything she’d lost, and every mistake she’d made.

Orm’s heart pounded as she recalled that fateful night in London—the haze of alcohol, the impulsive kiss, and the regret that had since gnawed at her every day. How had she let herself spiral so far? The guilt was almost too much to bear, a weight pressing down on her chest. She closed her eyes and let herself remember the argument they’d had, the bitter words that had led to their breakup—each one a wound that never quite healed.

Her mind was a labyrinth of "what ifs" and "if onlys." What if I had been brave enough to tell her? she wondered bitterly. What if honesty had saved us? If I had explain why I was in the state… Ling would have understand.. I’m pretty sure of it.. The questions piled up, each one deepening the fissure in her heart and she felt so stupid to letting Ling go, she should have followed her.

The silence of the night was punctuated only by the soft hum of the air conditioner and the distant murmur of city traffic outside. Orm sat there, lost in memories, until the phone buzzed—a reminder from a friend she’d once trusted, perhaps even a message from Freen checking in. But she couldn’t bring herself to respond; how could she share this raw, aching truth?

Instead, she pulled a well-worn journal from a small table, its pages filled with unsent letters and half-finished confessions for Ling that she has been written for more than three years now. As she began to write, the scratch of the pen on paper echoed her inner turmoil—a cathartic attempt to spill her regrets and unanswered questions. Tears blurred her vision as she wrote about her fear of losing Ling completely, about the shame that had kept her silent in London, and about the bitter realization that sometimes, the past refuses to be forgotten.

In that quiet solitude, Orm allowed herself to feel the full spectrum of her emotions—the sorrow, the guilt, the longing, and the anger. She knew that tomorrow might bring more demands to keep up a professional façade, more rehearsals where every glance at Ling would reopen old wounds. But tonight, in the quiet darkness of her apartment, she faced the truth of her heart. She was still in love with Ling and she thinks it will never change, Ling has always been the owner of her heart and she hated herself for losing the only woman she has ever loved. Because now, she knew that if she had told the truth to Ling and discussed it with her, she might still be with her today, and not with Sui.

As the hours wore on, the pages of her journal filled with words that were both a confession and a promise: a promise to eventually confront her past, to seek the healing that seemed so distant now, and perhaps, one day, to find a way to forgive herself. For now, though, the night stretched on—a long, solitary vigil over the shattered fragments of a love that once was, and a hope that even in the depths of betrayal, there might still be a chance for redemption.

__________

Their eyes locked for a long moment, the bustling terminal fading into a quiet intimacy shared just between them. Ling’s voice was soft as she added, “Thank you, Sui. I love you, even if this part of my heart is still healing.”

Sui smiled gently, brushing a stray lock of hair from Ling’s forehead. “I love you too, Ling. And I believe, with time, all these wounds will become our strength. Now, let’s not let these flashing cameras steal our moment.”

With that, they turned their attention to the inevitable. Sui gave one last, lingering kiss before stepping toward the boarding gate. Ling watched Sui go, her heart heavy yet buoyed by the promise of reunion. Though the world around them buzzed with the usual flashbulbs and chatter, in that small corner, Ling and Sui shared a secret vow—a promise that distance and time could never sever the bond they held dear.

As Ling lingered a moment longer, she whispered softly to herself, “Come back soon, Sui.” Then, with a final deep breath, she turned away, preparing herself for the quiet solitude of Bangkok until her love returned.

At the bustling international terminal, Ling stood alone near the departure gate, her bodyguards forming a protective circle around her. The atmosphere was a mix of final goodbyes and the steady hum of travelers preparing for their next journeys. Though Sui had already boarded her flight to Hong Kong, Ling remained behind, her heart heavy with the day's painful memories.

Just as Ling was about to step toward her waiting SUV, a sudden commotion erupted behind her. A man came sprinting through the crowd, his eyes blazing with anger. In a split second, he hurled a small, heavy object—a stone—that struck Ling squarely on the head. A sharp cry escaped her lips as her bodyguards reacted instantly, intercepting the projectile and restraining the intruder.

“YOU SHOULD HAVE STAYED IN HONG KONG, BITCH! STAY AWAY FROM ORM!” the man screamed, his voice echoing off the terminal walls. His words, raw with venom, sent a shockwave through the already tense scene.

Phones flashed; cameras captured every moment. Within minutes, the explosive footage was flooding social media, headlines and hashtags like #LingControversy and #StayAwayFromORM igniting a digital firestorm.

Ling’s expression remained stoic, though her pulse raced and the sting of the impact seared her skin. Alone now, with no Sui at her side to offer immediate comfort, Ling forced herself to stand tall. She glanced at the chaos as her bodyguards secured the unruly man, their professional efficiency a small comfort amid the turmoil.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Ling tried to suppress the turbulent mix of anger, pain, and the haunting memory of past betrayals. “This is exactly the kind of crap I wanted to avoid,” she muttered to herself, forcing a measured calm onto her features.

Knowing the incident would be dissected online for hours, maybe days, Ling tried to focus on the next steps. Her eyes flickered briefly to a screen displaying live updates from social media—a harsh reminder that she was under the spotlight and not everyone was happy of her return, especially Orm’s fanbase.

With a resigned shake of her head, Ling turned and stepped toward her waiting SUV. The door closed behind her with a definitive click, and as the vehicle pulled away under the glow of streetlights, Ling’s heart pounded in the silence of the night. Alone in the cool darkness of the terminal’s exit, she braced herself for the inevitable fallout—a stark reminder that in this industry, even moments of violent interruption could reopen wounds best left to heal in private.

_____________

Orm just had a shower and  the earlier silence is now pierced by the persistent buzz of her phone. Unable to ignore the notification, she unlocked her screen to find her social media feed flooded with pictures of Ling and Sui kissing at the airport, some fans identified her so that she can see it. Each post was accompanied by fervent commentary, some admiring their boldness, others speculating on the implications of Ling’s departure.

Orm’s heart sank as she scrolled through the images—the same Ling she once knew, now publicly entwined with Sui, while the echoes of their past love still haunted her. The sharp contrast between the joyful declarations on screen and the quiet devastation in her own heart was almost too much to bear. In that moment, the digital spotlight made her feel exposed and painfully isolated, as if every snapshot was a reminder of what she had lost—and what might never be reclaimed.

As the images continued to stream in, Orm’s eyes filled with a mix of sorrow, regret, and a lingering, bitter longing. The social media frenzy, with all its adoration and gossip, deepened the wound, leaving her to face the harsh reality of a past that was now forever on display.

Orm’s heart still ached from the images streaming relentlessly on social media. Unable to bear the weight of those public declarations and the painful reminder of Ling with Sui, she reached for her phone and quickly launched FaceTime. The screen flickered to life, and soon the familiar, gentle face of Junji—Ling’s best friend, who had always stood by both of them—appeared.

“Junji,” Orm’s voice trembled, each word laced with sorrow. “I can’t... I can’t stop thinking about her… Have you seen the photos?”

Junji’s eyes, full of empathy, softened as he leaned closer to his phone. “Orm, I’m so sorry,” he said gently. “I know how hard this must be for you. Yeah I saw them…But I think they’re used to it.. Two wellknown models… ”

Orm’s gaze drifted away as tears welled in her eyes. “It hurts, Junji. I feel so betrayed—not just by what happened, but by everything we never resolved. I keep thinking back to that night in London… And when I came back to Bangkok… and now seeing Ling so happy with Sui—it’s like a reminder of everything I lost.”

Junji’s tone was calm and soothing. “I know, Orm. I know you loved her deeply, and it’s okay to feel all of this, we’ve discussed this.. Sometimes we need more time. But remember, you’re not alone. I’m here for you—always.”

Orm sniffled, her voice barely a whisper. “I just wish I could go back and fix things. I was so afraid to tell her the truth, so afraid of losing her completely... and now, seeing her with someone else—it’s unbearable. I really fucked up and I hate myself for waking up only now”

Junji reached out through the screen, his virtual presence as warm as if he were in the room with her. “I understand, Orm. But you know that Ling wouldn’t have listened to you back then.. She was in too much pain and very angry with you. Girl, each time I used to pronounce your name she was glaring at me, I was actually scared for my life…”

Orm closed her eyes, trying to absorb his words but she escaped a little laugh, picturing Junji afraid of Ling’s gaze, she knew she could eb terrifying.. “I know, but it’s so hard, Junji. I feel like every part of me is torn between regret and longing. I’m scared that I’ll never be able to let go or never be able to get her back.”

Junji’s smile was gentle, his voice firm yet comforting. “Listen to me, Orm. It might take time, but you’re going to find your way through this. I’ve seen you face challenges before—you’re resilient. Let this pain remind you of your strength, not define you. And remember, sometimes speaking the truth, however painful it may be, is the only way to begin mending a broken heart.”

Orm’s eyes glistened with fresh tears as Junji’s comforting words washed over her. Then, in a quieter tone, Junji added, “You know, Orm, people think Ling has moved on completely—like she’s buried everything in Hong Kong. But I’ve seen her… and sometimes I sense that she hasn’t truly let go of the past. Even when she announced to me that she was with someone…” He paused, his voice low and almost conspiratorial. “It’s as if, despite all her professionalism, she still carries the scars of what you two shared. I’m not saying she’s still in love with you, but maybe she hasn’t fully healed. And that… that means there might still be hope, however faint.”

Orm’s heart fluttered at his words—a small, desperate spark of hope amidst the heartbreak. Yet Junji’s tone quickly turned resolute. “But remember, Orm, you broke her, in more ways than one. The pain you caused—that’s not something time can easily mend.”

A heavy silence fell, the weight of his words mingling with Orm’s own regrets. “I know,” Orm whispered, voice trembling. “I wish I could undo it all.”

Junji’s gaze softened, and he added gently, “Ling is strong, and she’s trying to move forward. But the truth is, she’s still hurting. And until she confronts that, until you both face what happened, I fear you’ll never truly be free from the past.”

Orm listened, her heart aching, torn between the possibility of redemption and the bitter reminder of what she had done. In that quiet, raw moment, the duality of hope and despair intertwined—a promise that perhaps, someday, honesty might pave the way for healing, even as the memory of her betrayal lingered as a stubborn wound.

“Orm, look at this.” Junji’s voice was a hushed rasp, barely louder than a breath, yet urgently insistent. Her phone trembled slightly in her hand, screen illuminated and shoved abruptly towards Orm’s face. Junji’s eyes were wide, pupils blown black, mirroring the chaotic energy radiating from the device. On the screen, a jarring montage of shaky, low-quality videos played out in rapid succession. Each clip offered a fragmented, horrifying glimpse: the grey arc of a stone hurled through the air, the raw, enraged shouts of a faceless crowd, and then, sickeningly clear, Ling’s face contorted in pain, blood blooming scarlet against her pale forehead.

Orm leaned in sharply, her breath catching in her throat. Her own face went stark white, all color draining away as if leached by the images assaulting her vision. “What— Junji, what is it?” she gasped, the question a raw, almost desperate plea. Anxiety wasn't just threading her words; it was a vise tightening around her chest, making each inhale shallow and painful.

Junji hesitated, her gaze flicking between Orm’s increasingly distressed face and the still-playing videos. She swallowed hard, the silence stretching, thick with unspoken dread. “It’s… it’s everywhere, Orm. Viral. But… not like before.” She finally managed, her voice barely a whisper. “It’s not about the kiss anymore. It’s… it’s the attack. The hashtags, the headlines…” She swiped to show Orm a trending page, the words burning themselves onto the screen: “Ling is trending because of this. #LingControversy… and… and #StayAwayFromORM.”

The words hit Orm like a physical blow. Her breath hitched, and a cold dread washed over her, sinking through her bones. “Oh god…” The sound escaped her lips, barely audible, a strangled exhale of horror. “I… I knew something like this could happen, eventually, but I didn’t think… this fast. Is she… is she actually hurt? Junji, that blood…” Her voice fractured, trailing off into a whisper of disbelief and dawning, agonizing regret. Her eyes widened, fixed on the replay of Ling’s injured face on Junji’s phone, a silent scream trapped behind her teeth. What is wrong with these people? What have I done? The unspoken questions echoed in the sudden, ringing silence in her ears.

Seeing Orm’s escalating distress, Junji’s own shocked expression softened with concern. He reached out, placing a gentle hand on her arm, his touch grounding in its warmth. “God, Orm,” he murmured, his voice low and laced with sympathy, “I am so sorry. I… I think I need to call her. She looks really hurt.” The final words were barely more than a murmur, her gaze still fixed on the horrific images on the screen, mirroring the deep unease settling in Orm's gut.

______________

Ling’s phone buzzed—a FaceTime call from Junji. Shaken from the earlier ordeal, Ling answered with a heavy sigh. On the screen, Junji’s familiar, concerned face appeared, softly illuminated by the low light of her room.

“Ling, how are you? I just saw on social media what happened. Are you okay?” Junji asked, her tone gentle yet laced with urgency as she studied Ling’s face, noting the faint redness on its side.

Ling forced a steady smile, though her voice trembled slightly. “I’m… managing, I guess.”

Junji’s eyes flicked back to her phone, where trending posts and hashtags—#LingControversy, #StayAwayFromORM—flashed relentlessly. “Don’t lie to me, Ling. You’ve been attacked, and I can literally see the blood on your face,” Junji pressed, her tone a mix of shock and concern.

Ling’s gaze darkened briefly, recalling the sting of the stone, but she refused to be rushed into panic. “I know,” she replied quietly. “Thank you, sis. It’s okay—I don’t need a hospital visit for this. I’m aware some of Orm’s fans will hate me for it. I’ll head back to my hotel now and take care of it.”

“Ling,” Junji said, leaning forward so that the concern in her eyes deepened, “you’re coming to my place right now. I can’t let you deal with this alone.”

Ling hesitated, swallowing hard. “I appreciate it, Junji, but—”

There was a pause as Junji gathered her resolve. “Listen, Ling,” she said firmly yet gently, “tell your driver to head to my place instead. I know it’s only a 15-minute ride from the airport, so please—don’t screw me over.” And she hangs up.

A brief smile broke through Ling’s strained expression as she addressed her driver, Adi.

“Change of plans, Adi. Please take me to Junji’s house,” Ling instructed.

“Alright, Miss Kwong,” Adi replied, closing the window as he shifted the SUV’s course.

______

Orm sat alone in the dim glow of her apartment, still reeling from the barrage of images flooding her social media feed—vivid snapshots of Ling with Sui at the airport, each photo a cruel reminder of what she had lost. The relentless headlines and hashtags, #LingControversy and #StayAwayFromORM, pulsed on her screen, amplifying her ache. Despite the shock, worry for Ling gnawed at her; she needed to know that Ling was safe.

After several minutes of restless scrolling, a new message popped up on Orm’s phone. It was from Junji. With trembling fingers, she opened the chat.

Junji (text): "Hey, Orm. Just wanted to let you know—Ling’s with Sui now, and she’s okay. I saw her at the terminal. Please, take care."

For a brief moment, Orm felt a flicker of relief—knowing Ling was physically unharmed—but it was quickly smothered by an overwhelming longing and bitterness. She stared at the message until tears blurred her vision. I need her back, she thought fiercely. No matter what it takes.

Unable to shake the painful memories, Orm’s mind drifted back to a night that had long haunted her—a night from five years ago when things between her and Ling had spiraled out of control. They had been together for barely a year, and the tension on set had been unbearable. Darren, one of the leading men on Ling’s show, had persistently flirted with her. Ling had maintained her professionalism, yet Orm’s jealousy had exploded.

In a flashback, Orm remembered the heated argument that had erupted at Orm’s apartment one evening,  after another day of rumors everywhere about Ling and that guy.

“Why do you always let him get away with it, Ling?” Orm had demanded, her voice cracking with a mix of hurt and fury. “Every time he touches you—every time he smiles at you—”

Ling had recoiled, her eyes wide with a mix of shock and pain. “Orm, it’s just part of the job,” Ling had replied, her voice trembling with restrained anguish. “It’s the role I play. You know that—I kiss for the show, for the camera. It doesn’t mean I love him or enjoy it at all. I love you. Why can’t you trust me? And remember I told you I already told him to backoff”

“Well guess he didn’t get the point since he still looks at you the same way” spats Orm, she was clouded by anger that she couldn’t even pretend to be nice

“You have to be kidding me Orm… Come on baby you know you’re the only one for me and __”

“Stop that. It is not the first time we have this conversation Ling and I can’t understand why each time I arrive on set to see you, I see Darren all over you, all the fucking time” interrupts Orm

“Yes he’s clingy, like you used to be when we first __”

“Are you kidding me right now Lingling Kwong? Are you comparing us to you and him? Keez, that’s even worse than a slap itself… I can’t stay in front of you right now Ling” 

But Ling couldn’t add a word when Orm turned on her heels and stepped out of the room, she couldn’t bear it, the trust had already been shattered. Orm, overwhelmed by jealousy and insecurity, had lashed out. That night, their words had been like arrows—each accusation cutting deeper until the wounds refused to close. Orm recalled how Ling’s face had crumpled as she tried to explain, her eyes pleading for understanding, while Orm’s own heart pounded with betrayal.

Now, as Orm sat in the quiet of her apartment, those bitter memories collided with the present. She clenched her phone, reading Junji’s message over and over, desperate for some sign that Ling’s heart hadn’t completely closed off. The past was never far behind, and every image of Ling with Sui felt like a public declaration of a love that Orm had lost.

“Why couldn’t I have been brave enough?” Orm whispered to the empty room, her voice thick with regret. “I was so afraid of losing her completely, that I let my jealousy turn into something destructive. And now… seeing her like this, with someone else, just reopens every wound.”

Tears streamed silently down her cheeks as she stared at the glowing screen. In that vulnerable moment, Orm realized that her longing wasn’t just about jealousy—it was about a desperate need to reclaim the trust and intimacy they once shared, even if it meant confronting the painful truths of their past.

Determined, Orm wiped her tears, resolved to speak with Ling—even if it meant risking more pain. She typed a tentative message, hesitating before hitting send. *

Orm: Hey Ling, I hope you’re doing okay, I’m here if you need.

In the silence that followed, Orm’s heart ached with a fierce, lonely determination—a silent promise that she would find a way to mend what had been broken, no matter the cost. Before sleep claimed her, Orm couldn’t bear the onslaught of cruel comments flooding her feed—hurtful words aimed at Ling, a person she still cared about despite everything. With trembling fingers and a heavy heart, she opened her social media app and composed a message meant to cut through the vitriol:

“Dear fans, if you truly care about me and those I care about, please respect our privacy. Attacks and harsh words only deepen the wounds of the past. Let’s stand together in understanding and support—real fans know that our personal lives aren’t public property.”

With a resolute sigh, Orm pressed “post,” hoping that her honest plea would remind everyone that compassion must come first, even in the midst of controversy.

___________

Later that evening, in the soft glow of Junji’s apartment, Ling sat wrapped in a light cotton pajama set, still visibly shaken from the day’s ordeals. Her head bore a small, reddish bruise—a souvenir from the earlier attack—and Junji had insisted on checking it. The room was quiet except for the occasional hum of a distant city night, and the atmosphere felt intimate, safe—a stark contrast to the chaos of the terminal.

Junji knelt by Ling’s side, her eyes filled with concern as she gently ran his fingertips over the bruise. “Ling, it doesn’t look too bad, but you must promise me you’ll take care of yourself,” he said softly, his voice steady and caring.

Ling forced a small smile, though her eyes betrayed the lingering pain. “I’m managing, Junji. It hurts a bit, but it’s nothing I can’t handle,” she replied, her tone determined yet vulnerable.

Junji frowned, not entirely convinced. “I know you’re strong, Ling, but strength isn’t about ignoring pain, physically or mentally. I’m worried about you.” she paused, glancing up at her. “I can see the hurt in your eyes when you thought no one was watching. I know you Ling”

Ling’s gaze fell, heavy as stones, for a heartbeat, the day’s chaos surged back – the sting of jeering words echoing in her ears, the burning flush of public humiliation rising in her cheeks, the phantom weight of the thrown object still pressing against her skull. “Sometimes,” she confessed, the words escaping on a fragile exhale, barely disturbing the air between them, “it feels like… like every step forward is just another tether for the past to yank me back.” Her voice frayed at the edges, a whisper threatening to dissolve into nothing.

Junji’s hand closed gently around hers, a warm, solid anchor in the swirling unease of her emotions. “I’m here, Ling,” she said, her voice low and steady, radiating a quiet sincerity. “I know it’s… relentless. And God, I know this world can be a brutal, unforgiving place.” She didn't say "hard," didn't minimize it – she acknowledged the depth of Ling's struggle with a simple, potent honesty.

Ling’s eyes, already darkened with fatigue, now caught the light, the moisture gathering on her lower lashes catching the warm café glow and turning them to liquid amber. A tremor ran through her hand as she squeezed in return, a silent acknowledgement of her presence, her comfort. “I saw Orm again today,” she murmured, the name itself a quiet weight on her tongue. “The project meeting. I have to see her practically everyday”

A small, reassuring smile softened Junji’s features, crinkling the corners of her eyes with genuine empathy. “I know,” she confirmed gently. “I was actually on the phone with Orm just before I called you.”

A flicker of surprise registered in Ling’s expression, a subtle widening of her eyes before a thoughtful stillness settled over her features. In the relentless churn of her own anxieties, she’d momentarily lost sight of the threads of connection that existed outside her immediate orbit. It was a gentle, almost humbling reminder: Junji and Orm. Of course. Years ago, back before the industry pressures and public scrutiny had warped so many relationships, they had forged a bond, a quiet understanding that had, clearly, endured. A small, almost rueful smile touched Ling’s lips. It wasn’t in her nature to demand allegiances, to carve lines in friendships and expect people to choose sides. That possessiveness, that… demand… had never been her way. And perhaps, she thought, a quiet thread of warmth unfurling in her chest despite the chill of the day, perhaps that was a kind of strength in itself. And looking at Junji, at the quiet steadiness in her eyes and the gentle pressure of her hand, Ling felt a swell of gratitude for her presence in her life, a constant, unwavering support that anchored her even amidst the storm.

Junji’s gentle gaze lingered on Ling’s face, her brow furrowed with a mixture of concern for Ling and something else… a shadow of worry that Ling couldn’t quite decipher at first. “You know,” Junji said slowly, her voice thoughtful, almost hesitant, “Orm… Orm isn’t okay either, Ling.”

The words hung in the air, prompting Ling to truly look at Junji, to read the subtle cues in her expression. Junji’s eyes held a familiar warmth for Ling, yes, but there was also a distinct thread of… protectiveness woven in, and a hint of shared understanding that seemed to extend beyond their current conversation, encompassing something Ling wasn’t privy to.

Ling nodded slowly, absorbing this. “I… I imagined as much,” she admitted quietly. “I’ve… I’ve noticed, over the years. Even from Hong Kong, catching glimpses of her, in magazines, at events online…” She trailed off, a subtle shift in her own tone, a hint of wistful observation entering her voice. “She has… a different air now. A… colder appearance, I suppose, is the only way to describe it.”

She let her gaze drift, not truly seeing the café anymore, her mind’s eye conjuring up fragmented images of Orm from the past years. The vibrant, unrestrained laughter she remembered, the easy warmth that had radiated from Orm like sunlight – it seemed… muted now, almost extinguished. The Orm she saw in carefully curated photos and brief video clips was undeniably beautiful, undeniably successful, but there was a guarded quality to her eyes, a polished composure that felt… brittle, somehow. It was as if she wore her public persona like armor, a shield against… against what? Ling wondered, a pang of something akin to old grief, or perhaps just a lingering sense of loss for what was, tugging at her. The bubbly, effervescent Orm she had fallen for… that version felt like a ghost, a faded echo from a lifetime ago. Was she the reason for this?

As if summoned by the very thought, Ling’s phone vibrated softly against the table. She glanced down, a new message notification illuminating the screen. The sender ID was simple, stark: ‘Orm.’

Orm: Hey Ling, I hope you’re doing okay, I’m here if you need.

Junji, who had been watching Ling with a quiet, knowing empathy, offered a small, almost knowing smile. “Don’t be surprised,” she murmured, her tone gentle. “We… we were actually facetiming earlier. When… when we both saw the news about the airport. I think she’s worried” 

Ling was fixing her phone, stuck on Orm’s message, it’sd been a while since she saw her name on her phone, and she kind of missed it without even knowing it.

“I thought she hated me Junji” answers Ling

But suddenly, she saw Junji’s attention shifted to her phone once again

“Oh damn” Junji said quietly, “You should see this sis”

Ling looked up, her eyes weary. “What is it?” she asked, voice soft and tentative.

Junji hesitated for a moment before continuing, “Orm’s post on social media.” Her tone was low, careful. “She’s asking everyone to respect her privacy… to stop attacking the people she cares about.”

Ling’s expression faltered as she scrolled through the post on her phone. “Orm… really?,” she murmured, almost in disbelief.

Junji nodded, her own eyes filled with a mix of empathy and quiet resolve. “I know it might sound surprising, but it’s not hateful. It’s honest—she’s hurting too. I think she still cares, Ling.”

Ling’s eyes widened in shock, a bitter twist of emotion crossing her features. “I always thought… I always assumed Orm hated me,” she whispered, the words trembling on her lips. “I thought she wanted nothing to do with me. I was a bit harsh with her when we broke up”

Junji squeezed Ling’s hand gently. “No, Ling,” she replied, her voice firm yet compassionate. “This isn’t about hate. Orm is asking for respect—for her privacy, for the people she loves. It’s her way of saying she’s still in pain, still dealing with all of it. I think it means there might be hope for healing, even if it’s just for both of you to find some closure.”

Ling stared down at her phone, her face a mixture of sorrow and reluctant relief. “It changes everything,” she said softly. “I never expected to hear that from her… I always thought she wanted me to disappear. She was quite clear when we separated that she didn’t want to see me again”

Junji’s eyes softened further as she said, “Well if that was the case, she would have never accepted that project… And you know it. I don’t understand why you don't talk .. Is it because of Sui?”

Ling managed a small, shaky smile. “No Sui is quite understanding of all the Orm’s situation but yes I think it plays its part for me…”

Junji nodded in understanding. “Well just think about it” she said, drawing Ling into a brief, supportive embrace.

For a long, quiet moment, they sat together in the soft glow of the lamp, the weight of Orm’s unexpected vulnerability hanging in the air—a fragile thread linking past heartbreak with the tentative hope of healing.