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At the break of dawn, while Ling sat in the back of a waiting SUV near the terminal, her phone suddenly rang. The screen flashed Sui’s name—a beacon of both comfort and urgent concern. Ling hesitated before answering, her mind still reeling from the shock of the attack.
“Ling, baby—are you okay?” Sui’s voice was high-pitched, trembling with panic as it spilled through the receiver.
Ling’s heart pounded, the sting of the stone still fresh in her memory. “I—I’m managing baby,” she replied softly, her voice strained. “How are you?”
Sui’s tone sharpened with worry. “I just saw the videos online, Ling come on. The footage—your face, the blood… It’s all over social media. I can’t believe this is happening. I’m so scared for you. How can people be so cruel?”
Ling closed her eyes briefly, fighting back the cascade of painful memories. “Sui, I know it sounds bad,” she murmured. “But the bodyguards handled it. The attack wasn’t as bad as it looked. I’m hurt, yes, but I’m okay.”
There was a pause on the line, heavy with unspoken fear. “Ling, please tell me you’re safe. I can’t bear the thought of something happening to you out there. I need to know that you’re really alright.”
Ling took a deep, steadying breath. “I promise I’m safe, I slept at Junji’s” she said, her voice low and measured.
Sui’s voice cracked with emotion. “I don’t know how I can relax knowing you’re out there alone , Ling. I—every minute without you feels like an eternity.”
Ling managed a small, bittersweet smile. “I understand, Sui. I wish you could be here with me. When do you plan to come back?”
“In two or three weels I don’t know… They keep changing my schedule” sights Sui
Ling’s voice softened, laden with both affection and resignation. “Okay.. Keep me updated, I have to go.”
“Ok bye I love you”
And as always, Ling didn’t answer. As the call ended, Ling stared out the window of the SUV at the darkening horizon, knowing that even as she tried to mask the scars of the day, the echoes of past heartbreak—and the threat of the present—would always linger. Meanwhile, Sui’s panicked worry continued to echo in the quiet corners of her heart, a promise of safety and a desperate plea for Ling’s return.
Flashback: After the Breakup
It was the night Ling left for Hong Kong—a night that shattered Orm’s world. In the dim glow of their shared apartment, Orm sat alone on the edge of a threadbare sofa, the silence punctuated only by the harsh ring of Ling’s final phone call before she step foot in China. Ling’s voice had been icy, unwavering: “ I don’t want to have anything to do with you anymore ,” and then the line went dead. The sound of that call still echoed in Orm’s mind like a relentless drumbeat of loss.
For weeks after that night, Orm sank into a quiet depression. Every corner of the apartment—once filled with laughter and whispered promises—now reminded her of what was gone. She watched helplessly as news outlets and social media painted a picture of Ling’s rapid ascent in Hong Kong. Ling’s life there was moving with a determined momentum, as if the painful breakup were nothing more than a fleeting setback. The media, ever hungry for scandal, reported that Ling had moved on effortlessly, casting Orm as the unfaithful ex. In truth, Orm’s heart still beat solely for Ling—even though a reckless, drunken kiss had cost her everything.
One day, as Orm lingered in the silence of that shared space, her mother—Mae Koy—entered. The air was thick with unspoken questions as Mae Koy set aside her latest project, a lovingly crafted piece of fabric that had once been a symbol of hope for Orm.
“Orm, dear, you look utterly drained,” Mae Koy said softly, her eyes filled with both concern and quiet sorrow. “You need to do something my baby”
Orm stared at the patterned rug on the floor, unable to summon the words. Finally, in a broken whisper, she murmured, “I’m… I don’t know, Mama. Ling’s gone, and I can’t seem to forget her voice—the way she said it… I feel so lost. I can’t believe I’ve lost her”
Mae Koy reached for Orm’s hand, her grip warm and reassuring. “You still have the apartment, you know. If it hurts too much, you can sell it—start anew if you must. But I hope, my child, that someday you’ll find the strength to face the truth of what happened.”Because even if you won’t tell me, I know you both love each other”
Orm’s eyes filled with tears as she said nothing more. The silence between them was heavy, filled with unasked questions and memories too painful to revisit.
Meanwhile, in Hong Kong, Ling threw herself into her work. Her modeling career soared to new heights, and she found solace in the relentless pace of photo shoots and fashion shows. To the world, she appeared untouchable—moving forward with a professional grace that belied the turmoil in her heart. But behind the glamorous facade, Ling carried the burden of that final, cold phone call, a secret wound that refused to heal.
As months passed, the paths of both women diverged further. Orm, desperate to numb her pain, began to sleep around—both with men and women. The media latched onto this new persona, painting her as a heartless player who had betrayed Ling. The rumors were cruel and misleading; Orm’s only true desire had always been Ling’s love, and the kiss in London—a fleeting, drunken mistake—had haunted her ever since.
Then one day, Ling, surrounded by the bustling energy of Hong Kong’s fashion world, was stunned by the headlines. Stories emerged detailing Orm’s wild escapades, each one a painful reminder that Orm had seemingly moved on in a way that Ling never expected. Ling felt a profound sadness, realizing that while she had immersed herself in work and new opportunities, the past was far from forgotten. She had the hope that maybe, just maybe, Orm will come to HongKong to try more for her, for them. But that day never came.
It was at that moment destiny intervened. During a high-profile photoshoot, Ling caught a glimpse of a striking woman in the background—a woman whose quiet intensity and undeniable beauty made Ling pause for just a heartbeat. That same woman, Sui, would later reappear at a glittering fashion gala. Rumors swirled that Sui’s mission was singular: to conquer the beautiful Lingling Kwong.
For Ling, the shock of Orm’s alleged new life, combined with the sudden presence of Sui—a woman whose allure and strength were becoming undeniable—created an emotional maelstrom. As the memory of the breakup and the media’s harsh words mingled with the promise of something new, Ling was forced to confront a truth she had long tried to bury.
The stage was set for a collision of past and present, where old wounds might finally be challenged by the potential for healing. And amid it all, Ling found herself at a crossroads—torn between the painful legacy of a love lost and the uncertain promise of what lay ahead with Sui. But she knew that for her own sake, she needed to move on, and Sui was maybe the one for that. Maybe.
Present
The reading tables were cleared and the cast was ready—each actress poised to step into her role. The first shooting began with an air of intimacy as the scene called for Ling and Orm’s characters to portray a couple still deeply in love. The director’s voice echoed in the set, urging them to bring genuine emotion to their performance.
Ling and Orm moved together with practiced ease, their shared history evident in every gesture. The scene unfolded beautifully until, in a moment of natural improvisation, Ling took the lead. Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, she leaned in and kissed Orm. When her lips touched Orm’s, it was as if Ling had finally returned home—an electrifying, heart-pounding moment that shattered the carefully constructed professional barrier between them. For a heartbeat, the intimacy felt raw and real, and both actresses were visibly shaken.
After the cameras stopped rolling, Ling hurriedly stepped off the set, her face a mask of conflicted emotions. She made her way to her changing room, her mind swirling with questions: Why did her heart pound so fiercely at that kiss? Why did Orm still hold such an undeniable pull over her? Was she truly over her past, or was the past creeping back in?
Inside the quiet changing room, Ling leaned against the mirror, trying to steady her breath. Thoughts of Sui—who was due to return in two weeks from her international commitments—raced through her mind. A deep, unsettling part of Ling wished that Sui wouldn’t come back, that the lingering pain wouldn’t be exacerbated by the arrival of someone who symbolized a new chapter in her life. Yet another part of her longed for Sui’s comforting presence, desperately wanting the reassurance that she wasn’t alone. Lost in this storm of emotions, Ling’s heart felt both heavy and divided.
The unscripted kiss with Orm had left her heart pounding, a tumult of emotions swirling within her. She leaned against the mirror, trying to steady her breath and sort through the questions that now filled her mind. Why had that kiss felt so achingly like coming home? And why did Orm’s presence still pull at her, even after all these years?
Before Ling could gather her thoughts, the soft knock of the door announced Orm’s arrival. Orm stepped in hesitantly, her eyes mirroring the same raw turmoil that Ling felt. For a brief, fragile moment, they stood facing each other, the charged silence hanging between them.
“Hey… Ling, are you okay?” Orm’s voice was low, heavy with vulnerability.
Ling’s gaze dropped, and she stammered, “Orm, I…I’m sorry, I don’t know what got into me.”
Orm’s eyes narrowed slightly as she searched Ling’s face, her tone wavering with pain and longing. “Don’t say sorry… I just—did you feel anything when I…” She paused, Ling waiting for the rest of her sentence.
Before either could speak further, Ling’s phone buzzed insistently on the counter. The sudden sound cut through the fragile intimacy. Ling hesitated, glancing at the screen with reluctance. The notification was from Sui. With a heavy sigh, Ling stepped away from Orm to check the message.
As she read, her face hardened, the complexities of her emotions deepening further—each word a reminder of responsibilities and commitments beyond this painful moment. Orm watched in silence, feeling the growing gap between them widen, even as her heart ached with the closeness it craved.
“Nevermind, I’m leaving,” Orm whispered, barely looking at Ling as she turned on her heels and fled the room. The door closed softly behind her, leaving Ling alone with the echo of unresolved truths.
Ling’s eyes followed the departing figure of Orm, a single tear glistening on her cheek as she realized that despite the closeness of that unscripted kiss, the old wounds were far from healed. The tension in the room was thick with regret and longing, a stark reminder that even moments meant to heal could deepen the chasm of the past.
Ling’s phone continued to buzz in the background—a constant reminder of the life she was supposed to lead now. As she stepped out of the changing room, she felt the weight of Orm’s absence, the painful gap widening even as her heart, paradoxically, felt that Orm was still so achingly close.
_______
Orm stumbled out of Ling’s room, her heart shattering with every step along the quiet corridor. She had come there, desperate for a real conversation—one that could finally mend the fractured fragments of their past. But as she reached the threshold, she heard nothing but the soft, insistent buzz of Ling’s phone, its glow a constant distraction. Ling, engrossed in Sui’s message, had barely spared her a glance. The rejection, though unspoken, hit Orm like a physical blow.
Standing in the dim light, Orm’s breath came in ragged, uneven bursts. The unscripted kiss—the one that had, for a moment, made her feel that Ling might still be hers—now burned like acid in her memory. That fleeting contact had torn open old wounds she’d long tried to bury, and now, the pain surged uncontrollably. It was as if Ling’s preoccupation with Sui’s texts was a rejection of everything Orm desperately wanted to say; a silence that screamed of indifference.
Orm’s mind raced with a desperate need to be heard. Why is she so distant? she thought bitterly. I thought that kiss meant something—something real. But now, it seems I’m just another ghost in her past. Each step away from the room felt heavier than the last, the echo of her hurried footsteps mingling with the weight of regret and longing.
Her eyes stung with unshed tears as she paused in the corridor, leaning against the cool wall. In that quiet moment, the harsh reality set in: Ling was lost in a digital world of distractions, too caught up in Sui’s messages to face the raw, honest pain that Orm was offering. The intimacy they had briefly shared—the warmth of that kiss—had only deepened her sorrow, intensifying the scars of memories that refused to heal.
Orm pulled out her phone and stared blankly at the screen, her thoughts a storm of “what ifs” and “if onlys.” If only she had listened, Orm thought, her heart aching. If only we could have talked… maybe I could finally tell her that I never stopped loving her. Maybe I could explain how much that kiss meant to me—how it made me feel like I was coming home. I need her to know all of that.
But Ling was already too far gone in that moment, caught in the web of fleeting messages and the demands of her new life. And so, with a heavy, resigned sigh, Orm turned away, determined to find solace elsewhere—even if the bitter taste of rejection would haunt her until the day came when she could mend the broken pieces of her heart.
Across the studio, Ling remained motionless, her phone untouched. She couldn't bring herself to speak with Sui at the moment; it was all too overwhelming. Her gaze was fixed on the door through which Orm had exited just minutes before. She had heard every word, and she knew what was left unsaid, but she couldn't face the conversation right now. Her heart couldn't bear it, and she despised herself for her weakness. How did Orm manage to have such a grip on her?
As Ling returned to the set, every step felt heavier than the last. Being in close proximity to Orm was almost unbearable. She could feel the tension radiating between them, a palpable force that made it difficult to breathe. Each glance, each subtle movement from Orm sent a wave of emotions crashing over her. She struggled to maintain her composure, her heart pounding in her chest. How could she focus on her role when Orm's presence consumed her every thought? The cameras rolled, capturing her turmoil, as she fought to keep her feelings hidden from the world.
__________
After several exhausting hours of shooting, the set was finally winding down. Everyone was tired, but there was a shared sense that it had all been worth it—this project promised to be the best seen in years, a new take on the L World that was both funny and deeply moving. The cast and crew left with quiet satisfaction, knowing they’d poured their hearts into every scene, and Jessica couldn’t help but beam with pride at their effort.
Jessica was just about to head back to her condo when Charlotte appeared, already dressed and ready to leave the set. She paused at the edge of the bustling set, her eyes searching for Jessica. “Can I talk with you for a second?” Charlotte asked in a low voice.
Jessica smiled, a playful lilt in her tone. “Sure, Charlotte. What’s the matter with your best friend?” She knew well that Engfah and Charlotte were practically inseparable and that nothing serious ever troubled their bond.
Charlotte’s expression grew earnest. “No, it’s not them—it’s Lingling and Orm.” She didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “Have you noticed the tension between them? It’s as if they’re not ready to be in the same room.”
Jessica feigned innocence, arching an eyebrow. “What about them?” she asked, though the lingering tension was obvious even to her.
Charlotte sighed. “I don’t know... It’s clear they’re hurting. Ling’s trying to put on a brave face, but you can see the strain. And Orm—she’s practically a bundle of raw emotion. It’s heartbreaking.”
Jessica’s response was blunt, almost dismissive. “I’m not blind, but that tension? I need that. It fuels their performance. Outside of the scene, it’s none of my business. What matters is what they deliver, and today, they delivered something powerful.”
“But don’t you care that they’re suffering along the way?” Charlotte pressed, clearly taken aback by Jessica’s lack of concern for the emotional toll.
Jessica shrugged, her tone final. “Not my problem what happens off-set. Focus on your work, Mrs. Austin—that’s all that matters.” With that, she turned on her heel and strode away.
Charlotte huffed in disbelief. Almost immediately, Engfah stepped in and gently grabbed her arm. “Are you okay?” she asked, her voice soft with genuine concern.
“I can’t believe they’ll let Ling and Orm continue when it’s obvious how much they’re hurting,” Charlotte replied, her eyes glistening with worry.
Engfah offered a wry smile. “I told you, Jessica wouldn’t give a damn. This is Hollywood—THE Hollywood. She doesn’t have time to waste on personal drama. And honestly, maybe she’s not entirely wrong.”
The conversation hung in the air as the set emptied, leaving behind echoes of unsaid words and unhealed wounds—a reminder that even in the pursuit of art, personal truths can never be fully erased.
_____
Orm stepped out of her condo, ready to head home, her heart still heavy from the painful rejection and the raw ache of memories, this unscripted kiss had shattered her to the core. As she moved through the dimly lit hallway toward the exit, her footsteps echoed softly—a steady, lonely rhythm that matched her inner turmoil.
Almost immediately, she encountered Freen and Becky, who were huddled near a set of stairs, discussing the day’s shooting with muted voices. Freen’s warm eyes widened when she saw Orm. “Hey, Orm,” she said gently, stepping forward. “Are you okay?.”
Becky offered a sympathetic nod. “We saw the look on your face earlier”
Orm paused, swallowing hard as she tried to steady her trembling voice. “I… I just had a moment,” she replied, her gaze falling to the floor
Freen’s tone softened as she placed a comforting hand on Orm’s shoulder. “I know it hurts. We all know how much you still care about her, Orm. And sometimes… sometimes the heart doesn’t let go as easily as we’d hope.”
Becky chimed in, “You’re not alone in this, okay? We’re here for you. Maybe take a moment, let yourself feel—but don’t let it consume you. You’ve got so much to offer.”
Orm managed a bitter, half-smile, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I… I wish I could explain what that kiss meant,” she murmured, voice heavy with regret. “For a fleeting moment, I felt like I was coming home. And now… it just feels like another reminder of what I lost.”
Freen squeezed her shoulder gently. “Orm, listen. You deserve to be heard, and maybe one day you’ll get the chance to speak your truth with Ling. But for now, let’s focus on the set. You have a job to do, and maybe channeling this pain into your performance will help you heal, even if just a little.”
Becky added softly, “We believe in you, Orm. And no matter what happens, remember that we’re all here to support you.”
As they walked together back toward the exit, Orm felt the comforting presence of her colleagues slowly easing the sting of isolation. Though every step was laden with the memories of a love lost and the lingering bitterness of regret, the warmth of Freen and Becky’s words offered a small beacon of hope—a reminder that even the deepest wounds might, one day, begin to mend with the help of those who truly care.
________
A week later
The filming was going great, Ling and Orm started to feel more comfortable for the scenes, but it didn’t erase the uneasiness between them once the cut was pronounced, they both retreated at opposite sides, and waited to move on. This is how it was going. Jessica was satisfied with their work, so she didn’t push any intimacy outside the scene, she thought that it should be on their own time and she couldn’t force anything. She could see how Orm will look at Ling when she wasn’t looking, this pain, regret but also full of love gaze, that was only meant for LIng.
The day's filming wrapped, leaving a hollow echo on the studio lot. Later, a summons arrived: Jessica needed to see Orm in her office. Orm’s footsteps felt strangely heavy as she walked, a prickle of unease already forming beneath her skin.
Jessica's office was cool, meticulously tidy, the air faintly scented with something sharp and citrusy. When Orm entered, Jessica was already seated behind her large, imposing desk, bathed in the soft glow of a desk lamp that cast long shadows across the room. Jessica’s smile was immediate, practiced, perfectly white teeth flashing against her carefully applied lipstick. But it didn't quite reach her eyes; they remained watchful, assessing.
“Orm, thank you for giving me a few minutes,” Jessica began, her voice smooth, almost too smooth. She gestured to the chair opposite her desk. “Please, sit.”
Orm settled into the offered chair, the leather cool beneath her. "You wanted to see me, Jessica?" she asked, her voice carefully neutral, mirroring Jessica’s own professional tone.
“Yes, Orm.” Jessica leaned forward slightly, the smile widening fractionally, but the intensity in her gaze sharpening. “Just a quick… check-in. Something I wanted to ask you directly.” There was a pause, a beat held just a little too long, a subtle shift in the atmosphere, like the air in the room had thickened. You could see the question hovering just behind her smile, something reluctant yet unavoidable in the set of her jaw.
“Are you in love with your scene partner, Ling?”
The question landed like a stone dropped into still water, the bluntness of it momentarily stealing Orm's breath. Her carefully constructed composure fractured. A flicker of something – surprise, alarm, naked vulnerability – flashed across her features before she could school her expression. In love? The words echoed, stark and exposed in the quiet office.
“Is… is there a problem?” Orm countered, her voice a little too tight, a little too fast. Panic, cold and unwelcome, began to prickle at the edges of her control. “With the scenes? With Ling’s performance? Did she… did Ling say something to you?” Her mind raced, conjuring up a dozen scenarios, each more unsettling than the last. Of course she was in love with Ling. Always, impossibly, had been. But that was a carefully guarded secret, a buried ache. Why would Jessica… could Jessica possibly know? I mean everyone seem to know… except Ling.
Jessica waved a dismissive hand, the practiced smile firmly back in place, but now with a sharper, almost knowing edge. “Not at all, kid ,” she said, the endearment feeling strangely… insincere, under the circumstances. “Purely… director’s curiosity. So?” The question hung again, amplified by the charged silence.
Orm swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. She forced herself to meet Jessica’s unwavering gaze, though every instinct screamed at her to look away, to retreat. “It’s… complicated,” she managed, the word a thin, inadequate shield. “We… we had a history, years ago. That’s… that’s all it is now.” Uncomfortable heat rose in her cheeks. “Jessica, with all due respect, is there anything else? I really do need to get going,” Orm said, the fabricated excuse feeling flimsy even to her own ears as she pushed herself to her feet.
Disappointment flickered across Jessica’s face, a genuine lapse in her professional mask, quickly replaced by a reassumed, brighter smile. “Of course, dear, please go. So sorry to keep you. See you bright and early tomorrow.” She stood too, the movement abrupt, and moved to open the office door with a practiced, almost forceful, graciousness, ushering Orm out.
As soon as the door clicked shut behind Orm, Jessica’s smile vanished. Her shoulders slumped, and a frustrated curse hissed through her teeth. “Damn it.”
She paced once behind her desk, then snatched up her phone, her fingers jabbing impatiently at the screen to dial. Sui was going to have her head.
One ring.
Two.
“Sui?” Jessica said, her voice tight the moment the call connected.
“I know it’s you, Jess,” Sui’s voice snapped back, laced with immediate irritation. “I do have caller ID, you know. Or have you forgotten after all these years, idiot ?”
Jessica sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Charming as always, Sui. Look, I’m calling because–”
“Don’t you dare hang up on me, Jessica Lee.” Sui’s voice sharpened further, cutting through Jessica’s words. “So? What brilliant excuse does my girlfriend have this time for ignoring my calls all day? Has she eloped with the extras department already, or what?”
“Wow, that’s… a bit much, even for you, Sui,” Jessica retorted, a flicker of exasperation coloring her tone.
“Sorry, okay? Sorry,” Sui snapped, the false apology brittle. “I’m… I’m just… pissed , Jess. I’ve been calling Ling all day. Still no answer. Every time we talk lately, it’s colder, shorter… I just know something’s going on.” A tremor of genuine insecurity finally bled into Sui’s voice beneath the anger.
“Well,” Jessica said slowly, choosing her words with care. “Shooting literally wrapped maybe… twenty minutes ago, Sui. Cut her some slack.”
“Don’t make excuses for her, Jess, please . Thank you very much,” Sui shot back, the impatience returning. “She’s driving me crazy . Each call is colder, I can feel it, Jess. I know there’s something…”
“Alright, alright, calm down,” Jessica interrupted, holding up a hand as if Sui could see her through the phone. “Look, I can tell you… I think you might be right about something being up with Orm.”
A beat of silence, then Sui’s voice, now laced with a sharp, almost predatory curiosity. “Oh? Tell me.”
“Well…” Jessica hesitated, glancing at her office door as if Orm might somehow still be listening. “I… I just had a little chat with Orm. And, uh… look, Sui, straight up? Yeah. I think Orm is completely, utterly gone on Ling. There’s no denying it.”
A sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. “ Gone on her? God damn it, Jess, I knew it. I saw it when I visited set. The way she looked at Ling…” Sui’s voice was tight with a simmering, possessive anger. “But… how is Ling? How’s Ling dealing with it?”
Jessica sighed, rubbing her forehead. “Honestly? Ling’s being… Ling. Cold. Professional. She’s doing her job. But…” Jessica paused again, choosing her words carefully. “But I can feel it too, Sui. Sometimes, it’s like… Orm’s presence makes Ling… uncomfortable. She… she often leaves set right after scenes with Orm. Almost… avoids her, you know?”
Another silence, this one heavier, more thoughtful. Then, Sui’s voice, quieter now, the anger momentarily eclipsed by something else. “Oh. Is she now …”
A sharp knock rapped at Jessica’s office door. Freddy, one of her co-directors, was already pushing it open slightly, peering in.
“Look, Sui, I gotta go, Freddy’s here,” Jessica said quickly, cutting Sui off. “We’ll talk later, okay?”
Before Sui could even respond, Jessica ended the call, dropping her phone onto her desk as Freddy entered, a harried expression on his face.
—
Later that evening, as the set emptied and the night grew deep, Orm found herself at the bar, alone with her thoughts. She nursed a drink and replayed the day’s events in her mind—every glance, every touch, every unspoken word. The memory of Ling’s kiss, so natural yet so devastating, tormented her. And now, the knowledge that Ling’s life in Hong Kong was moving on, even as she remained trapped by the echoes of their past, filled Orm with a deep, bitter longing. Determined to make sense of it all, Orm resolved that she must find a way to confront these feelings—no matter how painful it might be. The promise of closure, however faint, was a light in the darkness that she refused to let die. And as she sat there, lost in memories and regret, Orm vowed silently that someday she would speak to Ling—truly speak to her—and find a way to mend the broken pieces of a love that had once been everything.
Orm was about to order another drink when she felt someone settle into the seat beside her. Without sparing a glance, she snapped, “Not interested.”
A familiar voice replied with a wry tone, “Well, good—I’m not interested either.”
Orm’s eyes flicked up, recognizing Junji immediately. “What are you doing here?” she asked, glancing around as if unsure how he’d found her.
“Relax,” Junji replied casually, as she discreetly slid a fresh drink from behind Orm’s view. “I’m not with her tonight. But I won’t lie—when I saw you from afar, I was this close to calling her to pick you up.”
Orm, already a bit inebriated, scoffed, “Hey, these are mine,” her words slurring slightly as she clutched the half-full drink.
“Drinks over, lady,” Junji teased, a playful glint in her eye.
Orm’s frustration mingled with her sorrow. “I need more, Junji—please go,” she insisted, though her tone wavered between defiance and vulnerability.
Junji’s expression softened. “I’m not leaving you here, you know it. Now, can you tell me what’s on your mind?”
Orm hesitated, then sighed, “Jessica… our director…” Her voice trailed off, heavy with mixed emotions.
Junji leaned in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Yes, Ling told me about her—she’s something else, apparently.”
Orm’s eyes narrowed, a bitter laugh escaping her. “Well, she is… because she asked me earlier if I was in love with Ling out of nowhere.”
As Orm spoke, she grabbed the half-full drink, her grip trembling. In that moment, amid the clatter of glasses and murmurs in the dimly lit bar, the conversation between Orm and Junji became a small, raw confession—a glimpse into the lingering pain, regret, and a desperate yearning for what once was.
Orm took a shaky sip of her drink, her eyes clouded with unresolved emotion. “It’s complicated, Junji,” she admitted quietly. “I mean, I… I don’t understand why Jessica would ask that. It’s not like I can explain everything in a few words. I never expected her to bring up something so personal on set. And what does me being in love with Ling has nothing to do with all of this?”
Junji’s gaze softened with concern as she reached out, lightly tapping Orm’s hand. “Maybe she was just trying to provoke something, to see if there’s any truth left in all this.” She paused thoughtfully. “And you just proved her right, I know you’re in love with Ling, you don't have to tell me. But one day you’ll have to tell the person in question”
Orm’s eyes flickered with a mix of regret and confusion. “I don’t know, Junji,” she whispered. “Part of me still feels the weight of every mistake, every harsh word we exchanged. But I… I just miss what we had. I miss the honesty, the closeness. And now… being here, all alone, it just makes everything even more complicated. And let’s not forget there is Sui now”
Junji squeezed her hand reassuringly. “Listen, Orm. I know it hurts, and I know you’re still trying to figure things out, even if we both know where you’re standing. But remember— Ling and you was always real,”
Orm sighed deeply, her voice trembling. “It’s been four years Junji…”
“Time doesn’t count when it comes to the heart ” Junji offered softly.
Orm looked away, staring into the depths of her half-empty glass. “I’m not sure I’m ready to face everything yet,” she confessed, her tone heavy with uncertainty. “Every time I think about it, I’m reminded of all I lost, all the times I wished I’d been brave enough to speak up sooner. To go to her”
Junji’s voice was gentle but insistent. “Orm, sometimes we have to confront that pain, no matter how scary it is. Only then can you truly begin to heal—and maybe, just maybe, find a way to forgive yourself.”
A long silence fell between them, punctuated only by the soft clink of ice in a glass. Finally, Orm exhaled slowly. “I know, Junji. I just… I don’t even know where to begin.”
Junji offered a small, compassionate smile. “That’s okay. It’s a process. And I’m here for you, every step of the way.” Her words, full of steady warmth, wrapped around Orm like a quiet promise.
The conversation frayed into silence, a fragile, shimmering thing in the muted glow and low thrum of the bar. Around them, the air hung thick with unspoken emotions, a bittersweet cocktail of lingering regrets and tentative, almost hesitant hopes. It was the kind of space where broken pieces gathered, where shattered hearts, amidst the clinking glasses and hushed murmurs, might just find the courage to whisper of mending.
Junji’s vigilance was a silent battle waged in the dim light. She’d try to intercede, a gentle hand laid on Orm’s arm, a soft word murmured – "Hey, slow down, yeah?" – but it was a futile defense against Orm’s quiet determination to numb the ache. Each time Junji’s attention wavered, even for a fleeting second – a glance towards the bartender, a brief dip of her head in thought – Orm’s hand would dart out with a practiced swiftness, seizing the nearest shot glass as if it were the last chance at oblivion. Down it went in a single, sharp tilt of her head, a quick, almost defiant swallow that brooked no argument.
It wasn't long before the harsh lines around Orm’s mouth began to soften, the tight set of her jaw easing almost imperceptibly. A flush, delicate at first, then deepening to a warm rose, bloomed across her cheeks, painting a fragile veneer of ease over the stark paleness beneath. Her eyes, however, remained shadowed, the temporary thaw on her face not quite reaching the deeper chill within. The alcohol was a fleeting balm, a surface anesthetic – a thin, deceptive veil drawn over a pain that ran far deeper than any shot could ever truly touch.
_______
At the gym, Ling pushed herself harder with every rep. The steady thud of weights and the rhythmic beat of pumping music filled the space, but inside, her mind was anything but calm. She slammed her fists into the punching bag, each strike an attempt to silence the haunting echoes of the past, everything she used to feel came back running to her, she ketp thinking about Orm, how her lips felt on hers, how she missed it... Sweat dripped down her temples as she lost herself in the physical exertion, trying desperately to burn away the emotional turmoil that clung to her like a second skin. And even worse, she kept leaving on hold her girlfriend, Sui, she couldn’t talk to her right now.
After an intense session, Ling retreated to the locker room, hoping the cool, sterile air might help clear her thoughts. As she changed, her mind replayed the weeks events—the unscripted kisses with Orm, the overwhelming flood of memories, and the relentless question: Why do I always think about her? And her lips
As Ling was about to finish up, she caught snippets of a conversation from a nearby stall. A woman’s animated voice filled the air.
“…and I swear, it was the best night of my life. I’ve never felt so alive, so free.”
Another voice chimed in with excitement, “I know, right? That sex beast has no limits… I mean Orm has this kind of reputation!”
Ling froze. Her heart pounded violently. Orm—the name reverberated through her mind, twisting into a bitter pang of jealousy. Ling’s breath caught as she realized what she was hearing. The conversation, carefree and uninhibited, painted Orm in a light she hadn’t expected—one of raw, untamed passion, a stark contrast to their current situation.
Ling’s thoughts spiraled. “I can’t believe this… How could she have that power over others—over me?” The jealousy mingled with a searing hurt that stung every nerve. In that heartbeat, memories of their shared laughter, tender moments, and even the agony of their breakup crashed back, leaving Ling feeling both betrayed and utterly bewildered.
Unable to contain the inner whirlwind, Ling stepped away, her fists clenching tightly at her sides. A surge of anger and longing battled within her, transforming the gym from a sanctuary for stress into a stage for raw, unfiltered torment.
Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Ling struggled to regain control. I need to figure this out, she thought bitterly. Is there any part of me that still cares, or am I just a fool who never got over her? The revelation of Orm’s uninhibited escapades was a knife twisting in her chest—a pain far deeper than any physical blow.
For a long, silent moment, Ling stood alone in the locker room, the echoes of that overheard conversation reverberating in her ears. Her heart had become a battleground of emotions—jealousy, hurt, and a desperate yearning to reclaim the love that once defined her. Even as she fought to push those feelings aside, the truth remained inevitable: Orm was still a force in her life, one she could neither completely escape nor fully embrace.
Ling’s phone vibrated again, jolting her from her fragile moment of solace. She glanced at the screen and saw a new text from Junji, timestamped just ten minutes earlier:
Junji (text): "I'm with Orm—she's wasted. Help, please!"
The message hit Ling like a shock. Her heart pounded harder as the reality of the situation collided with her own turbulent emotions. Without hesitation, she pressed the call button and waited, her breath catching in her throat. The line rang once, twice—then Junji’s familiar voice came through, raw with urgency.
“Ling, thank God,” Junji blurted, her tone laced with panic. “I’m at the bar with Orm. She’s completely out of it—saying things that don’t make sense, crying and laughing all at once. I need you to help me calm her down.”
Ling closed her eyes for a moment, the weight of the day crashing over her again. “I’m on my way,” she replied, voice steady despite the chaos inside. “Just hold on, okay? I’m coming send me the address.”
Her fingers trembled as she ended the call, her mind reeling with conflicting emotions. Ling felt torn between her own aching loneliness and a sudden, desperate need to reach out—to rescue Orm from the spiraling chaos of their shared past. The thought of Orm, wasted and vulnerable, stirred something deep within her—a blend of regret, longing, and a raw reminder of what they had once shared, was hitting them back to it..
Ling quickly gathered her belongings and stepped into the cool night air, determination mingling with uncertainty. Each step felt heavy, but she knew she couldn’t let this moment slip away. Tonight, the past wasn’t just an echo in her heart; it was a call for help that she couldn’t ignore.
_____
Orm swayed unsteadily at the bar, her vision blurred by too many drinks and the relentless echo of regret. Barely able to keep her balance, she glared at Junji, who sat beside her, still trying to calm her down. The fluorescent lights overhead flickered, adding to the disorientation.
“Junji,” Orm slurred, voice edged with both anger and sorrow, “why did you call Ling? I don’t need her—don’t drag her into this mess!”
Junji’s concerned eyes narrowed slightly. “Orm, You know Ling would have been mad at me if. I—”
Orm cut her off harshly, nearly toppling off her stool. “If you what? By reporting to her and making her worry about me? I’m not your charity case, Junji. ”
Junji leaned closer, her tone softening as she tried to placate Orm. “I’m trying to help, Orm. You’re hurting, and I couldn’t stand by while you fell apart. I just thought if Ling knew, maybe—”
“Maybe what?” Orm snapped, her words slurred yet laced with bitter pain. “That Ling should come rescue me like some damsel in distress? Don’t you dare make her my savior. I don’t want her to have to clean up my mess!”
There was a heavy silence as Orm’s words hung in the air. The noise of the bar receded into a dull background hum. Junji’s face softened with regret. “I’m sorry, Orm. I didn’t mean to make you feel that way. I just worry about you. And I worry about Ling too”
Orm shook her head, her anger giving way to raw vulnerability. “I know you do,” she whispered,
Junji reached out and squeezed Orm’s hand gently. “I understand, and I’ll try to give you space,” she promised. “Just know I’m always here, no matter what.”
Orm stared at their intertwined fingers for a long moment, the flickering bar lights casting shifting shadows across her troubled face. “I’m not sure I can fix this, Junji,” she admitted quietly,
As the night deepened and the bar’s clamor dimmed, Orm’s bitter solitude and tangled regret remained—a harsh reminder of a past she wished she could rewrite, and of a present where every misstep only deepened the wounds that time had failed to heal.
___________
The bar door chimed softly as Ling pushed it open, the sound swallowed by the low hum of conversation and clinking glass. She stepped inside, the familiar scent of stale beer and something vaguely floral hitting her nostrils, a faint echo of countless nights in similar dimly lit spaces. Her eyes, still adjusting from the cool night air, scanned the room, searching.
Then she saw them, tucked away in a shadowed corner booth: Junji, her posture tight with a weary patience, and Orm, slumped low on the banquette seat, her head lolling against the wall, hair a dark, tangled curtain obscuring most of her face. Even from a distance, Ling could see the uneven rise and fall of Orm's shoulders, the slump that spoke of utter defeat.
A knot tightened in Ling's stomach. She moved forward, her footsteps feeling strangely loud against the worn wooden floor, each step deliberate, hesitant. As she drew closer, the low murmur of Junji's voice reached her, too indistinct to decipher, but laced with a soothing, pleading tone. Orm remained stubbornly unresponsive, a statue carved from shadows and slumped limbs.
Reaching the booth, Ling paused, her gaze lingering for a beat on Orm’s downturned face. Even in the dim light, she could see the faint tracks of tears glistening on her cheek, the vulnerable droop of her mouth. A pang, sharp and unwelcome, shot through Ling – a ghost of protectiveness, a buried instinct to smooth away the lines of distress, to chase away the shadows clinging to Orm’s features. Her beautiful face, Ling used to stare for endless hours.
Junji looked up as Ling arrived, relief flooding her expression, softening the taut lines of worry etched around her eyes. She offered Ling a small, grateful smile, tinged with exhaustion. “Ling, thank God you’re here,” she murmured, her voice low so as not to disturb Orm. She gestured towards Orm with a slight tilt of her head. “She’s… she’s really out of it. I can’t seem to get through to her anymore.” Junji's own weariness was palpable, the strain of trying to manage Orm alone evident in her slumped shoulders and tired eyes. “Could you… could you try?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, laced with a plea for help.
Ling nodded slowly, her gaze still fixed on Orm, a complex mixture of emotions churning within her: concern, a hesitant tenderness, and a sharp awareness of the precariousness of this moment, of the dangerous currents of their shared history now swirling in the dimly lit bar. She took a breath, steeling herself, then gently reached out, her fingers hovering for a moment before lightly touching Orm’s shoulder.
“Orm?” Ling’s voice was soft, a quiet murmur, tentative, testing the waters. She gave Orm’s shoulder a gentle, almost imperceptible shake. “Orm, wake up. It’s me, Ling.”
For a long moment, there was no response. Orm remained stubbornly still, lost in the alcohol-soaked depths of sleep or despair. Then, a slow, almost imperceptible stirring. Orm’s head shifted slightly, lolling further to the side, before slowly, with a heavy, reluctant inertia, lifting.
Her eyelids fluttered, then parted, revealing eyes glazed and unfocused, pupils dilated in the dim light. For a moment, confusion swam in their depths, a vague disorientation as she blinked slowly, trying to make sense of her surroundings. She frowned slightly, brow furrowed in a hazy attempt to focus. “Jnn… Ji…?” she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep and drink, slurring the syllables together.
Then, her gaze, unfocused just moments before, snagged, caught, and sharpened with sudden, disoriented clarity. Her blurry vision coalesced, and her eyes locked onto Ling’s. Recognition dawned, slow at first, then with a jolting, almost electric awareness.
The haze in Orm's eyes cleared, replaced by a sudden, stark lucidity that was almost more disarming than her earlier drunken confusion. Her expression shifted, morphing through a rapid succession of emotions: surprise, disbelief, a flicker of something unreadable that might have been vulnerability, all colliding in a potent, dizzying mix. Seeing Ling there, close, her face etched with a visible worry that mirrored the unease churning in her own chest… something shifted within Orm, a dormant ember flickering to life in the sudden, unexpected warmth of Ling’s gaze. The alcohol-induced fog momentarily receded, leaving a raw, exposed awareness in its wake. And in that fleeting, fragile clarity, the ghost of a flame, long thought extinguished, dared to flicker anew between them.
The task of getting Orm to her feet was still a clumsy, awkward affair, though not quite as arduous as hauling dead weight. Orm swayed, limbs heavy and uncoordinated, her protests a soft mumble, her footing unreliable. Between Ling and Junji, they guided her out of the booth, Orm’s arm slung loosely over Ling’s shoulders, her body tilting against Ling with each unsteady step.
The cool night air brushed Orm’s flushed skin, seeming to sharpen her senses just slightly. Her eyelids, though still heavy-lidded, flickered more steadily now, admitting fragmented glimpses of the world around her. Junji took the other side, supporting Orm, a line of strain etched between her brows. “Sorry,” Junji murmured to Ling, her voice low, laced with apology and effort. “Still…substantial, even if less…cooperative.”
Ling nodded, her attention fixed on the precarious balance of Orm beside her. The walk to the car felt stretched and slow, Orm’s breathing warm and wine-tinged near Ling’s ear. They finally reached Ling’s car, its sleek darkness a stark contrast to the messy, alcohol-fueled moment.
Easing Orm into the passenger seat was a careful negotiation. Orm offered a little more resistance now, a mumbled protest against being maneuvered, but ultimately, she yielded, sinking into the leather with a sigh that was more weary exhale than relief. Her head lolled against the headrest, eyes drifting shut but not fully closed, lashes fluttering against her flushed cheeks.
Junji straightened, a sigh of her own escaping her lips. "Okay," she said, turning to Ling, her expression a mix of gratitude and unspoken directives. "Thanks so much, Ling. Seriously. You’re a lifesaver."
Ling nodded, running a tired hand through her hair, a nervous energy still thrumming beneath her outward calm. "Of course. Anything… for Orm," she repeated, the phrase still sounding formal, even strained, but now carrying a slightly different weight, a hint of something more personal beneath the polite surface. Then, the practicalities intruded. "Do you need a ride, Junji?"
Junji offered a smile, a knowing curve to her lips, and a deliberate wink. “Nah, I’m all set,” she said, patting her bag with a light tap. “Got my own ride waiting. You just focus on getting this one home safe and sound, alright?” The wink, the “this one,” the clear dismissal of needing assistance – the message was unmistakable. Junji was intentionally handing Orm over to Ling.
A slow understanding dawned in Ling’s mind. Junji wasn't just worried; she was orchestrating. A gentle push, perhaps, towards a necessary confrontation. Or perhaps, simply a friend recognizing another’s deeper connection and stepping aside. Ling wasn’t sure, but the deliberate nature of Junji's exit was undeniable.
"Right," Ling said slowly, her gaze shifting to Orm in the passenger seat, her eyes still closed, her breathing soft but audibly present. "Okay."
Ling moved towards the driver’s side, then paused, leaning back towards Junji, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “Junji, just… quickly. The address? For the GPS.”
Junji’s smile softened, becoming almost tender, and her answer, when it came, was delivered with quiet significance. "Home," she said, her voice gentle but resonant, the single word hanging in the night air. "Just… 'Home', Ling. You remember the way."
Ling’s breath hitched almost imperceptibly. She held Junji’s gaze for a beat longer, a silent question hanging between them, then nodded slowly, a heavy understanding settling in her chest.
Junji offered a small, reassuring smile, and with a final, almost conspiratorial wink, turned and walked away, leaving Ling alone with Orm, and with that single, devastating word echoing in her ears.
Ling turned, her gaze drawn back to Orm in the passenger seat. Orm's eyes were still closed, but Ling saw a faint tremor in her eyelids, a subtle tightening around her mouth, almost imperceptible reactions, but reactions nonetheless. She had heard. She was present.
'Home'. Ling stared at Orm for a long moment, the weight of that word pressing down on her, suffocating. Home. It wasn’t just directions for the GPS. It was their place. The sanctuary they had built, brick by brick, shared laughter by shared silence. Their home. The one Ling had walked away from, leaving splinters in its wake.
A cold fist clenched around Ling’s heart, tighter this time, sharper. Home. Orm hadn’t sold it. Home … was still home . The unspoken weight of that resonated through Ling, a silent, seismic shift in the carefully constructed walls around her own heart. Four years. And Orm, in some broken, enduring way… was still there. At home . And now, unbelievably, terrifyingly, Ling was about to drive her there. The past wasn’t just a ghost; it was a destination.
Sliding into the driver's seat, the silence in the car felt charged, electric, humming with unspoken history and the heavy promise of what lay ahead. "Home," she murmured to herself, the word tasting like ash and something else… something dangerously like hope, on her tongue as she started the engine.