Echoes
Ling’s heart pounded as she parked in front of the familiar building, the soft glow of streetlights casting a gentle light across the home they'd once shared. Questions spun relentlessly in her mind. Why did Orm keep this place? How had she managed, day after day, surrounded by echoes of their past? Four years in the shadow of memories they built together—how could she bear it?
Ling glanced at Orm, curled up in the passenger seat, breathing softly. Orm's face was peaceful in sleep, her features gentle and relaxed. Ling felt her chest tighten, knowing that this brief tranquility would shatter the moment Orm awoke. Taking a deep breath, she prepared herself.
When the car engine stopped, Orm jerked awake. Her eyes widened, immediately clouded by confusion and panic. She frantically looked around, disoriented until her gaze locked onto Ling. A flash of vulnerability crossed her face, replaced swiftly by guarded apprehension. Ling could sense Orm’s embarrassment at being caught in this vulnerable state, at having brought Ling here—back to the very place she tried to hide.
Before Orm could say anything, Ling reached out softly. “Are you okay, Orm? Let’s get you inside,” she said gently, attempting to ease the tension already building between them.
But Orm’s hand shot out suddenly, gripping Ling’s arm firmly. “Please don’t,” Orm whispered hoarsely, her voice strained. “I’ll be fine. Just go. Please.”
Ling hesitated, her eyes searching Orm’s face, reading the mixture of embarrassment, hurt, and something deeper—perhaps shame. But Orm, weakened and unsteady, released her grip abruptly and stumbled from the car, fumbling towards the door. Ling watched her struggle for only a moment before determination overtook hesitation.
“You really think I'd leave you like this?” Ling murmured to herself, swiftly stepping out and rushing to Orm’s side.
Orm swayed, her fingers clumsily searching for keys, when suddenly the familiar, comforting scent of Ling enveloped her. Orm froze, embarrassment warring with gratitude. Before she could protest, Ling was gently guiding her hand, unlocking the door with practiced ease.
As the door swung open, a wave of familiar scent enveloped them both, powerful enough to make Ling’s breath hitch. Their home—still bearing every trace of their shared life—was untouched, an emotional time capsule frozen four years prior.
But the moment shattered abruptly as Orm spun around, retching onto the grass. Ling didn’t hesitate, quickly gathering Orm’s hair and steadying her waist gently. “It’s okay,” she soothed softly, her voice warm despite the discomfort. “I’ve got you.”
“I’m so sorry… this is disgusting,” Orm managed weakly, tears of embarrassment prickling her eyes.
Ling’s touch was tender, her voice soothing. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
Orm’s shoulders trembled, her defenses crumbling under the weight of Ling’s compassion. She allowed herself to be guided inside, sinking onto the familiar couch, her head spinning and heart aching. Ling quickly ensured Orm was comfortable before stepping away to fetch water.
Alone for a brief moment, Ling pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the rush of memories overwhelm her. The scent of their life together filled every corner, painfully intimate, impossibly sweet. Tears threatened as she moved hurriedly through the kitchen, grabbing water and tissues. She hated seeing Orm like this—so vulnerable, so broken.
Returning swiftly, Ling knelt beside the couch, tenderly wiping Orm’s face with a cool cloth. "Just breathe, Orm. I'm right here," she whispered softly.
Orm slowly opened her eyes, meeting Ling’s gaze with a raw intensity. For a heartbeat, everything between them hung suspended—their past, their pain, and the undeniable thread that connected them, still unbroken despite everything.
In that moment, Ling knew the truth she’d tried so desperately to deny: no matter how far they had drifted apart, her heart would always find its way back to Orm.
Ling sat quietly on the floor beside Orm, carefully wringing out the damp cloth before gently wiping Orm’s forehead again. The quiet that had fallen between them was heavy with everything unspoken, every memory that lingered in the air around them. Orm’s gaze settled on Ling, her dark eyes shimmering softly under the gentle lights of the living room—her look a complex tapestry of tenderness, uncertainty, and something else that Ling couldn’t quite place, a feeling that stirred deep inside her chest.
Breaking the silence was necessary. Ling wasn’t used to such quietude from Orm; the stillness felt foreign, almost painful. Her voice came softly, hesitant, a gentle murmur laced with concern.
“Why do you drink like this, Orm?” she asked quietly, her tone careful not to accuse or judge, only genuinely worried. Her fingers softly brushed stray strands of hair away from Orm's warm skin. “You were never one to lose yourself in alcohol.”
A shadow of a smile fluttered briefly across Orm’s lips—a smile that spoke less of joy and more of sadness, resignation, and the echoes of long-held regrets. It was a tiny, fragile smile that Ling could have easily missed if she wasn’t watching Orm so carefully, memorizing every subtle expression on her face.
Orm’s eyes softened as she looked around their living room. Her voice, soft and a bit rough from the lingering effects of her earlier state, broke the silence with an unexpected whisper. “This really feels like our scene from 'The Secret of Us', doesn’t it?”
Ling blinked in surprise before a gentle laugh escaped her lips, easing some of the heaviness between them. The reference, recalling their shared past—the very story that had first brought their paths together—felt bittersweet and painfully nostalgic.
“Well,” Ling responded softly, a wistful smile tugging gently at her lips, “I suppose our roles are reversed now.” Her eyes lingered on Orm’s face, as if trying to imprint every detail, every curve and shadow into her memory, as though afraid this moment might vanish before she fully comprehended it.
“Indeed,” Orm murmured simply, unable or unwilling to elaborate further. Her thoughts churned, conflicted, overwhelmed by Ling’s gentle care. Being here, together in the home they once shared, felt surreal yet intensely familiar. She was painfully aware of Ling’s subtle glances around the room—searching, perhaps, for signs of the life they had once built and lost. She wondered if Ling saw traces of herself still lingering in these rooms, in every corner where their love had once flourished.
After a moment, Ling rose gracefully, gathering the towels. “I’ll be right back,” she said quietly, her voice reassuring. As Ling stepped away toward the kitchen, Orm finally allowed herself to sit up slowly, pulling her legs beneath her, a rush of dizziness briefly overtaking her before settling into stillness.
She reached shakily for the glass of water Ling had thoughtfully brought earlier, sipping it carefully. The cool liquid soothed her parched throat and seemed to clear her muddled mind, at least partially. She set the glass down slowly, her eyes drifting absently to her phone resting abandoned on the coffee table.
Without thinking much, she reached for the device, picking it up and tapping the screen awake. Her heart sank at the sight that greeted her. Six missed calls—all from Sasha. Guilt pierced sharply through the lingering haze of alcohol and emotions, making her chest tighten uncomfortably. Her eyes quickly flicked upward, catching the date on the top of the screen.
"Oh god," Orm whispered to herself, panic suddenly surging through her veins. She had forgotten entirely; tonight was supposed to be their date night. How could she have been so careless, so thoughtless? Sasha had probably been waiting, worried sick, and here she was—drunk, vulnerable, and alone with Ling in their old home, lost in the past she could never quite escape. She didn’t think about Sasha for a single second since Ling came back to her life if she is being honest with herself.
Orm’s pulse quickened, anxiety threading sharply through the remnants of her dizziness. Her mind raced—should she call Sasha now? Apologize? How could she even explain all of this, how could she justify her forgetfulness, her state of drunkenness, and the presence of Ling ? They were just fuck buddies, but she knows Sasha cared for her more than she cared.
Before Orm could even begin to formulate a coherent thought, the sudden ringing of the doorbell shattered the fragile quiet of the room, echoing through the silence. Orm's stomach dropped, dread instantly pooling cold and sharp in her gut.
She didn’t need to guess who was at the door.
Sasha was already here. Even if she had always say to her to never come to this house. They always meet at one of Orm’s apartment downtown Bangkok or at Sasha’s.
Panic surged through Orm, cutting sharply through the lingering haze of alcohol. Her eyes widened in shock, heart pounding violently as she stared at the front door.
No… not now. Not here. Not with Ling.
Ling emerged from the kitchen, instantly noticing the shift in Orm’s expression—her features drained of all color, eyes wide with panic. Ling frowned, immediately concerned.
"Orm, what is it?" she asked softly, glancing toward the door as another series of impatient knocks echoed through the house.
"No—wait," Orm blurted, stumbling to her feet, adrenaline cutting sharply through the dizziness. "Ling, please don't open that door."
Ling halted mid-step, bewildered. "Why not? Who’s knocking at your door at this hour, Orm?"
Orm hesitated, struggling for words, her mind racing in chaotic circles. She swallowed hard, feeling her throat constrict painfully. "It's complicated, Ling," she finally managed, voice trembling. "Please—just trust me. Let me handle it."
Ling’s curiosity surged, mixed confusingly with a sharp, unexpected spike of jealousy. She tried to mask it, but her expression betrayed her unease. Who was this person that made Orm panic? Who could show up unannounced, late at night, at Orm’s—no, their—home?
Another knock rattled, this one louder, more insistent.
Orm stepped forward quickly, placing herself directly between Ling and the door, eyes pleading desperately. "Ling, please. I promise I’ll explain everything later. Just...stay here. Please."
But Ling shook her head gently, refusing to move aside. "Who is it, Orm?" she asked quietly, unable to fully conceal the edge of hurt and suspicion in her voice. Her mind buzzed with questions—was it someone Orm had been seeing? Someone she cared about? And why did that thought sting so sharply?
Orm exhaled shakily, her face contorting with embarrassment and regret. "It's...Sasha," she admitted quietly, her voice barely audible. "She's...she’s someone I've been seeing recently."
Ling's heart clenched painfully, an ache spreading through her chest at the revelation. She hadn't expected that. The thought of Orm with someone else, someone waiting impatiently on the other side of their shared home, struck her like a blow.
The knocking intensified, each sharp rap on the door deepening the tension between them.
“Orm, open up! It’s me, Sasha!”
Ling flinched at the sound of a woman’s voice—a voice unfamiliar, yet piercingly possessive.
Orm reached desperately for Ling’s arm again, eyes pleading. "Please, Ling, let me deal with this alone."
Ling hesitated, torn between respecting Orm’s plea and the fierce urge to confront the source of her sudden jealousy head-on. Finally, she stepped aside, jaw tightening with unspoken words. "Go ahead," she murmured, eyes never leaving Orm’s face. "I'll be right here."
Orm gave her one last, pained look before turning toward the door, heart hammering wildly. She reached out, trembling fingers closing around the handle. The door swung open slowly, revealing Sasha’s impatient figure framed in the doorway, eyes flashing with a mix of worry and anger.
Ling stood frozen in place, heart pounding wildly, as the inevitable confrontation unfolded right before her eyes.
Ling's gaze remained locked onto the door, her heart racing wildly, the rapid vibrations of her phone barely registering in her mind. The screen flashed insistently—Sui’s name glowing accusingly—but Ling’s fingers remained frozen, unable to answer. She’d already ignored Sui’s calls for days, but now the guilt was overshadowed by a deeper, more immediate turmoil: Orm.
Outside, she could hear muffled voices, sharp whispers tinged with frustration and hurt. Ling stepped closer to the door, drawn irresistibly by curiosity and jealousy. She strained to hear, but the voices were indistinct, blending into a hum of muffled tension. Her heart tightened painfully, each passing second amplifying the ache.
Ling pressed her forehead against the cool surface of the door, eyes shut tight, trying desperately to calm the storm within. Why did she feel this jealousy? Why did it burn so fiercely when Orm’s life was no longer hers to control? Ling’s breath came raggedly, her knuckles whitening as she clenched her fists in frustration.
Finally, pulling back from the door, Ling stared at her phone once more. It had stopped ringing, but the missed call notification lingered, a silent reproach. She knew she owed Sui an explanation—but how could she explain this chaos? How could she tell her girlfriend that, despite the years and distance, Orm still owned such a devastating part of her heart? That she was at a point in her life where she felt completely lost? She wasn’t sure how to confront Sui.
She let out a shaky breath, glancing toward the window, silently pleading for Orm to return. The bitter truth hung heavily in the room: Ling wasn’t ready to face Sui yet—not when her mind, her heart, and every aching pulse were consumed by Orm.
Orm stepped quietly back inside, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, shoulders slumped under the weight of the evening. She found Ling standing rigidly, eyes blazing with a storm she couldn't quite read. Her heart sank at the sudden tension between them, heavy and suffocating.
"Ling, I—I'm sorry about Sasha. She shouldn't have come here. I don’t even know why she came here , I swear—"
Ling quickly shook her head, cutting her off abruptly. Her voice was sharp, tinged with bitterness. “It’s none of my business who you bring home, Orm. God knows you've been pretty busy these past few years anyway.”
Orm flinched visibly at the remark, the words slicing deeper than she’d anticipated. A wounded silence settled between them, and when Orm spoke again, her voice was low, trembling.
"Do you really think I'd disrespect this place? Our home, Ling? Is that what you think of me?"
Ling clenched her jaw, the sting of jealousy mixing with regret at her own harshness. Yet the ache in her chest wouldn’t relent. She turned slightly away, voice strained with quiet hurt as she finally voiced the question that had haunted her.
“Did you sleep with anyone here? In our bed?”
Orm’s eyes widened in shock, the question hitting her like a physical blow. She stepped back slightly, her voice breaking as she replied, each word carrying the weight of a shattered heart.
“You really think I would do that, Ling?” Her voice shook, pain raw in her expression. “In our bed? After everything we shared, after every promise, every memory… do you honestly believe I'd disrespect us like that?”
Ling faltered, the harshness of her accusation echoing painfully in her own ears. Her gaze fell to the floor, guilt shadowing her anger. She tried to find her voice, but Orm spoke again, her tone soft yet deeply hurt.
“Yes, maybe I tried to numb the pain over the years, but I never once brought anyone here. I never betrayed our memories, Ling. Never.” Orm paused, breathing shakily, the truth exposed and raw. "And for you to even suggest that..."
Ling’s expression softened slightly, shame flooding her features as she processed Orm’s words. But Orm's voice cut through again, fragile yet pointed, desperate to make Ling understand.
“Anyway, why do you even care? You moved on too, remember? Sui—isn’t that the name of your girlfriend?” Orm’s voice was gentle, almost resigned, but laced with a question she desperately needed answered. "How is that fair? You get to judge me while you moved on?"
Ling stiffened, caught off guard. She struggled for words, caught in the painful honesty of Orm’s accusation. “It’s… complicated,” she whispered, eyes dropping in shame.
Orm's eyes filled further with tears, her voice barely above a whisper. "Yes. It always is."
The silence that followed was thick with the ache of unspoken truths and regrets. Ling finally met Orm’s gaze again, eyes filled with pain and confusion. Her voice came softly, hesitant, yet full of sincerity. "Orm, I didn't mean—"
But Orm shook her head gently, cutting Ling off, her eyes sad yet understanding. “I know. Just… it hurts that you could even think I’d do that here.”
Ling stared helplessly, heart twisting in regret. She opened her mouth, trying again, but words failed her. Eventually, she turned away, unable to bear the weight of Orm’s wounded gaze any longer.
"I'm sorry," Ling whispered, voice barely audible. "Please, just rest tonight."
Ling moved slowly toward the door, her heart aching with every step, confusion and guilt tangling into a painful knot. Just as her fingers touched the door handle, a soft voice halted her, trembling and fragile.
“Ling?”
She froze, the sound of Orm's voice tugging at something deep within her. Ling turned slowly, eyes filled with questions she wasn't sure she was ready to ask.
Orm's eyes glistened, tears threatening to spill as she whispered, “Do you love her? Sui, I mean—are you really happy with her?”
Ling felt her breath catch, the question cutting through the tense silence between them. Her throat tightened painfully, unsure of how to respond. “Orm, I—”
Orm swallowed hard, trying to hold herself steady. “You’re judging me for something you think I did, Ling, but what about you? Are you happy with Sui? Do you love her?”
Ling hesitated, feeling exposed. Her voice was barely audible, filled with uncertainty. “This isn't about Sui…”
“Then what is it about, Ling?” Orm's voice broke slightly, raw with emotion. “You question me about who I’ve brought here, accuse me of disrespecting our memories. I would never—ever—bring someone into this house. I promised myself that nobody would cross this threshold again, and certainly not into our bed.”
Orm’s voice grew softer, almost pleading. “After everything, you still don’t see, do you? That house, our memories—I couldn't betray them, Ling. Not even when I wanted to forget you. Especially when I wanted to forget you.”
Ling stared back, heart pounding. Her voice trembled slightly as she blurted out the question that had haunted her for years, “Then why, Orm? Why act like you moved on? Why didn't you sell this place if you wanted to forget? You made everyone think you didn't care, including me.”
Orm’s eyes glistened with fresh tears, hurt by Ling’s words but understanding why she asked. “I couldn't sell it because it was ours. No matter what everyone said, or what you think you saw—this was the only place I felt close to you. The only place I still had you. And I couldn't let it go. I thought about it sometimes, when it was too hard, but my heart couldn’t let it go”
Ling stood motionless, the raw truth of Orm’s words sinking in. Everything she believed—every story she’d convinced herself about Orm's indifference—suddenly felt shaky, uncertain.
Silence filled the space between them, heavy and thick with pain and unspoken longing. Ling couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, the intensity of Orm’s confession pressing down on her chest. She wasn’t ready to face this—not yet—but the aching truth remained: Orm hadn't moved on as easily as she'd believed.
Finally, Ling broke the silence with a voice that was barely more than a whisper. “Rest, Orm. Just… rest. I need—I have to go.”
Without waiting for a response, Ling turned quickly, pulling the door open and stepping into the cool night. Behind her, Orm sank onto the couch, alone once more, haunted by the truth she had finally voiced aloud but unsure if Ling had really heard her at all.
Ling's heart was racing erratically as she pulled away from the curb, her grip tightening on the steering wheel until her knuckles whitened. The city's blurred lights danced across the windshield, casting chaotic reflections, matching the whirlwind of thoughts storming within her.
What did I just do? she asked herself, the words echoing harshly in her mind. Ling felt the fierce thrum of her pulse as if it resonated through her bones, reminding her of the consequences of her reckless questions. She replayed the hurt flashing through Orm's eyes, the trembling in her voice, the quiet, heart-shattering admission she hadn't been prepared to hear.
"I shouldn't have pushed her," she whispered to herself, gripping the wheel tighter as her breath caught painfully. Why did I accuse her like that? But deep inside, she knew why—because her heart was betraying her, dragging her toward feelings she'd desperately tried to bury. Feelings she shouldn't have. Not now. Not anymore.
The drive back to her hotel felt impossibly long, the city lights passing by in a blurred haze. Ling's chest tightened with each thought that circled back to Orm, her scent still lingering on her skin from when she'd held her hair back, her warmth still etched vividly into Ling’s fingertips. She shook her head, but she couldn’t shake the ache—the undeniable, painful longing that had resurfaced, clawing through the walls she had carefully erected to keep Orm out.
Arriving at her hotel, Ling mechanically moved through the lobby, stepping into the elevator without really seeing anything around her. As she entered her room, the silence greeted her like an unwelcome guest, amplifying the turmoil inside her chest. She tossed her keys onto the table and sank onto the edge of the bed, gripping its sheets in frustration, anger, and something deeper—a sadness she could no longer ignore.
She closed her eyes tightly, trying to block out memories that rushed to the surface, vivid and painful and so terribly sweet. Her lips still burned with the memory of that kiss, unscripted and raw. Her heart ached, yearning for something—someone—she shouldn't desire. Her hands trembled as she pressed them against her face, trying desperately to silence the whispers of longing that refused to fade.
Orm…why can't I just forget you?
Meanwhile, across town, Orm sat curled on the same couch she'd shared countless memories with Ling. The silence of the empty room was suffocating, each quiet corner filled with echoes of their past laughter, whispered promises, and stolen kisses. Now it only reminded her of Ling’s accusatory questions, the bitter sting of distrust in her voice.
Orm’s heart throbbed painfully, tears slipping silently down her face. She hadn’t betrayed their sacred space, hadn’t allowed anyone else to invade the sanctuary of their memories, and yet Ling's accusation had pierced deep, tearing open wounds she thought she'd learned to live with.
How could you think that, Ling? Orm wondered, burying her face into her hands. How could you believe I could ever disrespect what we had here? But beneath her hurt lay an even sharper realization—Ling still cared enough to hurt. And that thought filled her simultaneously with hope and despair.
Orm knew she'd made mistakes—painful, public mistakes—but her love for Ling had remained fiercely constant, buried under every reckless choice she made in attempts to forget her. Tonight, Ling's words had stripped her bare again, leaving her heart aching with renewed intensity.
Ling lay in her hotel bed, unable to close her eyes without seeing Orm's face, her wounded eyes, or hearing her trembling voice. The ache for Orm’s presence gnawed at her fiercely. She longed to rewind time, take back her cruel insinuation, hold Orm instead of hurting her, and finally speak all the truths she'd been too afraid to acknowledge.
But tonight, all she could do was drown in regret, her heart painfully aware of the depth of feelings she'd awakened.
Across the city, Orm whispered Ling's name softly into the silence, feeling both the sting of loneliness and the warmth of remembered intimacy. The emotions she'd desperately tried to suppress were now dangerously exposed, raw and undeniable.
In their separate spaces, both women lay awake, hearts pounding in quiet agony. Neither knew what to do next, caught in a storm they had unleashed, uncertain of how to repair what had shattered tonight—but certain that something between them had irrevocably changed.