Another Chance

Morning arrived draped in a thin shroud of gray light, filtering through the curtains of Ling’s hotel room like a hesitant apology. She lay in bed, eyes open and unfocused, the world muted by the relentless echo of last night’s revelations. The previous evening’s heartbreak still roiled inside her—Sui’s trembling voice, Jessica’s whispered promises, and the undeniable truth that she’d let herself drift into a relationship without ever truly letting go of Orm.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, rattling against the polished surface. Ling winced at the sound. It was probably Junji or Charlotte, or maybe even the production assistant calling to confirm her pick-up for today’s shoot. A wave of nausea rolled through her. She couldn’t face the set. Not with her mind so consumed by guilt, anger, and a heartbreak that left her feeling utterly hollow.

She swiped the phone, squinting at the bright screen. Two missed calls from Junji. A handful of messages from the studio: Costume fitting at 9 AM—don’t forget. Final script read at 10:30. She closed her eyes, voice trembling as she called the production assistant. When the line clicked, she forced a shaky breath.

“I—I’m sorry, but I… I’m sick,” she managed, the lie clumsy on her tongue. Her tone betrayed more than mere illness; heartbreak seeped through every syllable, but the assistant didn’t press. A concerned murmur came from the other end, then a sympathetic acceptance. Ling’s chest tightened at the relief that flooded her. No confrontation today—no Jessica, no Orm. At least not yet.

She hung up, sinking further beneath the sheets. The tension in her limbs felt heavier than any physical ailment. Some part of her knew avoiding her responsibilities wasn’t sustainable, but she had no strength to perform today—to wear a polished façade in front of the cameras or pretend everything was fine when her chest was splitting open.

________

Eventually, she rose and drifted to the window. Bangkok’s skyline stretched before her, a mosaic of concrete towers and neon signs flickering to life in the waning morning haze. She’d once found this city exhilarating—its pulse, its promise. Now, the very sight set her nerves on edge, reminding her of all the turmoil swirling just outside the glass.

Pressing her forehead to the cool surface, Ling shut her eyes. I never should’ve dated again after Orm. The thought churned in her mind, a bitter truth she could no longer deny. She’d plunged headlong into a new relationship, desperate to prove she was over the pain Orm had left behind. But she’d never truly processed that loss. Instead, she’d tried to bury it under a new romance with Sui—someone warm, gentle, and patient enough to soothe her scars. Only, she realized now how unfair that was to them both.

Her hands curled into fists at her sides, trembling. Why did Sui say she loved me if she didn’t mean it? Or… perhaps she had meant it once upon a time, only to watch Ling’s unresolved attachment to Orm push her away. Memories flooded back: every time Sui’s eyes pleaded for Ling to say those three words, and Ling just… couldn’t. She’d been too afraid to open her heart, too afraid to repeat the heartbreak that wrecked her when she and Orm split. Something I’ve regretted unconsciously all this time…

A tear slid down her cheek, anger and regret tangling into one. We both lied, didn’t we? She’d told herself Sui was everything she needed, while Sui, in turn, pretended to be content with Ling’s half-devotion. Now, it was all in shambles—and Jessica’s involvement only made the betrayal burn hotter.

___________

A brisk knock at the door startled her from her thoughts. Ling padded across the plush carpet, hugging her robe tight. On the other side stood Junji, concern etched into every line of her face.

“Ling, I tried calling—” Junji paused the instant she saw Ling’s red-rimmed eyes and ashen expression. “Oh, sweetheart…” she murmured, stepping forward to envelop Ling in a gentle hug. Ling all but collapsed into it, tears threatening to break free again.

“I… I called in sick,” Ling admitted, her voice muffled against Junji’s shoulder. “I just can’t… not today.”

Junji guided her inside, closing the door behind them. She led Ling to the small couch, gently rubbing her back in soothing circles. “You don’t have to explain,” she said softly, catching sight of the tear tracks on Ling’s cheeks. “But… do you want to talk about it?”

Ling sniffled, wiping at her face. “Last night…” She hesitated, then forced the words out. “I overheard Jessica on the phone with Sui. They were talking about me—about how Sui should leave me if I run back to Orm.” Her voice quivered, bitterness flooding her veins. “Jessica told her she loved her. That they have a future together. I don’t understand…”

Junji’s eyes widened in shock. “What? Jessica and… Sui?”

Ling nodded, heart pounding as she relived the moment she’d stood in that dim corridor, hearing Jessica’s hushed admissions. “I couldn’t believe it, either. But Sui confirmed it when I called her. She’s been… confiding in Jessica, I guess. And I’m left feeling like an idiot, wondering why Sui told me she loved me if she was so ready to walk away. I’ve never asked anything but complete honeqty, and once again, I’ve been played”

Junji’s expression folded into one of deep empathy. “Ling, I’m so sorry. That’s… it’s horrible.”

“It is,” Ling whispered, her gaze dropping to her trembling hands. “But I also wonder if I’m the one who pushed her there. I never gave her the reassurance she needed. I was never over Orm—I still might not be.” She paused, wrestling with her own admission. “You can only watch your partner pine for someone else for so long.”

Silence fell between them, heavy and aching. Junji squeezed Ling’s fingers. “Relationships are complicated,” she said gently. “People do desperate things when they feel they aren’t loved. But that doesn’t excuse the hurt you’re feeling.”

Ling managed a hollow laugh. “You know what’s ironic? I’ve spent so long feeling betrayed by Orm—blaming her for not chasing after me, for letting me believe rumors. And now, I’ve turned into the very person I hated: running from my problems, clinging to a false sense of stability. Hiding my true feelings.” Tears crept back into her eyes. “I should have stayed single until I knew who I was—until I’d healed from Orm. Instead, I roped Sui into a relationship that was doomed from the start. I can’t really blame her”

Junji rubbed her shoulder. “You made mistakes, sure, but so did Sui. She chose not to tell you she was seeking comfort from Jessica. You both share blame—it doesn’t all rest on you.”

Ling nodded absently, numbness creeping in. “I just… I wish none of this was happening.” She let out a trembling sigh. “I wish I could go back to being that confident woman who knew exactly what she wanted before everything fell apart with Orm. But I don’t even recognize myself anymore.”

After Junji left to grab them coffee, Ling was alone once more. She wrapped herself in a thick blanket, curling up in the armchair by the window. The city bustled below with midday energy, horns honking, skyscrapers glinting under the sun’s glare. But she felt a million miles away, trapped in the small orbit of her own heartbreak.

Her phone pinged again—multiple messages from Charlotte, presumably about the day’s filming schedule. Time to face the world? she wondered. But the mere thought of stepping onto set, facing Jessica’s guarded eyes or Orm’s worried gaze, made her chest tighten. She texted back a brief reply: Not feeling well. Won’t be in. Then she silenced her phone, sinking deeper into the cushions.

A wave of flashbacks seized her: Orm’s anguished face, Sui’s timid smile, Jessica’s harsh words. She pressed her hands to her temples, as if she could physically push the memories away. It was too much. Everything was unraveling at once. No shield, no pretense could stop it now.

She recalled the early days after her breakup with Orm—how she’d cried herself to sleep, how she’d vowed never to open her heart again unless she was certain. But somewhere along the line, she had broken that vow, forging a half-hearted bond with Sui. And now, it had fallen apart.

Junji returned with two cups of steaming coffee. She took one look at Ling’s vacant stare and set the cups down on the nightstand, kneeling beside her. “Is there anything I can do?” she asked softly, brushing a stray tear from Ling’s cheek.

Ling reached for her hand. “You’re doing it,” she whispered. “Just… being here helps.” Her eyes flicked to the coffee, but she couldn’t summon the appetite. Her stomach felt like a raw wound.

Junji hesitated, then ventured, “Orm asked about you all the time. She noticed you weren’t on set. She seemed… worried.”

Ling’s heart gave a painful jolt. A dozen conflicting emotions tangled in her chest—gratitude that Orm cared enough to ask, fear of what Orm might do if she knew the depths of Ling’s heartbreak, and resentment for how they’d come to this point. She didn’t know how to respond, so she just sighed, gaze falling to her lap.

“It doesn’t matter,” she murmured. “Right now, I can’t even face myself, let alone Orm.”

Junji nodded sadly, reaching out to squeeze Ling’s arm in a silent gesture of support. “Take all the time you need,” she said, even though they both knew the production wouldn’t wait forever.

Evening descended with a slow, suffocating hush. Junji stepped out again, leaving Ling alone to wrestle her thoughts. She hardly noticed the passing hours, the hum of the air conditioner the only companion to her swirling guilt and regret. She nibbled on half a sandwich Junji had brought her, barely tasting it.

Where do I go from here? The question circled relentlessly. She was free of the sham she’d built with Sui—but now faced the raw truth: her heart had never truly moved on from Orm. Yet that path was littered with pain, rumors, sabotage. Could she believe Orm’s insistence that the scandalous photos were all lies designed to tear them apart?

The phone on the bed chimed once, a lonely echo in the quiet room. She glanced at the screen. A message from Charlotte:
We’re filming tomorrow at 8. Will you be okay to join?
Biting her lip, Ling felt panic rise. Facing the cameras felt impossible, but she couldn’t hide forever. Sooner or later, she’d have to confront Jessica’s simmering hostility—and Orm’s desperate pleas for a second chance.

She typed a delayed reply: I’ll try to be there. Then she stared at the words, uncertain. Try. It was the best she could promise in the midst of her emotional hurricane.

Outside the window, city lights formed a kaleidoscope of colors across the darkened sky. They reminded her of everything she once loved about Bangkok—its vibrance, its promise. Now, that same energy taunted her with possibilities she was too broken to seize.

As midnight approached, Ling found herself at the window again, arms wrapped around her middle. She watched the pulse of the city below, feeling more alone than ever. Yet beneath the lingering ache, a new determination brewed. She would no longer cower behind false assurances or let illusions drag her deeper into heartbreak.

Sui is gone, she told herself, heart aching but resolute. Orm might still be there—if I can believe her. And if this time Orm truly fought for her, maybe… maybe Ling could fight too, for the love she’d never been able to replace. But everything hinged on honesty—no more half-truths or unspoken resentments.

The night wore on, but sleep remained elusive. Ling stayed by the window, gazing at the faint glow of headlights weaving through distant streets, her thoughts drifting endlessly. By morning, she knew she would have to decide whether to show up on set, to face Orm, Jessica, and the reality she’d tried so hard to avoid.

A shaky exhale escaped her lips. This was her life now—raw, uncertain, but strangely unburdened by the deceptions she had let define her. For better or worse, a pivotal crossroads waited on the horizon. All she could do was brace herself for the next step, heart laid bare, ready to confront her past and forge whatever future waited beyond the tangled web of heartbreak.

________

The soft glow of morning filtered through Orm’s curtains, painting the walls of her condo in pale gold. She’d been awake for hours, any semblance of sleep ruined by the gnawing worry that had chewed at her since yesterday. Ling was absent from the set—word had it she’d called in sick—but Orm suspected the issue ran deeper than a simple cold. She’d texted, left voicemails… all unanswered, save for a lone read receipt that stung more than a direct rejection.

She stood in the kitchenette, staring at her phone, willing it to ring or light up with some message—anything. The half-eaten piece of toast on her plate looked unappetizing. She’d lost track of how long she’d been pacing with the phone cradled in her palm, desperately hoping for a response that never came.

Eventually, Orm thumbed to her contacts and tapped Junji’s name. If anyone would know what was really going on with Ling, it was Junji.

It only took a few rings before Junji answered in a hushed tone, “Hello?”

Orm clutched the device tighter, breath catching. “Junji, hi—sorry, I… I just wanted to check on Ling. She didn’t show up on set yesterday, and she hasn’t been replying to me.” She tried to keep the tremor out of her voice, but the edge of worry was unmistakable.

Junji sighed softly on the other end. “I know, Orm. She’s… not well. Emotionally. I don’t think it’s just you or the rumors—it’s… everything.” There was a pause, as though Junji was choosing her words carefully. “She needs space right now.”

Orm exhaled, her shoulders slumping against the counter. “So she really is sick, then?” she asked, knowing the answer might not be that simple. “I—I’m worried, Junji. She’s not the type to just disappear.”

Junji’s voice softened. “I can’t say much without betraying her trust, but… a lot happened. Please don’t push her if she’s not ready, Orm.”

Orm nodded, even though Junji couldn’t see it. The weight in her chest grew heavier. “Okay,” she said quietly. “But can you… can you tell her I’m here, if she needs anything?” She heard the plea in her own words. Pathetic, maybe, but she couldn’t help it.

“I will,” Junji promised. “And Orm—thank you for caring. Even if it’s complicated.”

Orm swallowed hard. Complicated was an understatement. She said a subdued goodbye and hung up, heart pounding with a mix of relief and despair. At least she knew Ling was safe, physically. But her emotional state was clearly fragile. All the more reason to prove I’m not that same person who hurt her before.

She squared her shoulders, forcing down a few bites of toast and taking a long swig of water. Her mind was made up: if Ling needed space, she’d respect that. But she wouldn’t stop fighting for the truth or for Ling’s wellbeing.

Later that morning, Orm arrived at the bustling studio. The day’s filming schedule loomed—scenes that would be awkward enough without Ling’s absence, especially considering the tense air lingering between Orm and Jessica. Spotting Jessica near the monitors, Orm felt her stomach churn. The director’s usual commanding presence seemed overshadowed by something else today: an anxious coil of energy thrummed in her posture, as though she were bracing for confrontation.

Orm kept her distance, feigning interest in a sheaf of script pages. Her eyes, however, flicked repeatedly toward Jessica, noticing how the director kept checking her phone, tapping her foot with restless agitation. What’s her deal? Orm wondered. She recalled their recent spat, Jessica implying Orm wasn’t delivering the “professionalism” expected. The scathing tone had felt far more personal than creative differences warranted.

“Orm…? Hey, Orm!”

She turned to see Charlotte and Engfah approaching, both wearing grim expressions. Charlotte clutched her clipboard, while Engfah looked like she was about to burst with whatever secret she held.

“We need to talk,” Charlotte murmured, darting a glance around to ensure no one else was listening. She gently took Orm’s elbow and guided her toward a quieter corner of the set, just behind a half-dismantled prop wall.

Orm’s heart sped up. “What’s going on? Did something happen with Ling?” she asked, tension leaping into her voice. After the phone call with Junji, she feared the worst.

Engfah shook her head. “Not exactly. This is about… Jessica. And, um, Sui.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “We’ve heard some… things.”

Orm’s eyes narrowed. She remembered how suspicious Jessica had acted lately and how Sui’s name had been whispered around. “What things, exactly?” she asked, bracing for impact.

Charlotte sucked in a breath, glancing at Engfah for support. “We overheard—well, I overheard Jessica on a call. She mentioned Sui. Something about… them being involved?” Her cheeks flushed as if embarrassed to be gossiping. “And then Engfah heard bits from the crew, that Sui has been visiting Jessica’s place. Maybe that’s why Jessica’s been so moody.”

Orm felt her stomach lurch. Jessica and Sui? The words rang in her mind, instantly colliding with the memory of Ling’s heartbreak. Could this be why Ling’s so devastated? A spark of anger flared in her chest. She thought about how Ling had already been crushed by rumors and betrayals. Now it seemed Sui—the woman who was supposed to care for her—had been confiding in Jessica, if not more.

“So… if that’s true,” Orm said slowly, voice tight, “then Jessica’s the reason Sui blindsided Ling?” She realized she was practically snarling.

Charlotte winced. “We don’t have hard proof, but the vibe around set is… weird. Some people think Jessica’s interest in you and Ling’s storyline is partly personal—like she wants to sabotage it for her own reasons.”

Orm’s hands balled into fists at her sides, anger coursing through her veins. Ling’s been betrayed again. She thought of how Ling had asked her, tears in her eyes, whether Orm had truly changed. That heartbreak was partly Orm’s fault. But the idea that Sui and Jessica had been scheming behind Ling’s back made Orm’s blood boil. Ling deserved better, even if she’d once been the one to break her.

“That’s… messed up,” Orm ground out. She tried to steady her voice, mindful they were in public. “Ling doesn’t deserve any more pain.”

Engfah nodded emphatically. “Exactly. Look, we know it’s not really our place, but… we can’t stand seeing Ling so torn up. And you—” She paused, eyes flicking to Orm. “Well, we know you still care about her, no matter how complicated things got.”

Orm inhaled sharply, a flicker of determination in her gaze. “She’s… hurting right now,” she admitted, hating the helplessness that gnawed at her. “I don’t know how to fix it, but I sure as hell won’t let Jessica or Sui keep messing with her head.”

Charlotte squeezed Orm’s arm gently. “We just thought you should know. Maybe it’ll help you figure out how to protect Ling from… whatever’s going on.”

Orm nodded, jaw tight. The guilt she carried for her part in Ling’s heartbreak roiled beneath the surface, but it mixed with a quiet fury that demanded action. She couldn’t change the past—couldn’t erase the rumors that had driven them apart before. But this time, she refused to stand by while another betrayal shattered Ling’s heart.

“Thank you,” Orm said, her voice quiet but resolute. “I appreciate you telling me.”

Engfah offered a shaky smile. “We’re all worried about her. But be careful if you confront Jessica—she’s the director, after all.”

Orm’s expression hardened. “Director or not, she doesn’t get to hurt Ling.” With that, she turned on her heel, a storm of conflicting emotions raging inside her. She was furious on Ling’s behalf, ashamed for her own failings, and more determined than ever to make sure Ling didn’t suffer alone.

Returning to the main stage, Orm kept a careful mask in place. She had scenes to film, after all, and letting her anger slip could spark rumors or earn Jessica’s wrath. But every time she spotted Jessica across the set, controlling the cameras, giving directions with brisk efficiency, Orm’s temper threatened to surge.

It’s not just about you anymore, she reminded herself. Ling’s broken, and if Jessica played a part in that heartbreak, I’ll handle it… but carefully. She swallowed the urge to stomp right up to the director and demand answers. That would achieve nothing but more chaos—and might jeopardize the show.

Instead, Orm channeled her emotions into the performance. When the cameras rolled, she delivered her lines with a newfound fervor, harnessing her rage and heartbreak to portray a woman on the brink—uncannily reflecting her real-life turmoil. The crew murmured approval at her intensity, oblivious to the personal conflict fueling it.

Eventually, there came a break in filming. Orm slipped away, finding a quiet corner where she leaned against a prop wall. She stared at her phone, thinking about Ling. Should I text her again? No—Junji said give her space. The thought frustrated her, but she knew pushing Ling right now could backfire.

She allowed herself a silent vow: I might have failed her before, but I won’t fail her now. If Jessica had a hidden agenda—using Sui, using the show’s storyline—Orm intended to uncover it, or at least shield Ling from any more fallout.

Her hands still shook with adrenaline as she stepped back onto the set, ignoring the curious looks of passing crew members. She was done being passive. Even if Ling no longer wanted her in her life, Orm refused to let anyone else trample on the fragile pieces of Ling’s heart.

A haze of exhaustion settled over the set by late afternoon, the final scene of the day captured in a single, tension-laden take. The clatter of equipment being dismantled echoed through the cavernous studio, stage lights dimmed one by one, and staff bustled back and forth with weary efficiency. Orm herself was spent—emotionally and physically—yet her mind remained fixed on one thing: Jessica’s possible role in Ling’s new heartbreak.

For most of the day, Orm kept to herself. Between each shot, she ran her lines or hunched over her phone, half-hoping for a message from Ling. No such luck. She reminded herself that Ling needed space, and resolved to respect that, even as her protective instincts screamed that she should do more.

When the final “Cut!” rang out, Orm politely thanked the director of photography, the crew, and her fellow actors, then slipped away to the wings. She was halfway to the dressing rooms when she heard two staffers whispering in a narrow corridor, just out of sight. Their hushed voices carried hints of scandal.

“—still can’t believe Jessica’s so blatant about it,” one murmured, as Orm instinctively paused, listening from around the corner.

“Yeah, apparently Sui’s been visiting her place for weeks,” the other replied. “I heard they talk about Ling all the time. Something about how Jessica’s fed up with Ling’s indecision…and she wants Sui to finally leave Ling for good.”

Orm’s stomach twisted. So it’s not just speculation—this is basically confirmation. She pressed closer to the wall, heart pounding, as the first staffer let out a low whistle.

“Jessica’s messing with the story, too—pushing for those extra scenes to corner Orm and Ling together. I wonder if she’s hoping to expose Ling’s unresolved feelings so Sui can justify walking away.”

A spike of rage seared through Orm’s veins. She clenched her fists, dread mixing with fury. So Jessica had been orchestrating behind the scenes, fueling the drama for personal reasons. Worse, she was deliberately hurting Ling—someone who’d already been torn apart by rumor after rumor. There was no telling how many of the show’s creative decisions were influenced by Jessica’s jealousy or obsession with Sui.

Orm swallowed hard, waiting until the two staffers moved on before stepping from the shadows. Her entire body thrummed with adrenaline, anger surging like a living flame. She might’ve once caused Ling pain through inaction and cowardice, but she would not stand by while someone else deliberately twisted the knife.

Without hesitation, she marched down the hallway leading to Jessica’s makeshift office. A spare dressing room door stood ajar, light spilling into the corridor. Jessica was inside, hunched over a script at a small desk, phone and tablet splayed out in front of her. She was so absorbed in reading notes that she didn’t notice Orm’s approach.

Orm knocked once—hard enough to make the door bounce on its hinges—then pushed it open. Jessica looked up, startled, eyes narrowing at the sight of Orm’s tense figure in the doorway.

“We need to talk,” Orm said flatly, stepping inside and slamming the door shut behind her with a decisive click. The air in the small room thickened, the faint hum of the ceiling fan doing nothing to dispel the crackling hostility.

Jessica composed herself quickly, setting down the script. “I’m busy. If this is about rewriting that final scene, we can discuss—”

“This isn’t about the scene.” Orm’s voice came out colder than she intended, each word laced with raw indignation. “It’s about you. And Sui. And Ling.”

Jessica’s eyes flickered—just enough of a reaction to confirm Orm’s suspicions. That minuscule tell only fueled Orm’s anger. “Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about,” she continued, stepping closer. “= You’re messing with Ling. With me. You’ve been using Sui’s fears and your position to push some twisted whims.”

Jessica pressed her lips together in a tight line, tension radiating from her stiff shoulders. “Careful, Orm. You’re accusing a director—your director—of something pretty serious. And darling, you don’t know all the story.”

Orm squared her jaw, refusing to be intimidated. “I don’t care what your title is. If you’re hurting Ling, if you’re making her personal life a spectacle for your own gain… I won’t stand by.”

A slow, mirthless smile curled across Jessica’s lips. “Defensive all of a sudden, aren’t we? You sure you’re not just jealous that Ling and Sui’ hade something? Or that someone else entered Ling’s heart.”

Orm clenched her fists at her sides, nails digging into her palms. “Oh please. I know Ling better than anyone and this is not love. And Ling’s heart is none of your business. If Sui wants to be with you, that’s her choice. But dragging Ling’s feelings through the mud, forcing scenes that exploit her pain—no. That ends now.”

For a moment, the two women stared each other down, the small room crackling with unspoken hostilities. Jessica’s facade of professional calm barely masked the panic flickering in her eyes. Orm’s chest rose and fell with each ragged breath, ready to unleash every ounce of anger she’d held in check.

“I don’t know what your plan is,” Orm said, voice trembling with barely contained fury, “but you’d better reconsider if it involves hurting Ling further. Because I swear, Jessica, if you push her over the edge, you’ll have to answer to me. I won’t let anyone hurt her. Again.”

Jessica’s brows drew together, a flash of defiance mingling with fear. “What are you going to do? Ruin your own career by attacking the show’s director? And did you forget you’re the one who broke the incredible Lingling Kwong?”

Orm’s throat constricted, it was like a punch in the guts. And she knew the risk. But she also knew something else—that she’d rather lose it all than watch Ling be torn apart by yet another betrayal. “I’m warning you,” she muttered, each word echoing the fierce protectiveness blazing in her chest. “I won’t let anyone use Ling’s pain for their own agenda ever again. Not you, not Sui.”

With that, she pivoted on her heel and yanked the door open, leaving Jessica standing in stunned silence. As the hallway lights washed over her, Orm’s pulse thundered. There would be consequences to confronting Jessica so openly—but she couldn’t bring herself to regret it. Not if it meant safeguarding Ling from even more heartbreak.

________

Ling sat curled in the corner of the plush hotel couch, her eyes puffy from crying, a half-empty mug of jasmine tea clutched between trembling hands. Night had settled outside, the glow of city lights creeping around the edges of the curtains. Junji perched on the opposite end of the couch, giving her friend space yet radiating unwavering support.

A heavy silence lingered until Ling exhaled shakily. “I feel so… so hollow, Junji. Like… my chest can’t hold any more pain. It’s not even about Sui… if I’m honest with myself, I feel relief” Her voice trembled, tears still threatening at the corners of her eyes.

Junji scooted closer, gently placing a hand on Ling’s knee. “You can talk to me,” she said softly. “Well that’s good, at least you know something. But Ling. Get it out of your system. No more bottling things up.”

Ling swallowed hard, eyes closing in a wave of guilt and regret. “I’m just… so tired,” she whispered, voice catching. “Of running. Of hating Orm. Of lying to myself and trying to force a relationship with Sui when I never should have.” She opened her eyes, tears glistening. “I was never over Orm. I told Sui otherwise—told her I just needed time. But I couldn’t give her what she deserved, and I hurt her.”

Junji’s grip on Ling’s knee tightened in reassurance. “You didn’t do it on purpose,” she murmured. “You were just scared. Anyone would be, after what you went through. And hey, don’t feel bad for her, she played you.”

Ling let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “I still blamed Orm for not chasing after me back then. I carried that anger for years. But all this time, I’ve been refusing to admit how much I still love her. She broke me when she didn’t fight for us. But… I think part of me wished she had, so I wouldn’t have to say goodbye.”

Her voice cracked, tears spilling freely now. Junji set aside the tea mug so Ling could bury her face in her hands without worrying about spills. Softly, she stroked Ling’s hair. “It’s okay,” she murmured. “You can say it.”

Ling inhaled a trembling breath. “I love her, Junji,” she finally confessed, the words ripping from her chest. “I never stopped. And it kills me. Because I don’t know if I can trust her again—or even trust myself. But when I think of losing her forever… I can’t breathe.” A weak sob escaped her lips. “How could I be this stupid? To let her back in, even after everything? She didn’t do a thing, just standing there being all beautiful and charming.”

Junji gently shifted closer, allowing Ling to lean her forehead against her shoulder. “Listen to me,” she said, voice firm yet comforting. “I’ve known you for years, Ling. I watched you with Orm when you two were inseparable, so in love it made the rest of us jealous. And I saw you crumble when the rumors and fights tore you apart. Even today, it still hurts you to see tabloid on her with other people”

Ling wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand, nodding miserably. “It feels so long ago… that happiness.”

Junji’s eyes shone with compassion. “Because it was happiness. And if I’m being totally honest, I’ve never seen you love anyone the way you loved Orm. Not even close. I know Sui was good to you for a bit, a distraction, but it was never the same. You didn’t light up the same way. You never had that… spark.”

Ling’s heart squeezed at the memory of how she and Orm once felt unstoppable—fearless. She remembered stolen kisses in cramped dressing rooms, whispered dreams of a future together, the feeling of being absolutely certain they’d grow old side by side. “We lost so much time,” she whispered, voice hollow. “Rumors, jealousy, our own pride—everything got in the way. I blame her a lot, but I was the one to walk away, to not fight for us or listen to her.”

Junji nodded in agreement, tenderly rubbing slow circles along Ling’s back. “You both messed up, more than once,” she said. “But sometimes… two people can still find their way back to each other, even after hurting one another. The question is whether you’re ready to try—really try—without letting fear make your decisions for you.”

Ling closed her eyes, tears slipping down again. “That’s what terrifies me. Trying. Letting Orm in after all this. Because if she betrayed me again—if she doesn’t fight—” Her voice splintered on that final word, raw with vulnerability.

Junji pulled back slightly, meeting Ling’s gaze, her own eyes brimming with empathy. “Then she doesn’t deserve you. But, Ling… from what I’ve seen these last weeks, she is fighting, all because she wants to protect you. That’s not the Orm from before. That’s someone who’s learned a painful lesson. She loves you.”

Ling’s chest tightened, conflicting emotions clashing in her heart. There was anger—how dare Orm only now defend her after so many years? But there was also a flicker of hope. Maybe it’s not too late. Maybe we can rebuild what we lost.

She took a shaky breath. “I’m… scared,” she admitted in a ragged whisper. “Scared that it’s all illusions, or that we’ll fail again. But every time I think of letting Orm go, truly letting her go… I can’t do it. I need her.”

Junji nodded, a tender smile tugging at her lips. “Because you love her,” she repeated gently, brushing a tear from Ling’s cheek. “You always have. Maybe you always will.”

Ling managed a broken laugh. “You’re so sure?”

Junji cupped Ling’s chin, tipping it up so their eyes met. “I’m sure of you. I saw you happiest with Orm. And if you have a chance—no matter how slim—to get that happiness back, I think you should take it. Even if it scares you to death. Love is scary sis.”

Ling’s eyes slid shut. The dam inside her heart broke, and the tears came in a flood. Junji cradled her, murmuring soothing words as Ling let all her pent-up fears, regrets, and lingering hopes pour out. The minutes ticked by in hushed sobs and gentle reassurances, the city beyond their window forging on indifferent to the heartbreak within.

When at last Ling’s tears subsided, she felt lighter—like the confession had lifted a crushing weight from her chest, allowing her to truly breathe. “Thank you,” she whispered hoarsely, voice quivering with gratitude. “I— I needed to say it out loud.”

Junji leaned in, pressing a comforting kiss to her friend’s temple. “Sometimes we need to hear our own hearts speak,” she said. “Now, take a moment, gather yourself. And when you’re ready… figure out what you want to do about Orm. Forget about Sui, we don’t care about her.”

Ling gave a watery nod. The swirl of uncertainty remained, but for the first time since everything fell apart, she felt a faint warmth in her chest. Junji believed in her. And maybe—maybe—Orm truly had changed, had become someone capable of standing by her side, no matter the storm.

“I’ll think about it,” she murmured, wiping her tear-streaked face on the corner of Junji’s sleeve. A fragile resolve shimmered in her gaze. “One way or another, I won’t run anymore.”

Junji smiled, squeezing Ling’s hands. “That’s all you can do right now—move forward, even if it’s baby steps.”

Junji glanced at the clock, frowning. “It’s almost midnight. Who could that be?”

Ling tensed, her heart lurching as a familiar voice echoed from the other side of the door. “Ling? …Please. It’s me.”

Ling’s eyes darted to Junji’s in alarm, a torrent of raw emotion surging back into her chest. Junji’s expression softened with understanding. “I’ll let her in,” she said gently, placing a comforting hand on Ling’s shoulder.

Just moments after Ling poured her entire heart out—confessing her unresolved love—Orm stood on the threshold, determined to see her. And for better or worse, Ling realized, she couldn’t hide from the truth any longer.

When Junji opened the door, Orm stood there, face etched with worry. Relief flickered over Orm’s features, as if she hadn’t been sure who would answer. Junji offered a small smile—friendly, not tense, because she was Orm’s friend too.

“Orm,” she greeted, stepping back so Orm could see Ling across the suite. “She’s… been through a lot tonight. But I’m glad you’re here.”

Orm exhaled, shoulders sagging with gratitude. “Thanks, Junji,” she murmured, giving her an appreciative look. Their brief exchange was warm—no tension, just genuine concern for Ling. Junji motioned her in, then turned to Ling.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” she said softly, shooting Ling an encouraging glance. “Call if you need anything, okay?”

As Junji slipped past Orm and into the hallway, she couldn’t resist one last playful whisper, half to herself: “You two better figure it out this time…”

Ling, having stood up to see who was at the door, now faced Orm directly. Her eyes shone with the remnants of tears and a fragile determination. Orm’s heart ached at the sight of her—vulnerable, yet resolved not to hide anymore.

Junji pulled the door closed behind her, leaving Orm and Ling alone in the stillness. And just moments after Ling had confessed her unresolved love, there stood Orm on the threshold—ready, it seemed, to fight for what they’d lost. One look at Ling’s trembling lips told Orm that the road ahead would be anything but simple.

Yet as they stood there, gazes locked, both realized neither could keep running from the truth any longer.

The hotel suite was still, shadows draped over the plush furniture as if lending their hush to the tension thickening the air. Ling stood near the sofa, arms crossed defensively, eyes still red from earlier tears. She braced herself the moment Orm stepped inside, the door softly clicking shut behind her.

For a breath, neither spoke—two broken hearts caught between anger, yearning, and all the unresolved wounds that time hadn’t healed.

Orm swallowed hard, her voice hushed. “Ling… I’m sorry to come so late, but—”

“You couldn’t wait, could you?” Ling snapped, arms tightening around herself. She hated how relieved she was to see Orm, despite the swirl of hurt. “You confronted Jessica, you stand up for me now—where was that fire years ago when I needed you?”

Orm’s eyes flickered with guilt, taking a small step forward. “I’ve asked myself that every day,” she admitted, voice shaking. “I’m not here to rewrite the past—I know how much I hurt you. But when I saw what Jessica was doing, I couldn’t stand by.”

A humorless laugh escaped Ling’s throat, tears stinging her eyes again. “I can’t just forget how you stood by back then, how rumors tore us apart and you never fought to keep me.” Her tone quivered between anger and sorrow.

Orm ran a trembling hand through her hair. “I was a coward,” she said softly. “I told myself leaving you was best—that I’d only drag us both through more pain. But I never stopped regretting it. I never stopped loving you.”

The confession made Ling’s breath catch, her arms loosening. Confusion warred with longing inside her chest. “If you loved me, why did you let me think I was worthless to you? Why did you let me believe I wasn’t enough?”

Orm’s eyes brimmed with tears. “I was scared,” she choked out. “Scared I’d ruin you if I stayed, that you’d hate me even more for all the chaos around us. But I hated living without you, Ling.”

Their gazes locked—a painful, electric moment suspended between them. Ling’s grip on her resentment slipped, replaced by the ache of remembering how it felt to be in Orm’s arms. Something inside her begged her to let go, to stop punishing them both.

She opened her mouth to speak, to retort—You should’ve been braver sooner—but instead, a sob caught in her throat. Weeks of heartbreak, the betrayals, the lonely nights all converged, overwhelming her. Before she could stop herself, her tears spilled over.

Orm inhaled sharply, heart twisting at Ling’s tears. She closed the distance in one swift motion. “I’m sorry,” she repeated, voice trembling with urgency. “I’m so sorry.”

And then, without a plan—driven by sheer desperation to convey what words failed to express—Orm cupped Ling’s face and kissed her.

The contact shattered what remained of Ling’s defenses. Hot tears coursed down her cheeks as the press of Orm’s lips ignited both the fury and the longing she’d buried. Her hands hovered in the air for half a second, as though unsure whether to push Orm away or pull her closer.

In a rush of emotion, Ling’s fingers curled into Orm’s shirt, clinging so tightly her knuckles ached. Every ragged breath mingled, tears and soft gasps blurring the lines between anger and love. The city lights outside seemed to flicker in time with the wild pounding of her heart.

When at last they broke apart, both were left trembling—Orm’s face wet with tears that weren’t fully hers, Ling’s lips parted, eyes dazed with realization. For one heartbeat, the weight of the past hovered, threatening to flood back in. But a profound warmth had already settled where her fury once burned.

Ling, breath hitching, stared up into Orm’s tearful eyes. She was supposed to still be furious, or at least guarded—but all she could feel was a fierce, aching relief. Being in Orm’s arms felt terrifyingly right, the sense of home she’d craved for so long.

Orm’s voice emerged husky, barely more than a whisper. “Ling… please, tell me if I crossed the line. I—”

But Ling shook her head, tears still falling. Her hands shifted, sliding up to wrap around Orm’s shoulders. “Don’t say you’re sorry again,” she managed, voice raw. “I’ve been so angry, so hurt. But when you kissed me—” She let out a shuddering breath. “I remembered how much I’ve missed you. And I realized I’m… I’m not ready to lose you again.”

Those words felt like a confession of her own, sending another tremor of emotion through Orm. Gently, she pressed her forehead against Ling’s, tears slipping free. “You’ll never have to lose me,” she promised, her voice quavering with sincerity. “I swear, I won’t turn my back on us again.”

Ling’s mouth trembled, half-laugh, half-cry, as she eased closer, resting against Orm’s chest. The anger in her veins ebbed away under the steady thrum of Orm’s heartbeat. Everything was still messy—so many questions, so much pain yet to mend—but in that instant, her world felt a little less broken.

She closed her eyes, letting Orm’s arms tighten around her. “Don’t let go,” she whispered, acknowledging in that single plea what her heart had known all along: Orm was still the one she wanted, no matter how deeply she’d been hurt.

Orm held her closer, eyes squeezed shut, relief mingling with the weight of responsibilities and promises yet to be fulfilled. “I won’t,” she said softly. “Not again. Not ever.”

For a long, trembling moment, they stood entangled in each other, hearts pounding in fragile harmony. Ling breathed in the scent of Orm’s skin, finally allowing the furious walls she’d built to crumble. She couldn’t undo the past. She wasn’t certain of the future. But for now, she wasn’t ready to let go of Orm’s love—and that was enough.