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The soundstage buzzed with its usual morning chaos — production assistants scurrying with clipboards, lighting techs shouting last-minute adjustments, and a makeup artist yelling for more blotting paper. But beneath the professional hum, something else simmered. A quiet, unnameable tension that curled through the air like smoke.
Ling felt it the moment she stepped onto set.
She hadn't seen Orm yet this morning. Not since their whispered goodbyes at the hotel door, when Orm had kissed her forehead with trembling lips and promised, "I'll give you space... but I'm not going anywhere." And she hadn't. Ling had known, even then, that Orm would be there — today, and maybe tomorrow, and the day after that.
But knowing didn't make facing her any easier.
She walked with practiced grace toward wardrobe, holding her coffee like a shield. Her heart thudded against her ribcage, a chaotic staccato that refused to calm. She'd barely slept. How could she, when Orm's voice still echoed in her chest? When the ghost of that kiss still lingered on her lips like a promise she wasn't sure she deserved?
From the corner of her eye, she caught Charlotte giving her a quick, knowing once-over — not unkind, but observant. Charlotte had a way of noticing things others didn't. Ling pretended not to see.
Then came the shift.
Orm walked in.
She wasn't even trying to be dramatic — just Orm in her black hoodie, script in one hand, water bottle in the other. But it didn't matter. For Ling, the world narrowed in an instant, sound dimming as her eyes locked on the one person she'd spent four years trying not to want.
Orm's gaze found her within seconds. Of course it did.
No smile. Just that look — steady, unreadable, but soft in a way only Ling would notice. Ling's pulse kicked up again, her fingers tightening around her cup. She turned away first, pretending to review her lines. But her skin was on fire.
She could still feel the way Orm had held her. How her voice had cracked when she'd whispered, "I won't let anyone hurt you again."
And yet now here they were — back in makeup chairs, back in costume, pretending none of it had happened.
Pretending. If only Jessica were pretending too.
Ling spotted her by the monitors, arms crossed, eyes bloodshot behind her oversized glasses. She looked disheveled, like she hadn't slept either — or worse, hadn't wanted to. She barely acknowledged the crew. When one assistant nervously handed her a clipboard, she dropped it on the floor without a word. No apology. No reaction. Just... out of it.
Charlotte leaned in as Ling passed. "She's been like that all morning. Barely said a word to anyone."
Ling nodded tightly, saying nothing. She knew exactly why. Jessica's control was slipping.
And that scared her more than anything.
___________
"Bedroom scene's up," someone said again — but this time, it was Freen, leaning over the craft table with a sly smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Guess they want to start the day with fireworks."
Beside her, Becky gave Orm a pointed look, her arms crossed, a hint of amusement masking the concern in her gaze. "You okay?" she asked in a low voice, just for Orm. "You look like you just got told you're doing a stunt on live TV."
Orm swallowed hard, trying to laugh. "It's not the scene. It's just... early."
Freen raised an eyebrow. "Sure. And it has nothing to do with the fact that the person you're supposed to kiss senseless on that bed over there is also the girl you disappeared with last night?"
Becky elbowed her. "Freen," she warned, even though she was clearly dying to hear the story too.
Orm didn't reply. She didn't need to — not with how well they knew her.
Becky softened. "You don't have to say anything. Just... breathe, yeah? You've done tougher scenes."
"Not with someone I..." Orm caught herself, the word love catching in her throat like a secret she wasn't ready to give voice to. She looked away, fingers flexing restlessly at her sides. "Not like this."
There was a pause. Then Freen said gently, "We've seen the way you look at her. Even when you didn't want to."
"Especially then," Becky added.
Orm let out a shaky breath. "It's not just the scene. It's Jessica. She's... off."
"She's more than off," Freen muttered. "She's imploding."
Becky nodded. "She barked at the lighting tech earlier for adjusting a lamp she ordered changed yesterday. It's bad."
"She's unraveling because she knows she can't control this anymore," Orm said quietly. "She's losing. And she knows it."
Freen looked at her for a long moment, then bumped her shoulder. "Then give her a show she'll never forget."
Becky grinned. "But maybe not too convincing, or the internet will explode."
"Too late for that," Orm murmured, her gaze drifting to the set where Ling now stood near the bedroom doorway, back straight, arms crossed, eyes unreadable. She looked like a painting—delicate, composed—but Orm knew better. Ling was a storm in disguise. And they were about to be thrown into it together.
A production assistant waved them over.
"Alright, ladies," Freen said, squeezing her wrist. "Go make hearts break."
Orm smiled faintly, then turned toward the set, heart hammering louder than the crew's chatter.
She didn't know how she was supposed to do this.
Not when Ling's skin still lived on her fingertips.
Not when last night's kiss had opened a door she couldn't close.
Not when Jessica's truth was out now.
And especially not when Orm knew the truth now — this wasn't just acting anymore.
Not for her.
And maybe... not for Ling either.
"Scene 45. Take one."
The clapperboard snapped shut.
Orm sat at the edge of the bed, fingers curled against the hem of her blouse, trying to slow her breathing. The camera lens loomed just beyond the edge of the fake hotel room, but it wasn't the cameras she felt watching her.
It was Ling.
Standing in the doorway like a memory she hadn't dared to touch. Hair loosely falling around her shoulders. Barefoot. Her eyes trained on Orm — and there it was again.
That ache.
That unspeakable, unbearable look between them.
She was supposed to say something first. She knew that. The line was simple, only four words: "You came back again." But it stuck in her throat, suddenly too heavy.
Because that was the thing.
Ling had come back.
Maybe not completely. Maybe not forever. But last night, she'd opened a window, and Orm was still inside it, breathless, afraid to move too fast in case it closed again.
The director's voice crackled from behind the monitor. Jessica. "Action."
Orm swallowed.
"You came back again," she whispered.
Ling stepped closer. The way she moved — slow, deliberate — felt like someone walking through water. Her expression unreadable, eyes locked on Orm as if she were studying every twitch of her face.
The next lines fell from them like second skin. There was no forcing it. No performance. The script blurred with something real — something raw — until Orm didn't know where the scene ended and she began.
Ling reached for her first, fingers brushing along Orm's jaw like a secret.
Orm closed her eyes.
It was too much. And not enough.
Her hand slipped behind Ling's back as they leaned in — forehead to forehead, breathing the same air. She felt Ling's heartbeat in the space between them. A tiny tremor in her fingertips. A familiar heat in her eyes.
She wasn't acting.
Neither of them were.
When their lips met, the kiss was soft. Reverent. Slow.
Orm didn't grip. Didn't push. She let Ling lead — like she had the night before, in the quiet of that hotel room, where the world had fallen away. But this time, it was different.
This time, she wasn't afraid of the camera.
Because all she could see was Ling.
All she could feel was her.
Her heart pounded so loudly she was sure the boom mic could catch it.
And in Ling's eyes — just for a second — she saw it.
Love.
Not the kind in a script.
The kind they never stopped writing together.
"Cut!" Jessica called out, louder than necessary.
Orm pulled back slowly, chest rising and falling like she'd just surfaced from underwater. Ling was still there, blinking fast, lips parted. Their hands lingered for one second too long.
Then everything shattered.
Jessica stood from behind the monitor, tossing her headset down with a little too much force. Her movements were jerky, jaw tight, lips pressed into a flat line. "That was... fine," she muttered, brushing past the crew without looking at anyone. "We'll go again later."
She didn't even look at Orm or Ling.
Didn't say anything else.
Just turned and stalked toward her office.
Orm barely registered the chaos around her — the crew resetting lights, someone offering her a water bottle. All she could do was glance once more at Ling, who stood frozen, a quiet storm in her eyes.
And then Ling moved.
Not toward wardrobe. Not toward makeup.
But after Jessica.
Straight down the hall.
And for the first time in weeks, Orm didn't follow.
Because this wasn't her fight anymore.
It was Ling's.
She didn't hesitate.
Didn't speak. Didn't look back.
The moment Jessica turned her back and stormed toward her office, something inside Ling snapped into place. Like a thread pulled taut for weeks had finally snapped — and with it, the fear, the doubt, the constant waiting.
No more silence. No more side-glances. No more letting other people dictate the story.
She followed Jessica through the hallway, each step faster than the last. She barely heard the bustle of the crew fading behind her. Didn't register Becky's startled "Ling?" or Freen's worried glance. All she saw was the door Jessica disappeared behind — her name still on the paper taped outside.
Ling didn't knock.
She pushed it open.
Jessica whipped around, clearly startled. "What the hell—?"
"We need to talk," Ling said flatly, closing the door behind her with a quiet click.
The room was dim, sunlight bleeding through half-shut blinds, casting stripes across the mess — scattered scripts, an open laptop, a half-finished coffee growing cold on the table. Jessica stood by the desk, arms folded, trying to recover her composure.
But Ling saw the panic flicker behind her eyes.
"Oh? You've got something to say now?" Jessica snapped, masking her unease with venom. "Funny, I didn't hear much feedback when I was trying to save your role after you bailed last week."
Ling didn't flinch.
"I'm not here to talk about the show."
Jessica's smile was razor-thin. "Then what? You want to talk about your shitty love life? So what you're back with Orm? When Sui broke up with you just yesterday.
Ling's jaw clenched. "Don't play with me Jessica."
Jessica raised an eyebrow. "Oh, so we're being protective now? Wasn't it just last week you were crying to Sui about not knowing what you wanted? About Orm too?"
Ling stepped closer. "Don't bring Orm into this. You and I both know you've been manipulating us. I don't know what your goal was. But if it was just to have Sui back, you should have think of other ways and I know you manipulated Sui."
Jessica's face darkened. "Excuse me?"
"You've been in her ear for months," Ling said, her voice calm but sharp as glass. "Feeding her doubts. Using me and Orm to get to Sui, it is pathetic. And writing scenes designed to corner me on set, pushing emotional triggers, making sure you stay close while pretending it's all just 'creative direction.'"
Jessica's posture shifted — defensive. "That's ridiculous."
"Is it?" Ling challenged. "You called Sui after every take that went well between Orm and me. You rewrote this love scene three times, and it wasn't for the audience. It was for you. As a leverage to show Sui that__"
Jessica laughed — brittle, ugly. "Oh, don't flatter yourself. The show needed heat. You and Orm have chemistry — it's the only thing that makes you remotely watchable."
Ling stared at her, expression unreadable. Then, quietly: "You're jealous."
Jessica scoffed. "Of what?"
Ling didn't blink. "Of what Orm and I had. Still have."
The words hung in the air, heavy. Final.
Jessica's mask slipped — just for a second — and the bitterness underneath showed. "You think she's going to stay? You think she won't leave again, like she did before?"
"She already left once," Ling said, stepping forward until they were only a few feet apart. "And it nearly destroyed me. But you know what? I'd rather love her and risk the fall than keep dancing in circles with people who play with my feelings. And I think you and Sui find each other perfectly."
Jessica's breath caught.
Ling saw it then — the flash of something vulnerable. Small. Human.
But she didn't feel pity.
Not anymore.
"You used this production to manipulate everyone around you," Ling continued. "You tried to control the story on-screen and off. But this isn't your story, Jessica. Not mine. Not Orm's."
Jessica swallowed hard, looking away for the first time.
"If you want the truth, it is Sui who asked me to take Lingorm in my next movie so... I was not alone in this and you know what? I think she asked me this favor because she knew deep down that you were still in love with Orm, even if you were if her. And guess she wasn't wrong. Because the more I had her on the pgone, the more I understood how much you left her on the side.
Silence fell. Ling let it stretch, she didn't know what to answer to this, feeling like this past few months has been a huge lie.
Jessica didn't move after what she said.
She stood behind her cluttered desk like it might protect her, arms crossed tight over her chest, jaw locked. But Ling had already seen the cracks. She wasn't backing down now.
Ling turned back from the door, slowly. She didn't sit. Didn't soften.
"I didn't want to hurt Sui."
Jessica's eyes narrowed. "You two aren't even together anymore. Why does it matter?"
"Because I liked her," Ling said, voice sharper now. "But you're right. I'm in love with Orm"
Jessica huffed a laugh, like the whole thing bored her. " I didn't need that confession to know it was the case. But you shouldn't have dragged Sui into it."
"Are you fucking kidding me" Ling snapped. "You're the one who brought me back with Orm, actually both of you, with your brilliant idea to rekindle Lingorm flames."
Jessica's jaw flexed.
"That was a shitty move" Ling continued, low and steady. "I wasn't ready to confront my past, I was actually ready to move on with Sui in Hong Kong, but no, both of you decided to test me, and now, people got hurt"
Jessica didn't deny it.
Ling's chest tightened. "How long were you talking behind my back?"
Jessica gave a humorless smile. "She came to me, Ling. I didn't go hunting her down with some grand plan."
"But you didn't stop her, did you?" Ling shot back. "You let her confide in you, knowing you weren't neutral. You let her cry on your shoulder and then used her pain to your advantage. You never once told her to talk to me—the person she was actually in a relationship with."
Jessica's voice turned cold. "She was already slipping away from you. I just... let her fall."
The words made Ling's stomach turn.
"So that's what this was about?" she asked, trying to stay calm. "You saw her hurting, and instead of helping her figure things out, you offered yourself as the solution?"
Jessica's gaze faltered.
"Did you ever love her?"
Jessica flinched like she'd been slapped.
Ling didn't wait for an answer.
"Because if you did, you wouldn't have done what you did."
Jessica said nothing.
"You weaponized your position," Ling said. "And I'm not letting it go unchecked."
Jessica's lips parted, as if to argue, but then closed again. There was nothing left to say that could make it better.
Ling took one final step closer.
"I'm done letting people lie to me. I don't care if I was blind before—I'm not now. And if you ever pull something like this again, I will go to production. Because this? This wasn't just manipulation. This was sabotage."
Jessica swallowed hard, her voice cracking just slightly. "She loved you, you know."
Ling blinked.
"I know," she whispered. "But she didn't trust me enough to fight for it. And now I know why."
She turned and opened the door once more, the hallway light spilling in like a breath of fresh air.
"You don't get to hurt people in the name of love, Jessica," Ling said over her shoulder. "Not anymore."
Then she walked out — head high, heart steady.
And this time, she didn't look back.
The hallway felt colder than before.
Ling's footsteps echoed as she walked back toward her dressing room, chest still heaving, palms damp with sweat. Her confrontation with Jessica had left her shaky — not with doubt, but with release. Her mind spun, not from confusion, but clarity. It was as if something had been scraped clean inside her.
She wasn't angry anymore.
She was done.
Inside the dressing room, she collapsed onto the chair, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her lipstick was smudged from the love scene. Her blouse still hung slightly open, one button off. But her eyes... they were sharper than she remembered. Fierce. Awake.
She fixed her shirt with trembling fingers and reached for the wipes to clean her face. Then she sat there in silence for a moment, grounding herself. She didn't cry. Didn't scream.
Just... breathed.
Because something inside her had shifted. The lies were no longer suffocating her. She saw them now, all of them — Jessica's, Sui's, even her own.
And she was still standing.
The knock came five minutes later. A production assistant poked her head in.
"Ling? We're back on set in ten."
Ling stood. "I'm coming."
She followed the assistant through the halls, her heart calm now — until she stepped back onto set... and saw Jessica standing beside the camera monitor like nothing had happened.
Their eyes met across the studio.
The tension was instant. A slow, crackling charge that made everyone in the room shift slightly, glance sideways, clear their throats. Jessica's jaw was tight. Ling's stare was colder than the lights overhead.
They hadn't said a word.
But everyone felt it.
Jessica gave a clipped direction to the AD. Something about the next scene. But her eyes kept flicking toward Ling. Testing her. Poking.
And Ling? She didn't flinch.
Not until Jessica crossed the line.
"Ling, don't forget your cue this time," she said loud enough for half the crew to hear. "You've been missing a lot lately. Emotion's good, but let's not waste the crew's time with personal drama."
The room went still.
A few heads turned.
Did she just say that?
Ling's blood boiled. Her voice was quiet, but deadly when she spoke. "Maybe if you spent more time directing and less time playing puppet master, we'd have wrapped an hour ago."
Jessica blinked.
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me," Ling said, stepping forward. "This isn't about the scene. Let's make a real one"
Jessica's expression twisted. "Watch your tone, Ling."
"I watched it for weeks," Ling snapped, no longer bothering to hide her fury. "While you rewrote scenes to mess with my head. You think just because you're the director, no one sees what you're doing?"
Jessica's voice rose. "You're spiraling—"
"I'm seeing clearly for the first time," Ling cut in. "And everyone here should be asking why you're still the one calling the shots."
Jessica's hands curled into fists. "You're out of line."
"And you're out of power," Ling shot back, chest rising. "You just don't know it yet."
Jessica opened her mouth to reply—when another voice cut through the chaos.
Firm.
Steady.
"That's enough."
Both women froze.
Ling turned.
Orm.
She stood at the edge of the set, headset pulled off, eyes burning with something neither of them could quite name — not anger, not panic, but command.
"Enough," Orm repeated, walking slowly toward them, her gaze flicking between the two women. "We're here to work. Not destroy each other."
Jessica stepped back, visibly rattled. "This doesn't concern you, Orm—"
"Actually," Orm said coolly, "it concerns all of us. Because whatever this is? It's poisoning the set."
Her tone was calm. But underneath, it vibrated with warning.
Ling's breath caught in her chest.
"Ling," Orm said gently, turning to her now. "You've said what you needed to. Don't give her the satisfaction of turning this into a circus."
Ling's hands trembled at her sides. For a moment, she didn't move.
Then she exhaled. A deep, grounding breath. And nodded.
Jessica scoffed quietly, trying to recover her footing. "You two make quite the team again. Almost like it's all for show."
Orm didn't even look at her.
She stepped beside Ling instead. Close. Steady.
And whispered just for her: "Don't waste your fire on someone who only knows how to play with shadows."
Ling didn't answer. But she didn't walk away alone, either.
Orm walked with her — across the set, away from Jessica, away from the chaos. For now.
And just like that, the power shifted.
_________
A few days later
The production office was silent. Too silent.
A sharp contrast to the chaotic hum of the set just minutes earlier.
Jessica sat at the end of the long conference table, arms folded, trying to appear composed. But her leg bounced under the table. Her hair was pulled back too tight, and she hadn't touched her coffee.
Across from her sat two executive producers. One of them — Khun Yuth, the company's legal rep — had a manila folder thick with printed messages and incident reports. The other, P'Ann Siriporn, a Thai producer recently brought in as a consultant, sat quietly, observing.
Her silence was what unnerved Jessica most.
She'd expected anger. Instead, she got quiet power.
"Jessica," Khun Yuth began, flipping a page, "we've received formal concerns regarding your behavior on set."
Jessica straightened. "From whom?"
Yuth raised an eyebrow. "Multiple sources. Anonymous and otherwise."
Jessica scoffed. "I suppose this is about Ling."
"It's not just about Ling," P'Ann said, her voice calm, low, and razor-sharp. "It's about misuse of authority, emotional manipulation, and a toxic pattern that's affected cast and crew alike."
Jessica stiffened. "That's a serious accusation."
"It's backed," Yuth said, sliding forward a copy of a written statement. "We have reports from the assistant director, the script supervisor, three crew members, and two principal cast members."
Jessica's throat worked, eyes scanning the documents. "This is absurd. This is a personal attack."
"No," P'Ann said, finally leaning forward. "This is accountability."
Silence stretched.
Then P'Ann added, "You've abused your creative power. You rewrote emotional scenes to provoke real reactions without informed consent. You inserted yourself into cast relationships. You pushed Ling until she broke. That's not directing. That's manipulation."
Jessica's mask cracked. "They were just being unprofessional. Emotional. Weak."
"Or maybe," P'Ann said, rising to her feet, "they were trying to do their jobs while protecting themselves from someone who forgot that being in charge doesn't mean playing god."
Jessica stared.
Then, quietly, Khun Yuth spoke: "Effective immediately, Jessica Laurent, you are being removed as director. Your contract is under termination review, and the production will proceed under new leadership."
Jessica's face paled.
"But—"
P'Ann cut in gently but firmly. "You can leave quietly. Or we can have security escort you. Your choice."
Jessica stood.
But for the first time in weeks, she said nothing.
She walked out without a word.
_________
The studio felt... different.
Not louder. Not more chaotic. Just lighter. As if someone had cracked open a window no one realized had been sealed shut for months.
Jessica was gone.
Officially removed from the project two days prior. Her name had been wiped off call sheets, her desk cleared by interns with tight lips and darting eyes. The silence surrounding her exit was almost eerie — no dramatic exit speech, no final scream. Just absence.
And in her place: P'Ann Siriporn.
A quiet powerhouse of a woman, with cropped silver hair, calm eyes, and a presence that needed no announcement. She didn't yell. She didn't posture. She just watched. Listened. And then, when she spoke — the room listened back.
Ling stood near the costume racks, arms loosely folded as she watched P'Ann address the cast and crew for the first time.
"I don't believe in fear," P'Ann said simply. "I believe in vision. I believe in stories told with integrity. And I believe every one of you deserves a set that respects your heart as much as your talent."
She glanced toward Ling, just briefly. Not a performance. Just awareness.
Then she added, "We're rewriting the shooting schedule. Some of these scenes never should've been filmed the way they were. If you have concerns — real ones, not gossip — my door's open."
Murmurs of cautious approval spread through the crew.
Ling exhaled. She hadn't realized how tight her chest had felt until now.
Beside her, Charlotte whispered, "She's good. Like... really good."
"She's what we needed," Ling replied softly.
Her eyes flicked across the studio.
Orm was watching too, standing off to the side with Becky and Freen. She caught Ling's gaze, and for a moment, the noise of the studio disappeared again — the same way it had the first day they'd kissed on set.
No secrets this time. Just that steady, grounding look.
I'm still here, it said.
Ling's heart thudded, but it wasn't from fear. It was the first time in a long time she felt safe.
_______
The crew packed up quickly, like the end of an era. Equipment was being loaded onto trucks, paperwork was signed off, and a distant sense of finality lingered in the air. Tomorrow would be the last day of shooting, and despite the sense of relief from P'Ann's steady leadership, there was still a weight on Ling's chest that hadn't quite lifted.
She had been quiet all day. Quiet since the wrap.
Her mind kept drifting to Hong Kong — and the choice that waited for her when the shoot ended.
Ling made her way down the hall toward the exit, her boots echoing softly against the polished floor. She wasn't sure what she was walking toward. But there was one thing she knew. Orm was somewhere behind her.
As she rounded the corner, she saw Orm standing near the doors, hands in her pockets, leaning casually against the wall. She looked... different today. Softer, almost. A little less guarded.
Ling's breath hitched, just for a moment. Maybe it was the closeness of the end, but she felt like she was teetering on the edge of something she wasn't sure she could face.
Orm straightened when she saw her, eyes searching her face, like she was waiting for Ling to come to her.
"Hey," Orm said quietly. "Everything okay?"
Ling nodded, but the question had already been answered in her silence. Orm didn't press. She didn't have to.
Instead, Orm stepped closer, closing the small gap between them. Her voice was low, almost hesitant, but it held the sincerity that always came when she spoke to Ling.
"Tomorrow's the last day of filming." Orm's words hung in the air, heavy but tentative. "After that... What happens next for you?"
Ling's stomach twisted. She could feel the question coming, but it still landed like a punch. She'd been avoiding this. Avoiding facing the future. Because the truth was, she wasn't sure what came next either.
She took a slow breath, lifting her gaze to meet Orm's. "I... I don't know."
Orm nodded. "But you'll go back to Hong Kong, right? After tomorrow?"
Ling's heart skipped. She felt something shift in the way Orm was looking at her. That question was loaded. It wasn't just about the shoot. It wasn't just about tomorrow.
It was about them.
"I think I have to," Ling replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's where I've been for the last few years... My life's there, Orm."
Orm stayed silent for a moment, looking at her like she was trying to figure out how to say something that had been unsaid for far too long. When she spoke, it was gentle, but there was a quiet determination in her voice.
"And if I asked you to stay?"
Ling's chest tightened at the words. She knew what Orm was asking. Knew what was hanging in the balance between them.
"I can't just... leave everything behind," Ling said, though the words tasted bitter in her mouth. "I've built a life in Hong Kong. A career. And there's still unfinished business I need to deal with."
Orm's face softened, but her gaze didn't waver. She was patient, as always, but there was an edge to her now. Like she wasn't willing to let Ling slip away without a fight.
"I'm not asking you to throw it all away," Orm said. "I'm asking if there's room for me in your future. Not as a maybe. Not as a 'we'll see.'"
The words hit Ling like a wave. She felt her pulse quicken, her thoughts spiraling in a thousand different directions. She had tried to hold everything together — to keep her heart safe, to keep it logical, but she couldn't ignore the pull toward Orm. She hadn't been able to, not even when she told herself she was ready to move on.
Ling closed her eyes, her breath unsteady. "I don't know if I can promise anything, Orm. But I can't deny that... something's been different with you. With us."
Orm's expression softened, but there was a hint of longing in her eyes. "I'm not asking you to decide everything right now. I just... I just want to know if there's a chance for us."
The silence between them stretched for a beat longer. It was quiet — not uncomfortable, but weighted, like they were both trying to make sense of something they weren't ready to fully confront yet.
______
The sun had dipped low by the time they stepped outside the studio. Warm gold lit the edges of the concrete buildings, casting long shadows on the ground as the city began to stir with its evening rhythm.
Ling walked a few paces ahead of Orm, hands in her pockets, silent.
The wrap had been casual. A few hugs, a few thank-yous. A vague promise from P'Ann about a proper celebration tomorrow after the final scene. But underneath the laughter and relieved smiles, there was something else clinging to Ling's skin.
Tomorrow was the last day.
And after that... she didn't know.
"Want me to walk you back?" Orm asked, her voice soft behind her.
Ling glanced over her shoulder. "Yeah. Sure."
So they walked — through the quiet streets, through the golden hour light, through a silence that felt too full to be empty.
They didn't speak.
Not yet. But every step buzzed with all the things they hadn't said since that kiss.
That kiss that hadn't meant goodbye.
That kiss that had felt like... hope.
Ling kept her eyes forward, but she could feel Orm beside her. Could feel her hesitation. The way she wanted to reach out. The way she didn't.
And Orm... Orm was unraveling.
She'd told herself she could wait. That she'd give Ling all the time in the world. But now the finish line was right there — 24 hours away — and she had no idea where Ling would go once the cameras stopped rolling.
Back to Hong Kong? Back to the version of her life where Orm was just a memory?
The thought made her stomach twist.
She wanted to ask. Wanted to say please stay or let me follow or don't leave me behind again.
But she stayed silent. Because she could feel how fragile this moment was — and the last thing she wanted was to scare Ling back into the shadows.
So instead, she asked, "You okay?"
Ling gave a half-smile. "Just tired."
A beat.
Orm nodded. "Yeah. Me too."
They reached Ling's hotel too soon.The breeze tugged gently at the hem of her coat. Orm lingered at the base of the steps, unsure if she should follow. Ling didn't move either. They just... stood there, facing each other.
Not touching.
Not running.
Just standing in this soft, aching almost.
"Tomorrow's the last day," Ling said quietly, echoing the thought that had been haunting them both.
Orm nodded. "Yeah."
Ling glanced up at her, her expression unreadable. "Feels weird, doesn't it? Like something's ending."
Orm hesitated. Then answered truthfully. "Yeah. But maybe something's starting too."
Ling's breath hitched — just enough for Orm to catch it. But she didn't reply.
Instead, she stepped back toward the door, fingers brushing lightly over the railing.
"Thanks for walking me."
"Always," Orm said.
She meant it.
Always.
Ling gave her a small, tired smile. "Good night, Orm."
Orm's voice softened. "Night, Ling."
She didn't say more. She didn't ask.
Not yet.
Because tomorrow would come.
And she'd still be here.
Waiting, if Ling asked her to stay, or maybe she'll go to Hong Kong with her.
Ling closed the door behind her with a soft click.
Silence swallowed the apartment whole.
No footsteps. No distant crew voices. No camera clicks or lines to memorize. Just her heartbeat, pounding too loud in the stillness.
She leaned against the door for a long moment, eyes closed, forehead resting against the wood.
Orm's voice echoed in her chest.
"Always."
Ling let out a shaky breath.
She hadn't lied when she said she was tired. But it wasn't just her body. It was her soul. Her heart. All of it, worn thin from months of pretending and years of guarding something that never really stopped bleeding.
She padded into the kitchen, flicked on the light, poured herself a glass of water she didn't really want. Her reflection stared back at her in the microwave door — faint, blurry, haunted.
What happens after tomorrow?
She didn't have an answer. She wished she did.
She used to think going back to Hong Kong was the only option — the only way to feel stable, the only way to forget Orm. But now? After everything they'd gone through... After the kiss, after Orm's hands trembling against her skin, after the way she looked at her with that unbearable tenderness?
Hong Kong didn't feel like home anymore.
It felt like escape.
Ling set the glass down.
She wandered into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. Her suitcase was still half-unpacked in the corner, like it had been waiting for her decision. Waiting for her to choose what life she wanted to go back to.
And that was the problem.
She didn't want to go back.
Not if it meant leaving this version of Orm behind — the one who fought for her. The one who stood beside her. The one who didn't run this time.
But could she stay?
Could she dare to believe that this wasn't just a fleeting thing — that the world wouldn't rip them apart again?
You're in love with her.
The thought was no longer terrifying. It was... inevitable. Ling had known it since the moment she saw Orm watching her from across the set, like she was the only thing keeping her grounded.
Ling reached for her phone, stared at the screen, thumb hovering over Orm's name.
She didn't text.
Didn't call.
Instead, she whispered into the quiet:
"I don't want to leave you."
The words weren't for anyone but herself.
But they were real.
And for the first time, she let herself believe they might matter.
________
Orm sat on the edge of her bed, still in her jeans, hoodie half-zipped, phone in her hand like it weighed a thousand pounds.
The apartment was quiet except for the low hum of traffic outside. Her bag sat untouched by the door — the one she'd packed weeks ago thinking she could stay anywhere, live out of it like a nomad. But now, the idea of leaving felt unbearable.
Because Ling was still here.
And soon... she might not be.
Orm rubbed her palms against her thighs, trying to slow the tremble in her fingers. She hadn't said anything tonight. She hadn't pushed. But every part of her had wanted to.
Ask her to stay. Ask her to choose you.
But she couldn't. Not yet.
Ling was too careful with her heart now. And maybe she had every reason to be.
Orm tipped her head back, eyes on the ceiling, voice barely above a breath. "What do I do?"
She knew what she wanted. She didn't want Ling to leave. Not just because of the show. Not because of nostalgia or timing. But because she'd never stopped loving her.
Even after the silence.
Even after the years apart.
Even after the heartbreak that nearly broke them both.
She unlocked her phone again, stared at the contact list.
Then, without thinking too much, she tapped on Junji's name.
It rang twice.
Then: "Orm?" Her voice was warm. Familiar. The way it had always been — steady, unshaken, like she could anchor them both.
"Hey," Orm said, trying not to sound like she was unraveling. "Sorry to call so late."
Junji made a soft sound. "You okay?"
A beat.
"I don't know," Orm admitted, voice cracking just slightly. "I just... I needed to talk to someone who saw us. Really saw us."
There was a pause. Then Junji replied, gentle and knowing, "You mean someone who's been rooting for you since before you even figured it out?"
A breath of shaky laughter escaped Orm. "Yeah. That."
She heard Junji shift on the other end. Probably sitting up, probably pulling on a hoodie or turning on a bedside lamp — because she was the kind of friend who always showed up, no matter the time.
"I don't know where I stand with Ling," Orm said softly. "I mean... we kissed. And I felt everything in that kiss, Junji. Every promise. Every regret. Every damn thing I never said when I had the chance."
Junji stayed quiet, letting her speak.
Orm exhaled, her voice more raw now. "But since then, we haven't talked. Not really. And tomorrow's the end of filming. And I don't know if she's going back to Hong Kong. I don't know if I'm part of the picture she sees for her life now. I'm scared I waited too long."
Junji's voice was calm, but firm. "Orm. She's scared too."
Orm closed her eyes.
"You didn't imagine that kiss. Or what happened after. I was with her the night she confessed everything. She didn't just miss you. She loved you. And she still does — she's just afraid that maybe loving you again will hurt like it did the first time."
Orm's throat tightened. "I would never hurt her again."
"I know," Junji said. "But she doesn't. Not deep down. Not yet."
There was silence for a moment. Then:
"Orm?"
"Yeah?"
"If you want her to stay... don't wait for her to make the first move this time."
Orm's breath caught.
"She followed you before," Junji continued, "and it nearly shattered her when you didn't fight for her. If you're serious now, you need to show her. Let her see that you're not running this time. That you're in this for real."
"I am," Orm whispered. "God, I am."
"Then tell her," Junji said gently. "Before the wrap party. Before she disappears into that airport gate and becomes a memory again."
Orm wiped at her eyes, quiet tears she hadn't realized were falling.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"Always," Junji replied — with the exact same word Orm had used earlier with Ling.
And it hit her, then.
She didn't want a 'goodbye' scene.
She wanted a beginning.
___
The final day of filming arrived like a slow exhale — the kind that followed a long storm.
Call time was earlier than usual, but no one seemed to mind. There was something sacred about the last day. Everyone moved softer. Smiled more. Even the clatter of camera gear and walkie-talkies seemed to hum with nostalgia.
Ling arrived on set just after sunrise, her makeup done, costume already zipped. She sipped quietly from her tea, nodding at familiar faces, letting the soft buzz of goodbyes-in-progress settle over her.
Across the lot, she spotted Orm stepping out of the trailer.
Their eyes met.
No smile.
No wave.
Just... that charged stillness.
They both looked away first.
Ling drifted toward wardrobe for last fixes. Orm was pulled into a brief huddle with the cinematographer. Neither spoke a word to the other. Not yet.
But all day, they moved like magnets set just slightly apart — not touching, but always aware.
Becky and Freen were the first to notice.
"You two good?" Becky asked during a break, nudging Orm with her elbow. "You look like you're chasing ghosts."
Orm smirked, trying not to look toward where Ling was standing under a lighting rig. "Something like that."
"You're not the only one," Freen muttered, eyes narrowing at Ling, who was smiling politely at a PA but looked like her mind was a thousand miles away.
"She's been in her head all morning," Becky added. "Say something before the credits roll. You don't want your story to end with a fade-out."
Orm said nothing. But the words stuck.
Ling, meanwhile, was cornered near craft services by Charlotte, who handed her a coffee she didn't ask for and said bluntly, "You're not seriously leaving without talking to her, are you?"
Ling blinked. "I—what?"
Charlotte shrugged. "Just saying. You've been acting like this is the wrap of a scene. Not the wrap of your life."
"I'm not going to turn this into some grand declaration," Ling muttered, staring into her cup. "It's complicated."
Charlotte gave her a look. "You know what else is complicated? Regret."
Ling didn't respond. But her grip on the coffee tightened.
Scene after scene passed.
Orm delivered a tearful farewell monologue. Ling filmed a rooftop goodbye under sunset light. Everyone clapped after each take, hugs were exchanged, selfies snapped.
But still, no words between them.
Not until the final scene wrapped.
Not until the AD shouted "That's a wrap!" and the set burst into applause.
Not until the moment everyone had waited for had finally passed — and it was now or never.
Orm stood a few meters away, surrounded by crew, laughing quietly with Freen. She didn't look toward Ling.
Ling stood between Charlotte and Becky, her smile small and tight, her heart thudding.
She'll leave, Ling thought. She'll walk away, and I'll let her. Again.
But before she could turn, Orm looked up — right at her. And everything else fell away.
They didn't smile.
They didn't move.
But something clicked into place.
The same way it had at the very beginning.
The sound of applause still echoed faintly through the studio, muffled now by the rustle of people gathering coats, unplugging gear, rolling cords. Someone opened a bottle of cheap champagne in the back. Laughter broke out. A few cheers. A few tears.
But Orm wasn't laughing.
She was looking at Ling.
Ling, who hadn't moved since the director's final "cut."
Ling, who looked like she was trying to memorize the air around her.
Ling, who still hadn't come to her.
And maybe that was okay.
Because this time... it was Orm's turn.
She exhaled once, slow. Then stepped away from Freen's side. Away from the rest of the crowd. Her boots echoed softly on the studio floor as she crossed the space between them.
Ling saw her coming.
Didn't move.
Didn't look away.
Just stood there, frozen but burning, like she'd been waiting for this moment since the second they first met.
Orm stopped when they were face-to-face. Close enough to feel the shift in Ling's breath. Close enough to see the fear and fire swimming behind her eyes.
And for once, Orm didn't smile.
She didn't hide.
She let it all show.
"I didn't want the last words between us to be 'good night,'" she said quietly. "Not when there's still so much I haven't said."
Ling's throat tightened. "You don't have to—"
"I do," Orm interrupted gently. "I need you to know something before you walk away. Because I won't let this be another ending that we pretend wasn't ours."
Ling's hands trembled where they were clasped in front of her. But she didn't stop her. She didn't run.
"I don't know what your plans are after tomorrow," Orm said. "And I'm not going to ask you to give up your life. But Ling... I don't want to be your memory. I want to be your future."
Ling's lips parted slightly, a flicker of panic and yearning crossing her face all at once.
"I'm not asking you to choose me right now," Orm continued, her voice rough. "But I'm here. I want this. I want you. In whatever way you'll have me. Bangkok, Hong Kong, halfway across the world—I don't care."
Ling's chest rose with a sharp breath.
"I'll follow you," Orm whispered. "Not to chase you. But to walk beside you. This time, I'll walk all the way."
Ling blinked hard, like she was trying to swallow emotion before it broke her.
"I'm scared," she finally breathed. "That we'll fall apart again."
"I am too," Orm said, voice steady. "But I'd rather fall a thousand times than let you go without trying."
The silence that followed wasn't empty. It was everything. Ling's breath shook. Orm's hand hovered between them, uncertain.
And then, Ling moved.
She reached out, her fingers slipping into Orm's like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Like it had never stopped being home.
"I don't want to walk away either," she whispered.
Orm's heart stuttered.
"Then don't," she whispered back.
They stood there, in the middle of the clearing set, the crew slowly dissolving around them. Two people who had circled too long, finally standing still.
Finally together.
They didn't kiss.
Not here.
Not in front of the crew still milling around with champagne flutes and leftover scripts, pretending not to glance over. Not with the lights still dimming one by one across the soundstage like a curtain falling.
But they stood there — hand in hand, eyes locked — and it felt louder than any grand finale.
Ling wasn't sure where this would lead. She didn't know if they'd get it right this time. But as Orm's fingers curled gently around hers, she felt something shift inside her.
Something open.
Something brave.
And Orm?
Orm didn't need a promise. Not yet. Not tonight.
Just this moment.
Just this hand.
Just Ling.
And for now... that was more than enough.