Opposite Attracts

Raindrops pattered against the window, filling Lingling’s small apartment with a rhythmic sound as she sat at her tiny dining table, absentmindedly stirring a bowl of instant noodles. The night remained mostly silent, aside from the occasional honk of distant cars. Her eyes drifted to the expensive phone resting on the table, Orm’s phone—before she sighed and turned her attention to the small clock on the wall.

She had a rare moment of stillness, a break from the constant rush of work, and it made her think about how far she had come.

Life hadn’t been easy for her. It never had been.

Lingling was born and raised in Khon Kaen, a province in northeastern Thailand, far from the bustling city of Bangkok. She was the only child of hardworking parents who owned a small food stall near the local market. Every morning, her mother would wake up before dawn to prepare the ingredients, while her father set up the stall. They sold simple but delicious meals—grilled pork skewers, sticky rice, and papaya salad—dishes that filled the stomach but barely filled their pockets.

From a young age, Lingling understood that money was always tight. While other kids played after school, she was often found behind the food stall, helping her parents take orders and washing dishes. She never complained, though. She loved her parents, and she knew they were doing everything they could to give her a better future.

Despite their struggles, her parents always encouraged her to study hard. “Education is your way out of this life,” her father would say. “We can’t give you riches, but we can give you a chance.”

And so, Lingling did everything she could to make them proud.

In school, Lingling was a top student. She loved reading, especially about different cultures and places far beyond Khon Kaen. She dreamed of going to university, of working in a job where she wouldn’t have to worry about money. But dreams cost money, and when she finished high school, reality hit hard.

Her parents had saved what they could, but it wasn’t enough to cover the costs of tuition, living expenses, and everything else that came with studying in a big city like Bangkok. They told her they would find a way, but Lingling refused to let them struggle any further.

“I’ll work first,” she had told them. “I’ll save up, and then I’ll study.”

Her parents protested, but Lingling was stubborn. She packed her bags and left for Bangkok with nothing but a small amount of money and determination in her heart.

Bangkok was overwhelming. The towering buildings, the crowded streets, the never-ending rush—it was nothing like her quiet hometown. Finding a job wasn’t easy, especially without a degree, but she wasn’t picky. She took whatever work she could find—first as a server at a small noodle shop, then as a cashier at a convenience store, and eventually, she landed a job as a cleaning lady at the airport lounge.

It wasn’t glamorous, but it paid the bills.

She had learned to survive on a tight budget—renting a small, rundown studio apartment, eating cheap street food, and rarely spending on anything unnecessary. Even after all these years, she still sent money home to her parents every month. She knew they would tell her not to, but she also knew they needed it.

She never resented the hard work. What frustrated her was the way people looked at her—like she was invisible. The wealthy travelers at the airport barely acknowledged her presence as she wiped down tables or cleaned up after them. They walked past her as if she didn’t exist.

She hated that feeling.

But she had learned to let it go. She wasn’t working for their approval. She was working for her future.

Living alone in Bangkok had taught Lingling a lot. She had learned how to fix a leaking sink, how to stretch a small salary to last an entire month, and how to keep moving forward even when things got tough.

But it also came with loneliness.

She had made a few friends over the years—coworkers, neighbors—but deep down, she always kept a certain distance. She didn’t like relying on others, and she definitely didn’t like the idea of burdening anyone with her problems.

She was used to standing on her own.

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Lingling shook herself out of her thoughts and focused back on her noodles, now slightly soggy from sitting too long. She sighed and took a bite, barely tasting it.

Her gaze flickered to Orm’s phone again.

Orm.

The woman was the complete opposite of her—rich, privileged, careless. Lingling had seen people like her before. The type who never had to worry about bills, who never had to work themselves to exhaustion just to survive.

People like Orm never noticed people like her.

And yet, for some reason, Orm found it entertaining to talk to her.

Lingling didn’t understand it.

Maybe Orm was just bored. Maybe she was playing some rich-girl game to amuse herself. Whatever it was, Lingling had no interest in being part of it.

She just wanted to return the phone and be done with it.

With a sigh, she pushed her half-eaten noodles aside and stood up, stretching her sore arms. She had work again tomorrow, another long day of cleaning up after people who wouldn’t even look at her.

Nothing new.

And Orm? She would forget about her soon enough.

At least, that’s what Lingling told herself.