Danger ⚠️

The night air felt heavier than usual, pressing down on Orm’s chest as she sat in the backseat of Mae Koy’s car. The city lights blurred past the window, but she barely noticed them. Her reflection stared back at her in the glass—eyes red-rimmed, lips pressed into a thin, trembling line, the echo of the doctor’s words still ringing in her head.

“There’s nothing more we can do tonight. She’s stable, but you’ll have to come back first thing in the morning.”

Stable.

The word should’ve brought comfort. But for Orm, it felt like a fragile thread, too thin to hold onto, too fragile to trust.

She clenched her fists in her lap, her nails digging into the soft skin of her palms, trying to ground herself. But nothing worked. The car felt too small, her thoughts too loud.

Mae Koy glanced at her through the rearview mirror, her face filled with quiet concern. She didn’t say anything—didn’t ask if Orm was okay—because they both knew the answer.

Orm wasn’t okay.

She was unraveling.

Her mind kept flashing back to Ling—her smile, her laughter, the warmth of her hand, the soft brush of her breath against Orm’s neck just the morning before.

And now?

Now Ling was lying in a hospital bed, surrounded by machines, fighting battles in silence while Orm sat powerless, drowning in everything she’d never said.

“I should’ve stayed,” Orm whispered, her voice raw.

Mae Koy’s grip tightened slightly on the steering wheel. “They wouldn’t let you, Orm.”

Orm shook her head, tears blurring her vision. “I should’ve made her stay with me that morning. I should’ve—” Her voice broke, the words tangled with guilt and fear.

Mae Koy pulled the car over to the side of the road, turning off the engine. She twisted in her seat to face Orm, her eyes soft but firm.

“This isn’t your fault,” she said gently. “You can’t control everything. You couldn’t have stopped this.”

Orm let out a shaky breath, wiping at her tears with the sleeve of her hoodie. “But I love her.”

The confession slipped out again like a secret too heavy to carry any longer, hanging in the silence between them.

Mae Koy reached out, squeezing Orm’s hand. “Then tell her. When she wakes up.”

Orm nodded slowly, the weight of those words settling over her like a fragile promise.

When she wakes up.

Because Orm couldn’t bear the thought of if.

_______________________________

The sterile white of the hospital room felt too bright, too empty, even as the soft beeping of the heart monitor echoed steadily in the background. Ling’s eyes fluttered open, her vision swimming with blurry shapes before slowly sharpening into the contours of unfamiliar walls, a ceiling she didn’t recognize, and the faint scent of antiseptic lingering in the air.

Her chest ached—sharp and tight—while a dull, throbbing pain radiated from her arm, encased in a cast. A sharper ache pulsed at her temple, where her head felt heavy and foggy, like she was waking from a dream she couldn’t quite remember.

She blinked, her throat dry as she tried to speak, but no words came out.

A nurse appeared by her side almost immediately, her voice gentle but unfamiliar. “Miss Kwong, you’re awake. Just breathe slowly. You’re safe now.”

Safe.

The word echoed strangely in Ling’s mind, foreign and distant, as if it didn’t belong to her.

Moments later, her parents rushed into the room, their faces etched with relief and fear. Her mother’s hand trembled slightly as she brushed Ling’s hair away from her forehead, tears brimming in her eyes.

“Ling,” her mother whispered, her voice shaking with emotion. “Thank God, you’re okay.”

Ling’s brow furrowed slightly. She recognized the woman’s face, the warmth in her touch. Mom. She knew that much. She glanced toward the man standing beside her—her father. That was familiar too. But something was missing, like a shadow in the corner of her mind she couldn’t quite reach.

Her lips parted again, her voice raspy. “What… happened?”

Her father squeezed her hand gently. “You were in an accident, sweetheart. But you’re safe now. You’re strong.”

The words felt distant, like echoes in a hollow room.

The doctors arrived shortly after, speaking quietly to her parents just outside the door.

“She has a broken rib, a fractured arm, and head trauma,” one of them explained. “There’s swelling, but we’re monitoring it closely. We’ll need to run more tests to see if her memory is okay.”

Her mother’s voice trembled. “What about her memory?”

The doctor’s sigh was soft but heavy. “She may experience memory loss. It could be temporary, but we won’t know until we observe her condition further.”

Inside the room, Ling stared at the ceiling, her mind drifting into empty spaces she couldn’t fill. She felt a strange emptiness—not from the physical pain, but from something deeper, something missing.

It wasn’t her parents. It wasn’t the accident, that she barely remembers to be honest.

It was… something else.

Someone else.

She didn’t know what—or who—it was.

But it left an ache in her chest sharper than any injury.

Like she was searching for a face she couldn’t remember.

Ling sat propped up against the stiff hospital pillows, the sterile white walls closing in around her like a silent witness to everything she couldn’t remember. The ache in her chest wasn’t just from the broken rib—it was deeper, something intangible, like a missing piece of a puzzle she didn’t even know she was trying to solve.

Her parents sat beside her, their faces etched with relief and lingering worry. Niran leaned casually against the windowsill, trying to mask his own tension with a lopsided grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Her mother reached out, gently tucking a stray strand of Ling’s hair behind her ear. “You don’t have to worry about anything, sweetheart. The stalkers—they’ve been arrested. It’s over.”

Ling nodded slowly, processing the words without fully understanding the weight they carried. Stalkers? The word felt distant, like it belonged to someone else’s story.

“And Orm is on her way,” her father added with a soft smile, as if the mention of that name alone should bring comfort.

But it didn’t.

Ling’s heart didn’t react. No flicker of recognition. No warmth.

Just… nothing.

Niran’s smile faltered when he saw the faint crease of confusion in Ling’s brow, the way her gaze drifted slightly, unanchored by the name that should’ve meant something.

His chest tightened, fear prickling at the edges of his bravado. But instead of panicking, he forced a teasing grin, leaning forward with an exaggerated eye roll.

“Come on, sis,” he joked lightly, though his voice held a tight edge. “The love of your life—you know, Orm Kornnaphat?”

Ling’s lips parted slightly, her eyes narrowing as if trying to pull the name from the fog in her mind.

But it wasn’t there.

Her silence said more than words ever could.

Niran’s heart sank, his joke hanging in the air like an unfinished sentence. His parents exchanged a quick, worried glance, their smiles faltering just for a second.

Ling blinked, her voice soft and unsure. “Orm…?”

And in that fragile moment, the ache in her chest deepened—not from the injuries, but from something missing.

Ling’s mother stepped out of the hospital room, her heart heavy with an ache she couldn’t shake. She moved down the hall, her fingers trembling slightly as she pulled out her phone and dialed Mae Koy’s number. The call connected quickly, the familiar voice on the other end grounding her.

“Mae, it’s me,” she whispered, glancing back toward Ling’s room, her voice low and strained. “I just needed to tell you something before you get here…”

Inside Mae’s car, the call came through the car’s Bluetooth speaker, echoing softly in the confined space. Orm sat silently in the passenger seat, her fingers intertwined tightly in her lap. She stared out the window, her heart racing with anticipation—until she heard Ling’s mother’s next words.

“Ling doesn’t remember Orm.”

The words hit Orm like a physical blow, her breath hitching sharply in her chest. She turned to Mae Koy, her eyes wide, disbelief etched across her face.

“She didn’t recognize her name,” Ling’s mother continued, her voice shaky. “I… I don’t know how to tell Orm. I’m worried about how she’ll take it. Just—prepare her, okay? I didn’t want her to be blindsided.”

Mae’s knuckles tightened on the steering wheel. She glanced briefly at Orm, whose face had gone pale, her chest rising and falling in shallow, broken breaths.

But Orm didn’t cry.

She just sat there, the words replaying in her mind over and over, each repetition carving a deeper ache into her heart.

When the call ended, the silence in the car was deafening.

Mae finally broke it, her voice gentle but hesitant. “Orm… do you still want to go?”

Orm turned slowly, her eyes glassy but filled with a fierce determination.

“Of course,” she whispered, her voice trembling but steady. “I waited all night for this.”

She swallowed hard, her heart feeling like it was splintering into pieces.

“Even if she doesn’t remember our bond, our relationship… I’ll still be there for her.”

Because love wasn’t about being remembered.

It was about never leaving.

The car ride felt longer than it should’ve, even though Mae Koy drove as fast as she safely could. The city blurred past the windows, but Orm didn’t see any of it. Her gaze was distant, fixed on nothing, her thoughts louder than the hum of the engine.

Ling doesn’t remember me.

The words echoed over and over, like a cruel mantra etched into her heart. She clenched her hands tightly in her lap, her fingers digging into her palms until her knuckles turned white. But the sting in her skin was nothing compared to the ache in her chest—a hollow, gnawing emptiness that no amount of steady breathing could fix.

She had imagined this moment differently.

She thought about how she’d rush into the room, maybe even cry tears of relief seeing Ling awake. She thought she’d hold her hand, whisper “You’re safe now, I love you Lingling Kwong” and Ling would smile at her like she always did—soft and real, with that little crinkle near her eyes that Orm secretly adored.

But that wasn’t going to happen.

Ling wouldn’t smile at her like that.

Ling wouldn’t remember the late-night talks, the lingering touches, the way Orm’s heart always raced when she was near. She wouldn’t remember Orm’s arms wrapped around her after nightmares, or the way Orm whispered her name like it was a prayer.

She won’t remember us.

Orm squeezed her eyes shut, swallowing the sob threatening to escape. She didn’t want to fall apart—not yet. Not in this car. Not while Mae was driving, glancing over with quiet concern, her presence a steady anchor in the rising tide of Orm’s emotions.

Mae finally spoke, her voice soft but firm. “It’s okay to not be okay sweetheart, you know. This is a hard news”

Orm let out a shaky breath, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m even more scared.”

Mae’s hand briefly left the wheel, resting gently over Orm’s clenched fists. “She may not remember right now. But memory or not, you’re still Orm. And that matters. Give her time darling, the heart always knows”

Orm nodded slowly, but the tears slipped down her cheeks anyway, silent and unstoppable. She didn’t bother wiping them away.

She let them fall.

Because this was grief—the kind you feel for something you haven’t lost yet, but fear you’re about to.

And yet, beneath all of it—beneath the fear and heartbreak—was something stronger.

Love.

Because even if Ling didn’t remember her, Orm remembered everything.

And that would be enough. It had to be. For now.

___________

The hospital’s fluorescent lights felt colder than before, casting harsh reflections on the polished floors as Mae Koy pulled the car into the parking lot. Orm stepped out slowly, her legs feeling heavier with every step toward the entrance. The ache in her chest was a dull, constant throb, but she kept moving—because stopping meant thinking, and thinking hurt too much.

Inside, the sterile scent of disinfectant greeted them like an unwelcome guest. Standing near the entrance of the ward was Niran, his hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, dark circles under his eyes betraying his exhaustion. His face lit up with a fleeting sense of relief when he spotted them, but it faded quickly when his gaze landed on Orm.

Mae gave Orm’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I’ll grab something to eat and drink for us.”

Orm nodded wordlessly, her eyes fixed on Niran as Mae disappeared down the corridor.

Niran approached, his usual playful demeanor gone, replaced by something softer—regret, maybe. Concern.

“Hey,” he greeted quietly, his voice lacking its usual teasing lilt.

Orm forced a breath, her throat too tight to say much more than, “Hi.”

Niran’s gaze softened as he took in the redness around her eyes, the faint tremble in her hands. “I’m… I’m really sorry, Orm. For everything.”

Orm shook her head slightly. “It’s not your fault.”

Niran rubbed the back of his neck, his jaw tense. “The doctor said it’s selective amnesia. It could come back… but it might take time.”

Time.

The word felt like a curse.

Orm swallowed the lump in her throat, her voice a fragile whisper. “Is she okay?”

“She’s asleep right now,she has a broken rib and arm… little head trauma too” Niran replied gently. “But… you can see her if you want.”

Orm didn’t hesitate. “I do.”

Niran nodded, motioning toward the hallway. “I’ll leave you with her. I think… I think she’d want that.”

Orm followed him silently, her heart pounding louder with every step toward Ling’s room. When they reached the door, Niran paused, his hand on the handle.

“She may not remember you right now,” he said softly, meeting Orm’s eyes, “but I’m pretty sure her heart still does.”

Orm blinked back tears, her chest tightening.

Then Niran opened the door.

Inside, Ling lay motionless, her face pale against the stark white of the hospital sheets, a faint bruise coloring her temple. The steady beep of the heart monitor was the only sound in the room.

Orm stepped inside slowly, her heart shattering with every step, and Niran quietly closed the door behind her, leaving her alone with the one person she’d been aching to see.

The door clicked softly shut behind Orm, sealing her in the quiet room with Ling.

The sight of her stole Orm’s breath.

Ling looked fragile in a way Orm had never seen before—pale, small against the stark white sheets, her face marked by faint bruises and a bandage along her temple. The steady beep of the heart monitor was both a comfort and a curse, reminding Orm that Ling was still here but also how close she'd come to not being.

A wave of emotions crashed over her—fear, heartbreak, but most of all, anger.

Anger at herself.

I should’ve protected you.

Orm’s fists clenched at her sides, her nails digging into her palms until it hurt. But it didn’t hurt enough. Not compared to the ache in her chest. She took a shaky breath, her eyes burning with unshed tears.

I should’ve been there. I should’ve done something.

Her knees gave out before she realized it, and she sank into the chair beside Ling’s bed. The sterile hospital lights cast a soft glow over Ling’s face, her features peaceful in sleep, untouched by the storm raging inside Orm.

Orm reached out slowly, her fingers trembling as they hovered just above Ling’s hand, afraid to touch, afraid to feel how cold she might be.

Her voice came out in a broken whisper. “I’m so sorry my love”

She finally let her fingers rest gently on Ling’s hand, the warmth of her skin grounding Orm in the unbearable reality of it all.

“I love you,” Orm whispered, her voice trembling. “And I am so sorry for not telling you before.”

Ling didn’t stir.

The medication had pulled her deep into unconsciousness, her breathing steady but distant, unreachable.

Orm’s tears fell freely now, silent and unrelenting, tracing paths down her cheeks as she sat there, clutching Ling’s hand like it was the only thing keeping her afloat.

She leaned forward, resting her forehead gently against Ling’s arm, her voice barely a whisper against the silence.

“I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere. Even if you don’t remember me”

And even though Ling couldn’t hear her, Orm knew she’d keep saying it.

Until Ling did.

Outside Ling’s hospital room, the sterile hallway felt colder, quieter—a stark contrast to the storm of emotions brewing just beyond the door.

Mae Koy leaned against the wall, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, eyes fixed on the door Orm had disappeared behind moments ago. Niran stood beside her, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other, his usual laid-back demeanor buried under layers of worry.

Neither spoke for a while, the silence thick with unspoken fears.

Finally, Niran broke it, his voice low and tight. “I don’t know what’s worse—the accident or knowing that when she wakes up, she might not recognize Orm.”

Mae’s breath hitched slightly, her gaze dropping to the floor. “I’ve been thinking the same thing.”

Niran rubbed the back of his neck, his jaw clenched. “Orm’s holding it together for now, but… I see it in her eyes. She’s breaking.”

Mae nodded slowly, her throat tight. “She’s been in love with Ling for so long, even if she never said it out loud. And now—” her voice faltered, “—she might never get the chance.”

Niran let out a bitter chuckle, but there was no humor in it. “Funny, isn’t it? All that love between them, and it’s like the universe hit the reset button.”

Mae’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. “But love doesn’t just disappear because of memory loss. It’s in the way Orm looks at her, the way Ling used to light up whenever Orm walked into the room. Maybe Ling doesn’t remember with her mind right now, but…” She placed a hand over her heart, her voice softening. “The heart remembers.”

Niran swallowed hard, nodding slowly. “I hope you’re right.”

Inside the room, Orm sat beside Ling’s bed, clutching her hand tightly, unaware of the conversation just outside—but somehow, she felt it.

The fear.

The ache.

And the fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, love was stronger than memory.