Danger ⚠️

The pale morning light crept softly into the hospital room, casting delicate streaks across the white sheets. The steady beep of the heart monitor was the only sound, rhythmic and steady—too steady compared to the storm that lingered in Orm’s heart.

Orm sat slumped in the chair beside Ling’s bed, her head resting against the thin mattress, fingers still loosely wrapped around Ling’s hand. The exhaustion had finally pulled her under, but her grip never faltered, as if letting go would make everything unravel.

Ling’s fingers twitched faintly.

Then, slowly, her eyelids fluttered open.

Her vision was blurry at first, the sterile white ceiling unfamiliar and distant. She blinked several times, her gaze drifting, trying to anchor herself to something—anything—that made sense.

Her eyes fell on the woman beside her.

Orm.

But there was no recognition.

Ling’s chest tightened with a strange, hollow ache. She didn’t know this woman—but for some reason, her presence didn’t feel unfamiliar. It felt… like something was missing, like reaching for a memory that wasn’t there.

She gently slid her hand from Orm’s grasp, the warmth disappearing like a fading echo.

The movement stirred Orm awake.

Her eyes shot open, filled with a rush of hope as she sat up straight, her heart racing. “Ling?”

Ling blinked, staring at her with polite confusion. “Um… hello.”

The word felt like a knife.

Orm’s breath hitched, her chest tightening as she forced a shaky smile. “Hey… I—um—I’m Orm.”

Ling nodded slowly, her brow furrowed slightly. “Orm,” she repeated, as if tasting the name for the first time. “Thank you for being here.”

Orm’s heart shattered all over again. Orm’s heart raced as she searched Ling’s face for any flicker of recognition—anything that would tell her this nightmare wasn’t real. But Ling’s expression remained distant, her brow slightly furrowed, eyes filled with polite confusion instead of the warmth Orm was so desperately hoping for.

“I—uh—do you need anything?” Orm’s voice came out softer than she intended, her words trembling under the weight of heartbreak.

Ling shifted uncomfortably against the stiff hospital pillows, wincing slightly from the pain radiating through her side. Her gaze drifted back to Orm, her lips pressing into a thin line.

“I’m fine,” she replied curtly, her tone distant, guarded.

Orm flinched inwardly at the coldness. Ling’s voice—usually soft, familiar, filled with warmth—now felt like a stranger’s. She tried to swallow the lump rising in her throat, forcing herself to stay composed.

Ling glanced around the sterile room, her confusion deepening. “Where are my parents? And… my brother?”

Orm hesitated, her fingers curling slightly against the edge of the blanket. “They—they stepped out for a bit. They’ll be back soon.”

Ling nodded slowly, her eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to piece together a puzzle she didn’t realize was missing. Her gaze drifted back to Orm, lingering with subtle suspicion.

“Were you… here all night?”

Orm’s heart clenched, but she managed a small nod. “Yeah.”

Ling’s brow furrowed deeper, her confusion turning into quiet frustration. “Why?”

The question hit harder than Orm expected. She opened her mouth, trying to find the right words, but none of them seemed enough. Because I love you felt too fragile to say aloud. Because you’re my whole world felt too raw.

Instead, she whispered the simplest truth she could manage.

“Because I care about you.”

Ling didn’t respond.

She just turned her gaze toward the window, her profile silhouetted against the soft morning light, leaving Orm sitting there with nothing but the hollow echo of everything they used to be.

Orm sat frozen for a moment, the weight of Ling’s distant gaze pressing down on her like gravity itself had shifted. The ache in her chest grew unbearable, coiling tight around her ribs until breathing felt like a struggle.

Without another word, Orm slowly stood, her legs shaky beneath her. She forced herself to move, each step away from Ling like peeling off a piece of herself. When she reached the door, she hesitated for a heartbeat, her hand resting on the cool metal handle.

She didn’t look back.

If she did, she wasn’t sure she could keep standing.

Orm stepped into the hallway, the sterile brightness of the hospital lights feeling like a slap after the dim stillness of Ling’s room. The door clicked shut behind her—a soft, final sound that echoed too loudly in her heart.

She made it a few steps before her legs gave out, and she slid down the cold wall, pulling her knees to her chest. The tears came fast and unrelenting, spilling over as silent sobs wracked her body.

She doesn’t remember me.

The thought looped in her mind, sharp and cruel. She had prepared herself for anything—bruises, scars, even the possibility of losing Ling altogether.

But this?

This was a different kind of loss.

A living grief.

Orm buried her face in her hands, her shoulders trembling. The memories they shared—the laughter, the whispered secrets, the warmth of Ling’s hand in hers—were now hers alone. Ling had left her behind in the space between memory and nothingness.

Mae Koy found her minutes later, her face softening with quiet heartbreak as she knelt beside Orm. She didn’t say anything. She just wrapped her arms around her, holding her close, grounding her in the middle of her unraveling world.

And for the first time since the accident, Orm let herself fall apart.

Because the person she loved the most didn’t even know her name.

The door clicked softly behind Orm, leaving an unsettling silence in its wake.

Ling stared at it long after Orm was gone, her gaze distant, her chest tight with an unfamiliar ache. She didn’t understand it—this hollow feeling, this subtle pull toward the woman who’d just left. It was like standing at the edge of a memory she couldn’t quite reach, the echoes of something she should know but didn’t.

She inhaled deeply, and there it was again—a faint trace of Orm’s scent lingering in the sterile air. Something soft, warm, familiar. It made her heart stutter, a sudden rush of heat blooming under her ribs, her pulse quickening without reason.

Why?

Ling pressed her fingers against her chest, as if she could steady the wild thrum of her heart. But the more she tried to make sense of it, the more lost she felt. No face, no memory, just… fragments of feelings with no name.

Her spiraling thoughts were interrupted when the door creaked open again, this time revealing her parents. They entered quietly, their faces tight with worry, though their smiles were quick to cover it.

Ling’s eyes darted past them instinctively, expecting—or maybe hoping—to see Orm.

But she wasn’t there.

Her chest tightened again.

“Where’s Niran?” Ling asked, her voice softer than she intended.

Her mother hesitated for the briefest second. “He’s just outside… talking to someone.”

Ling’s brow furrowed slightly. “The woman who was here?”

Her parents exchanged a quick glance—subtle but not subtle enough.

Ling didn’t miss it.

She knew that look. The kind people gave when they were hiding something, stitching half-truths into their words.

Her heart tightened, though she didn’t know why.

“She’s a friend,” her father said finally, his voice carefully neutral. “She’s been here since the accident.”

Ling didn’t respond. She just stared at them, her gut twisting with a feeling she couldn’t name. Something wasn’t right—not with their words, not with the tension lingering in the air like an unspoken secret.

But she didn’t push.

Because even though she didn’t understand what was missing, she felt it—lurking just beyond the edges of her memory.

Ling sank deeper into the hospital bed, her gaze fixed on the ceiling, though her mind was miles away. The faint sounds of her parents bustling around—adjusting her blanket, checking the IV—faded into the background.

She couldn’t shake the feeling.

Orm’s absence lingered like an echo, her scent faint but stubborn, clinging to the sterile air. It was maddening, this pull toward a stranger whose name should’ve meant nothing but somehow carved an ache into her chest.

Why does my heart feel like this?

Ling pressed her hand flat over her chest, trying to calm the erratic rhythm beneath her ribs. No answers came. Just that gnawing emptiness, like she’d lost something she couldn’t even remember having.

She glanced at her parents again, catching them exchanging another quick, quiet look when they thought she wasn’t paying attention.

They knew something.

Something about her.

But they wouldn’t tell her—not yet. Ling could see it in their faces, the way they softened their words, carefully navigating around invisible landmines.

They’re waiting for me to find out on my own.

And somehow, that made the ache worse.

___________

Niran stood in the hallway, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, leaning against the cool, sterile wall. Orm sat on a nearby bench, hunched forward, her elbows resting on her knees, her fingers laced tightly together as if she could hold herself together by sheer force.

The silence between them was heavy, punctuated only by the faint hum of fluorescent lights overhead.

“She doesn’t remember me, she was so cold Niran…” Orm whispered, her voice hoarse, like the words had been scraped raw from her chest.

Niran didn’t respond right away. He just stared at the opposite wall, his jaw clenched tight, as if he could hold back the ache in his own heart. He knew Orm for a few years now and he loved her like a sister, he was the first witness of Ling’s blooming love for Orm and he never understood why she never said anything.

“I thought I was prepared for anything,” Orm continued, her voice shaking. “But not this. Not being a stranger to her. It hurts so much…”

Niran finally turned to look at her, his eyes softer now. “Orm… she might not remember you with her mind right now, but that doesn’t mean you’re gone from her heart. She is lost, give her time, I know she ‘ll remember you. How can she forget the love of her life?”

Orm let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “Her heart doesn’t even know me, Niran. She looked at me like I was no one. How can you say I am the love of her life.. This is insane”

Niran’s gaze dropped to the floor for a moment before he whispered, “Then remind her who you are. And yes, you are the love of her life, believe it or not, I know my sister. I’ve seen her in relationships before and not one comes to your ankle”

Orm’s breath hitched, her chest tightening even more. “Well that is very nice of you to say Niran… I appreciate it, truly, but right now, it is difficult to believe that she is in love with me”

Niran shrugged slightly, his voice low but steady. “I know Ormie… As I said, give her time”

Orm closed her eyes, letting his words settle in the space between them, fragile but full of something that felt like hope.

Just enough to keep breathing.

________________

One Week Later

Ling sat in the quiet of her apartment, the faint hum of the city filtering through the large windows. It felt like a stranger’s home—a space filled with echoes of a life she couldn’t fully remember. The walls, the furniture, even the faint scent lingering in the air—it all felt familiar and foreign at the same time.

She walked slowly through the living room, her fingers brushing over the back of the couch, pausing at the faintest indentation on the cushions, as if someone had sat there often. She didn’t know why, but her chest tightened at the thought.

The feeling grew stronger as she moved to her bedroom.

She opened a drawer, searching for nothing in particular, when her fingers brushed against an envelope tucked beneath a stack of old magazines. It was unassuming, just a simple, slightly crumpled letter, but something about it made her heart race.

She pulled it out, her name written in her own handwriting on the front—but not just her name.

To Orm.

Ling’s breath hitched.

She stared at it for a long moment, her heart pounding in her chest. She didn’t remember writing it. Didn’t even remember why she’d have something like this hidden away.

With trembling fingers, she opened the envelope.

The words inside were hers, written in her familiar handwriting, but they felt like someone else’s thoughts, emotions too raw and intimate to belong to a stranger.

“I don’t know when it happened exactly, but being with you feels like coming home. I’m scared of how much I feel, of how easy it is to fall into you, into us. You’re not just my best friend, Orm. You’re… everything. And I don’t know what to do with that. I am in love with you, you’re the love of my life. Please be mine?”

Ling’s heart clenched.

She read the letter again and again, the words sinking in deeper each time, but the memories refused to surface. All that remained was a hollow ache, an echo of something she’d lost.

Why is this letter here?

Why wasn’t it with Orm?

And more importantly—why does reading it feel like breaking?

She pressed the letter against her chest, her eyes stinging with tears she didn’t understand.

But deep down, her heart knew what her mind had forgotten.

_______________

Orm sat on the floor of her room, her back pressed against the cold wall, knees pulled tightly to her chest. The soft hum of the city outside her window felt distant, like background noise to a life she no longer recognized.

A week.

Seven days since Ling had been discharged from the hospital. Seven days without seeing her. Seven days without hearing her voice—her real voice, not the distant, polite tone Ling now used, stripped of warmth, stripped of… them.

Orm had tried to give her space. She thought it was the right thing to do—to let Ling heal, to let her memories return naturally. But every hour that passed without Ling remembering felt like another thread unraveling inside her.

She glanced around her apartment, her eyes catching on all the small things that didn’t hurt before but did now.

The mug Ling always used.

The hoodie Ling used to steal when it got too cold, draped carelessly over the arm of the couch.

The half-read book Orm had meant to return to Ling but never did.

Everything was haunted by her.

Orm’s chest tightened painfully. She reached for her phone, fingers hovering over Ling’s contact. She’d stared at that name more times than she could count, her thumb trembling with the urge to call or text.

But what would she say?

“Hey, do you remember me yet?”

No. She couldn’t do that.

Instead, she pressed the phone to her chest, closing her eyes as a tear slipped down her cheek.

“I miss you,” she whispered into the emptiness, her voice barely audible even to herself.

And that was the truth.

She missed Ling more now than she ever had.

Because Ling was still here. But not with her.

___________________

Ling sat on her couch, the letter trembling in her hands, her heart racing so fast it felt like it might burst. The words on the page blurred, not from the ink but from the tears welling in her eyes—tears she didn’t understand.

She didn’t remember writing it.

She didn’t remember her.

Panic clawed at her chest, and before she could stop herself, she reached for her phone with shaking fingers, dialing the only person she could think of.

Junji.

“Ling? What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Junji’s voice crackled through the speaker, laced with worry.

“I—I don’t know,” Ling choked out. “Can you come over? Please.”

“I’m on my way.”

Fifteen minutes felt like an eternity until Junji burst through the door, breathless and wide-eyed, scanning the room like she expected to find Ling injured or worse.

But instead, she found Ling curled up on the couch, clutching the letter like it was the only thing tethering her to reality.

Junji’s panic shifted instantly to confusion. “Ling? What—what happened?”

Ling didn’t answer right away. She just held out the letter with trembling hands, her eyes pleading for answers she couldn’t find.

Junji’s gaze flicked to the letter, her breath catching in her throat.

She knew that letter. They’d talked about it months ago—Ling had agonized over every word before tucking it away, too scared to give it to Orm. Afraid to be rejected even if Junji had insisted that Orm loves her just as much but Ling didn’t trust her at the time.

Junji sank onto the couch beside her, her voice soft now, layered with something between nostalgia and heartbreak. “You wrote this… for Orm a few months back.”

Ling swallowed hard, her voice barely a whisper. “Who is she to me Jun? Why is the letter still here?”

Junji froze for a moment, searching Ling’s face for any flicker of recognition. But there was none. Just confusion. She hated to see her friend this lost, it wasn’t usual for her to see her such composed friend being shattered by life.

“She’s…” Junji hesitated, her throat tightening. “She’s—someone really important to you.”

Ling’s fingers tightened around the letter. “I don’t remember her. But when I found this, it felt like—I don’t know. Like something’s missing. Like I’m missing something, someone.”

Junji exhaled slowly, her heart breaking a little. “That’s because you are.”

Ling’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Tell me everything. Please…”

Junji took a deep breath, her fingers brushing nervously against the edge of the letter as if it held all the fragile pieces of Ling’s missing past. She didn’t know where to start—how do you explain someone like Orm in just words? How do you sum up a connection that ran deeper than memories?

“She’s… not just someone important to you,” Junji began softly, her voice steady despite the ache in her chest. “Orm was—is—your best friend. But it was also more than that for both of you, verybody saw it.”

Ling’s brows furrowed, her gaze fixed on Junji, desperate for answers. “More?”

Junji nodded, her lips curving into a faint, bittersweet smile. “You loved her, Ling. Maybe you still do. Even if you don’t remember but a few months ago you realised you loved her more than a friend”

Ling’s breath hitched, her fingers tightening around the letter until the paper crinkled softly. Loved?

“But I—I don’t feel anything,” Ling whispered, her voice cracking, filled with frustration and fear. “I mean, I feel something, but I don’t know what it is. It’s like…” She trailed off, struggling to find the words.

“Like there’s a piece missing,” Junji finished for her gently.

Ling nodded, her throat too tight to speak.

Junji leaned back, staring at the ceiling as if the answers were hidden in the cracks. “You were scared to admit it for a long time. I remember when you first realized how you felt—you called me in the middle of the night, freaking out because you thought it would ruin your friendship and that Orm will never feel the same for you.”

Ling glanced down at the letter again, her heart racing. “You’re not just my best friend, Orm. You’re everything.”

“I was scared,” Ling whispered, running her thumb over the faded ink. “Even then.”

Junji smiled softly. “But Orm was afraid too. She never said anything but I know she fell for you too.”

Ling’s chest ached with something unnameable. “So… what happened?”

Junji hesitated. “You were… happy, Ling. Really happy. But you never gave her this letter or said anything to her. I think you were waiting for the right moment. And  she was waiting for the right moment too”

Ling swallowed hard, her eyes stinging. “And now I don’t remember her or anything related to her”

Junji reached over, gently squeezing Ling’s hand. “And it is not your fault Ling.”

Ling stared at the letter for a long time after that, her heart heavy with words she didn’t remember writing, feelings she couldn’t remember having.

“Do you talk to her?” asks Ling

“I do. We are close” answers simply Junji

Ling smiles “She must have been very close to me to be that close to you” 

Junji smiles tenderly, she wanted to say so much more but she needed Ling to remember on her own, she already said too much.

“As I said and as you wrote” pointing to the letter “She was your everything” finishes Junji

Ling thinks about Orm, this unknown woman who spent the night at the hospital with her, waited for her to wake up, she remembered how broken she looked when she left her hospitalnroom a week ago, and never came back.

“She must be suffering so much…” whispers Ling, Junji grabs her hand and gives her a hug.

“Don’t hurt yourself. She will be fine. But first you need to remember Ling. Not for her, but for you. I want the happy in love Ling back” she smiles faintly, not reaching her eyes, she could see the broken gaze of Linf, but she trusted that she will remember. Ling could never forget her forever, that was impossible and she will do anything in her power to put them back together.

____________________

The bustling streets of Bangkok pulsed with life—vendors calling out, motorbikes weaving through traffic, the scent of street food lingering in the humid air. But for Orm, it all felt distant, like background noise to a life she couldn’t fully engage with anymore.

She walked aimlessly alongside Ying and Prigkhing, her hands shoved deep into her pockets, her gaze unfocused. They passed neon signs and crowded cafes, but none of it registered. The ache in her chest was louder than the city itself.

Eventually, they found a small restaurant tucked away from the chaos, its warm glow spilling onto the sidewalk. They slid into a corner booth, the weight of unspoken words settling between them like a fourth presence.

Prigkhing broke the silence first, her voice soft but steady. “Orm… you haven’t really said much since we met up.”

Orm stared at her coffee, watching the faint ripples dance across the surface. She swallowed hard, her throat tight. “I don’t know what to say.”

Ying leaned forward, her brows furrowed with quiet concern. “I know it must very hard for you…”

Orm let out a shaky breath, nodding slowly. “She doesn’t remember me. Not even a little. I’m just… a stranger to her now and it is horrible… I miss her so much girls.”

The words felt heavier every time she said them, like they were chiseling away at her heart.

Prigkhing reached across the table, resting her hand gently over Orm’s. “Did you talk to her since she has been discharged? Maybe talking to her make her remember”

Orm whispered, her voice breaking. “I know everything. Every moment, every detail… and she knows none of it. I don’t know how can handle talking to her when I know she doesn’t remember what I am talking about”

Ying exchanged a glance with Prigkhing before asking softly, “What do you want to do?”

Orm blinked, her chest tightening with the question she’d been avoiding.

“I want her back,” she whispered. “I don’t care if she doesn’t remember. I just… I need her. But I don’t know how to make her feel what we had. I don’t know how to make her remember us.”

Silence settled over them for a moment before Prigkhing squeezed her hand gently. “Maybe it’s not about making her remember. Maybe it’s about helping her fall in love with you all over again.”

Orm’s heart clenched at the thought. “What if she doesn’t?”

Ying smiled softly, her eyes filled with warmth. “Then you show her why she did in the first place.”

The words sank deep into Orm’s chest, a fragile seed of hope growing in the space where fear had lived for too long.

“She never said she was in love with me Ying” comments Orm

Both laugh at their friend, everybody in their circle knew how much they loved each other even if none of them had confess before the accident.

“Come on Orm, stop lying to yourself, you were both so in love with each other. Everybody knew before you both.”

Orm let out a little laugh but didn’t answer.

Maybe she couldn’t bring back the past. But maybe… she could build something new. And when she was about to begin her meal, the door of the restaurant opens and there: Ling and Junji just entered the restaurant.

The warm buzz of the restaurant wrapped around Ling and Junji as they settled into a cozy booth near the window. The dim lighting flickered softly against the polished wooden tables, casting a calm, inviting atmosphere. For once, Ling felt a small sense of normalcy, though the letter still lingered like a ghost in the back of her mind.

Junji glanced around the restaurant while Ling browsed the menu, her eyes catching on a familiar face across the room.

Orm.

She was sitting with Ying and Prigkhing at a table near the back, her posture slightly tense, her gaze distant—until their eyes met.

Orm’s expression shifted instantly, the guarded mask slipping just for a second. Heartbreak. It was there, raw and visible, etched into every line of her face.

Junji’s chest tightened.

She glanced at Ling, who was obliviously scrolling through the menu, her back turned to Orm’s table. Junji considered saying something—Should I tell her?—but the words caught in her throat.

Instead, she said nothing.

But she kept noticing it—the way Orm’s gaze kept drifting toward their table, as if drawn by an invisible thread. Ying and Prigkhing tried to distract her, but Orm’s eyes always found their way back.

Junji’s heart ached. She stole glances at Orm, wondering if Ling could feel the tension in the air, even without seeing her.

Ling, oblivious, chuckled softly at something on the menu. “Why do you look so tense? Are you okay?”

Junji forced a small smile. “Yeah, just… thinking.”

They continued their meal, but Junji felt every glance Orm sent their way, like invisible touches brushing against the space between them.

Orm excused herself quietly, her chest feeling too tight to breathe properly. The bathroom felt like an escape, a place to steady herself, away from the painful proximity of Ling’s presence.

The small restroom felt suffocating.

The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, casting sterile reflections on the cracked mirror. Orm’s knuckles were white from gripping the sink, her chest tight with the pressure of everything she wanted to say but couldn’t.

Ling stood frozen in the doorway, her hand still resting lightly on the handle as if she wasn’t sure whether to step in or back out. Her eyes met Orm’s in the mirror, a polite confusion clouding her expression—a stranger’s gaze in the face that used to look at Orm like she was the whole world.

Orm’s breath hitched, the air feeling heavier with each passing second.

She turned slowly, her heart thudding painfully against her ribs. Ling’s presence was like gravity, pulling her in, even as the space between them felt like a chasm she couldn’t cross.

“Hey,” Orm whispered again, her voice soft but trembling, like it might shatter with the wrong word.

Ling nodded slightly, her expression neutral, guarded. “Hi.”

Silence.

Orm’s eyes traced every detail of Ling’s face—the curve of her jaw, the faint crease between her brows, the way her lips pressed together like she was holding something back. But there was no warmth, no flicker of recognition.

Just… distance.

Orm’s fingers twitched at her sides. She wanted—needed—to reach out, to touch Ling, to remind herself that she was real. She wanted to close the space between them, to press her forehead against Ling’s and whisper, “It’s me. Don’t you feel it?”

But she didn’t move.

She couldn’t.

Because Ling’s cold, distant gaze felt like a wall, one Orm didn’t know how to climb anymore.

“How are you feeling?” Orm managed, her voice strained, brittle.

Ling shrugged slightly. “I’m okay. Better, I guess.”

Orm’s heart cracked a little more. Better without me.

The urge to speak—to scream, to confess—rose like a wave in her chest. She wanted to tell Ling everything.

“I miss you.”

“I love you.”

“You’re my everything.”

But the words got stuck, tangled with fear.

Ling tilted her head slightly, her polite confusion shifting into subtle discomfort. “Did we… know each other well?”

The question was a knife.

Orm swallowed hard, her throat burning. “Yeah,” she whispered. “Yeah, we did.”

Ling nodded slowly, her eyes softening just a fraction, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t her.

The silence stretched again, thick with everything unspoken.

Orm’s heart screamed to close the distance, to grab Ling’s face and kiss her until the memories came flooding back. But she didn’t.

Instead, she stood there, her heart breaking in real-time, anchored to the floor by the weight of everything she’d lost.

“I should go,” Ling said softly, stepping back.

Orm nodded, forcing herself to let go, even though every cell in her body begged her to hold on.

“Yeah,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Me too.”

Ling turned to leave, her fingers brushing the cold metal of the door handle, ready to escape the suffocating tension pressing in from all sides.

But before she could take a step, Orm’s hand reached out—gentle, tentative—and wrapped around Ling’s wrist, not ready to let her go yet, she had missed her so much, feeling her skin, hearing her voice, even if it was indifference. She felt ridiculous of how much in love she was and how much her heart reacted next to her.

It wasn’t a forceful grip. Just the softest touch, like Orm was afraid she’d shatter if she held on too tight.

Ling froze.

Her breath hitched, her heart suddenly racing without warning. She turned slightly, her eyes meeting Orm’s, and for a moment, the world outside that small restroom ceased to exist.

Orm didn’t say anything.

She just looked at Ling, her gaze filled with everything she couldn’t put into words—heartbreak, longing, love. The kind of look that made Ling’s chest tighten, though she didn’t know why.

Orm’s lips parted like she wanted to speak, to say something—anything.

But she didn’t.

She just let go, her fingers slipping away like a whispered goodbye.

And then Orm left, the door clicking softly behind her, leaving Ling standing there, breathless and shaken.

She stared at the door, her hand still tingling from Orm’s touch, the warmth lingering like a ghost she couldn’t see but could feel.

Her heart pounded in her chest, fast and uneven, like it was trying to tell her something her mind couldn’t understand.

___________

Ling slid back into her seat, her face slightly flushed, her movements slower than before. Junji noticed immediately, her brows knitting with concern.

“What happened?” Junji asked, her voice low but urgent.

Ling hesitated, her fingers brushing absently over her wrist where Orm had touched her. The heat was still there, faint but undeniable.

“I… I saw her,” Ling admitted quietly.

Junji didn’t need to ask who. Her expression softened, waiting for more.

Ling swallowed hard. “She—she grabbed my hand. Just for a second.”

Junji leaned in slightly. “And?”

Ling’s gaze drifted down to her lap, her fingers curling into her jeans. “I felt something. I don’t know what it was, but it was… intense.”

Junji’s heart clenched, but she kept her voice steady. “Like what?”

Ling shook her head, frustrated. “I don’t know. It felt like—like I was supposed to do something, reach to her. Like my heart recognized something even if my mind didn’t.”

Junji reached across the table, squeezing Ling’s hand gently. “Maybe your heart remembers what your memory forgot.”

Ling didn’t respond.

But her heart was still racing. And it didn’t slow down for the rest of the night.