Chapter 4
The change happened slowly.
So slowly that at first, Lingling kept finding excuses for it.
Orm was busy.
Projects were piling up.
Their company had been taking bigger clients lately, bigger responsibilities, longer meetings, tighter deadlines.
People changed routines all the time.
That was normal.
That was life.
So Lingling told herself not to overthink it.
Not when Orm still smiled at her the same way.
Not when Orm still sent random messages during work hours.
Not when Orm still called her “Ling” in that warm voice that had once become the safest sound in Lingling’s entire world.
But eventually—
even denial had its limits.
Because no matter how hard Lingling tried pretending otherwise, one truth became impossible to ignore.
Orm was no longer beside her the way she used to be.
—
Lunch used to belong to them.
It didn’t matter how chaotic the day became.
Orm would always appear somehow.
Always.
Sometimes she barged into Lingling’s office dramatically, complaining about clients before stealing half the food from Lingling’s tray.
Sometimes she would drag Lingling away from her desk because “engineers need sunlight too.”
Sometimes she would rest her chin on Lingling’s shoulder while scrolling through emails, muttering threats about architects who kept changing floor plans last minute.
It had been effortless.
Natural.
Like breathing.
Like something permanent.
Their coworkers used to joke that seeing one without the other during lunch felt illegal.
Now—
Lingling found herself staring at an empty seat almost every afternoon.
“Sean invited me downstairs.”
“Sean found this new café near the site.”
“Sean already reserved lunch for us.”
Every day, a different reason.
Every day, the same result.
And every single time, Lingling answered softly—
“Okay. Enjoy.”
As if it didn’t matter.
As if something inside her chest didn’t ache afterward.
Then she would sit quietly at her office table while the food in front of her slowly turned cold.
The noise of the office carried on around her.
Printers.
Phones ringing.
Coworkers laughing somewhere nearby.
Sometimes Junji stayed with her.
Sometimes Fluke tried filling the silence with random stories from construction sites.
Lingling appreciated them for trying.
She really did.
But even with people around her—
that empty chair across the table still felt painfully loud.
Because it used to belong to Orm.
And somehow, nobody else was ever supposed to sit there.
—
Lingling still tried.
God, she tried.
One afternoon after a meeting, she walked beside Orm through the hallway, matching her pace carefully.
“Gym later?” she asked casually.
Just casual.
Like this didn’t matter too much.
Orm glanced at her before offering an apologetic smile.
“I can’t today. Sean already made dinner reservations.”
The answer came easily now.
Too easily.
Lingling forced a nod.
“Ah. Okay.”
They continued walking.
A few seconds later, Lingling tried again.
“What about Friday? Movie night?”
Usually Orm would’ve agreed instantly.
They used to have movie nights every other Friday, even if both of them ended up falling asleep halfway through.
But this time Orm hesitated.
“Oh…” She looked genuinely apologetic. “Sean wants to take me somewhere after work.”
Lingling smiled before the silence could become awkward.
“Sounds fun.”
Another rejection.
Another tiny heartbreak hidden perfectly behind calm eyes and practiced composure.
Days later, Lingling tried once more.
“How about Sunday morning?” she asked while standing beside Orm’s desk. “The flower market near the river reopened.”
For a moment, Orm looked conflicted.
And somehow that hurt even more.
“I already promised Sean we’d go hiking.”
Lingling laughed softly, pretending the answer didn’t sting.
“Right,” she murmured. “Forgot he likes hiking too.”
Orm immediately reached for Lingling’s sleeve, fingers wrapping lightly around the fabric.
“We’ll hang out soon, okay?”
Lingling looked down at Orm’s hand.
Once upon a time, that small touch alone could brighten her entire week.
Back then, it felt special.
Necessary.
Like Orm naturally gravitated toward her without thinking.
Now—
it only reminded Lingling of how temporary everything had become.
Because Orm let go after only a second.
Because someone else was waiting for her downstairs.
Because Lingling was no longer the first person Orm looked for anymore.
“Yeah,” Lingling whispered. “Soon.”
But somehow—
soon never came anymore.
—
Weeks passed quietly after that.
Not through dramatic fights.
Not through cruel words.
Just small absences.
Small changes.
Small moments that slowly piled on top of each other until Lingling could no longer recognize what they used to have.
Orm still smiled at her from across conference rooms.
Still texted occasionally.
Still sent random photos sometimes when something reminded her of Lingling.
But the spaces between those moments kept growing wider.
Their conversations became shorter.
Their routines disappeared one by one.
Orm no longer waited for Lingling after work.
No longer dropped by her office just because.
No longer called late at night to rant about impossible deadlines and demanding clients.
And the worst part was—
Orm didn’t even seem to realize it was happening.
Meanwhile Lingling noticed everything.
Every missed lunch.
Every cancelled plan.
Every delayed reply.
Every moment where Sean’s name appeared naturally in places where Lingling used to belong.
It wasn’t sudden enough to protest.
Wasn’t cruel enough to confront.
Just gradual enough to break someone quietly.
Sometimes Lingling would catch herself opening their old chat messages during late nights.
Scrolling through years of conversations.
Photos.
Voice notes.
Random memories.
Orm sending blurry pictures of buildings she liked.
Orm demanding food at midnight.
Orm calling her after stressful days because “Lingling makes everything feel calmer.”
Back then, Lingling never realized how dangerous happiness could be when it became routine.
Because now she sat alone in her apartment, staring at those memories like they belonged to another version of her life.
Another version of Orm too.
One that always reached for her first.
—
And slowly—
Lingling began learning how painful absence could feel even when someone was still physically there.
Orm still stood beside her during meetings.
Still laughed at her dry jokes sometimes.
Still existed within arm’s reach.
But emotionally—
she felt farther away than ever.
Like someone drifting toward another shore while Lingling remained standing in the same place, helplessly watching the distance grow.
And perhaps the cruelest part of all was this:
Lingling could not even blame her.
Because Orm looked happy.
Truly happy.
Sean made her laugh constantly now.
Made her glow in ways Lingling hadn’t seen for months.
Everyone around them noticed it too.
“She looks lighter these days.”
“Sean really treats her well.”
“They’re cute together.”
Lingling always smiled politely whenever she heard those comments.
Always agreed.
Because they weren’t wrong.
Sean was kind.
Attentive.
Present.
Everything Lingling had failed to become while hiding behind fear and silence for years.
So she stayed quiet.
Even when her chest tightened every time she watched Orm leave work beside someone else.
Even when she instinctively turned around to look for Orm during lunch breaks before remembering she would not be there.
Even when she still saved funny stories throughout the day out of habit—
only to realize later she no longer knew if she was still the first person Orm wanted to share things with.
And little by little—
Lingling began feeling like a guest standing outside a life she once used to belong to.
—
One Friday night, after successfully closing one of the company’s most exhausting international projects, Lingling agreed to have dinner with Junji and Fluke at a Japanese restaurant a few blocks away from the office.
The place was warm despite the rainy evening outside.
Golden lantern lights reflected softly against polished wooden walls while the quiet sound of jazz drifted through the crowded restaurant.
Servers moved gracefully between tables carrying steaming bowls of ramen, sizzling skewers, and plates of fresh sushi.
Somewhere near the counter, someone laughed loudly over drinks.
It felt alive.
Comfortable.
Normal.
For the first time in weeks, Lingling thought maybe she could breathe a little.
Junji dramatically lifted her glass the moment their drinks arrived.
“To surviving another nightmare project.”
Fluke immediately raised his own glass with a groan. “And to Lingling for carrying half the company on her back while the rest of us emotionally collapsed.”
Junji pointed aggressively. “Exactly. The clients literally refused to continue the meeting unless Ling attended.”
“That’s because her face is good for business,” Fluke added casually.
Lingling let out a quiet laugh and shook her head.
“You two are exaggerating.”
“We are absolutely not exaggerating,” Junji replied instantly.
Fluke leaned back against his chair. “Do you know how terrifying it is watching you answer client questions like your brain runs on artificial intelligence?”
Lingling smiled faintly and reached for her tea.
For a while, everything almost felt okay again.
They talked about impossible deadlines.
About Junji nearly crying during a presentation after accidentally deleting the wrong slide.
About Fluke pretending his microphone was broken during a meeting so he could avoid answering questions.
About office gossip.
About which department was secretly dating each other.
The conversation flowed naturally, filled with tired laughter and the kind of comfort that only came after surviving something difficult together.
And then—
mid-conversation—
Fluke suddenly stopped talking.
Junji frowned immediately.
“What?”
But Fluke didn’t answer right away.
His eyes remained fixed somewhere beyond Lingling’s shoulder.
Toward the large glass windows facing the street outside.
Junji followed his gaze.
And the second she saw who it was—
her expression immediately fell.
Slowly, carefully, Fluke looked back at Lingling.
Lingling noticed the silence instantly.
“What happened?”
Neither of them answered.
So naturally—
Lingling turned around herself.
Outside the restaurant windows, beneath the glow of the streetlights and the soft drizzle of rain—
Orm was walking beside Sean.
Laughing.
Close.
Comfortable.
Sean carried Orm’s bag casually over one shoulder while Orm held onto his arm during their conversation. They looked completely unaware of the world around them, too immersed in whatever they were talking about.
And God—
they looked good together.
Painfully good together.
Like something straight out of a movie Lingling would never willingly watch again.
Junji immediately looked away first.
Fluke cursed quietly under his breath.
But Lingling—
Lingling couldn’t stop staring.
Because she had spent years memorizing Orm.
Every smile.
Every expression.
Every version of her happiness.
And the smile on Orm’s face right now—
was different.
Soft.
Bright.
Unrestrained.
It was the kind of smile people wore when they were slowly falling in love without realizing it yet.
Sean leaned down slightly to whisper something near Orm’s ear.
Orm burst into laughter and lightly hit his chest in response.
The gesture was effortless.
Natural.
Intimate in the most dangerous way.
Not forced.
Not uncertain.
Easy.
Like Sean already belonged inside her world.
Like Orm was slowly making room for him in places that once belonged to someone else.
Junji looked seconds away from crying.
“Ling…”
But before she could continue—
Lingling smiled.
Small.
Gentle.
Almost convincing.
“She looks happy,” Lingling whispered softly.
And somehow—
that made everything hurt even more.
Because her voice sounded sincere.
Not bitter.
Not angry.
Just heartbreakingly sincere.
Junji suddenly put her chopsticks down harder than intended.
“You need to stop doing this to yourself.”
Lingling blinked slowly, finally tearing her eyes away from the window.
Fluke sighed heavily and leaned forward slightly.
“You’ve spent years loving her quietly,” he said carefully. “At some point, you need to think about yourself too.”
Lingling didn’t answer immediately.
Outside, Orm and Sean were already gone.
Probably continuing their night somewhere else.
Somewhere warm.
Somewhere bright.
Somewhere Lingling no longer belonged.
“She’s not doing anything wrong,” Lingling murmured after a while.
“That’s not the point,” Junji said emotionally. “You’re disappearing piece by piece while pretending you’re okay.”
Lingling lowered her gaze toward the table.
Toward her untouched bowl of ramen slowly getting cold.
Because the terrifying part was—
Junji was right.
Again.
She was tired now.
So unbearably tired.
Tired of swallowing every emotion before it could reach the surface.
Tired of pretending she was unaffected every time Orm casually mentioned Sean’s name.
Tired of acting normal whenever Orm cancelled plans because she was “busy.”
Tired of waiting for moments that no longer came naturally anymore.
And most of all—
tired of missing someone who was slowly learning how to live without her.
“She used to call me every night,” Lingling admitted quietly after a long silence.
Junji and Fluke immediately looked at her.
“She used to ask me to pick her up every morning because she hated driving before coffee.” A faint smile appeared on Lingling’s lips before quickly fading again. “She used to steal food from my plate even after ordering her own.”
Her fingers tightened slightly around her cup.
“She used to stay at my condo until sunrise whenever work stressed her out because she said sleeping alone made her overthink.”
Junji’s eyes instantly filled with tears.
Lingling’s voice remained calm.
Too calm.
Like someone trying very hard not to break apart in public.
“That was our normal.”
The jazz music in the restaurant continued softly around them.
People laughed.
Plates clinked.
Someone nearby celebrated a birthday.
Life kept moving so cruelly normal while Lingling sat there grieving something that technically had never even been hers.
“And now,” Lingling continued softly, “I have to schedule time with her like everyone else.”
The silence afterward hurt more than tears ever could.
Because grief was strange like that.
Sometimes it wasn’t loud.
Sometimes it wasn’t dramatic.
Sometimes it was simply realizing that the person who once made space for you in every part of their life…
no longer did.
Fluke exhaled slowly before speaking again.
“You need to tell her.”
Lingling laughed quietly under her breath, though there was no real amusement in it.
“And ruin what’s left between us?”
“You’re already hurting,” Junji whispered.
Lingling looked back outside the window again.
The rain had started falling harder now.
Cars moved endlessly through the wet streets.
People crossed sidewalks holding umbrellas.
The city continued living as if heartbreak wasn’t happening quietly inside someone at this very moment.
Then, after a long silence—
Lingling finally whispered something so soft it almost disappeared beneath the sound of the restaurant.
“I think I already lost her before I even had the courage to love her properly.”
—
Another month passed.
And somehow, despite spending weeks trying to prepare herself for it—
despite noticing the small changes little by little—
the softer tone in Orm’s voice whenever Sean called,
the way she smiled at her phone without realizing it,
the late-night conversations that slowly stopped being shared with Lingling—
the truth still shattered Lingling completely when it finally arrived.
It happened on an ordinary afternoon.
No heavy rain outside the windows.
No dramatic silence.
No warning from the universe that the life Lingling carefully built around one person was about to quietly collapse.
Just another exhausting workday.
Another afternoon inside the company they once jokingly called their second home.
The office buzzed with its usual noise—keyboards clicking endlessly, distant laughter from the marketing department, phones ringing every few seconds, printers humming in the background like white noise everyone had already learned to ignore.
Everything looked painfully normal.
Lingling sat inside her office reviewing architectural revisions for a hotel project they had been handling for weeks. Her eyes were fixed on the monitor, but truthfully, she had reread the same paragraph three times already without absorbing a single word.
She was tired.
Not physically.
Just… emotionally exhausted in ways sleep could never fix anymore.
Then she heard footsteps approaching her office.
Familiar footsteps.
The kind she would recognize anywhere.
Her body reacted before her mind did, instinctively lifting her gaze toward the glass door.
And there was Orm.
Holding two iced coffees.
Smiling softly.
Beautiful.
God, she looked beautiful.
Not in the loud, breathtaking way strangers noticed immediately.
But in the quiet way Lingling had memorized over the years.
The way Orm’s eyes curved first before she smiled.
The way loose strands of hair framed her face after a long day.
The way her presence alone somehow made every space feel warmer.
And the moment Lingling saw her standing there—
she knew.
Before Orm even spoke.
People in love always changed a little.
They looked lighter somehow.
Softer around the edges.
Like life had finally started being kind to them.
Orm stepped inside the office carefully, balancing both drinks in her hands.
“Ling,” she called gently.
The nickname alone nearly broke something inside her.
Lingling smiled automatically.
It came so naturally now.
That careful, controlled smile she had perfected after years of hiding every real feeling she ever carried for Orm.
“What is it?” she asked softly.
Orm stood there for a second like she was trying to gather courage.
Then she bit her lip before laughing quietly to herself.
And somehow, even that tiny laugh hurt now.
Because Lingling used to be the reason for that laugh once.
Used to be the first person Orm ran to.
Used to be enough.
The sentence was simple.
Softly spoken.
Careless in the cruelest possible way.
And yet it still felt like someone had reached directly into Lingling’s chest and crushed every fragile hope she had spent years protecting.
For a second, the world around her blurred strangely.
Not dramatically.
Not enough for anyone else to notice.
But enough that the office suddenly felt too bright.
Too loud.
Too small.
Sean and I are official.
Not complicated.
Not uncertain.
Not “we’re trying.”
Official.
Real.
Certain.
Lingling’s fingers slowly tightened beneath the desk until her nails pressed painfully against her palm.
But years of loving Orm silently had trained her well.
Too well.
She had mastered the art of surviving heartbreak without letting it show.
So she smiled.
Warmly.
Tenderly.
Like her entire chest was not collapsing inward.
“That’s good,” Lingling whispered carefully.
Even her voice sounded steady.
God.
She had become terrifyingly good at pretending.
“Congratulations.”
Orm’s face brightened instantly after hearing that.
Relief flashed across her features so openly that Lingling almost looked away.
Like she had been worried Lingling might disapprove.
“You’re really okay with it?” Orm asked quietly.
Lingling nearly laughed at the question.
Not because it was funny.
But because it hurt so much she almost didn’t know what else to do with it.
Are you okay?
Are you okay watching the person you built your entire world around fall in love with somebody else?
Are you okay becoming less necessary in her life day by day?
Are you okay grieving something that never officially belonged to you in the first place?
Are you okay knowing someone else now gets the love you spent years secretly dreaming about?
The mornings.
The late-night calls.
The soft parts of Orm nobody else noticed.
Are you okay knowing that none of it was ever yours to lose—
and yet somehow you lost it anyway?
But Lingling only nodded.
Because loving Orm had always meant protecting her from difficult things.
Even if the difficult thing was Lingling herself.
“Of course,” she answered gently.
And Orm smiled again.
So brightly.
So happily.
Like the world had finally given her something she truly wanted.
And Lingling hated herself for realizing that seeing Orm happy still mattered more than her own heartbreak ever would.
Orm walked closer before placing one iced coffee carefully on Lingling’s desk.
“Thank you for always supporting me,” she said softly.
Always.
The word nearly destroyed her.
Because Lingling suddenly remembered every version of herself she had sacrificed just to remain beside Orm all these years.
The friend.
The protector.
The constant person waiting at the end of every bad day.
Remembered memorizing Orm’s coffee order without trying.
Remembered every almost-confession swallowed back down out of fear.
Fear that one honest sentence could ruin everything they already had.
And now here they were.
Orm standing in front of her smiling because she found love—
while Lingling stood frozen in the ruins of feelings she never even got the chance to confess properly.
“Ling?”
Lingling blinked quickly after realizing she had gone quiet for too long.
“Hm?”
Orm tilted her head slightly.
“You seem tired lately.”
The concern in her voice was genuine.
That made it worse.
Lingling forced another smile onto her face.
“Just work.”
Orm pouted faintly.
“You should rest more.”
God.
Even now.
Even while unknowingly breaking her apart—
Orm still cared for her so gently.
And maybe that was the cruelest part of loving someone like Orm Kornnaphat Sethratanapong.
She never meant to hurt people.
She just didn’t realize how deeply she was loved.
Orm eventually glanced down at her phone when it buzzed softly in her hand.
And immediately, Lingling saw it.
That look.
That unconscious softness people only carried for someone special.
Sean.
Of course it was Sean.
Orm smiled at the screen before looking back at Lingling again.
“I have dinner with him later,” she admitted shyly.
Lingling nodded slowly.
“That’s nice.”
And somehow she still managed to sound sincere.
Because despite everything—
despite the ache hollowing out her chest—
she truly did want Orm to be happy.
Even if happiness would never include her that way.
Orm lingered for a few more minutes, chatting excitedly about small things—where Sean planned to take her, how nervous she felt making things official, how unexpectedly easy loving him had become.
Lingling listened quietly.
The entire time.
Like she always did.
Like she probably always would.
And the terrifying thing was—
a part of her still treasured every second of it.
Even the pain.
Because at least Orm was still here.
Still talking to her.
Still smiling at her like she mattered.
Eventually, Orm checked the time and sighed softly.
“I should go back downstairs before my manager starts looking for me.”
Lingling nodded.
Orm turned toward the door before pausing suddenly.
Then she looked back.
And smiled again.
That same smile Lingling fell in love with years ago without ever realizing how dangerous it would become.
“I’m really happy, Ling.”
The words were innocent.
But they cracked something final inside her.
Still—
Lingling smiled back anyway.
“I know.”
Orm left after that.
The glass door closed softly behind her.
And just like that—
the office became quiet again.
Too quiet.
Lingling stared at the untouched iced coffee sitting on her desk.
The cold condensation slowly slid down the plastic cup, dripping silently onto the papers beneath it.
For the first time that day, her smile finally disappeared.
And suddenly breathing felt exhausting.
She leaned back slowly against her chair before covering her eyes with one trembling hand.
Not crying.
Not yet.
Because after loving Orm for this long, Lingling had learned something devastating—
sometimes heartbreak did not arrive loudly.
Sometimes it arrived gently.
With soft smiles.
Congratulations.
And iced coffee on an ordinary afternoon.
And somehow that hurt far more than rejection ever could.
Because Lingling realized something horrible then—
if confessing would have risked losing Orm’s smile forever…
then maybe staying silent had never truly been a choice at all.