Chapter 5
That night, Lingling got drunk for the first time in years.
Not pleasantly tipsy.
Not the kind of drunk that made people laugh louder or speak softer.
She was devastated drunk.
The kind where her hands trembled violently while pouring another glass.
The kind where alcohol no longer burned going down because the ache inside her chest hurt far worse.
Rain poured endlessly outside her condominium windows, streaking across the glass in silver lines while the city lights blurred beneath the storm.
Inside the dim living room, only the warm yellow lamp near the couch remained open.
Everything else felt dark.
Heavy.
Silent.
Empty bottles slowly crowded the center table one after another.
Junji sat beside Lingling the entire time, quietly watching her unravel piece by piece.
Fluke lingered nearby too, though he barely spoke anymore. Every time he looked at Lingling’s face, he had to look away again immediately.
Because none of them had ever seen her like this.
Not even once.
Not the calm, composed Lingling Kwong everyone knew.
Not the woman who always carried herself gracefully no matter how exhausted or overwhelmed she was.
Tonight, she looked shattered.
Completely shattered.
“I love her so much.”
Her voice cracked so painfully that Junji immediately burst into tears.
Lingling covered her face with both hands as sobs wrecked violently through her body.
Her shoulders shook uncontrollably.
It was ugly grief.
Raw grief.
The kind that had clearly been trapped inside her for years.
Junji instantly pulled her into a tight embrace, rubbing her back while crying with her.
“I know,” Junji whispered helplessly.
“Oh God, Ling… I know.”
Fluke stood up abruptly and walked toward the balcony, pressing one hand against his mouth because even he couldn’t handle hearing Lingling cry like that.
Not her.
Never her.
“I really tried,” Lingling sobbed out between uneven breaths. “I tried so hard to be okay with just staying beside her.”
Her breathing hitched sharply.
“I told myself it was enough.”
Junji closed her eyes tightly.
Because she knew exactly what Lingling meant.
Everyone did.
Everyone around them had watched Lingling spend years loving Orm silently.
Patiently.
Faithfully.
Even when it hurt.
“I thought…” Lingling whispered brokenly, “maybe loving her quietly was enough for me already.”
Another painful sob escaped her lips.
“I thought if I stayed… maybe someday she would look at me differently.”
The room fell silent except for the rain.
Lingling laughed weakly through tears, but the sound was heartbreaking.
“So stupid, right?”
“No,” Junji cried immediately. “Don’t say that.”
But Lingling only shook her head slowly.
Because deep down—
she knew.
She knew she had built a home inside moments that Orm probably never realized meant everything to her.
The breakfasts they shared before work inside parked cars while Orm fixed her hair using the mirror.
The countless late-night drives where Orm would eventually fall asleep against Lingling’s shoulder while soft music played in the background.
The movie nights where Orm unconsciously reached for Lingling’s hand every single time she got emotional during scenes.
The forehead kisses.
The beach trips.
The random grocery runs that somehow always felt domestic.
The matching mugs Orm bought without thinking.
The way Orm called her first whenever life became too overwhelming.
All those tiny things.
All those almosts.
All those moments that looked terrifyingly close to love.
Lingling had treasured every single one of them like they meant something bigger.
Like maybe one day they would finally become real.
And maybe that was the cruelest thing of all.
Because Orm did love her deeply.
Just not in the same unbearable way Lingling loved her.
Now somebody else would receive everything Lingling once secretly dreamed of.
Someone else would officially hold Orm’s hand in public.
Someone else would be introduced as the love of Orm’s life.
Someone else would hear Orm say “come home safe” after long days.
Someone else would get good morning texts.
Goodnight kisses.
Anniversaries.
Promises.
A future.
Officially.
Openly.
Without fear.
Without confusion.
Without uncertainty.
And Lingling—
Lingling was left grieving something she technically never even had.
That was the part destroying her the most.
There was no breakup.
No betrayal.
No dramatic ending.
Just years of loving someone quietly while standing beside them close enough to feel everything—
but never close enough to truly be theirs.
“I kept waiting,” Lingling whispered again.
Junji tightened her hold around her immediately as Lingling started crying harder.
“I kept thinking maybe someday she’d realize what we were doing to each other.”
Her voice cracked so badly she could barely continue.
“Maybe someday she’d finally see me the way I saw her.”
Fluke shut his eyes tightly from the balcony.
Because every single person in that room knew Lingling had loved Orm with a terrifying kind of devotion.
The kind that asked for nothing.
The kind that stayed anyway.
The kind that kept choosing someone even when it hurt every single time.
“But she never loved me like that,” Lingling whispered.
And somehow—
those six words completely shattered the room apart.
Silence followed afterward.
Heavy silence.
The rain continued tapping softly against the windows while Lifetime by BenBen played faintly from Lingling’s speaker somewhere in the background.
“Was there a lifetime waiting for us…”
Junji cried harder hearing the lyrics.
Because it sounded exactly like Lingling.
Like every year she spent hoping.
Like every future she secretly built inside her heart.
Lingling slowly leaned back against the couch, exhausted from crying, eyes swollen and red while tears still slipped endlessly down her face.
For the first time since falling in love with Orm—
Lingling finally allowed herself to mourn properly.
Not just Orm.
But every future she would never get to have with her.
The mornings that would never happen.
The anniversaries that would never exist.
The apartment they would never come home to together.
The possibility of being loved back the same way.
The version of Orm that was never truly hers to begin with.
Junji held her tighter after hearing Lingling whisper one final thing that night.
So soft.
So defeated.
So heartbreakingly sincere.
“I think a part of me will always love her.”
And somehow—
that was the most painful thing of all.
Lingling didn’t go to work the next day.
She woke up with swollen eyes, a splitting headache pulsing behind her temples, and a heaviness in her chest so unbearable she physically couldn’t move for hours.
Outside her condo windows, rain poured endlessly over Bangkok.
The sky was gray.
The city looked blurred.
And softly playing through her speakers was Lifetime by BenBen.
Over and over.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Lingling lay curled up on the couch with a blanket wrapped around her body, staring blankly at the ceiling while the music filled the silence of her condo.
She hadn’t even changed clothes from last night.
Her coffee on the table had already gone cold hours ago.
Then the lyrics came again.
“Was there a lifetime waiting for us
In a world where I was yours?”
Lingling shut her eyes immediately.
Because that was exactly it.
Exactly the kind of grief she carried inside her.
Not the grief of losing a relationship.
Not even heartbreak in the traditional sense.
But the grief of never being allowed to love openly in the first place.
The grief of spending years standing beside someone, loving them quietly, faithfully, hopelessly—
only to realize you were standing there alone the entire time.
Her throat tightened painfully.
She pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes, but the tears still slipped through anyway.
Because how cruel was it?
To build a life around someone without them ever knowing they were your life.
Her phone vibrated beside her.
Lingling slowly turned her head.
Orm calling.
Just seeing her name on the screen was enough to make her chest cave in all over again.
She stared at it silently until the ringing stopped.
A few moments later—
another vibration.
Then another.
Messages.
(Message)
Orm: Ling, are you okay? You didn’t come to work :(
Orm: Junji said you’re sick.
Orm: Did you eat already?
Orm: Call me when you wake up okay?
Lingling’s lips trembled instantly.
She grabbed her phone and pressed it against her chest as tears spilled harder down her face.
Because even now—
Orm was still kind to her.
Still caring.
Still gentle.
Still treating Lingling like she mattered most.
And maybe that was the cruelest part of all.
Because Orm loved her.
Lingling knew she did.
Just not in the same devastating way.
The song continued softly in the background.
“Was it the wrong time, what if we tried
Giving in a little more?
To the warmth we had before…”
Lingling let out a shaky laugh through tears.
A bitter one.
Because what warmth?
The almost-love between them?
The years of blurred lines neither of them dared to define?
The intimacy that only one of them truly meant?
How many times had Orm reached for her hand absentmindedly?
How many late nights had they fallen asleep beside each other during business trips?
How many people had mistaken them for a couple?
And how many times had Lingling secretly wished they actually were?
Too many.
Far too many.
Her hands trembled as she unlocked her phone and opened her gallery.
Then slowly—
she started scrolling.
Orm asleep during road trips with her mouth slightly open.
Orm feeding her cake during Lingling’s birthday.
Beach sunsets in Phuket.
Gym mirror selfies.
Late-night ramen dates after stressful meetings.
Candids of Orm laughing.
Videos of Orm singing terribly inside the car just to annoy her.
Tiny moments.
Tiny, ordinary moments.
But together they looked painfully like love.
Painfully like a future.
Lingling stopped at one particular photo.
It was taken two years ago during a company retreat near Chiang Mai.
Orm was sitting beside her on a wooden dock while watching the sunset.
Nothing special about the picture.
Except Orm was looking at Lingling instead of the view.
Smiling softly.
Warmly.
Like she adored her.
Lingling remembered that exact moment.
Orm had suddenly leaned her head against Lingling’s shoulder and whispered,
"If we’re both still single at forty, let’s just stay together forever."
Orm laughed after saying it.
Like it was only a joke.
But Lingling remembered going home that night unable to sleep because for one reckless, dangerous second—
she almost believed it.
Almost.
Another tear slid down her cheek.
Because maybe that was her biggest mistake.
She kept mistaking affection for confession.
Kept mistaking closeness for love.
Kept building a home inside gestures Orm never intended to mean that much.
The rain outside grew heavier.
Thunder echoed faintly somewhere in the distance.
Lingling curled further into herself while hugging her knees tightly against her chest.
She wondered if this was how heartbreak was supposed to feel.
Quiet.
Lonely.
Humiliating.
Not dramatic.
Not explosive.
Just… slowly drowning in things that almost became yours.
Her phone lit up again.
Another message from Orm.
Orm: I’ll drop by later if you still don’t reply. I’m worried already.
Lingling stared at the words for a very long time.
Then she turned her phone face down on the couch.
Because if Orm came here right now—
Lingling didn’t trust herself not to break completely.
The song replayed once more from the beginning.
And Lingling cried quietly through all of it while surrounded by memories that looked so much like love—
but apparently,
weren’t enough.
—
The next day, Lingling returned to work as if nothing had happened.
Her clothes were perfectly ironed.
Her heels clicked steadily against the marble floors.
Her hair was neatly fixed behind her shoulders, makeup light and elegant, expression composed into the same professional smile everyone in the company had grown familiar with.
Calm.
Collected.
Untouched.
No one would have guessed she had spent the entire previous day curled up in bed, crying until her chest hurt and her eyes burned raw from exhaustion.
No one would have guessed she barely slept.
That she replayed Orm’s voice over and over in her head until sunrise.
That she stared at her phone for hours hoping somehow—
somehow—
Orm would realize.
Because heartbreak was cruel like that.
Sometimes it didn’t destroy you loudly.
Sometimes it simply hollowed you out quietly.
And the frightening part was that the world kept moving anyway.
Meetings continued.
Emails piled up.
People laughed in hallways.
Coffee machines hummed.
Everything remained painfully normal while your entire chest felt like it had been split open.
Lingling sat inside her office, reviewing a stack of documents she hadn’t truly read for the last ten minutes.
Her eyes moved over the words automatically.
Her mind was elsewhere.
Always elsewhere.
Then came the soft knock on the glass door.
“Ling.”
Her heart reacted before she could stop it.
Lingling looked up immediately.
Orm stood there wearing a worried expression, still dressed casually from her morning meeting downstairs. Her hair was slightly messy like she rushed over the second she heard Lingling had returned.
And for one dangerous moment—
just one—
Lingling almost forgot everything again.
Almost forgot the tears.
The confession.
Sean.
The way Orm smiled yesterday while talking about being in love with someone else.
Almost.
“Hey,” Lingling greeted softly.
Orm entered the office without hesitation.
“How are you feeling?”
There was genuine concern in her voice.
That was the problem with Orm.
She cared so naturally that people mistook it for something deeper.
Lingling forced a small smile.
“I’m okay now.”
Orm’s brows furrowed immediately.
“You ignored all my calls yesterday.”
“Sorry,” Lingling replied gently. “I slept the whole day.”
It wasn’t entirely a lie.
Crying for hours eventually exhausted the body enough to force sleep.
Orm stepped closer until she stood beside Lingling’s chair.
Then instinctively—
so naturally it almost shattered Lingling completely—
Orm placed the back of her hand against Lingling’s forehead.
Checking for fever.
Checking if she was still sick.
The familiar touch nearly undid every wall Lingling had spent the entire night rebuilding.
Because this was how Orm had always been with her.
Soft.
Affectionate.
Careful.
Without realizing those tiny gestures meant everything to someone already hopelessly in love with her.
“You still look tired,” Orm murmured quietly.
Lingling kept smiling despite the ache crawling up her throat.
“I’m fine.”
Orm studied her for another few seconds, unconvinced.
And because Orm was currently happy—
because her heart was occupied by someone else now—
because she was glowing with the excitement of a new love, new possibilities, new beginnings—
she failed to notice the sadness carefully hidden behind Lingling’s calm eyes.
“Don’t overwork yourself, okay?” Orm said softly.
Lingling nodded.
“I won’t.”
A brief silence settled between them.
The kind that used to feel comfortable.
Now it only felt heavy.
Then Orm’s phone vibrated.
A smile appeared on her face instantly before she even checked the screen.
That smile alone told Lingling exactly who it was.
Sean.
Orm glanced down at the message, and whatever softness appeared in her eyes while reading it made Lingling’s chest ache in ways she could no longer explain.
“I should go,” Orm said apologetically. “Sean’s waiting downstairs.”
Lingling nodded again.
“Okay.”
Orm smiled one last time before leaving the office.
And just before the door closed completely, she added softly—
“Take care of yourself, Ling.”
Then she disappeared.
The office fell silent again.
Only the faint sound of the air conditioner remained.
Lingling stared at the closed door for a very long time.
Long enough for the smile on her face to finally fade.
And somewhere deep inside her—
something finally settled.
Not healed.
Never healed.
Some pains didn’t disappear simply because you accepted them.
But settled.
Like the final quiet sinking of something that had spent too long fighting to stay afloat.
Because the truth was undeniable now.
Orm loved someone else.
And Lingling—
no matter how much she loved her—
could no longer keep standing in the same place hoping that reality would someday change out of mercy.
So after that day—
Lingling slowly began pulling away.
Subtly.
Carefully.
Almost invisibly.
At first, nobody noticed.
Not even Orm.
Lingling stopped waiting outside conference rooms just to walk with her.
Stopped bringing her favorite coffee every morning.
Stopped sending random videos at two in the morning with messages that said, this reminded me of you.
Stopped asking if she had eaten already.
Stopped inviting her to beach drives whenever both of them were stressed.
Stopped asking her to come over for movie nights.
Stopped asking at all.
And when Orm texted—
Lingling still replied.
Always kind.
Always warm.
But shorter now.
Controlled.
Like someone slowly teaching herself how to survive with less.
Meanwhile Orm remained busy smiling at her phone.
Busy planning dates.
Busy talking about Sean.
Busy stepping into a future she looked genuinely happy about.
And because Lingling had always loved quietly—
Orm barely noticed the difference.
Barely noticed that the person who once centered her entire world around Orm…
was now carefully trying to place herself back at the center of her own.
It wasn’t anger.
It wasn’t bitterness.
Lingling could never hate Orm for not loving her back.
She loved her too much for that.
But loving someone silently for this long had finally started teaching her something painful:
sometimes love was not meant to be held onto forever.
Sometimes the kindest thing you could do for yourself…
was step away before your entire heart disappeared inside someone who was never truly yours.
Still—
Lingling continued loving Orm.
Quietly.
Faithfully.
Just from farther away now.
Where maybe—
just maybe—
it would hurt a little less.
—
Another year passed.
Quietly.
Almost cruelly.
And somewhere between endless deadlines, overseas business trips, postponed dinners, and routines that no longer included each other—
Lingling and Orm drifted apart so naturally that sometimes it frightened Lingling how easy it was for two people, once inseparable, to become strangers.
There was a time when Orm could recognize Lingling’s mood from a single text message.
A time when Lingling knew exactly how Orm took her coffee, what songs she played whenever she was stressed, what kind of silence meant she wanted comfort instead of space.
Back then, loving each other had felt effortless.
Like breathing.
Now—
they spoke carefully.
Politely.
Like people afraid of reopening old wounds.
And somehow, that hurt more.
Because now, it was Sean beside Orm.
Always Sean.
Sean picking her up going to work.
Sean waiting for her after late-night meetings.
Sean appearing in photos beside her so naturally that eventually people stopped asking where Lingling was.
Their relationship only grew stronger with time.
Solid.
Certain.
The kind of relationship people admired because it looked easy.
They traveled together constantly—Singapore, Switzerland, Italy.
Spent holidays with each other’s families.
Attended company events side by side with effortless chemistry that cameras seemed to love capturing.
And during their first anniversary, Sean brought Orm to Japan to meet his family.
The entire office talked about it for days after Orm uploaded the photos online.
Orm standing underneath blooming cherry blossoms in a cream-colored coat, smiling softly at the camera.
Sean carefully fixing her scarf while snow melted lightly on his shoulders.
Sean’s mother warmly holding Orm’s hands across the dinner table.
Another candid shot of Orm laughing freely while Sean stared at her like she was the most precious thing he had ever found.
The comments flooded endlessly.
You both look perfect together.
Sean looks so in love with her.
Marriage soon?
Even strangers could see how happy they were.
Junji accidentally opened the photos during lunch one afternoon while everyone was eating in the pantry.
The moment Orm’s smiling face appeared on-screen—
the entire table fell silent.
Fluke immediately glanced at Lingling.
Because before, moments like this used to destroy her.
The old Lingling would have quietly excused herself afterward.
Would have smiled too much to hide the trembling in her hands.
Would have spent the entire night staring at the ceiling, wondering when exactly she lost the person she loved most.
But now—
Lingling simply looked at the screen for a few quiet seconds.
Then smiled gently.
Softly.
Almost sincerely.
“She looks happy.”
Her voice no longer cracked when she said it.
And maybe that was the saddest part of all.
Because after an entire year—
Lingling had finally learned how to survive loving Orm from afar.
Not perfectly.
Not gracefully.
There were still nights that hurt.
Still random moments when grief returned unexpectedly—
passing a restaurant they once loved,
hearing a song Orm used to hum absentmindedly,
seeing someone wear the same perfume she used to leave on Lingling’s hoodies.
Sometimes Lingling still reached for her phone before remembering there was nobody waiting for her anymore.
Sometimes she still caught herself wanting to tell Orm about her day.
About the small things.
The meaningless things.
Because once upon a time, Orm used to care about every detail of her life.
But surviving heartbreak did not always look dramatic.
Sometimes it simply meant learning how to continue living around the emptiness.
And Lingling did.
Slowly.
Quietly.
The mornings became calmer now.
Lonelier—
but calmer.
She got used to eating breakfast alone.
Used to driving home without checking her phone at red lights.
Used to sleeping without hearing Orm’s sleepy voice at two in the morning talking about work stress or random thoughts she suddenly remembered before bed.
The late-night calls disappeared completely.
The good morning texts vanished one by one until eventually neither of them noticed they were gone.
And the intimacy between them faded slowly—
so slowly neither of them realized it was dying until there was almost nothing left.
Now their conversations were reduced to polite greetings.
Occasional check-ins.
Replies that took hours.
Sometimes days.
“How have you been?”
“I’m good. Busy lately.”
“That’s good.”
And that would be it.
No more teasing.
No more comfort.
No more you ate already?
No more call me when you get home safe.
Just distance.
Careful, respectful distance.
The kind people build when love still exists—
but no longer has a place to go.
And Lingling respected Orm’s relationship completely.
Even when it hurt.
Especially when it hurt.