Chapter 6
One afternoon, the office gossip finally turned cruel.
Lingling had just finished reviewing a project proposal when she passed by the conference room and heard familiar voices whispering carelessly behind the half-open door.
“Sean got jealous.”
“Well, can you blame him? Half the company still thinks Orm and Lingling looked better together.”
“I heard they argued because of it.”
“Honestly, if I were Sean, I’d be uncomfortable too. Those two were always too close.”
Lingling’s footsteps halted immediately.
Her fingers tightened around the folder she was holding.
For a second, she couldn’t breathe.
The air suddenly felt too heavy.
Too small.
She lowered her gaze and quietly walked away before anyone noticed she had heard everything, but the words stayed lodged painfully inside her chest for the rest of the afternoon.
By evening, the office had already emptied little by little.
The once noisy hallways became quieter, colder.
Lingling stood near the elevators waiting for hers when she saw Orm approaching from the other side of the corridor, fixing the sleeve of her coat while looking exhausted from the day.
Their eyes met briefly.
Orm smiled first, soft and familiar like always.
The kind of smile Lingling still hated herself for loving.
“Heading home?” Orm asked casually.
Lingling nodded once. “Yeah.”
For a moment, silence settled between them comfortably.
Then Orm sighed awkwardly, almost hesitant.
“By the way…” she started carefully. “Sean heard some comments from people at work.”
Lingling already knew where this was going.
Still, her chest tightened anyway.
“About us,” Orm finished quietly.
Lingling stayed silent.
Orm let out a nervous laugh and scratched the back of her neck.
“I told everyone there was never anything between us anyway.”
And just like that—
something inside Lingling broke all over again.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just a quiet, devastating crack somewhere deep inside her heart.
Because technically, Orm wasn’t wrong.
There had never been labels.
Never confessions.
Never promises.
They were never officially together.
Never once did Orm say, I love you.
But hearing her dismiss everything so easily—
every lingering touch,
every late-night drive,
every jealous silence,
every moment that felt dangerously close to becoming something real—
hurt far more than Lingling expected.
Because maybe to Orm, those moments truly meant nothing.
Just friendship.
Just comfort.
Just coincidence.
Meanwhile Lingling had spent years treasuring them like they were pieces of a future she secretly hoped for.
She built entire lifetimes around almosts.
Around maybes.
Around the way Orm used to look at her when the world grew quiet.
“That’s good,” Lingling managed to say softly, even though her throat already burned.
Orm visibly relaxed at her response.
“Yeah,” she said with a small smile. “I just didn’t want Sean overthinking things.”
Sean.
Again.
Always Sean now.
Lingling nodded slowly, forcing herself to smile back.
“Of course.”
Because Sean mattered.
Sean was the person Orm protected now.
The person Orm reassured.
The person Orm chose.
And Lingling—
Lingling had become someone from the past that needed clarification.
Someone unnecessary enough to deny.
The elevator doors opened.
Orm glanced at her one last time.
“Get home safe, okay?”
Lingling nodded.
“You too.”
The doors closed between them.
And somehow, that brief separation felt final.
—
That night, Lingling got drunk again.
Not the controlled kind of drinking where she could still pretend she was fine.
No.
This time she drank until the silence became blurry.
Until her thoughts slowed enough to stop hurting for a few seconds.
Junji and Fluke arrived at her apartment close to midnight after she stopped replying to their messages.
They found her sitting on the cold balcony floor wrapped in an oversized hoodie, surrounded by empty bottles and untouched takeout containers.
The city lights below looked distorted through the tears clouding her eyes.
Lingling laughed weakly when she saw them standing there.
A tired, broken sound.
“I’m so stupid,” she whispered.
Junji’s expression immediately crumbled.
Fluke quietly sat beside her without saying anything.
Lingling wiped at her tears roughly, but more kept falling anyway.
“All this time…” she said shakily, staring at the distant skyline, “I treated those moments like they meant something.”
Neither of them interrupted her.
Because they both knew.
They had watched Lingling love Orm silently for years.
Watched her hold onto tiny gestures like they were enough to survive on.
“She said there was never anything between us,” Lingling whispered.
Her voice cracked completely at the end.
And somehow—
that sentence hurt even more than Orm choosing someone else.
Because losing to Sean at least meant Orm loved another person more.
But being told there had never been anything at all?
That erased Lingling completely.
—
The following weeks became exhausting in an entirely different way.
Not because of work.
Not because of deadlines.
But because Junji and Fluke suddenly decided Lingling’s heartbreak could apparently be cured through aggressive matchmaking.
And unfortunately for her—
they took the mission very seriously.
“You’re meeting the doctor tomorrow night.”
Lingling didn’t even lift her head from the blueprints spread across her desk.
“I don’t want to.”
“You already canceled twice.”
“Then I’ll cancel again.”
Fluke gasped dramatically from the couch in Lingling’s office.
“You can’t keep acting like a divorced woman with seven children.”
Lingling pinched the bridge of her nose.
“I’m twenty six, not seventy.”
“Emotionally?” Junji muttered. “Debatable.”
Lingling threw a pen at him.
Unfortunately, they only became worse after that.
Every few days, another woman somehow appeared.
A dentist.
A gallery owner.
A chef.
A lawyer.
An interior designer.
“The engineer this Friday is pretty,” Fluke said one afternoon while scrolling through his phone. “Like… unfairly pretty.”
“I’m busy.”
“She likes dogs.”
“I have meetings.”
“She’s tall.”
Junji immediately looked up from her coffee.
“Oh, now she’s listening.”
“I am not listening.”
“She also plays the violin.”
Lingling groaned loudly and dropped her forehead onto the table.
But eventually—
perhaps out of exhaustion more than willingness—
Lingling stopped fighting them.
And surprisingly…
she actually tried.
Not seriously.
Never seriously.
But enough to show up.
Enough to sit through dinner.
Enough to smile politely.
There was the doctor who laughed too loudly at her own jokes but had warm eyes that lingered on Lingling with genuine interest.
The chef who personally cooked every course herself and leaned across the table saying, “You look prettier when you stop thinking.”
The soft-spoken lawyer who adored architecture so much she spent nearly twenty minutes asking Lingling about her favorite buildings.
And then there was the engineer.
Confident.
Sharp-tongued.
Beautiful.
The kind of woman who flirted without hesitation.
“You know,” she said casually over coffee one evening, “if you keep staring at my lips like that, I might misunderstand.”
Lingling nearly choked on her drink.
Meanwhile Junji and Fluke watched from afar like proud parents.
“She’s healing,” Fluke whispered emotionally.
“She’s surviving,” Junji corrected.
Soon, office gossip began spreading naturally.
People started noticing different women picking Lingling up after work.
Different bouquets arriving at the firm.
Late dinners.
Coffee meetings.
Rumors traveled quickly in their industry.
Especially when the woman involved was Lingling Kwong.
“She’s finally dating.”
“I heard the chef is obsessed with her.”
“No, no—the lawyer’s the serious one.”
“I thought she was dating that engineer?”
“She’s collecting beautiful women at this point.”
The comments were harmless.
Playful even.
But eventually—
those same rumors reached Orm too.
It happened on a random Tuesday afternoon.
Orm had been reviewing project revisions near the design department when she overheard a group of employees talking nearby.
“Lingling Kwong really has game.”
“I heard she went on three dates this week.”
“Honestly? If I looked like her, I’d collect women too.”
Someone laughed.
Orm smiled politely when they noticed her nearby.
She even laughed softly along with them.
Like it didn’t matter.
Like it was amusing.
Like hearing Lingling’s name attached to different women meant absolutely nothing.
But the moment she walked away—
something twisted sharply inside her chest.
Painfully.
A strange pressure settled beneath her ribs.
Tight.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
It caught her completely off guard.
Orm slowed her steps slightly, pressing a hand against the folder she was holding tighter than necessary.
Why did that feel… bad?
Why did hearing about Lingling going on dates leave such an unpleasant ache inside her?
It made no sense.
Lingling was single.
Beautiful.
Successful.
Kind.
Anyone would want her.
Of course she’d date eventually.
Why wouldn’t she?
And besides—
Orm had Sean.
Sean who called her every morning.
Sean who remembered her coffee order.
Sean who patiently listened whenever she complained about work.
Sean who loved her.
They were happy.
Everything was fine.
So why—
why did imagining Lingling sitting across another woman at dinner make her chest hurt like this?
Why did the thought of Lingling smiling softly at someone else feel strangely unbearable?
Orm immediately pushed the feeling away.
Forced herself to.
It was ridiculous.
There was nothing to overthink.
Nothing complicated.
She simply missed her best friend.
That was all.
—
A few days later, Orm showed up at Lingling’s office just before lunch carrying two large paper bags and a stubbornly proud expression on her face.
The moment she stepped inside the glass doors, several employees looked up in surprise.
Because Orm rarely came by anymore.
And because everyone knew she used to practically live there.
Lingling had been reviewing documents on her laptop when a familiar voice suddenly echoed through the room.
“Excuse me,” Orm announced dramatically. “Special delivery for Miss Lingling Kwong.”
Lingling looked up instantly.
And froze.
“Orm?”
There she was.
Hair slightly messy from the wind outside. Wearing an oversized cream sweater and jeans. Holding lunch bags like they were trophies she had personally fought for.
For a second, Lingling simply stared at her.
Orm walked toward her desk and carefully placed the containers down.
“I cooked,” she said proudly.
Then after a pause—
“Well… my mom supervised most of it because apparently I still cut vegetables wrong.”
Lingling laughed softly before she could stop herself.
A real laugh.
Small.
Warm.
Unforced.
And God—
she had missed that sound coming from herself too.
Junji, who had been sitting nearby, nearly gasped in disbelief.
“Finally,” she muttered dramatically while standing up. “The ice queen smiles again.”
Lingling shot her a warning look.
Junji immediately grabbed Fluke’s arm.
“We suddenly remembered we have a meeting downstairs.”
“You don’t have a meeting—”
“We do now.”
And just like that, the two disappeared.
Leaving Orm and Lingling alone inside the office once again.
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward.
It was familiar.
Dangerously familiar.
Orm sat across from Lingling and began opening the containers one by one.
“Okay,” she said seriously, “don’t judge the presentation because the soup almost exploded in the car.”
Lingling looked down at the food.
There was still steam rising from the rice.
Carefully packed vegetables.
Soup in a thermal container.
And fried chicken slightly darker than it was probably supposed to be.
Homemade.
Messy.
Very Orm.
Lingling felt something tighten painfully inside her chest.
Because once upon a time—
this used to be normal for them.
The small things.
The thoughtfulness.
The effortless way Orm always made space for her in her life.
“You really made all this?” Lingling asked softly.
Orm grinned.
“I almost burned the kitchen.”
“That sounds more believable.”
Orm gasped dramatically.
“You’re so rude to someone who cooked for you.”
Lingling only smiled again.
And for one brief, dangerous moment—
everything felt like old times.
Like nothing had changed.
Like heartbreak had never entered between them.
They ate together inside Lingling’s office while talking about random things that didn’t matter and somehow mattered too much.
Work stress.
Impossible clients.
A contractor accidentally breaking expensive tiles.
Junji once sending an unfinished presentation directly to an executive without realizing half the slides still had “TO FOLLOW” written on them.
Orm laughed so hard she nearly choked on rice.
Lingling handed her water immediately.
“Slow down.”
“I can’t breathe—” Orm wheezed between laughs.
And Lingling watched her quietly for a second too long.
God.
She missed this.
Missed her.
Missed the version of herself that only seemed to exist around Orm.
Because no matter how hard she tried to deny it—
being with Orm still felt like home.
Even when it hurt.
Especially when it hurt.
“I miss you,” Orm admitted suddenly.
The words came out softly while she absentmindedly played with her spoon.
Simple.
Honest.
Careless in the way only Orm could be.
Lingling’s heart stuttered painfully inside her chest.
For one terrifying second, she almost asked—
Do you really?
But she already knew better than to hope for things that no longer belonged to her.
So instead, Lingling only smiled gently.
“It’s okay.”
Orm looked at her immediately.
“No, really,” she said quietly. “We barely spend time together anymore.”
Lingling lowered her gaze toward her food for a brief moment before answering carefully.
“You have Sean now. That’s normal.”
The moment Sean’s name entered the conversation, something invisible shifted between them again.
Orm sighed softly.
“I know, but…”
She trailed off before laughing awkwardly.
“I still want us to stay close.”
Lingling’s fingers tightened slightly around her spoon.
Close.
Such a harmless word.
Yet Lingling suddenly realized she no longer knew how to survive being close to Orm without wanting more.
Still—
she nodded.
Because she would never deny Orm anything if she could help it.
“You should focus on making your relationship stronger,” Lingling said gently.
Orm stared at her for a moment.
And suddenly—
something felt strange.
Lingling still sounded kind.
Still looked at her softly.
Still smiled whenever Orm spoke.
But there was distance now.
A quiet distance Orm couldn’t explain.
Like invisible walls had appeared around Lingling without her noticing.
Walls that had never existed before.
Before, Lingling always felt reachable.
Now she felt careful.
Guarded.
Like someone slowly teaching herself how not to need another person too much.
Then Orm suddenly remembered the office gossip she had overheard days ago.
Her expression immediately turned teasing.
“So,” she said while leaning back in her chair, “which rumor is true?”
Lingling blinked in confusion.
“What rumor?”
“The doctor,” Orm said with a smirk.
Lingling laughed softly.
“No.”
“The lawyer?”
“No.”
“The engineer then?”
Lingling shook her head again, amused.
Orm narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
“So there is someone.”
Lingling only smiled faintly without answering.
And somehow—
Orm didn’t like that response at all.
Didn’t like the idea of Lingling meeting someone.
Didn’t like imagining Lingling giving her time, her patience, her softness to another person.
“You’re popular these days,” Orm muttered lightly.
Lingling smiled politely.
But this time—
it no longer reached her eyes the way it used to.
And for reasons Orm didn’t fully understand—
that bothered her more than it should have.
—
That same afternoon, Lingling accepted a major three-month architectural project in Khon Kaen alongside Junji and Fluke.
A project that required temporary relocation.
Three whole months away from Bangkok.
Away from Orm.
Junji looked genuinely surprised when she signed the agreement almost immediately.
“You’re really taking it?” she asked carefully.
Lingling nodded once.
“It’s a good opportunity.”
Junji studied her face quietly.
Because she knew Lingling well enough to understand this decision had nothing to do with career growth.
“Are you sure?” she asked softly this time.
Lingling became silent for a moment before finally answering.
“I think this is good for me.”
Good for her.
Because maybe distance would finally help her breathe again.
Maybe if she stopped seeing Orm every day—
stopped hearing her voice unexpectedly—
stopped waiting for messages that were no longer hers to receive—
then maybe healing would finally begin.
Because loving Orm had become like holding onto something beautiful that was slowly cutting deeper into her hands.
And Lingling was getting tired of bleeding quietly.
So that night, she packed alone inside her condo while rain poured endlessly outside the windows.
Folded clothes carefully.
Organized documents.
Charged her laptop.
Prepared herself for three months in another city.
The apartment was quiet except for the sound of rain and the occasional vibration of her phone.
At one point, she paused while folding one of her sweaters.
Because she suddenly remembered Orm wearing it once years ago.
Complaining it smelled too much like Lingling.
And back then—
Lingling had secretly loved hearing that.
She closed her eyes briefly.
Then continued packing.
Carefully.
Slowly.
Like someone trying not to fall apart over memories too small to explain.
And somewhere across the city—
Orm laughed softly during a late-night video call with Sean.
Completely unaware that Lingling was quietly slipping farther away again.
This time not because of misunderstandings.
Not because of silence.
Not because Lingling loved her any less.
But because Lingling had finally realized something terrifying.
Loving Orm from this close was destroying her slowly.
And if she stayed—
she might never learn how to let go at all.
—
Three days had passed since Lingling left Bangkok.
Three long, quiet days in Khon Kaen filled with construction meetings, endless site inspections, revised blueprints, delayed approvals, and exhaustion so deep it settled into her bones.
The project was massive.
A mixed-use commercial complex that would take months to complete—several buildings interconnected across a wide property near the city center.
Hotels, office spaces, retail establishments, underground parking, rooftop gardens.
Every department involved was under pressure to make everything perfect before the next phase of construction began.
Lingling had been assigned as the head engineer.
Junji worked directly under her as her assistant.
And Fluke handled the architectural side of the project alongside the design consultants.
The workload was brutal.
By the third day, Lingling barely had enough energy left to think.
The heat in Khon Kaen was unforgiving. Most mornings started before sunrise and ended long after dark. She spent hours walking through unfinished structures wearing a hard hat beneath the scorching afternoon sun while contractors and suppliers constantly called her attention from every direction.
“P’Ling! The client wants another revision!”
“Engineer Lingling, the measurements from Zone C don’t match!”
“P’Ling, the concrete delivery got delayed again!”
It never stopped.
Even during lunch breaks, someone always needed something from her.
By evening, her shoulders ached so badly she could barely rotate her neck anymore.
And somehow, despite all of that exhaustion—
her mind still found its way back to Orm.
Always Orm.
It annoyed her.
Because she had left Bangkok precisely for this reason.
Distance.
Silence.
Space to finally breathe without constantly seeing Orm’s face in every hallway, every meeting room, every elevator reflection.
No accidental encounters at the company café.
No hearing Orm laugh somewhere nearby.
No watching Sean pick her up after work.
Khon Kaen was supposed to help her heal.
But loneliness had a cruel way of making old memories louder.
That night, after finally returning to the serviced apartment rented by the company, Lingling entered the quiet room with slow, exhausted steps.
The apartment was modern but impersonal.
Gray walls.
Cold lighting.
A small kitchen she barely used.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the rain-soaked city.
Junji and Fluke stayed in separate units on different floors, leaving Lingling entirely alone in hers.
Usually, she preferred solitude.
Tonight it felt suffocating.
She dropped her bag near the couch before loosening the collar of her blouse tiredly. Her hair smelled faintly of dust and rainwater after spending the afternoon at the construction site.
All she wanted now was silence.
Just silence.
Then suddenly—
her phone started ringing.
The sound echoed softly across the apartment.
Lingling glanced at the screen absentmindedly at first.
Then froze.
Orm.
For a brief second, her heartbeat stumbled painfully inside her chest.
The screen continued glowing against the darkness of the room.
Orm calling.
Lingling stared at it quietly.
Her thumb twitched slightly against her side.
But instead of answering—
she sighed softly, turned the phone face down on the table, and walked toward the bathroom.
She was too tired tonight.
Too emotionally exhausted to hear Orm’s voice and pretend it still didn’t affect her.
Because it always did.
No matter how much distance she put between them.
No matter how many times she reminded herself that Orm already belonged to someone else.
The shower water was warm against her skin.
Steam slowly filled the bathroom as Lingling stood motionless beneath the running water, one hand pressed against the tiled wall.
Her entire body hurt.
But somehow the warmth only made the exhaustion feel heavier.
She closed her eyes.
And immediately memories surfaced anyway.
Orm laughing during late-night drives.
Orm falling asleep on her shoulder during flights.
Orm feeding her pieces of cake during birthdays.
Orm standing barefoot in Lingling’s kitchen at two in the morning because she suddenly craved ramen.
The worst part was that none of those memories belonged to the distant past.
They still felt recent.
Alive.
Like Lingling could return to Bangkok tomorrow and still find traces of Orm everywhere.
She inhaled shakily before forcing the thoughts away.
This was necessary.
Distance was necessary.
Healing required distance.
So why did she still feel this empty?
—
Nearly an hour later, Lingling finally stepped out of the shower wearing an oversized dark shirt and loose sweatpants.
The apartment lights were dim now.
Rain poured steadily outside the windows, soft and endless against the glass.
The city looked blurry beneath the storm.
Lingling dried her hair lazily with a towel before collapsing onto the bed with a tired sigh.
Then her eyes landed on the phone beside her pillow.
Missed call from Orm.
The sight alone tightened something painfully inside her chest.
For a long moment, Lingling simply stared at the notification.
Thinking.
Hesitating.
Trying to convince herself not to call back.
Because every conversation with Orm lately felt dangerous.
One moment of comfort always turned into another sleepless night afterward.
But eventually—
Lingling reached for the phone anyway.
And called back.
Orm answered almost immediately.
“Ling?”
Her voice sounded upset.
Relieved too.
Like she had been waiting beside the phone the entire time.
Lingling shut her eyes briefly.
“Sorry,” she murmured softly. “I was showering.”
A pause followed.
Then Orm spoke again.
“You didn’t tell me you left Bangkok.”
Straight to the point.
No greeting.
No pretending.
Lingling stared silently at the ceiling above her bed.
“I accepted the project suddenly.”
“That’s not the point.”
Orm’s voice softened, but the hurt remained obvious underneath.
“I heard it from your department. If I didn’t overhear people talking earlier, I wouldn’t even know you were gone.”
Guilt slowly settled inside Lingling’s chest.
Because despite everything—
she never wanted to hurt Orm.
Not intentionally.
“I’m sorry,” Lingling whispered sincerely.
Another silence.
The kind that carried too many things unsaid.
Then quietly, Orm asked:
“How long are you staying there?”
“Three months,” Lingling answered. “Maybe longer depending on revisions and construction delays.”
The silence afterward felt heavier somehow.
Lingling could almost picture Orm lying on her bed in Bangkok right now, staring quietly at the ceiling the same way she used to during difficult nights.
Then Orm finally spoke again.
“Your birthday is next month.”
Lingling’s chest tightened immediately.
Painfully.
Because birthdays had always belonged to Orm somehow.
For years, no matter how busy they were, Orm always found a way to spend that day with her.
Midnight cake deliveries.
Spontaneous road trips.
Rooftop dinners overlooking Bangkok.
Tiny handwritten letters tucked inside gifts.
Even when they were fighting—
Orm still showed up.
And now there would only be distance.
“It’s okay,” Lingling said gently.
But Orm still sounded sad.
“You should’ve told me before leaving.”
Lingling swallowed quietly.
Because the truth was—
she couldn’t.
If she had seen Orm before leaving, she might not have been able to go through with it.
A proper goodbye would have hurt too much.
So instead, she apologized again softly.
And somehow—
little by little—
their conversation slipped into something painfully familiar.
The kind of late-night calls they used to have almost every day.
Comfortable.
Easy.
Dangerous.
“How was your day?” Orm asked quietly after a while.
“Tiring,” Lingling admitted with a small laugh. “The site measurements were a disaster.”
Orm laughed softly too.
And suddenly Lingling felt like she had been thrown backward in time.
Back to all those nights when they stayed awake talking until sunrise.
When hearing Orm breathe quietly on the other line felt enough to calm her after difficult days.
Lingling found herself talking more than she intended.
About the project.
About the endless deadlines.
About Junji nearly falling asleep during a client meeting earlier.
About Fluke complaining dramatically over the terrible hotel coffee every morning.
Orm listened attentively like she always used to.
Never interrupting.
Always interested in every little detail Lingling shared.
Then eventually Orm started talking too.
About her latest design proposal.
About an important client presentation next week.
About Sean helping her choose materials earlier that afternoon.
Lingling’s smile faded slightly at the mention of his name.
But she stayed quiet.
“And Sean booked us a beach trip next Saturday,” Orm continued, sounding genuinely excited. “He found this private resort. You’d actually love the architecture there.”
Lingling forced herself to smile silently.
Of course Sean would take her to beaches now.
Beaches used to belong to Lingling and Orm too.
Phuket.
Krabi.
Pattaya.
Even small hidden beaches outside Bangkok during random weekend drives.
Every place held memories she could never fully escape from.
Still—
Lingling listened carefully.
Responded softly.
Pretended she was okay.
Like hearing another person slowly take her place beside Orm didn’t quietly destroy something inside her every single time.
“And Sean’s been learning how to cook lately,” Orm continued with a laugh. “It’s honestly terrible, but cute.”
Lingling laughed softly despite herself.
“That sounds dangerous.”
“It is,” Orm admitted between giggles.
God.
Lingling missed this.
Missed this version of them.
The easy conversations.
The warmth.
The comfort that came so naturally between them even now.
And maybe that was the cruelest part.
No matter how much things changed—
talking to Orm still felt like home.
Even if Lingling no longer belonged there.
Eventually the conversation softened again.
Both of them growing quieter from exhaustion.
Both lying alone in separate beds hundreds of kilometers apart.
Rain continued pouring outside Lingling’s windows.
And for a brief moment—
everything almost felt normal again.
Then Lingling glanced toward the clock.
11:53 PM.
“You should sleep,” she said softly.
“You too.”
A pause followed.
Lingling thought the call would end there.
But then Orm suddenly spoke again, voice quieter this time.
More vulnerable.
“I miss you.”
Lingling immediately shut her eyes.
Because there it was again.
That dangerous softness.
The exact reason she left Bangkok in the first place.
Because every time Orm said things like that—
Lingling started hoping again.
And hope was the one thing destroying her the most.
Her fingers tightened slightly around the phone.
But this time—
Lingling answered carefully.
“I’m still here.”
Not I miss you too.
Not anymore.
Because she knew if she said it aloud—
she might never stop loving Orm the way she should.
Another long silence followed.
Then quietly—
almost like a whisper—
Orm said,
“Goodnight, Ling.”
Lingling swallowed the ache rising inside her chest.
“Goodnight, Orm.”
The call ended shortly after.
And once the screen finally went dark—
the apartment suddenly felt unbearably quiet again.
Too quiet.
Lingling placed the phone beside her before staring blankly at the ceiling.
Outside, rain continued falling steadily against the windows.
The city lights blurred softly through the storm.
Her body felt heavy with exhaustion.
But sleep still refused to come.
Because hearing Orm again felt like reopening a wound she had spent months trying to close.
For a few moments during that call, everything almost felt like old times again.
Like nothing between them had changed.
Like Orm still somehow belonged beside her.
But then Sean’s name entered the conversation—
and reality returned instantly.
Lingling slowly turned onto her side, hugging the pillow against her chest.
Another night.
Another conversation that meant far too much to her.
And maybe far less to Orm than Lingling desperately wanted to believe.
Because Orm still had Sean.
Still had someone waiting beside her.
While Lingling only had memories.
Her eyes slowly drifted toward the rain-covered windows.
Khon Kaen felt so far away from Bangkok tonight.
Yet somehow—
not far enough.
And somewhere deep inside herself—
Lingling realized something heartbreaking.
No matter how far she ran—
Khon Kaen, Bangkok, another country, another life—
a part of her would probably always ache for Orm anyway.