Chapter 20
The wedding happened in Phuket.
And it turned out beautiful.
Beautiful in the kind of way that made people believe love could truly last forever.
The ceremony was held near the beach just before sunset, where the sky melted into shades of gold, peach, and soft blue.
Gentle waves rolled toward the shore in slow rhythm, as if the ocean itself had softened for the occasion.
White roses and hydrangeas lined the aisle, their petals dancing whenever the sea breeze passed through.
Above the reception area, warm fairy lights hung between palm trees like tiny stars suspended in the darkening sky.
Everything looked alive.
Warm.
Whole.
Like the universe had decided, for one evening, to be kind.
And for the first time in years—
Lingling felt genuinely happy without needing to pretend.
Not the practiced kind of happiness she wore during interviews.
Not the polished smile she gave during award ceremonies.
Not the quiet “I’m okay” she repeated to herself on lonely nights in Europe.
This felt real.
Soft.
Human.
She stood near the aisle wearing a perfect fitted suit in muted bluish silver tones that matched the wedding motif perfectly.
The fabric moved beautifully against the wind, flowing around her like water beneath the fading sunset.
Her hair rested loosely over her shoulders, strands lifting gently in the breeze while silver earrings shimmered against her skin.
And unsurprisingly—
people stared.
Not only because she was beautifully handsome.
But because Lingling carried herself differently now.
There was a quiet grace in her movements.
A calmness that only belonged to people who had survived unbearable things and somehow continued living afterward.
The old Lingling used to look fragile whenever Orm’s name entered a room.
This version of her no longer shattered so easily.
She still carried pain.
But she carried it elegantly now.
Junji completely broke down halfway through her vows to Mario.
Absolutely ruined.
“I practiced this speech for two months,” she cried dramatically into the microphone, tears already destroying her makeup. “Why am I ugly crying before the emotional part?!”
Laughter erupted across the wedding immediately.
Mario laughed so hard he nearly forgot his own vows.
Even Lingling laughed.
Especially when Junji angrily pointed at her waterproof mascara and accused it of “betraying her emotionally during her most important moment.”
“Refund-worthy behavior,” Junji sniffled while dabbing her tears dramatically.
The guests laughed harder.
And somehow, in the middle of all that warmth and noise and happiness—
Lingling realized something.
Watching love no longer hurt her the way it used to.
Before, weddings made her chest ache.
Happy couples reminded her too much of what she lost.
Too much of Orm.
Too much of almost.
But tonight felt different.
Watching Junji and Mario look at each other like they were home no longer made Lingling feel abandoned by fate.
Instead—
it comforted her.
Because despite everything life had taken from her, she still wanted love to exist in the world.
She still wanted people to find each other.
Even if her own story never found its way back.
Later that evening, music filled the shoreline while guests danced barefoot across the sand beneath glowing lights. The ocean breeze cooled Lingling’s skin while distant laughter echoed warmly around the reception.
Some people drank too much.
Some danced horribly.
Junji cried again during the father-daughter dance.
Then cried even harder afterward because, according to her, “Mario looked too handsome emotionally and it overwhelmed her spiritually.”
Fluke nearly choked laughing.
Mario simply kissed Junji’s forehead like he had already accepted this would be his life forever.
Lingling stayed near the tables with a glass of wine resting between her fingers while quietly observing everyone from afar.
Fluke leaned against the table beside her and nudged her shoulder gently.
“You know,” he said proudly, “you became terrifyingly successful.”
Lingling laughed softly into her wine.
“Terrifyingly?”
“You literally received engineering awards all over Europe,” Fluke said. “People quote your interviews online like you’re some genius philosopher disguised as an engineer.”
Before Lingling could answer, Junji suddenly appeared beside them holding another champagne glass dramatically.
“And she got featured in magazines looking criminally handsome,” Junji added proudly.
Lingling groaned immediately.
“Please stop talking.”
“No,” Junji continued stubbornly. “People in Thailand literally repost your interviews like you’re some emotionally unavailable engineer celebrity.”
Fluke snorted.
“She kind of is.”
“And I’m very sure,” Junji continued while pointing accusingly at Lingling, “that there are entire lines of women in Europe willing to ruin their lives for her.”
“Junji—”
“Men too,” Fluke added casually. “Probably.”
Junji gasped.
“Oh absolutely. Lingling has that heartbreaking face people write poetry about.”
Lingling covered her face briefly while laughing helplessly.
A real laugh.
Not forced.
Not hollow.
Warm.
Soft.
Alive.
And hearing them speak about her like that warmed something deep inside her chest.
Because despite everything she lost—
she still built a life.
A beautiful one.
She survived heartbreak.
Survived loneliness.
Survived years of loving someone she could never truly have.
There were nights in Europe when she worked until sunrise just to avoid thinking about Orm.
Nights when success felt meaningless because there was nobody beside her to share it with.
She remembered eating alone after receiving her first international award.
Remembered staring at the congratulatory messages flooding her phone while secretly wishing only one person had sent one.
Orm.
Always Orm.
Even after all those years—
some part of Lingling still searched for her instinctively in crowded places.
Still wondered if Orm would’ve been proud of her.
Still imagined what it would’ve felt like if Orm had been there during the biggest moments of her life.
But life kept moving anyway.
And Lingling learned how to move with it.
The ocean waves crashed softly nearby while fairy lights glowed above the beach like tiny constellations.
Junji danced terribly with Mario in the background.
Fluke complained every five minutes about sand getting inside his shoes.
People laughed loudly somewhere near the bar.
And Lingling stood there quietly beneath the Phuket night sky.
Beautiful.
Successful.
Loved deeply by the people around her.
Yet somewhere inside herself—
there was still one untouched corner of her heart carrying Orm carefully.
Not painfully anymore.
Not desperately.
Just permanently.
Like an old love song she no longer played—
but still remembered every word to.
—
They stayed at the beach resort for several more days after the wedding.
And somehow—
those quiet days became Lingling’s favorite part of the entire trip.
Maybe because there was no pressure anymore.
No ceremony to prepare for.
No guests to entertain.
No pretending that everyone had their lives perfectly together.
It was just them now.
Old friends existing beneath soft sunsets, salty ocean air, and the kind of peace that only came after surviving too much.
The mornings were always slow.
Junji would wake everyone up too early just to drag them toward breakfast by the shore, claiming she wanted “romantic married couple mornings,” only to spend the entire meal complaining about Mario.
“Mario snores like a dying motorcycle,” she whispered dramatically one morning while stirring her coffee.
Mario nearly dropped his toast.
“You literally drool in your sleep.”
Junji flipped her hair.
“That’s different. I’m beautiful when I do it.”
Fluke burst into laughter so loudly nearby tourists turned to look at them.
Even Lingling laughed harder than she expected to.
A real laugh.
Not the small polite ones she had learned to give over the years.
Not the quiet smiles she used whenever people asked if she was okay.
This one escaped naturally from her chest.
And for a moment, hearing her own laughter again almost startled her.
Because there was a time she thought heartbreak had permanently taken that version of her away.
The days passed gently after that.
They swam during the afternoons until Junji complained about the heat.
Walked barefoot along the shore while Fluke collected seashells like an excited child.
Took blurry group photos during golden hour while Mario kept yelling at everyone to “act natural” despite posing the hardest himself.
At night, they sat near the beach with wine bottles buried halfway in the sand while waves crashed softly nearby.
Sometimes they talked until sunrise.
Sometimes they simply sat together listening to old songs without needing conversation at all.
And strangely—
those silent moments became Lingling’s favorite.
Because silence used to terrify her.
Silence used to remind her of empty condos in Bangkok.
Of lonely winters in Paris.
But this silence felt different.
This silence felt full.
Comfortable.
Like being around people who already understood your sadness without asking you to explain it.
And for the first time in years—
Lingling felt close to home again.
Not the place.
Never the place.
Because home was never really Bangkok.
Or Paris.
Or any city she moved to trying to outrun herself.
Home was the feeling of belonging somewhere without needing to earn it first.
Home was being known deeply and still being loved afterward.
And somehow—
Junji and Fluke still gave her that feeling after all these years.
One night, while sitting around a small bonfire near the shore, Fluke suddenly brought up old company memories after getting slightly drunk.
“Do you remember when Junji accidentally emailed the wrong blueprint to the client?”
Junji gasped so loudly birds nearby flew away.
“That happened one time!”
Fluke pointed at her dramatically.
“You sent a hospital design to a luxury hotel company.”
“I WAS STRESSED!”
“The client asked why the honeymoon suite had emergency exits every three meters.”
Mario bent over laughing while Junji threw a piece of bread at Fluke’s face.
Lingling laughed so hard wine nearly spilled from her glass.
And suddenly—
for one brief moment—
everything felt light again.
Like grief had finally loosened its grip around her chest after years of holding on too tightly.
Like maybe life could still surprise her with softness even after all the ways it had hurt her.
The fire crackled quietly between them while the ocean stretched endlessly ahead.
Junji eventually rested her head on Mario’s shoulder.
Fluke lay flat against the sand staring at the stars.
And Lingling found herself watching the waves in silence.
"And I remembered Orm had to explain everything to the client over a coffee" Junji said.
Fluke's eyes widen and Junji slap her mouth instantly. She panics while looking at Lingling.
Lingling just nod and drinks her beer.
Her smile slowly faded into something softer.
Something heavier.
Because healing was strange that way.
Even during happy moments—
certain memories still arrived uninvited.
And somehow—
every memory still led back to Orm.
Orm driving with one hand on the steering wheel while quietly singing songs off-key.
Orm laughing whenever Lingling criticized her terrible parking skills.
Orm falling asleep during movie nights with her head resting against Lingling’s shoulder.
Lingling swallowed hard.
The ache returned quietly after that.
Not violently like before.
Not enough to destroy her anymore.
But enough to remind her that some people never really leave you.
No matter how many years pass.
No matter how far away you run.
Some people permanently change the shape of your heart after loving them.
And maybe that was the cruelest part.
Because Orm had become part of her.
Part of the way she saw the world.
Part of the songs she avoided.
Part of the silence she carried.
Part of every version of “home” she kept searching for afterward.
The ocean breeze turned colder.
Junji called her name softly from behind, asking if she was okay.
Lingling looked back immediately and smiled.
The kind of smile she had mastered over the years.
Small.
Gentle.
Convincing enough.
“Yeah,” she whispered quietly.
And then she turned back toward the sea again.
Watching the waves disappear into darkness.
As if somewhere beyond the horizon—
a version of her and Orm still existed there.
Still together.
Still in love.
Still waiting for a future they never got to have.
—
On the final morning, the resort buzzed quietly with departures.
Suitcases rolled across marble floors.
Staff carried luggage toward waiting cars.
The ocean breeze smelled faintly of salt and coffee drifting from the restaurant nearby.
Junji and Mario prepared to leave for their honeymoon in Italy.
Junji looked emotionally devastated despite being the bride.
“I can’t believe the wedding’s over,” she complained dramatically while hugging Lingling near the resort entrance.
“You cried through half of it,” Lingling reminded softly.
“And I’ll cry again.”
Lingling smiled warmly before hugging her tighter.
Junji pulled back afterward and pointed threateningly.
“You better visit Thailand more often or I’ll personally drag you back here myself.”
Lingling laughed quietly.
“I’ll try.”
And surprisingly—
she meant it.
Because Thailand no longer felt as suffocating as before.
Painful still.
Yes.
But survivable now.
Fluke also needed to leave immediately because of an emergency client meeting back in Bangkok.
“I swear clients only panic when I’m near beaches,” he muttered while dragging his luggage toward the car.
Junji snorted.
“Because even the universe hates your work-life balance.”
Lingling helped him load his suitcase before glancing up.
“You’re really leaving me alone here?”
Fluke pointed at her accusingly.
“You’re a terrifyingly independent woman living in Paris. I think you’ll survive in a few days.”
Lingling rolled her eyes softly.
Her flight back to Paris wasn’t until next week.
At first she planned to leave with everyone else immediately.
But something about Phuket made her want to stay a little longer.
Maybe she simply wasn’t ready to return to Paris yet.
Or maybe—
after four years away—
she secretly missed Thailand more than she realized.
“I’ll come back in a few days,” Fluke promised before climbing into the car.
“You better.”
Then suddenly—
Junji narrowed her eyes suspiciously before smirking.
“You know…”
Lingling immediately recognized that expression.
Dangerous.
Chaotic.
Usually followed by emotional damage.
“Maybe Thailand still has unfinished business waiting for you.”
Lingling froze for half a second.
Then narrowed her eyes immediately.
“Don’t start.”
Junji only laughed mischievously.
“I’m just saying.”
“You’re saying nothing.”
Mario sighed tiredly beside his wife.
“She’s been trying to act mysterious all morning.”
“Because I AM mysterious.”
“You cried because the resort cat ignored you.”
“That’s unrelated.”
Fluke burst out laughing.
Lingling shook her head helplessly while smiling softly.
But despite herself—
her chest tightened slightly anyway.
Because the moment Junji said unfinished business—
one name immediately echoed inside Lingling’s heart.
Orm.
Even after four years—
even after Paris.
Even after healing slowly and painfully—
that name still carried something dangerous inside her.
Junji eventually ran dramatically toward Mario afterward after nearly forgetting her passport twice.
Fluke waved lazily before the cars finally disappeared down the long resort driveway.
And then—
silence settled around Lingling completely for the first time in days.
The ocean waves crashed softly nearby.
Palm trees swayed gently beneath the warm Phuket breeze.
And suddenly—
Lingling realized she was alone again.
Very slowly, she looked out toward the horizon quietly.
Then inhaled deeply.
Because for reasons she still couldn’t explain—
her heart suddenly felt restless.
That day, Lingling decided to wander around Phuket alone.
Maybe because the silence inside the resort had suddenly become too loud after Junji and Fluke left.
Or maybe because some part of her was terrified of staying still.
Because stillness gave memories room to breathe.
And once they started breathing again, they always found their way back to her chest.
So she chose movement instead.
She dressed simply, though elegance seemed to follow her no matter how hard she tried to appear ordinary.
A black long-sleeve linen shirt rolled loosely near her wrists.
White beach pants swaying softly against her legs whenever the ocean breeze passed by.
Black Dior sunglasses hiding the exhaustion beneath her eyes.
A wide sun hat shielding her face from the golden Phuket sunlight.
Then she grabbed her bag, camera, phone, and wallet before quietly leaving the villa alone.
The beach town welcomed her with noise and warmth.
Tourists filled the streets with laughter.
Children ran barefoot near the shoreline, their tiny feet kicking sand into the air while their parents called after them fondly.
Street musicians played soft acoustic songs beneath coconut trees.
Somewhere nearby, someone grilled fresh seafood over charcoal, the smoky scent mixing beautifully with the saltwater breeze.
Everything around her felt alive.
Warm.
Carefree.
And for the first time in years—
Lingling walked without rushing toward anything.
No meetings waiting for her.
No presentations.
No deadlines.
No engineers calling her phone every ten minutes.
No expectations sitting heavily on her shoulders.
Just sunlight.
Ocean waves.
And herself.
Yet somehow, even freedom felt lonely.
Because peace was cruel sometimes.
It gave people enough silence to finally hear the things they spent years trying to ignore.
Lingling walked slowly through small souvenir shops and local cafés.
She paused near handmade jewelry displays.
Stopped to photograph old buildings painted in faded pastel colors.
Smiled politely whenever vendors complimented her beauty.
But every now and then—
her hand still instinctively reached for her phone.
As if she wanted to send someone a picture.
As if there was still someone waiting to receive random updates about her day.
Look at this café.
This sunset is beautiful.
You would probably hate this spicy seafood.
You would probably steal food from my plate again.
The realization made her chest ache quietly.
There was no one to send them to anymore.
Four years.
Four whole years.
And somehow, her fingers still remembered habits her heart should have forgotten by now.
—
By lunchtime, she stopped at one of the finest seafood restaurants overlooking the ocean.
The entire place looked straight out of a luxury travel magazine.
Glass windows reflecting sunlight over the sea.
Soft jazz music floating gently through the air.
Wine glasses clinking softly between conversations.
The sound of waves crashing nearby completed the atmosphere beautifully.
Lingling chose a table near the balcony.
The ocean stretched endlessly before her, blue and beautiful beneath the afternoon sun.
For a moment, she simply sat there quietly.
Watching couples feed each other.
Watching families laugh together.
Watching people live so easily beside one another.
And suddenly—
she couldn’t stop thinking about how lonely food tasted when eaten alone.
The waitress approached her soon after, smiling perhaps a little too brightly.
“Good afternoon, ma’am.”
Lingling looked up politely and returned a soft smile.
The waitress nearly faltered for half a second.
Probably because Lingling had always carried that effect on people without trying.
“Would you like wine with your meal?”
“Yes, please.”
The waitress poured the wine carefully before hesitating.
Then came the inevitable question.
“Are you here alone?”
Lingling glanced briefly toward the ocean again before answering calmly.
“For today.”
Something about the answer sounded heavier than it should have.
The waitress visibly softened.
“Well… if you need recommendations around Phuket…”
Lingling laughed quietly, gentle as always.
“I’ll survive.”
The waitress laughed too, though she still looked at Lingling a little longer before leaving.
Even throughout lunch, Lingling could feel eyes drifting toward her repeatedly.
A group of tourists whispered shamelessly nearby.
Someone across the restaurant discreetly took photos of the ocean only to accidentally include her in frame several times.
A foreign couple kept glancing at her like they were trying to figure out whether she was a celebrity.
Lingling ignored all of it gracefully.
She was used to attention.
Used to admiration.
Used to people being drawn toward her beauty before they even knew her name.
But admiration had long stopped meaning anything to her.
Because attention was easy.
Love was not.
At some point, Lingling stood and walked toward the wine counter near the balcony.
That was when a woman—probably somewhere in her thirties, beautiful and confidently dressed—approached her with an amused smile.
“I’m sorry,” the woman said, almost laughing already, “but you genuinely look like someone from a magazine.”
Lingling nearly smiled for real at that.
“Hopefully not for committing crimes.”
The woman laughed immediately.
It was warm.
Natural.
Easy.
“Can I at least know your name?”
“Lingling.”
“Well, Lingling,” the woman said smoothly, leaning lightly against the counter, “if you ever need company while island hopping…”
There it was again.
Interest.
Flirting.
The possibility of something new.
Four years ago, maybe Junji and Fluke would have teased her endlessly about it.
Four years ago, maybe Orm would have become jealous immediately while pretending she wasn’t.
The memory appeared too suddenly.
So suddenly that Lingling’s smile almost disappeared.
Lingling forced herself to smile warmly anyway before gently interrupting.
“That’s kind. But I think I’m okay.”
Gentle.
Always gentle.
Never cold enough to hurt people.
But never open enough either.
The woman understood immediately.
She smiled softly before nodding.
“Well… whoever broke your heart must be an idiot.”
Lingling looked down at her untouched wine for a brief moment.
Then toward the ocean.
The sunlight reflected beautifully against the water, painfully bright against her eyes.
And for the first time that day, her smile looked genuinely sad.
“No,” she said quietly.
“Just someone I could never have.”
The woman fell silent after that.
Because some answers carried enough pain to end conversations naturally.
A few moments later, the woman excused herself kindly and left Lingling alone near the balcony.
And Lingling stayed there.
Standing quietly while the ocean breeze moved through her hair.
People still looked at her.
Still admired her.
Still found her beautiful.
But none of them knew the truth.
That beneath all the elegance, all the calmness, all the composure—
was simply a woman who had spent four years learning how to live with a heart that never truly moved on.
Because even after all this time—
Lingling still unconsciously kept her heart locked somewhere no one else could reach.
—
After lunch, Lingling wandered around Phuket alone with her camera hanging quietly against her chest.
The afternoon sun painted everything gold.
Street vendors calling customers over with warm smiles.
Fresh fruits displayed beneath colorful umbrellas.
Boats swaying gently near the docks while ropes creaked softly against wood.
Children laughing as they chased waves near the shoreline, their tiny footprints disappearing almost instantly beneath seawater.
An elderly couple walked slowly beneath the heat of the sun, fingers intertwined like muscle memory rather than effort.
Lingling lifted her camera and captured them carefully.
Click.
Another memory frozen forever.
She always liked photographs for that reason.
People left.
Moments disappeared.
Feelings changed.
But photographs stayed exactly where you left them.
Still.
Silent.
Untouched by time.
Sometimes Lingling wondered if that was why she loved taking pictures so much.
Because life itself had never allowed her to keep the things she loved for very long.
Eventually, she joined a small island-hopping tour with several tourists staying nearby.
The boat sliced smoothly through the turquoise water while sunlight danced endlessly across the ocean surface like shattered diamonds.
Warm wind brushed against Lingling’s face as Phuket slowly disappeared farther behind them.
And for the first time in a while—
she breathed properly again.
Not the kind of breathing people did simply to survive.
Real breathing.
The kind that loosened something heavy inside your chest.
For the next three hours, Lingling allowed herself to disappear into the sea completely.
She swam through crystal-clear water until her muscles ached pleasantly.
Explored hidden beaches untouched by crowds.
Snorkeled beside coral reefs glowing beneath the sunlight like living paintings under the ocean.
For brief moments, she laughed with strangers.
For brief moments, she forgot what loneliness tasted like.
For brief moments—
Orm did not live inside every corner of her mind.
And maybe that was what made it hurt even more.
Because healing was strange.
Sometimes you could genuinely feel happy—
and still carry grief at the exact same time.
Sometimes your heart learned how to smile while quietly bleeding underneath.
By the time the boat finally returned to shore around four in the afternoon, Lingling looked softer somehow.
Calmer.
Sea breeze moved gently through her damp hair while traces of saltwater still clung against her skin.
She walked slowly through the beach market afterward, letting the noise of tourists and vendors blur around her.
Tiny shops lined the pathway.
Handmade jewelry.
Postcards with fading sunsets.
Miniature paintings.
Shells displayed inside tiny glass bottles.
Then suddenly—
Lingling stopped walking.
A small souvenir shop stood quietly near the corner.
And there—
resting beneath warm afternoon light—
was a tiny shell trapped inside clear glass.
Lingling froze instantly.
Because memories crashed into her so hard it almost stole the air from her lungs.
Phuket.
Sunset.
Years ago.
A vacation with Orm.
The memory unfolded so vividly it felt cruel.
Lingling running barefoot along the shore while screaming dramatically because the water was “too cold” despite begging Orm to swim literally five minutes earlier.
Orm sitting on the sand laughing so hard she nearly dropped her drink.
“You’re embarrassing.”
“You love me anyway.”
“Debatable.”
Lingling remembered the way Orm tried to hide her smile afterward.
That tiny smile she only showed when she was genuinely happy.
The kind Lingling spent years memorizing.
Then later—
Lingling running back toward her completely soaked from seawater, grinning proudly while holding a tiny shell in her hand.
Without warning, she dropped it directly into Orm’s palm.
“Keep it.”
Orm stared at the shell.
“What for?”
“So when we’re old, you’ll remember I was young and beautiful once.”
“You’re dramatic.”
“And gorgeous.”
Orm rolled her eyes back then.
But she smiled anyway.
God.
Lingling remembered how beautiful Orm looked beneath that sunset.
Hair messy from ocean wind.
Eyes warm.
Happy.
They both looked so impossibly happy that day.
Like people who genuinely believed love would eventually choose them too.
Like people who thought timing would someday become kind.
Lingling swallowed hard.
The ache inside her chest returned so suddenly it almost felt physical.
A quiet pain pressing directly against her ribs.
“Do you want to buy them, pretty lady?”
Lingling blinked back into reality immediately.
A young boy stood beside the display smiling shyly while holding several tiny glass-shell souvenirs carefully in his hands.
For a second, Lingling couldn’t answer.
Because the memory still lingered too heavily inside her chest.
Still—
she forced herself to smile softly.
“Oh…”
Her voice came out quieter than before.
“Yeah.”
She looked back at the tiny shells.
“Give me two pieces.”
The boy handed them over happily while Lingling paid him with trembling fingers.
Two pieces.
Even now—
after everything.
After years of distance.
After silence.
After loving someone she could never fully keep—
some part of Lingling still unconsciously thought of Orm whenever buying things.
As if her heart never truly learned how to exist alone.