Chapter 39 #2
Three voices filling the empty rooms with laughter.
Just for a moment...
She let herself believe.
Then reality returned.
She carefully rolled the blueprint.
Tied it with a blue ribbon.
And placed it inside a wooden box.
Waiting.
...
The following year...
Lingling received one of the highest international engineering awards in Paris.
The auditorium erupted into thunderous applause as she walked onto the stage.
Elegant.
Confident.
Radiant.
The woman who had once struggled to survive each day now stood before the world, inspiring thousands.
At the very back of the venue...
Hidden among countless strangers...
Orm quietly stood beside Junji and Fluke.
Little Liam rested peacefully in her arms.
He clapped excitedly, unaware of the tears rolling down his mother's face.
"Pwetty wady!" Liam whispered happily.
Orm smiled.
"Yes..."
"So very pretty."
As Lingling lifted the trophy toward the audience...
Orm applauded with everyone else.
Softly.
Silently.
Proudly.
Without asking for recognition.
Without expecting anything in return.
Only love.
Pure...
Quiet...
Unconditional love.
-
Then came Lingling's birthdays.
Again.
Another year had passed.
And somehow, Orm was still there.
Still loving her.
Still remembering.
Still choosing her happiness-even when that happiness no longer had a place for Orm in it.
It had become a tradition.
She simply remembered.
She always remembered.
Some dates were impossible to forget.
Especially the ones attached to the people who had once been your whole world.
Sometimes baby Liam and Orm's mother accompanied her.
Her mother understanding without asking too many questions.
There were things mothers simply knew. Things they saw in the way their daughters went quiet whenever a certain name was mentioned.
Things they understood from the way Orm stared out of airplane windows for hours, as if somewhere beyond the clouds was a life she had once been promised.
But Orm secretly preferred going alone.
Because there were some journeys that were easier when no one sat beside you to witness how much they hurt.
-
They would still stay in the small house next door to the Kwong family's home.
Orm had stayed there so many times that every corner had become familiar.
And, most painfully of all...
She knew the exact distance between that little house and Lingling's front door.
Close enough to see her.
Far enough to never touch her.
Like before on Lingling's birthday, Orm would wake up earlier than everyone else.
She would go downstairs quietly.
She would tie her hair back.
Roll up her sleeves.
And begin baking.
Lingling's favorite cake.
Always the same.
When the cake was finished, Orm would stare at it for a long time.
Sometimes she smiled.
Sometimes her eyes became glassy.
Sometimes she would whisper to herself,
"Happy birthday, my Ling."
As though saying it quietly would somehow make the distance between them disappear.
Then she would place the cake inside its box.
No name.
No letter.
No card.
Nothing that could reveal where it had come from.
She would carry it next door and leave it with Mrs. Kwong.
"Please give this to Lingling."
That was all she ever said.
Mrs. Kwong knew.
Of course she knew.
Perhaps she had always known.
There were certain things mothers noticed.
The way Orm never asked to see Lingling.
The way she never stayed for the celebration.
The way her eyes always seemed to hold a thousand words she refused to say.
Mrs. Kwong never asked why.
Perhaps because she already understood.
Perhaps because she knew that some questions were cruel simply because there were no answers capable of making the pain disappear.
So she would take the cake and thanked Orm.
And Orm would leave.
But she never went far.
She would always find somewhere nearby.
A little corner where she could see the Kwong family's house without being seen.
And then she would wait.
She would watch.
From a distance.
Always from a distance.
She would watch as family members arrived.
Watch as laughter filled the house.
Watch as the windows glowed warmly against the Parisian evening.
And eventually...
She would see Lingling.
Lingling would step outside and stand in the garden, laughing with her family.
She would hold a glass of champagne while someone teased her about getting older.
She would look so happy that Orm would forget, for a few precious seconds, that she was supposed to be heartbroken.
Orm would smile.
A real smile.
Because Lingling was smiling.
And that was enough.
It had always been enough.
Even when it hurt.
Especially when it hurt.
Then the birthday cake would come out.
Orm would watch through the window as everyone gathered around the table.
She couldn't hear what they were saying.
The glass separated them.
The distance separated them.
Years separated them.
But Orm could still imagine it.
She could imagine Lingling laughing.
She could imagine someone telling her to make a wish.
She could imagine Lingling closing her eyes.
Then the candles would be lit.
And Orm would quietly count along from where she sat.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Her eyes would never leave Lingling.
Then everyone would begin singing.
Orm couldn't hear them.
But she knew the song.
She had sung it to Lingling before.
So many times.
And when Lingling finally blew out the candles, Orm would whisper from across the street,
"Happy birthday. I love you."
Lingling would smile so brightly that Orm found herself smiling too.
She would watch her laugh.
Watch her cut the cake.
Watch her take the first bite.
And for one foolish moment, Orm would wonder if Lingling could taste the years hidden inside it.
Could she taste the mornings Orm spent baking?
The memories?
The longing?
The love?
Could she somehow feel the hands that had made it?
Then reality would return.
Lingling wouldn't know.
She would simply eat the cake.
Perhaps she would tell her family that it was delicious.
Perhaps she would ask her mother where it came from.
Perhaps Mrs. Kwong would simply smile and say that someone had sent it or she bought it somewhere.
And that would be enough.
Orm never needed Lingling to know.
That was the cruelest part.
She didn't want recognition.
She didn't want praise.
She didn't want Lingling to feel guilty.
She didn't want to disturb the life Lingling had built.
She only wanted her to be happy.
Even if Orm had to love her from somewhere she could never reach.
Sometimes, however, watching was harder.
During her stay for Lingling's birthday, Lingling looked incredibly happy.
The kind of happy that made Orm's chest ache.
The kind of happiness that reminded her that Lingling was living.
Growing.
Moving forward.
Without her.
And those nights, Orm would return to the little house next door and close the door behind her.
She would finally allow herself to cry.
Quietly.
Because even after all those years, there were still tears that felt embarrassing to admit.
She would sit on the edge of the bed and stare at her hands.
The same hands that had made Lingling's birthday cake.
The same hands that had once held Lingling's.
Sometimes she would press her palms against her face and cry until her shoulders shook.
Not because she regretted loving Lingling.
Never that.
She cried because loving someone could be beautiful and devastating at the same time.
Because sometimes you could love someone with everything inside you...
And still not be the person they came home to.
Sometimes you could know exactly how someone liked their cake...
And no longer know what their favorite part of life was.
Sometimes you could remember their birthday perfectly...
While becoming a stranger in every other part of their world.
And perhaps that was the punishment of their kind of love.
There had been no betrayal.
No hatred.
No dramatic goodbye.
No villain to blame.
Just time.
Circumstances.
Choices.
Life.
Two people who had once been inseparable had simply ended up walking in different directions.
And sometimes, no matter how much you loved someone...
You couldn't force the roads to meet again.
So Orm learned to live with it.
She learned how to carry love without asking it to be returned.
She learned how to miss Lingling without reaching for her.
She learned how to celebrate her happiness without demanding a place inside it.
-
Before leaving, she would look once more toward the Kwong family home.
Sometimes the lights would still be on.
Sometimes Lingling would still be awake.
Sometimes Orm would stand by the window and wonder if, somewhere inside that house, Lingling was thinking about the mysterious person who sent her a birthday cake every year.
Maybe she wondered.
Maybe she didn't.
Orm would never know.
And perhaps it was better that way.
Because if Lingling ever discovered the truth, Orm feared the kindness in her eyes.
She feared the pity.
She feared the questions.
She feared hearing,
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Because what could Orm possibly say?
That she never stopped loving her?
That she flew across continents every year just to see her smile?
That she baked cakes for someone who no longer knew they came from her?
That she had built an entire private tradition around a love that existed only in the spaces between them?
No.
Some truths were better left untouched.
So Orm kept the secret.
A love story that continued quietly.
Not through grand confessions.
Not through stolen kisses.
Not through promises whispered beneath the stars.
Not through happy endings.
But through birthdays celebrated from a distance.
Through cakes left without names.
Through airplane tickets purchased.
Through memories that refused to die.
Through a woman who continued to love another woman without ever asking to be loved in return.
And perhaps that was the saddest kind of love.
The kind that didn't demand anything.