Chapter 1 - The Woman I Cant Stand #3
She wondered how many of them were still working.
How many were waiting for someone.
How many were heading home.
How many were pretending they weren't lonely.
The thought gave her an idea.
Orm immediately turned back to her laptop.
She began typing.
Twenty minutes later, she had the beginning of something new.
Not a campaign about luxury.
Not exactly.
A campaign about the little things people did for the people they loved.
The coffee someone made before leaving for work.
The umbrella left by the door because they knew it might rain.
The message that said, Did you eat?
The extra pillow placed on someone's side of the bed.
Tiny acts that didn't look significant until they disappeared.
Orm stared at the screen.
Her heart began beating faster.
This was it.
This was the emotional hook.
She started typing faster, building the concept around the idea that love wasn't always loud enough to be noticed. Sometimes, it lived in ordinary habits, the things people did automatically because caring for someone had quietly become part of their everyday life.
Orm smiled.
She finally had something.
Then she felt someone standing behind her.
She slowly turned.
Ling.
She was standing several feet away.
Her blazer was gone, her sleeves rolled neatly to her forearms, and her hair was slightly looser than it had been that morning. Without the sharp suit and executive presence, she looked strangely different, almost softer, although Orm wasn't sure whether she liked seeing that side of her.
"How long have you been there?"
"Long enough."
"That's not an answer."
Ling glanced toward the laptop.
"You have something."
Orm looked at the screen.
"Maybe."
Ling stepped closer.
"Show me."
Orm hesitated.
"It's not finished."
"I didn't ask if it was finished."
Ling pulled a chair beside her.
Orm stared at the chair.
"You can sit."
"I know."
"Then why are you standing?"
The words came out before Orm could stop them.
"Because you make me nervous."
Silence.
Orm's eyes widened.
"I mean professionally."
Ling's lips curved slightly.
"Of course."
Orm turned toward her laptop so quickly that her hair nearly hit Ling's shoulder.
"Anyway."
She began explaining the new direction.
This time, Ling didn't interrupt.
She listened.
Actually listened.
When Orm finished, Ling remained quiet for several seconds.
Then she said, "That's better."
Orm turned toward her.
"Really?"
"Much."
Orm smiled before she could stop herself.
Ling noticed.
Something softened in her expression.
"Why did you change it?"
"Because you were right."
Ling's eyebrows lifted.
"About what?"
Orm looked at the screen.
"People don't participate because a brand tells them to."
She paused.
"They participate because something means something to them."
Ling studied her.
"And you think this does?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
Orm smiled faintly.
"Because everyone has someone who does these things."
Her voice softened.
"Even if they don't talk about it."
Ling said nothing.
Orm continued.
"Sometimes love isn't dramatic. Sometimes it's just remembering how someone takes their coffee."
The room became quiet.
Orm suddenly became aware of how close they were sitting.
Close enough that she could smell Ling's perfume.
Something subtle.
Clean.
Warm.
She looked away.
Ling finally broke the silence.
"Send me the revised proposal tonight."
Orm blinked.
"Tonight?"
"You said you wanted feedback."
"You said tomorrow."
"I changed my mind."
Orm groaned.
"You're impossible."
"I've heard that."
"You enjoy making people's lives difficult."
"No."
Ling stood.
"I enjoy making good work."
Orm looked up at her.
"There's a difference?"
Ling's lips curved into the faintest smile.
"Sometimes."
She turned to leave.
Then stopped.
"Orm."
Orm looked at her.
Ling pointed toward the desk.
"The handkerchief."
Orm froze.
She had forgotten it was sitting beside her laptop.
"Oh."
She picked it up.
"I was going to return it."
"You can keep it."
Orm stared.
"What?"
"Keep it."
"It's yours."
"I know."
"Why would I keep your handkerchief?"
Ling considered the question.
"Because you need it more than I do."
Orm looked down at the faint coffee stain still marking one corner.
"I'll wash it."
"Don't."
"Why?"
Ling looked at her.
"It's fine as it is."
Then she walked away.
Orm remained sitting at her desk.
She watched Ling disappear down the corridor.
Something about that sentence stayed with her.
It's fine as it is.
She looked down at the handkerchief.
Then she laughed quietly.
"She's weird."
She folded it carefully and placed it inside her bag before returning to work.
?
At 10:14 p.m., Orm finally left the office.
The lobby was almost empty, the kind of quiet that made every sound feel too loud—the click of her heels against the marble floor, the soft hiss of the automatic doors, and the tired greeting from the security guard as she passed.
She checked her phone while waiting for the elevator, rereading her revised proposal one last time, her thumb hovering over the send button before she finally pressed it.
Sent.
Orm exhaled.
At least one thing was finished.
The elevator arrived, and she stepped inside. She pressed the button for the ground floor and leaned against the wall, allowing herself a moment to close her eyes.
The doors began to slide shut.
Then a hand stopped them.
Orm opened her eyes.
Ling stepped inside.
Orm stared at her for a second before letting out a quiet breath.
"Not again."
Ling's lips curved faintly.
"Apparently not."
The doors closed.
This time, neither of them spoke.
But the silence wasn't uncomfortable.
It was simply different.
Orm watched the numbers above the elevator doors change one floor at a time, refusing to look at the woman standing beside her. She could still feel Ling's presence, though, and for some reason, that awareness made the short ride feel longer than it actually was.
When they reached the lobby, they stepped out together.
The warm night air greeted them as they walked through the glass entrance. Bangkok was still awake, the streets glowing beneath rows of headlights and neon signs, the city carrying on as though it had no intention of sleeping anytime soon.
Orm glanced toward the curb. "I'll get a taxi."
Ling looked toward the nearly empty street. "At this hour?"
"I'll be fine."
Ling didn't argue. Instead, she pulled out her phone. "Wait."
Orm frowned. "What?"
"I'm calling my driver."
"You don't have to."
"I know."
A few minutes later, a black sedan pulled up beside them. Ling walked toward it and opened the rear door. Orm looked at her.
"Seriously?"
"Get in."
Orm hesitated.
"People will talk."
Ling looked at her with an expression Orm couldn't quite understand.
"People always talk."
Orm laughed softly.
"That's easy for you to say."
"Why?"
"Because nobody talks about you."
For the briefest moment, Ling's expression changed.
Something flickered behind her eyes before disappearing again.
Then she said quietly, "That's where you're wrong."
Orm frowned.
"What does that mean?"
Ling didn't answer immediately.
Instead, she stepped aside and gestured toward the car.
"Get home safely."
Orm studied her for another second before giving up.
"Good night."
"Good night, Orm."
Orm climbed into the car.
The door closed, and the vehicle slowly pulled away from the curb.
Through the window, she watched Ling become smaller in the distance until the city swallowed her into the night.
Orm leaned back against the seat and sighed.
It had been a long day.
A frustrating day.
An exhausting day.
And somehow, despite everything, she found herself smiling. She reached into her bag and pulled out the white handkerchief. The embroidered L caught the light from the passing streetlamps. Orm shook her head.
"Tomorrow," she murmured to herself. "I'll give this back tomorrow."
She folded it carefully and placed it back inside her bag.
Then she turned toward the window. For the first time that day, she allowed herself to stop thinking about work.
She didn't think about the campaign. She didn't think about the presentation.
And, despite her best efforts, she didn't think about Ling.
At least, not too much.
The car disappeared into the busy Bangkok night, carrying Orm home while the lights of the city reflected softly against the window.
Tomorrow could wait.
For tonight, she was simply tired.
And somewhere behind her, inside a nearly empty office building, Lingling Kwong was still standing by the entrance, watching the street long after the car had disappeared.