Chapter 9 Almost #3
Her eyes were filled with something so honest that Orm almost wished she hadn't asked.
Because she already knew.
Ling was afraid.
Afraid of what would happen if she allowed herself to cross that final inch.
Afraid that Orm would become important.
Afraid that she would become vulnerable.
Afraid that the past would repeat itself.
But Orm wasn't the woman who had hurt her.
She wasn't asking Ling to surrender control.
She wasn't asking her to promise forever.
She wasn't asking her to love her.
Not yet.
She simply wanted Ling to stop pretending.
"You can trust me," Orm whispered.
Ling's expression broke slightly.
"That's what everyone says."
"I know."
"They always say it before they hurt you."
"I'm not everyone."
Ling looked at her.
"I know."
"Then believe me."
"I want to."
Orm's heart clenched.
"But?"
Ling didn't answer.
Orm waited.
A long moment passed.
Then Ling stepped back.
Just one step.
It was enough.
The warmth disappeared.
The moment broke.
Orm felt strangely cold.
Ling looked at her.
"We should go home."
Orm nodded.
"Okay."
Neither spoke as they gathered their things.
The drive home was quiet.
Not uncomfortable.
Not exactly.
Just full.
Full of everything they had almost said.
Everything they had almost done.
Everything they were too afraid to admit.
When they reached Orm's building, Ling stopped the car.
Orm reached for the door handle.
Then paused.
She looked back.
"Goodnight."
Ling nodded.
"Goodnight."
Orm opened the door.
Before she stepped out, Ling said her name.
"Orm."
She turned.
Ling looked at her for several seconds.
Then she smiled.
"Get some sleep."
Orm smiled back.
"You too."
She stepped out.
The car remained parked until she reached the entrance.
Orm glanced back once.
Ling was still watching her.
Then the car pulled away.
Orm stood beneath the streetlight long after it disappeared.
She touched her lips without thinking.
Nothing had happened.
They hadn't kissed.
They hadn't crossed the line.
They hadn't broken any of their rules.
And somehow, it felt as though everything had changed.
?
Ling drove through the quiet streets without turning on the radio.
She had never been good at losing control.
She had built her entire adult life around avoiding it.
At Veyra, she was decisive.
Controlled.
Reliable.
People came to her when things went wrong because she knew how to fix them.
She could negotiate with difficult clients.
She could manage impossible deadlines.
She could walk into a room full of executives twice her age and make them listen.
But Orm was different.
Orm made her hesitate.
Orm made her laugh when she didn't want to.
Orm challenged her.
Orm annoyed her.
Orm saw through her.
And, somehow, Orm had become the one person she wanted to let in.
That was the problem.
Ling stopped at a red light.
She closed her eyes.
She remembered Orm standing in the office, telling her she didn't have to pretend.
The words had gone deeper than Orm could possibly know.
Because Ling had been pretending for years.
Pretending she didn't need anyone.
Pretending she wasn't lonely.
Pretending the past hadn't changed her.
Pretending that love was something she could live without.
And then Orm arrived.
A stubborn, talented, occasionally infuriating woman who had walked into Veyra with too much confidence and too little patience for Ling's criticism.
Somehow, that woman had become the person Ling looked for in every room.
The person whose messages made her smile.
The person whose laughter she remembered.
The person she had started bringing coffee to without thinking.
The person whose absence she noticed.
The person whose happiness mattered.
The person she was terrified to lose.
The light turned green.
Ling drove on.
She had told Orm they should stop.
But she knew the truth.
Stopping wasn't what she wanted.
She wanted to go back.
She wanted to stand in that office again.
She wanted to close the distance.
She wanted to know what would happen if she allowed herself one moment without fear.
But wanting something and being brave enough to have it were two very different things.
Ling had spent years learning the difference.
?
The next morning, Orm arrived at Veyra early.
She had slept badly.
Not because she was uncomfortable.
Because every time she closed her eyes, she remembered the previous night.
Ling's confession.
The vulnerability in her voice.
The way she had looked at Orm.
The way she had almost touched her.
The whisper.
We should stop.
And the question that still had no answer.
Why?
Orm placed her bag beside her desk.
Bow walked in a few minutes later.
She stopped when she saw Orm.
"You're early."
Orm nodded.
"Couldn't sleep."
Bow studied her face.
"What happened?"
"Nothing."
Bow smiled.
"That means something happened."
Orm sat down.
"Nothing happened."
Bow put her coffee on the desk.
"You're terrible at lying."
Orm looked at her.
"Don't."
Bow raised both hands.
"Fine."
A moment passed.
Then Orm quietly said,
"Have you ever almost done something you knew you shouldn't?"
Bow thought about it.
"Professionally?"
Orm gave her a look.
"Personally."
Bow smiled.
"Yes."
"What did you do?"
"Depends."
"On what?"
"Whether I regretted stopping."
Orm went quiet.
Bow's expression softened.
"Did you?"
Orm looked down.
"I don't know."
Bow nodded.
"You don't have to decide today."
Orm looked at her.
"How do you know?"
"Because you're asking questions instead of telling me what happened."
Orm smiled faintly.
"You're annoying."
"I learned from you."
Before Orm could answer, footsteps approached.
She looked up.
Ling.
Their eyes met.
For one second, neither moved.
Then Ling nodded politely.
"Morning."
Orm's heart did something ridiculous.
"Morning."
Ling walked past.
Nothing had changed.
Everything had changed.
Orm watched her disappear into the executive corridor.
She had no idea what would happen next.
Maybe Ling would avoid her.
Maybe they would return to their rules.
Maybe the almost-moment would become something they never discussed.
Maybe it would disappear beneath deadlines and meetings and the demands of the Aurelia campaign.
But as Orm opened her laptop, she knew one thing with frightening certainty.
She wasn't falling anymore.
She had already fallen.
Quietly.
Slowly.
Somewhere between the photograph, the community centre, the business trip, the late-night conversations and the woman beneath Ling's carefully constructed armour, Orm had crossed a line she could no longer uncross.
And the most terrifying part wasn't that Ling might not feel the same.
It was that Orm suspected she did.
Because Ling had looked at her like someone standing at the edge of a cliff.
Someone terrified of falling.
Someone who had already taken one step too close.
And neither of them knew how to step back.