Chapter 15 The Empty Space
The first morning without Orm felt almost exactly like every other morning.
That was the cruelest part.
There was no dramatic change in the sky, no sudden storm, no ominous sign waiting outside the window to announce that something important had ended.
Bangkok woke as it always did, impatient and noisy and impossibly alive.
Cars crawled along the roads below. Motorcycles slipped between them.
Somewhere in the distance, a siren rose and disappeared again.
The city continued with the complete indifference of a place that had no idea two people had just finished breaking their own hearts.
Ling stood in front of her bedroom mirror and fastened the watch around her wrist.
Same watch.
Same suit.
Same morning routine.
She picked up her phone.
There were several messages waiting for her.
A reminder from Khun Dew.
A calendar notification.
An email from finance.
A message from P'Cherry about a document that needed approval.
Nothing from Orm.
Ling stared at the screen for a second longer than necessary.
Then she locked it.
"Stop."
She said the word quietly to herself.
It was ridiculous.
Orm wasn't supposed to message her.
There was no campaign anymore.
No meeting they needed to prepare for.
No photoshoot.
No client event.
No reason for Orm to send a ridiculous message at seven in the morning complaining that Ling had scheduled a meeting before she had finished her coffee.
There was no reason.
That was the problem.
Ling picked up her bag and left.
?
Veyra looked exactly as it always did.
The glass doors opened automatically as she approached. The security guard greeted her with the same respectful nod.
"Good morning, Khun Ling."
"Good morning."
She stepped into the lobby.
Someone had already turned on the coffee machine.
The smell reached her before she reached the elevator.
Ling stopped.
For one stupid second, she expected to see Orm.
Orm had developed a habit during the campaign of appearing in the lobby earlier than necessary, usually with her hair still slightly messy and a coffee in one hand. She would pretend she had arrived early because she was responsible.
Ling knew better.
Orm arrived early because she hated rushing.
And because, despite complaining about Veyra's schedule, she had become strangely attached to the building.
Sometimes Ling would see her sitting in one of the lobby chairs, scrolling through her phone.
Sometimes she would be arguing with Fluke.
Sometimes she would be laughing with Bow.
Sometimes she would be staring at the elevator doors with the unmistakable expression of someone who had been waiting for Ling.
Ling had never asked why.
She had never needed to.
Now the lobby was empty.
Not literally.
Employees were coming and going.
Reception was busy.
Phones were ringing.
Someone was speaking to security.
But the particular space where Orm had always seemed to exist felt strangely vacant.
Ling stepped into the elevator.
The doors closed.
She stared at her reflection.
She looked perfectly normal.
Calm.
Professional.
Composed.
The executive director of Veyra.
Nobody looking at her would have guessed that she had spent the entire drive wondering whether Orm had slept well.
Or eaten breakfast.
Or thought about her.
Or regretted leaving.
Ling closed her eyes briefly.
"Enough."
The elevator opened.
She stepped out.
Work was waiting.
Work had always been easier.
?
Her office was exactly as she had left it.
Nothing had moved.
The same stack of documents sat neatly beside her laptop.
The same framed photographs stood on the shelf.
The same view of the city stretched beyond the windows.
Ling placed her bag down and removed her coat.
Then she noticed the chair opposite her desk.
It was empty.
She stared at it.
That chair had never belonged to Orm.
Officially.
Yet somehow it had become hers.
Orm had sat there during meetings.
She had sat there while eating.
She had sat there while complaining.
She had sat there while waiting for Ling to finish phone calls.
She had even fallen asleep there once.
Ling remembered that day.
Orm had been exhausted after a long campaign shoot.
She had insisted she wasn't tired.
Ten minutes later, she had fallen asleep with her arms folded on the desk.
Ling had stood in the doorway for almost a minute, watching her.
She had wanted to wake her.
Instead, she had quietly turned the lights down.
She had told everyone not to disturb her.
At the time, Ling had convinced herself that it was simply kindness.
Now she wondered how many things she had labelled kindness because she hadn't been ready to call them love.
She looked away from the chair.
Her computer screen lit up.
An email appeared.
Ling sat down.
Work.
She opened the document.
For the next twenty minutes, she managed to concentrate.
Then she caught herself staring at the empty chair again.
She frowned.
"Ridiculous."
She returned to the report.
?
At ten thirty, Ling walked into the main conference room.
Everyone was already there.
Khun Dew sat at the head of the table with a folder open in front of her. P'Cherry was arranging printed documents into neat piles. Bow was reviewing a presentation on her laptop.
Fluke was drinking coffee.
Ling looked at him.
"Is that yours?"
Fluke looked down at the cup.
"Yes."
"Good."
He smiled.
Then he slowly moved it away from her.
Ling frowned.
"I wasn't going to take it."
Fluke looked unconvinced.
"You've been stealing Orm's coffee for weeks."
"I did not."
"You did."
"I borrowed it."
"Without asking."
"She didn't complain."
Fluke raised an eyebrow.
"Exactly."
Ling opened the folder in front of her.
"Can we start?"
Khun Dew hid a smile.
The meeting began.
A new client.
A new project.
A new campaign.
A new set of numbers.
Everything was normal.
Ling listened carefully.
She asked questions.
She corrected the proposed timeline.
She rejected a concept that lacked direction.
She made three decisions within fifteen minutes.
Everyone took notes.
This was Ling in her natural environment.
Decisive.
Sharp.
Focused.
The kind of executive people respected because they knew she could walk into a difficult meeting and leave it under control.
Then the creative team presented a concept.
Ling watched the presentation.
Something bothered her.
She couldn't quite identify it.
The visuals were beautiful.
The copy was polished.
The strategy was sound.
But something was missing.
"What is the emotional centre?" she asked.
The creative director hesitated.
"We wanted to focus on the aspirational quality of the brand."
"That's not what I asked."
Silence.
Ling leaned back.
"Why should anyone care?"
The creative director looked at the presentation.
"We thought the visual language would-"
"It's attractive."
Ling interrupted.
"But attractive isn't enough."
She tapped her pen against the table.
"Where is the story?"
Nobody answered immediately.
Then Ling heard herself say,
"People don't remember campaigns because the colours were pretty. They remember how the campaign made them feel."
Khun Dew looked at her.
Ling noticed.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Khun Dew."
Khun Dew smiled.
"You sound familiar."
Ling frowned.
"To whom?"
Khun Dew didn't answer.
She didn't have to.
Orm.
Of course.
Orm had said almost exactly the same thing during one of their first campaign meetings.
People don't connect to perfect things. They connect to things that feel real.
Ling had criticised the proposal.
Orm had argued back.
They had nearly driven each other insane.
And somehow that argument had been the beginning of everything.
Ling looked at the presentation again.
"Continue."
But she wasn't really listening anymore.
She was remembering.
?
The meeting ended at noon.
Everyone began packing their things.
Bow stayed behind.
She approached Ling carefully.
"Khun Ling?"
Ling looked up.
"Yes?"
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
Bow smiled.
"That's what Orm always says."
Ling froze.
Bow immediately realised what she had done.
"Sorry."
Ling looked down at the papers.
"It's okay."
Bow hesitated.
"Do you miss her?"
Ling didn't answer.
Bow didn't push.
She simply nodded.
"I think she misses you too."
Ling looked up.
"You think?"
Bow smiled.
"I know."
"How?"
"Because I'm her friend."
Ling's expression softened.
"She said anything?"
"No."
Bow paused.
"She doesn't have to."
Ling looked away.
Bow picked up her laptop.
"I'll leave you to it."
"Bow."
She stopped.
"Yes?"
"Thank you."
Bow smiled.
"You're welcome."
Then she left.
Ling sat alone in the conference room.
She looked at the empty chair across from her.
Again.
Always the chair.
?
Lunch was worse.
Ling usually ate at her desk.
Before Orm, she had preferred it that way.
There was always too much work.
Meetings overlapped.
Clients called.
Documents needed reviewing.
Lunch was simply something that happened somewhere between one responsibility and another.
Orm had changed that.
She had started appearing at Ling's door around noon.
Sometimes she knocked.
Sometimes she didn't.
Sometimes she carried food.
Sometimes she carried nothing.
Sometimes she simply walked in and said,
"You haven't eaten."
Ling would look at her.
"How do you know?"
"Because it's twelve forty-five."
"That doesn't answer the question."
"Because you're terrible at taking care of yourself."
"I'm perfectly capable."
"Then prove it."
Orm would sit down.
Ling would sigh.
Eventually, they would eat together.
Sometimes they talked about work.
Sometimes they talked about nothing.
Sometimes Orm complained about something completely ridiculous.
Once, she had spent ten minutes arguing that Ling's office chair was more comfortable than hers.
Ling had told her to buy the same chair.
Orm had replied,
"I don't want the chair. I want yours."
Ling had pretended not to understand.
She understood now.
The memory made her chest ache.