Chapter 17 No More Pretending
For the first few weeks after Orm left, Ling discovered that missing someone was not a single feeling.
It was a collection of hundreds of smaller ones.
Some were obvious. She missed the sound of Orm's laugh coming from the other side of her office.
She missed the ridiculous messages that appeared on her phone at midnight, usually containing some complaint about food, a photograph of an unfortunate-looking dessert, or an accusation that Ling was deliberately ignoring her.
She missed the way Orm stole coffee without asking and then had the audacity to insist that it tasted better because it came from Ling's cup.
She missed having someone around who could make her laugh when she was determined to remain angry.
Other forms of missing were quieter.
Ling missed turning toward someone and finding Orm there.
She missed the unconscious awareness of another person moving through the same space.
She missed the little domestic sounds that had somehow become familiar enough that she had stopped noticing them while they were happening.
She missed Orm humming when she worked. She missed the way she muttered to herself when concentrating.
She missed the little sigh that escaped her whenever she was frustrated with something on her laptop.
She even missed the arguments, which was something Ling would have considered impossible a few months earlier.
There were moments when Ling would walk into the Veyra office expecting to see Orm sitting somewhere nearby, only to remember that she was thousands of kilometres away.
The first few times, the disappointment had been sharp.
Eventually, it became a dull ache.
It never disappeared.
It simply became part of her.
The strange thing was that Ling had expected distance to make things easier.
Instead, it had made everything clearer.
When Orm had been beside her, there had always been distractions. Meetings. Campaigns. The Aurelia account. Arguments. Fake dates. Public appearances. Rules they had invented to convince themselves that whatever was happening between them was temporary.
Distance removed all of that.
There was no campaign anymore.
No cameras.
No clients.
No reason to hold hands.
No reason to kiss.
No reason to look at each other.
No reason at all.
And yet they still did.
Every night they called.
Sometimes for hours.
Sometimes for only ten minutes because Orm was exhausted and Ling had an early meeting.
Sometimes they barely spoke.
There were nights when one of them would simply leave the call running while they worked, the sound of the other's breathing filling the silence between them.
They had become something neither of them had expected.
Something real.
Something that existed without an audience.
And somehow, that frightened Ling more than pretending ever had.
Because pretending had rules.
Love didn't.
?
The first time Orm came back to Bangkok after accepting the position, she didn't tell Ling exactly when she would arrive.
She sent a message instead.
Orm: Are you busy tonight?
Ling was sitting in her office, staring at a report.
She replied immediately.
Ling: Why?
The response came less than a minute later.
Orm: Because I have something to ask you.
Ling frowned.
Ling: What?
There was a pause.
Then:
Orm: Would you be willing to pick me up?
Ling stared at the message.
She read it twice.
Then a smile slowly appeared.
Ling: At the airport?
Orm: Yes.
Ling: What time?
Orm sent the flight information.
Ling looked at it.
Then at the clock.
Then back at the message.
She had been planning to work late.
That plan disappeared immediately.
Ling: I'll be there.
The reply was instantaneous.
Orm: I knew you would.
Ling smiled.
She put her phone down.
Then picked it up again.
Ling: Orm.
Orm: Hm?
Ling hesitated.
There were so many things she wanted to say.
I miss you.
I can't wait to see you.
I've been counting the days.
Instead, she typed:
Ling: Don't make me wait.
Three dots appeared.
Orm: Too late.
Ling laughed quietly.
She hadn't even seen her yet, and Orm had already managed to irritate her.
It felt like home.
?
The airport was crowded that evening.
Ling stood near the arrival area with her hands in the pockets of her jacket, trying to look considerably calmer than she felt.
She checked the arrival board.
Then checked her phone.
Then the board again.
She told herself she wasn't nervous.
She was an executive director.
She had negotiated multimillion-baht contracts.
She had presented campaigns to executives who could dismantle an entire proposal with one question.
She had faced cameras.
She had faced investors.
She had faced her own mother.
Surely waiting for one woman to walk through an airport wasn't enough to make her nervous.
Except it was.
Her phone buzzed.
Orm: I can see you.
Ling looked around.
Nothing.
She frowned.
Another message.
Orm: You're standing beside the enormous plant.
Ling looked at the plant.
Then at the crowd.
Then she heard laughter behind her.
"Still terrible at finding people."
Ling turned.
Orm stood several metres away.
For a second, Ling simply stared.
Orm looked different.
Not dramatically.
Not enough that anyone else would notice.
But Ling did.
There was a confidence in her posture that hadn't been there before she left. Her hair was slightly shorter. She carried herself differently. There was something settled about her, as though the distance had taught her something about herself.
But her smile was the same.
That smile.
The one that had first irritated Ling.
The one that had eventually become the thing Ling looked for in every room.
Ling's chest tightened.
Orm dropped her luggage handle.
She opened her arms.
Ling didn't hesitate.
She crossed the space between them.
Their embrace was immediate.
Strong.
Familiar.
Orm laughed against her shoulder.
"You missed me."
Ling held her tighter.
"Obviously."
"How much?"
"Too much."
Orm pulled back.
"That's not a number."
"I don't have one."
Orm smiled.
"I missed you too."
Ling looked at her.
Really looked.
And suddenly the airport disappeared.
There were people moving around them.
Announcements echoing overhead.
Suitcases rolling across the floor.
Phones ringing.
Children crying.
Someone laughing.
But Ling heard none of it.
She only saw Orm.
And something inside her settled.
There she was.
Home.
?
The drive back to Bangkok was filled with conversation.
Orm talked about her new job, the people she had met, the apartment she was renting, the ridiculous neighbour who apparently played the same song every morning, and the café near her office that served coffee so strong that she had nearly forgotten her own name after drinking it.
Ling listened.
She asked questions.
Too many, according to Orm.
"You're interrogating me."
"I'm interested."
"You're asking for the names of everyone I work with."
"I want to know."
"You asked what my manager looks like."
"I was curious."
"You asked whether anyone there was flirting with me."
Ling paused.
"I did not."
"You absolutely did."
"I asked whether you had made friends."
"Same thing."
"It isn't."
Orm laughed.
Ling looked out the windshield.
"Fine."
Orm smiled.
"You were jealous."
"I wasn't."
"You were."
"I was concerned."
"About the campaign?"
Ling glanced at her.
Orm burst out laughing.
"That excuse isn't going to work anymore."
Ling smiled.
"I know."
The silence that followed was comfortable.
Then Orm reached across the centre console and took her hand.
Ling looked down.
Their fingers intertwined.
There was something profoundly different about holding hands now.
Once, it had been part of the performance.
They had held hands because someone was watching.
Because the campaign required it.
Because the public needed to believe.
Now there was no one watching.
No one cared.
And still, neither wanted to let go.
Ling squeezed her hand.
Orm leaned back in her seat.
"I missed this."
"What?"
"This."
She lifted their joined hands slightly.
Ling looked at them.
"So did I."
?
They spent the first evening together at Ling's apartment.
Nothing dramatic happened.
That was what made it beautiful.
They ordered food.
Orm complained about the portion size.
Ling told her she was impossible.
They watched half a movie and spent most of it talking over the dialogue.
Orm fell asleep against Ling's shoulder.
Ling didn't move for nearly an hour because she didn't want to wake her.
Eventually, Orm stirred.
"You're staring."
Ling smiled.
"You were sleeping."
"That's not an answer."
"I like looking at you."
Orm blinked.
Then smiled.
"You've changed."
"How?"
"You say things now."
Ling laughed softly.
"I've been practising."
Orm rested her head against Ling again.
"Good."
There was a long silence.
Then Orm said quietly,
"Can I ask you something?"
"Yes."
"Do you still think we're pretending?"
Ling's smile disappeared.
She looked down at Orm.
"No."
The answer came immediately.
Orm looked up.
"No?"
"No."
"Since when?"
Ling thought about it.
"That's the problem."
"What?"
"I don't know."
Orm sat up.
"What do you mean?"
Ling looked toward the window.
The city lights stretched across the glass.
"I think that's what I've been trying to understand."
Orm waited.
Ling took a slow breath.
"I keep thinking about when it changed."
"When what changed?"
"When pretending became real."
Orm's expression softened.
"I've wondered about that too."
Ling looked at her.
"I thought it happened when we kissed."
Orm shook her head.
"It happened before that."
"When?"
"I don't know."
Ling smiled.
"That's not helpful."
"I know."
They both laughed.
Then the room became quiet again.
?
Over the next few days, Orm and Ling fell back into an almost ordinary rhythm.
Orm had only a short break before returning overseas.
That fact hovered over them.
Neither wanted to discuss it too much.