Chapter 20 Until We Stop Pretending
Six months after the Aurelia campaign ended, Orm found the contract in a drawer she had completely forgotten existed.
It was a Saturday afternoon, the kind of slow, golden afternoon Bangkok occasionally offered when the rain had decided to stay away and the city seemed to breathe a little more quietly.
Orm had spent most of the morning doing absolutely nothing productive, which she considered an important skill she had only recently mastered.
There had been coffee on the balcony, music playing softly from her phone, a half-read book abandoned face-down on the sofa, and several messages from Ling that had begun with Are you awake?
and progressed into increasingly ridiculous accusations that Orm had probably been kidnapped by her own blanket.
By noon, Ling had arrived at her apartment carrying two coffees, one paper bag of pastries, and the expression of someone who had already decided that Orm's definition of a productive Saturday was unacceptable.
"You've been awake for three hours," Ling had said.
"Yes."
"And you haven't done anything."
"I've done plenty."
Ling had looked around the apartment.
"Such as?"
Orm had pointed toward the balcony.
"I drank coffee."
Ling had stared at her.
"Very impressive."
"I also turned a page in my book."
"How many pages?"
"One."
Ling had laughed.
"You're impossible."
"And yet you came here."
"I brought breakfast."
"Because you love me."
"Unfortunately."
Orm had smiled.
"You're getting predictable."
"I've always been predictable."
"No. You used to pretend you weren't."
Ling had paused at that.
Then she had smiled.
"Maybe I don't have to anymore."
That was how the morning had gone.
Easy.
Warm.
Ordinary.
The kind of ordinary neither of them had known they were searching for when everything had started.
Now, several hours later, Orm was kneeling in front of the bottom drawer of her bedroom cabinet, surrounded by old notebooks, receipts, a tangled phone charger she had no idea why she had kept, two pens that probably no longer worked,
and a pair of earrings she had thought she'd lost three years ago.
"Why do I keep things?" she muttered.
From the living room, Ling called, "Because you're incapable of throwing anything away."
"I heard that."
"Good."
Orm pulled out another notebook.
Nothing.
A stack of old documents.
Nothing.
A folder.
She opened it.
Then stopped.
For a second, she didn't understand what she was looking at.
The paper was slightly yellowed around the edges.
The Veyra logo sat in the upper corner.
Several pages were clipped together.
There were signatures.
Dates.
Clauses.
Conditions.
Rules.
Her breath caught.
"No way."
She pulled the pages free.
The title stared back at her.
CONFIDENTIAL PERSONAL REPRESENTATION AND CAMPAIGN RELATIONSHIP AGREEMENT
Orm stared.
Then she started laughing.
Not a polite laugh.
Not the small laugh she gave when something was mildly amusing.
She laughed so hard she had to sit down on the floor.
From the living room came the sound of footsteps.
"What happened?"
Ling appeared in the doorway.
Orm couldn't speak.
She simply held up the papers.
Ling looked at them.
Her expression changed.
"Oh."
Orm laughed harder.
"You remember this?"
Ling crossed her arms.
"Unfortunately."
"Look!"
"I know what it is."
"No, look at the rules."
"I remember the rules."
Orm began reading.
"'No kissing.'"
Ling nodded.
"Reasonable."
Orm looked up.
"Reasonable?"
"At the time."
"At the time?"
"Yes."
Orm continued.
"'No sleeping together.'"
Ling's eyebrows lifted.
"We did follow that one."
"Eventually."
"We did."
"After the one-room incident."
Ling gave her a warning look.
"We are not discussing that."
Orm grinned.
"Oh, we're absolutely discussing that."
Ling stepped into the room.
Orm held the contract out of reach.
"No."
"Give it to me."
"No."
"Orm."
"You can't erase history."
"I'm not trying to."
"You're trying to hide it."
"I'm trying to prevent you from reading the entire thing aloud."
Orm smiled mischievously.
"Too late."
She continued.
"'No unnecessary touching.'"
She looked at Ling.
Ling looked at her.
They both glanced down at their intertwined hands.
Orm laughed.
"We broke that one immediately."
Ling nodded.
"Yes."
"'No jealousy.'"
Orm gasped dramatically.
"Oh, this contract was doomed."
Ling covered her face.
"Please stop."
"'No falling in love.'"
The room became quiet.
Orm stared at the words.
The laughter faded into something softer.
Ling looked at the page.
Neither spoke for several seconds.
The words were ridiculous.
Almost painfully so.
A rule they had once believed would protect them.
A sentence written in black ink by people who had thought they could put boundaries around something neither woman understood yet.
NO FALLING IN LOVE.
Orm traced the words with one finger.
"We really thought this was going to work."
Ling sat down beside her.
"We were idiots."
Orm smiled.
"You were terrified."
"So were you."
"I hated you."
Ling looked at her.
"You did."
"I genuinely couldn't stand you."
"I remember."
"You criticised my proposal."
"It needed work."
Orm shoved her shoulder.
"Still?"
Ling laughed.
"Sorry."
"No, you're not."
"No."
They sat together on the floor.
The old contract rested between them.
It looked almost absurd now.
A relic from a life that felt both distant and strangely close.
Orm turned the pages.
There were signatures.
Her signature.
Ling's signature.
The names of people who had been involved.
The clauses that had once seemed so important.
The conditions.
The carefully written boundaries.
And then there were handwritten notes in the margins.
Orm recognised her own handwriting.
She had apparently written:
This is insane.
Ling looked over.
"You wrote that."
"I was right."
"You signed it."
"I was young."
"It was six months ago."
"That's basically ancient history."
Ling laughed.
Orm continued reading.
There was another note.
If this goes badly, I'm blaming Ling.
Ling stared at it.
"You wrote that too?"
"Apparently."
"Very mature."
"I stand by it."
Ling shook her head.
Then she noticed another sentence.
She read it aloud.
"'Both parties agree that the relationship shall remain strictly professional outside agreed public appearances.'"
She looked at Orm.
"That lasted approximately twelve hours."
Orm smiled.
"Maybe less."
"Definitely less."
They both laughed.
It was strange how much joy could exist inside something that had once been so complicated.
The contract had been the beginning of everything.
And now it was nothing more than paper.
Paper that had once frightened them.
Paper that had once told them what they could and couldn't feel.
Paper that had no power anymore.
Orm turned to the final page.
At the bottom, beneath the signatures, was the last rule.
She stared at it.
Then looked at Ling.
"Should we frame it?"
Ling raised an eyebrow.
"Why?"
"Because it's funny."
"It's embarrassing."
"Exactly."
Ling smiled.
"You want to display evidence of our stupidity?"
"Absolutely."
"Where?"
"Living room."
"No."
"Bedroom."
"Definitely no."
"Kitchen."
"Why would we put it in the kitchen?"
"So we can see it while drinking coffee."
Ling laughed.
Orm held the contract up.
"Come on."
"No."
"Please?"
"No."
"Just imagine it."
"I am."
"It would be cute."
"It would be humiliating."
"Same thing."
Ling laughed again.
Orm smiled.
Then she looked back at the final line.
NO FALLING IN LOVE.
Her expression softened.
"Maybe we should."
Ling glanced at her.
"Frame it?"
Orm nodded.
"Yeah."
She looked at the paper again.
"Because it's the one rule we broke that I'm most grateful for."
Ling's smile disappeared.
Not because she was unhappy.
Because something deeper had moved through her.
She reached out and took the contract from Orm.
Orm let her.
Ling looked at the page for a long moment.
Then she folded it once.
Orm blinked.
"What are you doing?"
Ling folded it again.
"Wait."
She tore it in half.
Orm stared.
Ling tore it again.
And again.
Until the contract that had once dictated the boundaries of their relationship was nothing but pieces of paper in her hands.
Orm stared at her.
"Ling."
Ling looked at her.
"We don't need this anymore."
Orm smiled.
"I know."
Ling gathered the torn pieces.
Then dropped them into the wastebasket.
She turned back toward Orm.
And pulled her into her arms.
Orm laughed softly as she wrapped her arms around Ling's waist.
Ling rested her cheek against Orm's hair.
"We broke that rule first."
Orm smiled against her shoulder.
"No."
Ling looked down.
"No?"
Orm shook her head.
"We broke it long before we admitted it."
Ling thought about that.
Then smiled.
"You're probably right."
Orm leaned back enough to look at her.
"When do you think it happened?"
Ling's expression became thoughtful.
"The first jealousy?"
Orm laughed.
"You were jealous."
"I was protecting the campaign."
"Of course."
"I was."
"You were glaring at Pete."
"He was flirting with you."
Orm grinned.
"You noticed."
"I notice everything."
"You told me you didn't care."
"I was lying."
Orm laughed.
"See?"
Ling smiled.
"Maybe it happened before that."
"When?"
"The first time you made me laugh."
Orm blinked.
"That early?"
"Maybe."
"Which time?"
Ling thought.
"There were too many."
Orm smiled.
"That's a good answer."
Ling kissed her forehead.
"You made my life noisy."
"Sorry."
"I didn't say I disliked it."
Orm laughed.
"I know."
?
The afternoon slowly turned into evening.
Neither woman moved from the bedroom floor for a while.
The torn pieces of the contract remained in the wastebasket.
They could have thrown them away.
Instead, Orm eventually picked one piece up and looked at it.
It contained only half of a sentence.
Nothing meaningful.
Nothing powerful.
Just words without context.
She smiled.