Epilogue The Life We Chose #3
Ling laughed.
"Probably."
"You'd miss me."
"I would."
"Even though you didn't know me."
"I'd still miss you."
Orm kissed her.
"Good answer."
?
They spent the day doing nothing important.
That was the plan.
No work.
No meetings.
No campaign.
No obligations.
They went for breakfast.
Walked through a bookstore.
Argued over a restaurant.
Bought something neither of them needed.
Went home.
Cooked dinner.
Burned part of it.
Ordered dessert.
Watched an old movie.
Fell asleep halfway through.
It was perfect.
At some point during the evening, Orm found the old contract.
She pulled the box from the shelf.
Ling watched.
"Again?"
"Yes."
Orm opened it.
The torn pieces were still there.
She spread them across the table.
The words were incomplete.
Some were barely readable.
But one sentence remained almost entirely intact.
NO FALLING IN LOVE.
Orm laughed.
"I still can't believe we signed this."
Ling smiled.
"We were idiots."
"Terrified idiots."
"Yes."
Orm touched the paper.
"What do you think would have happened if we had actually followed it?"
Ling thought.
"We wouldn't be here."
Orm looked at her.
"Exactly."
Ling took the paper from her.
Then placed it back inside the box.
Orm smiled.
"You didn't tear it this time."
"No."
"Why?"
"Because we've already torn it enough."
Orm laughed.
Ling closed the box.
"Besides, I like having proof that we were once stupid."
"We're still stupid."
"Sometimes."
"Frequently."
Ling smiled.
"Frequently."
?
That night, they stood on the balcony again.
The same balcony where they had spent so many evenings.
The same city.
The same lights.
But different women.
Orm leaned against Ling.
"Do you think we'll still be like this when we're old?"
Ling looked down at her.
"Like what?"
"Annoying each other."
"Definitely."
"Stealing coffee?"
"Absolutely."
"Arguing?"
"Probably."
"Falling asleep on the sofa?"
"Hopefully."
Orm smiled.
"And loving each other?"
Ling's expression softened.
"Especially that."
Orm looked at her.
"I want that."
Ling kissed her forehead.
"So do I."
?
There was something comforting about knowing that love didn't have to remain dramatic to remain meaningful.
They had once thought that every moment needed to be important.
Now they knew better.
The most important moments were often the ones nobody saw.
Ling waking up and reaching for Orm before opening her eyes.
Orm leaving a note in Ling's bag.
Ling remembering to buy the snack Orm liked.
Orm waiting outside the office because Ling had worked late.
Ling sending a message before a difficult meeting.
Orm answering it.
A hand held under a table.
A kiss on the forehead.
A shared umbrella.
A sleepy "good morning."
A quiet "come home soon."
A whispered "I'm here."
Love lived there.
Not in grand gestures.
In repetition.
In reliability.
In the thousand small ways people told each other:
I choose you.
Again.
And again.
And again.
?
A few months later, Orm received another proposal.
She stared at the title.
Then laughed.
Ling looked up from across the table.
"What?"
Orm turned the laptop toward her.
Ling read.
Then smiled.
"Another campaign."
"Yes."
"What kind?"
Orm looked at her.
"Travel."
Ling smiled.
"Together?"
"Together."
Orm laughed.
"Apparently we're becoming a package deal."
Ling reached for her coffee.
"We should charge extra."
Orm laughed.
"Absolutely."
They read through the proposal.
Then argued about the creative direction.
Then agreed.
Then argued again.
It was normal.
It was them.
And Orm realised that she no longer remembered what it felt like to make a decision without considering how Ling would react.
Not because she had lost herself.
Because she had gained someone she wanted beside her.
There was a difference.
A beautiful one.
?
Years later, people would sometimes ask them about the beginning.
They would ask about the campaign.
The fake relationship.
The contract.
The first kiss.
The moment they knew.
Orm always found the question difficult.
Because there wasn't one moment.
There were hundreds.
Ling would say it was impossible to pinpoint.
Orm would agree.
Love hadn't arrived like lightning.
It had arrived like dawn.
Slowly.
Quietly.
Almost imperceptibly.
Until one day they looked around and realized the darkness was gone.
That was what it had felt like.
Not one dramatic moment.
A thousand small ones.
A thousand choices.
A thousand reasons to stay.
?
One evening, after a particularly long day, Orm came home exhausted.
She opened the door.
Ling was in the kitchen.
She looked over.
"You're late."
"I know."
"Did you eat?"
Orm shook her head.
Ling sighed.
"Of course you didn't."
"I'm tired."
"I know."
Ling walked toward her.
She took Orm's bag.
Placed it on the chair.
Then pulled her into a hug.
Orm closed her eyes.
For a moment, she simply stood there.
No words.
No explanations.
Ling didn't ask what had happened.
She didn't need to.
She simply held her.
Eventually, Orm whispered,
"I had a terrible day."
"I know."
"How?"
"You look tired."
Orm smiled against her shoulder.
"You always know."
"I always will."
Orm held her tighter.
And in that moment, she understood something.
This was the real love story.
Not the photographs.
Not the campaign.
Not the public moments.
This.
Someone knowing when you needed silence.
Someone knowing when you needed to talk.
Someone knowing when you needed food.
Someone knowing when you simply needed to be held.
Someone choosing to stay.
?
That night, they ate dinner at the kitchen counter.
Orm told Ling about her day.
Ling listened.
Sometimes she laughed.
Sometimes she asked questions.
Sometimes she simply reached across the counter and squeezed Orm's hand.
Afterward, they washed dishes together.
Orm splashed water at her.
Ling retaliated.
Within thirty seconds, both were laughing.
"You started it."
"You threw water at me."
"You deserved it."
"I always deserve it?"
"Usually."
Ling shook her head.
"You've become impossible."
Orm smiled.
"You loved me when I was worse."
"I did."
"You still do."
"I do."
Orm leaned against her.
"Good."
?
Before bed, Orm stopped in front of the framed contract.
She stared at it.
Ling came up behind her.
"What are you thinking?"
Orm smiled.
"That we really thought we could control everything."
Ling looked at the frame.
"We couldn't."
"No."
Orm turned.
"But I'm glad."
"Why?"
"Because if we'd been able to control it, we might have stopped it."
Ling understood.
She took Orm's hand.
"Maybe."
Orm smiled.
"Sometimes the best things happen because we don't know how to stop them."
Ling kissed her forehead.
"That's definitely what happened to us."
?
They went to bed.
Orm curled against Ling.
Ling wrapped an arm around her.
The room was dark.
The city hummed quietly beyond the windows.
Orm whispered,
"Ling?"
"Hm?"
"Do you think this is the end?"
Ling smiled in the darkness.
"No."
"Why?"
"Because tomorrow morning you'll steal my coffee."
Orm laughed.
"Probably."
"And I'll complain."
"Definitely."
"And then you'll kiss me."
"Maybe."
"You will."
"Okay."
Ling kissed her forehead.
"See?"
Orm smiled.
"Goodnight."
"Goodnight."
They fell asleep.
Together.
As they had countless times before.
And as they would countless times again.
?
The next morning, the sun rose over Bangkok.
The city woke.
Cars filled the streets.
People hurried to work.
Phones rang.
Meetings began.
Campaigns were launched.
Contracts were signed.
Stories started.
Stories ended.
And somewhere inside a quiet apartment, two women woke beside each other.
No cameras.
No contract.
No audience.
No pretending.
Just Ling and Orm.
And perhaps that was the most beautiful ending their story could have had.
Not a grand wedding.
Not a dramatic declaration.
Not a perfect final photograph.
Just a morning.
A shared bed.
Two cups of coffee.
A sleepy argument about who had stolen the blanket.
A kiss.
A laugh.
A promise that didn't need to be spoken anymore because it had already been made a thousand times.
I'm here.
I'm staying.
I choose you.
Every day.
Again.
And again.
And again.
?
Later that morning, Orm stood in front of the mirror while Ling fixed the collar of her shirt.
"You're crooked."
"It's fine."
"It's not."
"It's just a shirt."
"It's an important shirt."
"Why?"
"Because I'm wearing it."
Orm laughed.
"You're ridiculous."
Ling adjusted it again.
"There."
"Better?"
"Much."
Orm turned around.
Ling looked at her.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"You always say that."
"I like looking at you."
Orm smiled.
"You really never get tired of me?"
Ling shook her head.
"Not once."
Orm stepped closer.
"Even when I talk too much?"
"Especially then."
"Even when I steal your coffee?"
"I've accepted my fate."
"Even when I annoy you?"
"That's inevitable."
Orm laughed.
"Good."
She kissed her.
Then pulled away.
"Come on."
"Where?"
"We're late."
Ling looked at the clock.
"We're not."
"We are."
"Orm."
"Come on."
Ling laughed.
And followed her.
Because that was what love had become.
Not following because someone had written it into a contract.
Not staying because someone expected it.
Not pretending.
Just choosing.
Choosing to walk beside her.
Choosing to laugh.
Choosing to argue.
Choosing to forgive.
Choosing to grow.
Choosing to stay.
Every day.
?
And if anyone ever asked them whether they regretted the ridiculous contract that had started everything, Orm would laugh.
Ling would probably roll her eyes.
Then they would look at each other.
And both would know the answer.
No.
They didn't regret it.
Not because the contract had been right.
It hadn't.
Not because pretending had been easy.
It hadn't.
Not because their relationship had been perfect.
It never was.