Chapter Text
Day 80.
Orm didn’t show up at all.
Outside, rain pounded the streets, heavy enough that the gutters overflowed. Floods were eating up corners of the city again. Another reminder of the government’s failed flood-control programs.
Lingling sat at the counter, her untouched beer sweating between her palms. Junji slid her usual across the bar anyway, then leaned on her elbows, eyes narrowing like she was about to pounce. They were the only two in the place.
“So how long are you planning to keep staring at her like some tragic streetlamp poet?” Junji asked, voice dry as salt. “I’m honestly shocked she still comes here. She’s either dense or secretly enjoys your stalker-level gawking.”
Lingling grimaced. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I just can’t.” She sighed, staring at the foam. “I’m not good at this stuff. And… I’m still traumatized by my ex.”
Junji rolled her eyes so hard it was audible.
“Oh, here we go.”
“We dated for years. He was sweet, never fought, never raised his voice. I thought we were fine. Then one day—poof. Gone. Left all his crap in our apartment like I wasn’t even worth a goodbye.”
“So?” Junji said flatly, unimpressed.
“So… Orm will probably do the same thing.”
That earned Lingling a sharp bark of laughter. Junji leaned closer, biting down each word.
“That’s your excuse? Seriously? ‘She’ll probably dump me like my ex’? That’s pathetic, Ling. At least your ex showed up before bailing. You? You can’t even get past hello.”
Lingling flushed, throat tight.
Junji snorted and started wiping down the counter with deliberate, slow swipes. “She’s beautiful, clearly out of your league, and probably bored out of her mind with those Armani-wearing losers. And you—” Junji jabbed the cloth toward her, “—you’re sitting here crying into overpriced beer like a sad Victorian widow.”
Lingling looked at her watch. Almost eleven. Still no Orm. She pushed off her stool with a sigh, shoulders slumping.
Junji shook her head, muttering just loud enough for Lingling to hear as she walked out, “Pathetic. At this rate, you’ll be eighty, and still staring at the door waiting for her to walk in.”
==========
Day 85 was no different from the last five—quiet, dull, empty. A few stragglers wandered into the bar, ordering dinner or waiting for the rain to ease, but no one stayed long enough to drink.
Junji sprawled behind the counter, earbuds in, the faint sound of a Korean drama spilling from her phone. Every so often, she’d glance up and sigh. “Another night, no Orm,” she muttered, just loud enough for Lingling to hear.
She ignored her. Or tried to.
The truth was harder: maybe Orm had outgrown this place. Maybe she had moved out of the city. Maybe she had forgotten entirely that once upon a time, she chose this corner of the world to sit, drink, and laugh. A thousand possibilities ran through Lingling’s head, each one gnawing at her in ways she hated. She despised not knowing. That was why she kept her life simple. So the answers would be simple.
But Orm, with her spontaneity and unpredictability, had already complicated the equation. And Lingling hated equations she couldn’t solve.
Then, at 9:00 sharp, the door chimed.
Lingling’s head snapped up.
There she was. Orm, shaking the rain from her hair, golden under the bar lights, a smile tugging at her lips. Lingling’s pulse kicked like a drum, her body leaning forward without permission. She held her breath, waiting—for a look, for a smile, for something.
And then—Orm turned.
The smile landed not on Lingling, but on the man stepping in behind her.
Tall. Handsome. Chinese features. The kind of polished charm that fit magazine covers. And laughing with Orm like they had been sharing jokes all evening.
He moved with practiced charm, pulling a chair out for her, slipping her coat off her shoulders with an ease that burned Lingling’s stomach with resentment.
“Oh my gahd,” Junji whispered, eyes wide as if she’d seen a ghost. “That’s Au. Au Tippayatayarut.”
Lingling blinked. Au. The Tippayatayarut heir. Grandson of the restaurant magnate, The Only son of a construction business tycoon.
Her bitterness rushed in before she could stop it. He looks kind of stupid, she thought savagely, though it wasn’t his fault. It was Orm’s hand. Orm’s delicate fingers brushing over his, that made her want to reach for her beer like it was medicine.
She tipped the bottle back in one long swallow, the bitter taste doing nothing to soften the sting.
At 10:12, for the first time in two months and fifteen days, Lingling broke her ritual. She didn’t wait for Orm to leave first. She got up, paid her tab without a word, and walked out into the night.
Without her knowing that Orm noticed her quick exit.
==========
It wasn’t as if Lingling had never seen Orm with someone before. She had. Too many times. Thirty-two, by her last bitter count. Thirty-three now, with Au. Men, women, beautiful strangers with fleeting faces. She could stomach it because Orm always left with them, and then—like clockwork—she would come back. Back to the bar, back to her usual corner, back to Lingling’s orbit as if the world outside was never enough.
But tonight was different. Tonight Orm arrived with someone. She came laughing, glowing, with a man whose name weighed more than gold in the city. And Orm’s hand had lingered on his as though he was more than just another night.
Lingling’s chest tightened as she kicked a crushed soda can along the wet sidewalk, its metallic rattle mocking her. Maybe that could explain Orm’s sudden absence these past days. Maybe Junji was right. "She comes back every night because she’s not satisfied."
The thought twisted like a knife. So what now—had she finally found satisfaction? Had Au, with his tycoon’s pedigree and easy charm, given her what no one else could?
Lingling sank down onto a park bench, the chill of the metal seeping through her jeans. She felt dizzy, her mind refusing to shake off the image of Orm’s fingers brushing Au’s in casual affection. Tender, deliberate. The kind of touch Lingling had never been offered.
She closed her eyes, willing the memory to dissolve into the rain-soaked night. But it clung to her, merciless, replaying over and over until her chest ached.
==========
Lingling stayed away from the bar for ten days. When she finally came back, it was less out of courage and more because her fridge was empty and the night was too long without a drink.
The moment she pushed through the door, Junji’s head lifted.
“Welcome back, stranger.” she said dryly, already reaching for a glass. She poured before Lingling could even think of an excuse.
“Just one. Then I’m gone.” Lingling slid onto the stool. Tuesday nights were always dead; tonight was no different.
Junji set the glass down with a shrug. “Whatever you say, secret lover.” Her eyes narrowed, testing. “You know… she hasn’t been back.”
Lingling gave nothing away. She drank. Long, steady pulls, the kind meant to fill the silence. Her face was blank, practiced, a shield she had worn too many times.
Junji leaned against the counter, exhaling. “It’s your fault, you know. Letting her slip away like that.”
The beer was gone in one breath. Lingling slammed the glass onto the counter and tossed her card across the wood.
“I’m done.”
She swung off the stool, but before she could move, the door burst open.
Orm.
Lingling froze. For a moment, everything inside her stuttered. The bar was empty, no other souls to distract Orm or give her an excuse to leave. No Au trailing behind her, no crowd to hide in. Just Orm—steady eyes fixed on Lingling as the door swung shut with a dull thud, cutting them off from the rest of the world.
"She’s coming toward me." Lingling whispered to herself.
Lingling’s heart hammered so loudly it drowned out the music. Her palms went clammy, her throat dry. Why is she coming toward me? Is she going to tell me to stop staring? Oh god, what if she thinks I’m a creep? What if—
And then Orm smiled. Just a simple curve of her lips, but it knocked Lingling’s thoughts right out of orbit.
“Hi,” Orm said, her voice warm, casual, as if she hadn’t just turned Lingling’s entire world inside out. “I’ve seen you here a lot.”
Lingling froze. Her brain screamed at her to say something. Anything. But all she managed was a stiff nod. A dumb, stiff nod.
From behind the counter, Junji nearly dropped the cocktail shaker, choking on her laughter. “Smooth,” she muttered under her breath, but loud enough for Lingling to hear. Lingling shot her a death glare without moving her head.
The air between Lingling and Orm pulsed with unspoken tension, a bubble waiting to burst. Lingling’s hand twitched at her side. Her chest rose and fell too quickly. The alcohol she’d downed earlier surged through her like courage on tap. Or maybe it wasn’t the alcohol at all. Maybe it was the sheer terror that this was real, that Orm was actually standing here, smiling at her.
So she moved.
One step forward. Then another. And before doubt could creep in, Lingling closed the last three feet between them. She fisted the lapel of Orm’s blazer, yanked her close, and pressed her lips to hers.
Orm stiffened for a heartbeat, then melted into it with equal ferocity. A startled laugh escaped her throat before it turned into a breathless sigh. Her fingers slid into Lingling’s hair, tugging her closer, and Lingling nearly groaned at the feeling of those hands anchoring her like they belonged there.
Orm’s palms found the small of Lingling’s back, and Lingling thought she might combust. Because it felt less like a touch and more like possession , as if Orm had been waiting all her life to put her hands exactly there.
They kissed furiously, oblivious to the chatter, the music, the clinking glasses. To Lingling, the bar blurred into nothingness, as though the universe dimmed the lights and handed them center stage.
And then…
“Uh, guys?” Junji’s voice broke in, dry as ever. “If you’re going to start eating each other alive, at least take it outside. I just cleaned the floor.”
Orm laughed into Lingling’s mouth, which only made Lingling kiss her harder, half out of defiance, half because she couldn’t stop even if she wanted to. She pushed Orm gently, stumbling, through the doorway, out into the cool night air, their lips still locked, breathless, desperate, alive.
Behind them, Junji leaned against the bar, shaking her head with a grin. “Finally,” she said, raising a glass in mock salute. “Took you two long enough.”
==========
The city had long since gone quiet, but Lingling was wide awake. Hours after the time she should’ve been asleep, she found herself tangled in Orm’s sheets, her body bare, her soul laid just as open. The world she knew—cold, rigid, mathematical—had been split apart in one night, replaced with colors so bright and dizzying she never wanted to go back to the gray loneliness of her apartment.
And the sight before her was enough to keep her there forever—Orm, flushed and breathless, hair a halo against the pillow, mouth parted as if she were caught between a sigh and a prayer.
Lingling had coaxed her higher and higher, until Orm broke apart in her arms, a cry slipping free so sweet, so raw, it made Lingling think even Mozart would have bowed his head in shame. For nothing in all the symphonies she’d ever heard compared to the music of Orm unraveling beneath her touch.
Orm collapsed back into the mattress with a laugh that was half-gasp, half-shiver. Lingling, dizzy herself, pressed slow kisses to her skin—her ribs, her collarbone, the slope of her throat—memorizing the taste of her like it might vanish.
Just as Lingling was about to whisper something, Orm suddenly sat up, the sheets sliding down to her waist. She looked devastatingly casual about it, as if introductions after such intimacy were the most natural thing in the world.
“Hi,” Orm said, offering her hand with mock formality. “My name is Orm. Orm Kornnaphat Sethratanapong.”
Lingling blinked. Then, impossibly, she burst into laughter—the kind she hadn’t let herself feel in years. It tumbled out of her, warm and alive, filling the room with light.
“You’re unbelievable,” Lingling managed, grinning as she clasped the offered hand. “Lingling. Lingling Sirilak Kwong.”
Orm’s brow arched. “Kwong… as in the Kwongs of Hong Kong?”
Lingling smirked, leaning in like she was about to share a scandalous secret. “By blood. But that’s a story for another night.”
Orm’s answering grin softened into something that made Lingling’s heart race. She leaned forward, catching Lingling’s lips in a kiss that tasted like promise and mischief.
“Nice to finally meet you, Lingling,” she murmured against her mouth, voice rumbling low like velvet.
“Finally?” Lingling asked, breathless, her skin tingling everywhere Orm touched.
Orm chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from Lingling’s cheek. “I’ve seen you at the bar for the past three months. Same time. Same spot. Always with a beer. Always alone.”
Her tone wasn’t teasing, but tender—like a secret she’d been saving just for this moment. She rested her head against Lingling’s shoulder, the weight of her both grounding and electric.
Lingling swallowed, her chest swelling with something she hadn’t dared to name until now. “And you’re always there too. Except…” she gave a small, knowing smile, “you always leave with someone random.”
Orm laughed, this time unrestrained, genuine, the sound curling into Lingling’s chest and setting it alight. No pretense, no performance. Just Orm.
And Lingling realized in that moment: Orm had seen her too, all this time. Not the numbers, not the walls, not the mask. Just her.
“How long have you been watching me?” Orm asked softly, her fingers tracing lazy circles on Lingling’s back.
Lingling buried her face deeper into the pillow, her words muffled. Orm leaned closer, catching only the tail end of a mumble.
“What was that?” Orm tilted her head, smiling.
Lingling groaned, peeking out from the pillow with pink cheeks. “...Ninety-five days.”
Orm blinked. Then again. “That’s… exact.” Her lips twitched into a grin, equal parts surprised and amused.
Lingling’s face went crimson. She shoved her face back into the pillow, muffling a dramatic groan. Her thoughts spiraled: Stalker. Obsessed. Control freak. She’s going to think I’m insane. She counted her steps, her meals, her sleep—everything. And Orm? Orm was chaos wrapped in charm. The kind of person who probably lost track of time halfway through a conversation.
“I knew it.” Lingling muttered into the fabric. “You’re going to run screaming.”
Orm chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Run? No. That’s… adorable.” She pressed a kiss to the top of Lingling’s head. “Besides,” she said, drawing out the pause with playful suspense, “I was watching you too.”
Lingling froze. Slowly, she lifted her head, eyes wide. “You were?”
“Mmhm.” Orm’s smile softened, her hand smoothing down Lingling’s hair. “Ever since you tried to pretend you weren’t staring at me that night… you were so stiff and awkward, like someone caught with a secret. I thought it was cute.”
Lingling laughed nervously, rolling onto her back, covering her face with both hands. “Cute. Great. That’s one way of describing socially inept.”
Orm tugged one hand away and kissed her knuckles. “Endearing is another.”
Lingling’s blush deepened. “How about you? When did you start…” she gestured vaguely, “…noticing me?”
Orm tilted her head, pretending to think, then smirked. “You caught my attention that time I winked at you.”
Lingling groaned again. “That was your opening line? A wink?”
“You say it like it didn’t work.” Orm teased, her voice low, mischievous.
Lingling tried to look offended but ended up smiling into Orm’s hair, inhaling the faint scent of her perfume. It felt grounding, dangerous, perfect.
“So what are…” Lingling’s question trailed off, lips brushing Orm’s shoulder, when the sharp buzz of Orm’s phone sliced through the quiet.
Orm groaned, rolling over to grab it, hair tumbling across her bare back. Lingling let her fingertips trace idle shapes along Orm’s arm, then pressed lazy kisses against her skin as if the sound of the world outside might be drowned out if she just kissed her enough.
“Hello?” Orm’s voice was soft, warm, but it changed the second she heard the one on the other line.
“Hello?” the caller echoed.
Lingling froze. She knew that voice. Every syllable tightened her chest until her kisses stilled against Orm’s skin.
“Hey! I was wondering if I could come over?” It was Au.
Orm sat up, tension flickering across her face. “Now?” she asked, her eyes darting to Lingling’s expression.
Lingling caught the worry in Orm’s gaze, but it wasn’t enough to stop the clouding storm behind her own. Her heart thudded. She already knew this story. She had lived it before.
“I can’t now,” Orm said quickly into the phone, “but how about another day?”
By the time she hung up, Lingling was already sliding off the bed, her body moving before her mind caught up. She dressed in sharp, jerky motions, like someone suiting up for battle, her back turned deliberately to Orm.
“Lingling! Wait!” Orm’s voice cracked as she scrambled after her, still unclothed, desperation heavy in the air.
But Lingling’s chest felt like it was caving in, her breath ragged. Fear clawed at her. Fear of another name spoken too easily. Fear of being treated like a placeholder, a distraction. Fear of waking up one morning to find Orm gone, just as her ex had gone before.
She shoved her feet into her shoes, but Orm caught her arm, forcing her to turn. “Please listen to me, it’s not what you think!”
Lingling jerked out of her grasp, eyes burning. “I know exactly what it is.” Her voice trembled with the kind of fury that was born from heartbreak, not anger. “I’m sorry I’m not rich.” The words came out sharper than she intended, jagged with self-loathing. “I’m sorry I’ll never inherit the Kwong corporation because I’m the illegitimate child no one claims.”
Orm’s mouth opened, her face stricken, but no words came fast enough.
Before she could respond, Lingling wrenched the door open. The slam echoed down the hall like a gunshot.
And just like that, on day ninety-five, Lingling ran out of Orm’s apartment at 2:00 in the morning. Barefoot heart, carrying every ghost of her past, convinced she had just added Orm to the pile of people who could never truly choose her.
Lingling knew she had bolted because panic had gotten the better of her. The moment she heard Au’s voice, the walls she thought she had built up around her insecurities came crashing down. Old fears still clung to her like shadows—irrational, suffocating. Au’s voice wasn’t just a call; it was a reminder. A reminder that she was the other woman, that she was nothing more than her mother’s reflection.
Of course Orm could have anyone. Men, women, people with pedigree, wealth, and futures wrapped neatly with a bow. Why would she ever settle for someone like Lingling? It wasn’t love. It couldn’t be. It had only happened because Lingling was at that bar that night, the lone patron Orm had entertained. Convenience, not choice.
Her car was still parked by the bar, long closed by now. Lingling muttered a curse under her breath as she slid into the driver’s seat, the silence of the night pressing against her chest. She remembered with a groan that her card was still with Junji, making the whole escape even more pathetic. She gripped the steering wheel tightly, bitterness and shame gnawing at her. The ugly thought festered—she wasn’t someone Orm could proudly claim, not someone worthy of being beside her. She was just a passing mistake.
==========
Lingling woke up the next day. Still faintly smelling Orm’s scent—sweet, intoxicating, and completely disruptive. Her chest felt tight, not with anxiety like usual, but with something more dangerous. Turmoil. It was as if Orm had stolen every ounce of her discipline, every carefully constructed piece of her timeline, and tossed it out the window without remorse.
The proof was everywhere in her apartment. Her once-pristine living room bore the chaos of her mood: a cardigan draped unevenly over the back of a chair, a single shoe abandoned by the door, and worst of all, the crime scene in her kitchen. A cup and saucer, unwashed, glaring at her from the sink. Normally, such disorder would claw at her nerves, demanding immediate correction. But today, her thoughts weren’t on dirty dishes.
They were on Orm.
On the way her fingers had trailed across Lingling’s jaw, lingering along her collarbone as though carving her into memory. Lingling shivered, not from the cold, but from the vivid replay of Orm’s touch.
Dragging herself to the mirror, Lingling stared at her reflection. Her hair was messier than she’d ever allow, her eyes wide with unrest. She was already two minutes behind her strict routine, brushing her teeth at 7:02 instead of exactly 7:00. By the time she finally stepped out of her apartment, the clock betrayed her: 7:45.
Disaster.
At the office, the chaos had already rippled.
P’Booky, ever dramatic at the front desk, was mid-conversation on the phone, voice pitched with exaggerated urgency.
“Yes, Khun Mam, I swear—she hasn’t come in yet! Yes! Lingling Kwong! She’s late. Late! Can you believe it? That girl didn’t even miss her clock-in when she had a fever last year. Should we send someone to check if she’s… dead?”
Lingling froze mid-step, her ears burning.
Booky’s eyes flicked up and widened when she saw Lingling materialize by the door, very much alive, if not a little dazed. With a cough, she scrambled to correct herself.
“Ah… never mind, she’s here, Khun Mam! All good. No ghosts haunting the office today.”
She slammed the phone down and squinted suspiciously at Lingling.
“Are you
really
okay? Because right now, you look like someone who either just ran a marathon… or just survived one.”
Lingling tightened her grip on her bag, her mind flashing back unhelpfully to Orm’s lips brushing against her skin. Her voice cracked slightly as she muttered, “I’m fine.”
Booky raised a brow. “Mm-hmm. Sure. ‘Fine.’ That’s what people say right before they collapse in the copy room. Should I keep the emergency contacts on speed dial, or…?”
Lingling exhaled slowly, willing her face back into its usual mask of control. But inside, she was anything but fine. Orm’s presence lingered like a handprint she couldn’t wash off.
==========
Lingling sat at her desk, staring at the mountain of paperwork as though sheer willpower could erase last night. The problem wasn’t the work. She could bulldoze through deadlines, juggle three projects at once, and still find time to color-code her planner by shade of productivity. The problem was Orm.
She pressed her palms to her eyes, trying to scrub away the memory of how Orm’s nails grazed her shoulder, how her tongue had swept across Lingling’s teeth as if testing the limits of Lingling’s restraint. No matter how tightly she clenched her fists, her mind betrayed her. Images replaying like a broken film reel she couldn’t turn off.
Fine, distraction then.
She slammed open her laptop and began typing furiously, burying herself in a quarterly report she had already finished yesterday. After ten minutes of “reviewing,” she realized she was editing commas that didn’t need editing. By the twentieth minute, she had rewritten an entire sentence five different ways and hated all of them.
Her eyes slid to the corner of her desk where a bright post-it screamed CHECK EMAILS in her own handwriting. She clicked into her inbox and, for reasons even she couldn’t explain, found herself opening spam.
“Lose weight fast.”
“Astrological forecast for your love life.”
“Is your partner hiding something?”
She slammed the window shut, cheeks burning.
“Are you… okay?” asked Bam, her seatmate, who normally existed only as a background hum of keyboard clacks.
“Yes,” Lingling snapped too quickly, then forced a smile that looked more like a grimace. “Perfectly fine.”
Bam blinked. “You’ve been spinning in your chair for the last three minutes.”
Lingling stopped mid-spin, realizing she’d been twirling idly, like some intern with nothing better to do. She cleared her throat. “Just… testing the chair bearings. Important for office safety.”
Bam nodded slowly, not convinced, before turning back to her screen.
Lingling let her forehead thunk gently against her desk. This was insane. She, Lingling Kwong, the model of precision, the woman who once submitted a project during a blackout by handwriting charts under candlelight was unraveling because of Orm Kornnaphat.
And the worst part? It wasn’t unpleasant. It was like being intoxicated without the alcohol—dizzy, unsteady, feverish in the best and worst way. Lingling had thrown a wrench into the steady gears of her life, and now everything clicked and clanked and sparked, threatening to fall apart in a painful way.
==========
Lingling was still bitter. No matter how many times she tried to rationalize what happened between her and Orm, the conclusion was the same: she was stupid. Stupid for letting herself believe, even for a moment, that she and Orm could have something real. Stupid for thinking she was special. Orm could have anyone—men, women, people with confidence, status, beauty. Last night only happened because Lingling was there. Because she was convenient. Because she was the only patron left at the bar.
The memory stung like salt on an open wound. Every brush of Orm’s tongue against her teeth, the warmth of her palm on Lingling’s shoulder, the sharp thrill of nails pressing into her skin—it all replayed in her head like an unshakable intoxication. But the morning light had stripped it bare, left her with nothing but shame and the bitter taste of being used.
At 7:11 p.m., she rolled into the bar’s parking lot, jaw tight with determination. This wasn’t about Orm. She was here for her card, nothing else. The plan was to stay for as little time as possible, get it back, and leave before her heart betrayed her with any flicker of hope.
Pushing open the bar’s door, Lingling was greeted by the low hum of music and the faint scent of whiskey that clung to the wooden walls. Junji sat behind the counter, scrolling through her phone with one hand, the other tapping lazily against a glass. The moment her eyes lifted and locked on Lingling, her mouth curved into a knowing smirk.
“Ballsy move,” Junji drawled, setting her phone aside. “I didn’t think you had it in you to kiss Orm without warning like that.”
Lingling’s heart stuttered painfully, but she masked it with a sharp exhale. “I want my card back,” she said flatly, cutting through Junji’s teasing tone.
The shift in Lingling’s demeanor caught Junji off guard. She blinked, her smirk fading. She’d expected Lingling to walk in glowing, maybe giddy, after what had clearly been a reckless but passionate night. Instead, the woman standing before her was rigid, guarded, her expression shadowed with something closer to regret than satisfaction.
Junji tilted her head, studying her silently for a moment. She knew Lingling well enough—if she wasn’t ready to talk, pressing her would be pointless. So, with a shrug, she moved toward the counter where she kept the stack of cards collected over the past few days.
Lingling tapped her foot impatiently, her eyes fixed on the clock above the bar. Every second felt dangerous, a countdown to disaster. She couldn’t be here when Orm walked in. She couldn’t risk seeing her, couldn’t risk her bitterness unraveling into something weaker, something like longing.
Not again.
The bell above the door jingled, a sharp sound that sliced through the low hum of the bar.
Lingling froze, her stomach dropping. No… not now.
“Lingling.”
Her eyes slammed shut. She knew that voice too well. The one that haunted her since last night.
“Lingling!” Orm’s voice was closer this time, determined.
Lingling forced her jaw tight, refusing to turn. “Junji, where is my fucking card?” she snapped, louder than intended. The words cracked across the room like a whip.
Junji’s brows shot up. Whoa. Lingling never yelled at her. Ever. Junji straightened, lips twitching despite herself. “Okay, okay, simmer down, dragon lady. I’m looking,” she muttered, rifling through her pile of cards with mock seriousness.
But Orm slid onto the stool next to Lingling, her presence magnetic, her perfume—clean, sharp, citrusy—invading Lingling’s defenses.
“Lingling, listen.” Orm’s tone was commanding, like there was no room for argument.
Lingling glared at Junji instead. “Forget it. Just forget it.” She shoved off the stool, ready to escape before she completely crumbled.
But Orm moved fast—too fast. In a fluid motion, she trapped Lingling between her and the bar counter, one hand braced against the wood, the other blocking Lingling’s retreat.
“Just listen!” Orm’s voice cracked with urgency.
Lingling turned her face away, staring hard at the liquor bottles lined neatly behind the counter. Anything but those eyes.
“I broke up with Au a week ago,” Orm blurted.
Lingling’s head snapped back, her dark eyes wide with disbelief.
Orm’s voice softened, rich with honesty. “It wasn’t working out. He’s a total sweetheart… but I was intrigued by someone else. Someone who’s been haunting me every night at this bar.”
Junji froze mid-shuffle with the cards, looking between the two of them like she’d just tuned into a live soap opera.
Orm’s gaze bore into Lingling’s. “She has the most beautiful dark brown eyes I’ve ever seen. Her skin… flawless. And yet, every time I see her, she looks so lonely it breaks me. And I—” Orm’s voice faltered, but then steadied, “I just want to ease that loneliness. Even if it’s only for a night. Even if it’s forever.”
Lingling’s heart thudded in her chest. Her walls—so carefully built overnight—threatened to crack.
Junji, unable to contain herself, finally muttered, “Damn. And I thought this shift was going to be boring.”
“You still want your card, Lingy?” Junji called from behind the bar, holding it up like a prized catch and winking shamelessly.
Lingling groaned, burying her face in her hands. Heat crept up her neck. “Junji, not now… Orm, I’m not… ” she started, her voice low, fumbling for words that felt inadequate.
“I don’t care about what you’re not,” Orm cut her off firmly. Her voice carried no hesitation, only conviction. “I care about who you are.”
Lingling’s breath caught. Slowly, she lifted her gaze. And there they were, Orm’s amber eyes, glowing under the bar’s dim lights, steady and warm, like a fire that promised not to burn but to keep her safe. They promised a life not of perfection, but of thrill, laughter, and maybe even the kind of love Lingling didn’t believe she deserved.
Her chest tightened. She was falling, and there was no stopping it.
“C-can I…” Lingling cleared her throat, nerves tangling her tongue. “Can I buy you a drink?” It was clumsy, but it was something. The only bridge she knew how to build.
“No.” Orm’s lips curved into a grin before Lingling could spiral. She leaned closer, a mischievous spark lighting her eyes. “You’re not rich, remember? I’ll buy.”
Lingling blinked, caught between indignation and relief—until Junji clattered two beers onto the counter with exaggerated flair.
“About fucking time,” Junji muttered, shaking her head like a weary parent who’d watched two stubborn kids finally come to their senses.
Lingling burst into laughter, her giggles spilling out unrestrained, the sound brighter than she realized it could be. Orm squeezed her hand gently, anchoring her in that moment.
Day ninety-six. 7:24 p.m. Lingling let the time etch itself into her memory. For the first time in a long while, she thought maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something beautiful.
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Lingling was still counting the days. By now, it was the one hundred and fifty-fourth. The act had become more than a habit—it was ritual. A process as automatic as brushing her teeth at exactly 7:00 every morning, or arriving at the office at 7:45 sharp, even if it meant waiting outside for a full minute just so her timing remained perfect.
At 7:10 p.m. she pulled into her usual parking spot, shut off the engine, and locked the car with a quiet click. The walk into the bar was familiar, like retracing the same steps of a well-worn dance. She would slide onto the stool, nod at Junji, and order her flavored beer. In precisely two minutes and thirteen seconds, it would be placed before her. She would finish it within fifteen minutes, sometimes a little less, before ordering another.
And then, at 8-something—it was never exactly the same, but always close—the atmosphere in the room would shift. A blonde woman would walk in, drawing eyes the way a flame drew moths. Conversations faltered; heads turned. She never seemed to notice the awe she inspired. She only walked straight to Lingling, sat down beside her, and started talking.
Orm had a way of making everyone else disappear. She would wave off strangers offering drinks, no matter how sharp their suits or how extravagant their wallets. Even the ones who wore tailored pieces that probably cost more than Lingling made in a few months. Orm always declined with calm politeness, then turned back, as if there was nowhere else she’d rather be than laughing and talking with the beautiful woman at her side.
They had their rhythm. When the conversation dwindled, or when they simply felt like leaving, they would stand, fingers intertwining as naturally as breath, and walk out together.
It happened Monday through Friday. Sometimes Saturday. But Sundays… Sundays were different. Sundays were sacred. Sundays were reserved for slow mornings, soft touches, and curling into each other’s arms at home.
It was precise. It was constant. It was clockbound.
The End.