Chapter Text
She counted. She’s been in this city for exactly 2 years, 9 months, 6 days, or 1010 calendar days. At exactly 6:30 in the morning, her alarm will wake her up. Tap the snooze button twice, then she’ll be up at 6:45. By 6:46, she will be feeding her cats, cleaning the litter box, brushing her teeth, then going to the bathroom at exactly 7:00. By 7:45, she’s clocking in to work. Even if it means she’ll wait for a whole minute, so that her timing would be perfect. And she’s done this ritual with the same number of days. Well, except for the weekends.
At exactly 7:15 PM, she pulled into her usual parking spot and walked into the bar. She’d go up to the bar and wave to the bartender, and order beer. Only the flavored ones. The bartender would have her beer served in two minutes and ten seconds, and she would finish it in the next fifteen minutes, then she would order another.
It was precise. Constant. And Lingling Kwong likes it that way, being a chrono-fixated person. She loves schedules and plans, and hates spontaneity and unpredictability outside work.
While at the bar, she always turned down suitors and offers to buy her a drink, as it would throw out her whole schedule. She never stayed past eleven. Even if her favorite band was not yet done with their first set of songs. She didn’t like chatting with other patrons, as it would cause a delay in her perfect schedule. But she likes the bartender, and she’s willing to have a small talk with her. It was her only real social interaction outside of work.
People, Lingling decided, were too unpredictable and would only lead her into trouble. For her, a boring but structured life is better than being chaotic. But she made an exception for Junji. Because Junji never overstepped her boundaries. Never looked at her weird for being a slave to the clock. They’ll start a conversation, usually she’s asking Junji about her day. And Junji will whine about her drunk customers for exactly five minutes. In return, she’d talk about the witches in her office and how her work friends tried to disrupt her schedule by bringing a kitten to work. After this exchange, Junji will go back to work.
This happened every Monday to Friday. She tried to go on weekends, but the bar would be too crowded and rowdy for her liking, so she decided to go only on weekdays. It wasn’t a good bar, actually. But they serve good beer and perfect fried chicken and pork innards to accompany her drink. All priced within her allotted budget.
The disruption to her immaculate schedule came out of nowhere. What followed was the longest week of her working life. Twelve-hour days blurred together, all thanks to an office witch who thought it was a brilliant idea to submit a report to their boss without Lingling’s approval. Naturally, everything spiraled downhill, and she was left to untangle the chaos.
As if that wasn’t enough, she made another questionable choice—agreeing to go on a date with a coworker. Lingling wasn’t sure what possessed her, though she suspected it was the same old fear: growing old alone. It was a fear she usually waved off whenever loneliness started lurking, but it had a bad habit of pushing her into random dates, one-night stands, and relationships that barely lasted a season.
Anyway, back to the date. Her coworker brought her to the bar she often frequented. Junji’s face when she walked in with another woman was priceless. Still, Junji being Junji, she played it cool—no smirk, no sly comment, just treating her like any other customer. Lingling was quietly relieved. The last thing she wanted was for her date to know she was a regular there. Better to keep that part of her life under wraps, in case she decided to disappear on her coworker later.
To say the date was going smoothly would’ve been an overstatement. Her companion tried small talk about their shared interests and even complimented her outfit, but none of it managed to spark Lingling’s attention. The conversation limped along, each word duller than the last. When her date attempted a joke, Lingling forced a polite smile, but it didn’t even come close to landing.
She found herself thinking she might have to avoid this bar altogether, just to spare herself the memory of this painfully awkward evening. Her eyes kept drifting to her watch—8:41, 8:42—each second dragging as she silently begged for 9:00 to come faster.
And then, at 8:43, everything shifted.
That was the time that she saw her .
It was as if the dimly lit bar had conspired to cast a spotlight on this stranger. The haze of neon and cigarette smoke blurred into the background, but this woman stood out, glowing with an effortless radiance that made Lingling forget to breathe. For a heartbeat, the noise of the bar dulled, and all she could hear was the thrum of her own pulse in her ears.
Lingling wasn’t sure if the woman even realized the effect she had on people. She walked in casually, without the slightest awareness that the noisy bar had dulled, voices dipping as heads turned in unison to follow her. Lingling caught herself staring too, though she quickly masked it behind the rim of her glass.
The woman slid into a table as if it belonged to her, oblivious—or maybe deliberately ignoring—the dozens of eyes tracking her every move. Men, women… it didn’t matter. They all looked at her the same way: like moths drawn to a flame.
Lingling’s gaze lingered longer than she meant it to. She noticed the waiter freeze mid-step, jaw practically unhinged as he scrambled to take her order. His hands shook when she looked up, brushed a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, and gave him a smile so sweet it nearly sent him stumbling into another waiter’s tray of beers.
Lingling almost smirked. Almost. Because beneath the humor of the scene, she knew she wasn’t all that different from the waiter—breath caught, pulse unsteady, and a little too mesmerized for her own good.
Lingling knew she should look away, rejoin the flat conversation with her date, but she couldn’t. Not when someone like her was sitting only a few tables away.
Her date was still talking—something about weekend plans, maybe—but the words barely registered. Lingling’s gaze was fixed, unwilling to look away, as if the simple act of blinking might make the vision disappear. She schooled her expression into polite neutrality, not daring to betray the sudden spark electrifying her veins. To everyone else, she looked like a woman politely enduring an uninspired night. But inside, Lingling knew she’d just witnessed the start of something she couldn’t explain, only feel.
For more than an hour, Lingling sat through the date. Not because she was enjoying it—far from it—but because it gave her an excuse to keep stealing glances at the woman across the bar. Every laugh, every nod she offered her companion was half-hearted at best, her attention always drifting back to the blonde who had walked in at 8:43.
By the time the check came, she knew she couldn’t keep dragging it out. “Let’s be friends,” she said softly, apologetically, watching the flicker of disappointment cross her date’s face. The woman managed a weak smile, and Lingling spared her the usual speech about how it was always her, not them. They split the bill, exchanged polite goodbyes, and went their separate ways.
But as Lingling stepped out into the night air, her thoughts weren’t on her date at all. They lingered instead on the radiant stranger in the dimly lit bar. The blonde angel who had made an otherwise forgettable evening unforgettable.
She came back to the bar the next day, even though it was the weekend. The day she usually avoided the noise and chaos here. Junji’s eyebrows shot up the moment she saw her, though she didn’t press. Instead, she slid into their usual rhythm, chatting with her for exactly five minutes before setting down the flavored beer she already knew she preferred.
Junji always did read her too well. She could feel it in the way her gaze lingered, like she was piecing something together. She must’ve noticed how often Lingling glanced toward the door whenever the bell chimed, how her eyes flicked over every patron who walked in. Lingling pretended to study the foam on her beer, but she knew she wasn’t fooling Junji. Routine-breaking wasn’t something she did lightly, and Junji, of all people, would know that.
It was nearing 10:00, and Lingling’s hope of seeing her angel was fading fast. Not everyone lived bound to a clock the way she did, and the chances of the blonde showing up at the same bar two nights in a row were painfully slim. With a sigh, she tipped back the last of her drink and pushed her chair back, ready to call it a night before 11:00—her routine was already shattered anyway.
Then the bell above the door chimed.
She walked in.
For a moment, everything else blurred. The dim lights softened, the background chatter dulled, and even the clinking of glasses seemed to fade. The blonde moved through the haze of the bar as if the world itself had slowed just to make room for her. Lingling, caught off guard, eased back into her seat, unable to look away.
Her hand lifted almost on its own, signaling Junji for another drink. A fourth beer—one more breach of her ironclad rules. But tonight, routines didn’t matter. Not when an angel had just walked back into her orbit.
Lingling watched the blonde angel in silence, hardly daring to move. The woman was lithe, radiant, and effortlessly cheerful, her presence magnetic enough to draw eyes from every corner of the bar. Within minutes, admirers had gathered. Men and women alike, dressed head to toe in Prada, Armani, Dior, and Gucci, their wrists flashing Omega, Rolex, and Cartier. They looked like CEOs and models, the kind of people who arrived in cars worth more than Lingling’s entire salary.
She laughed at their jokes, offered them polite smiles, even chimed in with lighthearted stories of her own. It was a practiced laugh, not too loud, not too forced. Just enough to convince them she was engaged, listening, indulging their egos. To Lingling, it was proof that her angel belonged to that world. Or at least knew how to survive in it.
The taste of her beer turned bitter on her tongue. She wished, for a fleeting moment, that she had the wealth, the shine, the confidence to step into that orbit. But all she had were cheap yet respectable clothes, a watch that would never catch a jeweler’s eye, and the weight of an obsessive routine she couldn’t seem to shake. Compared to them, she was nothing. Her confidence crumbled, and for the first time in a very long while, Lingling found herself wishing she had a touch of spontaneity. Just enough to try.
Her confidence faltered further when old memories crept in. She had been in a relationship before, with a man who left scars deep enough that she swore she would only date women from then on. She was bisexual, yes—but after that breakup, the thought of being with another man had lost all appeal. Since then, the women she dated were little more than distractions, placeholders for the loneliness she kept at bay. None of them held her attention for long.
Until now.
For the first time in years, her gaze lingered. After all the women she’d watched from the window of her apartment—passing strangers of every shape and style who stirred nothing in her—this one felt different. Special. It was time to try again.
==========
“So… are you actually going to talk to her this time?” Junji leaned on the counter, polishing a glass but keeping one eye on Lingling. Day fifty, and the question came out like clockwork.
Lingling rolled her empty glass between her palms. “Don’t start.”
Junji tilted her head, smirking. “Or should I just get you another beer past your usual number so you can sit here and watch her walk out again. With that posh girl clinging to her arm?”
Lingling downed the last of her drink, grimacing at the bitter aftertaste. “God, this tastes worse than my life choices.”
“That’s because you didn’t order your fruity nonsense tonight,” Junji said. “You’re punishing yourself. Again.”
She stared at the glass. How many times had she done this? Watched the blonde woman leave, counted her defeats in silence. Twenty-three. Twenty-three times out of fifty nights.
“She only leaves with people in their thirties. The kind who dress like their closets cost more than my apartment rent.”
Junji snorted. “And she still comes back every night. Clearly, nobody’s doing the job right.” She smirked. “Maybe the universe is begging you to step up. Just go talk to her. It’s not even eleven yet—you’ve still got time.”
“Or maybe the universe is telling me to mind my own business.”
Junji leaned closer, voice dropping like a dare. “You’re not going to last another week like this, Ling. You’ll either combust, or I’ll die of secondhand embarrassment.”
Lingling glared at her, but her eyes flicked toward the door all the same. “No way.”
“Mmhm.” Junji straightened, grabbing another glass. “Translation: yes way, but not until you grow a backbone.”
“Keep talking,” Lingling muttered, “and I’ll pour this bitter crap over your head.”
Junji just grinned. “Worth it.”
==========
Day seventy, and Lingling thought she was going to die.
Same damn routine: the furthest stool at the bar, a flavored beer in hand, and her dark brown eyes locked on the blonde woman across the room. Every night it was the same. Every night she watched the woman laugh, flirt, lean in close to someone else. Men, women… it didn’t matter. Always someone else. Always someone that wasn’t her.
It’s because I’m a nobody, she’d told Junji once. She didn’t argue. She just shrugged like it was obvious and kept pouring drinks.
But tonight—tonight was different.
The blonde’s head turned. And their eyes met.
Amber, glowing in the faint haze of the bar’s neon, piercing straight through the dim light until it pinned Lingling where she sat. Lingling froze, beer halfway to her lips, and then… disaster. She choked, sputtering like an idiot, beer spilling over her fingers as she clamped a hand over her mouth. The fizz stung her nose, and she looked utterly ridiculous.
And then—it happened.
The blonde smiled. Slow, coy. A curl of lips that made the air feel thinner. She winked.
Lingling’s heart slammed against her ribs, and she almost doubled over in a fit of coughing, chest rattling. Junji slid a glass of water toward her, smirking like he’d been waiting for this exact scene to play out.
“Her name’s Kornnaphat,” she whispered, eyes flicking to the blonde. “But she prefers Orm.”
Lingling didn’t answer. Couldn’t. She snatched the water, downed it in one go, and grabbed every napkin within reach to blot at the mess she’d made. Her hands shook, and she cursed under her breath for being so obvious.
And in that frantic moment, she almost missed it—Orm rising gracefully from her seat, the man’s arm snaking possessively around her waist as though he owned her. Lingling’s stomach twisted at the sight, jealousy gnawing at her ribs. She watched, helpless, as they moved toward the exit.
Another night. Another stranger. Another reminder that Lingling would be going home alone.
But still… Orm had smiled at her.