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Being an artist's manager is no easy job. It's like living a second life—or suddenly having another child. In the morning and at night, you dedicate yourself to your real family, but during the day, your attention belongs to your artist. You have to know everything about them—from their schedule to their monthly cycle, from their personality quirks to the subtlest non-verbal cues. Missing even the smallest detail could have serious consequences.
And yet, P'Mam genuinely felt lucky to have taken LingLing under her wing. The girl was honest, caring, and sincere—hardly ever causing trouble. Over time, P'Mam began to see Ling as part of her family.
Ling was a quiet, even reserved young woman with a shaky command of the Thai language. But P'Mam didn't mind. They never argued, only spoke when necessary, and grew closer not through words but through the constant proximity of their shared routines. P'Mam had grown accustomed to the rhythm of their partnership—no surprises, everything strictly by the book. It was a dull but comfortable stability she had grown to appreciate.
P'Mam thought she knew Ling inside and out. She knew what the girl liked to eat, how to tell when she was upset, when she was tired, what medicines to buy for her recurring allergies, and even what Ling was trying to say when she struggled to find the right words. She knew Ling better than anyone—or so she thought.
But then Orm entered Ling's life, along with the production of The Secret of Us, and P'Mam began to notice new sides to her artist's personality.
It started small.
Ling blushed—a lot. Whether Orm was around or not, just hearing her name mentioned by someone on the staff would bring a foolish little smile to Ling's face, quickly followed by the telltale redness in her cheeks.
P'Mam chalked it up to new experiences. After all, this was Ling's first time starring in a sapphic drama. Her first time in a leading role, period. It made sense for her to be a little overwhelmed. Besides, nothing else in their routine had changed. Ling remained quiet, focused, hardworking, and attentive to detail. P'Mam dismissed it as stress and the pressure of responsibility.
The second clue came with laughter.
Of course, P'Mam had heard Ling laugh before, but rarely. Most of the time, her artist wore a polite smile—a professional gesture she offered to makeup artists, colleagues, staff, and her small but devoted fanbase. Occasionally, there was an awkward chuckle when Ling realized she'd mispronounced something or accidentally said something silly. Even rarer was her laugh at someone else's joke—soft and restrained, as if afraid to fully let go.
But the laugh P'Mam heard that day caught her completely off guard.
It happened during a break on the set of The Secret of Us. P'Mam was sitting in a corner, scrolling through news on her tablet while the crew took their break. Some were snacking, others were adjusting equipment. Ling was standing with Orm, and P'Mam kept an occasional eye on them, as she always did.
She was absorbed in an interesting article when a loud, almost guttural laugh rang out.
Startled, P'Mam glanced up—and saw Ling doubled over with laughter, leaning closer to Orm with every breath. The younger girl grinned back at her, her hand resting lightly on Ling's shoulder.
P'Mam froze in shock, her eyes wide. She had never heard Ling laugh like that—not in all the time they'd worked together. It was so uncharacteristic, so uninhibited, that it left her momentarily unnerved. Flustered, she looked away and pretended to focus on her tablet, trying to shake the strange mix of surprise and unease swirling inside her.
When filming for The Secret of Us wrapped and the active promotion phase began, P'Mam noticed yet another (or rather, the hundredth) clue
Beyond the fact that Ling now spoke faster—almost as if she were a native speaker—she had started using puns, wordplay, and overall talked more, there was another significant change.
Touch.
Ling had never been a tactile person. She only gave one-armed hugs to colleagues when absolutely necessary and maintained a noticeable physical distance from everyone—except makeup artists, for obvious reasons. Even then, as soon as her makeup was done, Ling would step away as quickly as possible. She set her boundaries with a polite smile and made sure everyone respected them.
But Orm was the exception.
The way Ling would place her hand on Orm's waist, rest her head on Orm's shoulder, or gently stroke the back of her hand while holding it—it made P'Mam uncomfortable just being in the same room. She had never seen this side of her artist.
Orm, for her part, responded with a bright smile and a soft nod, often initiating the touches herself. And Ling never hesitated to reciprocate, no matter her mood, the position of the stars, or the number of people around.
P'Mam wasn't sure of her suspicions and was cautious about jumping to conclusions.
And then, there was another moment—less of a clue and more of a blaring siren.
Despite Ling's changes, P'Mam still saw that interacting with people (everyone except Orm) remained a challenge for her. Ling still held back her emotions and maintained a professional demeanor at all times. P'Mam valued this quality deeply—no matter the situation, Ling kept her composure in front of cameras, fans, or in unfamiliar environments.
But during a fan meeting trip in Hong Kong, something shifted. The entire team was checking into a hotel when a young man at the reception desk started paying a little too much attention to Orm. P'Mam wasn't sure if he recognized them or was simply charmed by the actress's beauty, but he openly flirted with her.
Orm, being the social butterfly she was, smiled politely and engaged in the conversation. P'Mam was ready to find the situation amusing, but a quick glance at Ling froze her in place.
Ling's brows were furrowed, her lips pressed into a tight line, and her gaze—icy and lethal—was fixed on the poor receptionist. P'Mam had never seen her artist look like this. The intensity of Ling's stare was chilling, sending shivers down the manager's spine.
Before P'Mam could step in, Ling acted first. In a matter of seconds, she was standing beside Orm, taking hold of her wrist.
"Aren't you supposed to be following protocol?"
Ling's voice was cold—respectful, but laced with enough venom to make the receptionist visibly shrink.
"S-sorry," was all he managed to stammer as he hurriedly handed over the room keycard.
Orm reached for it, but Ling snatched it first, passing it to her junior colleague only afterward.
That evening, P'Mam made a mental note: she hoped to never see jealous Ling again. She was absolutely not prepared for it.
P'Mam had seen that kind of piercing gaze before—in scenes from The Secret of Us, on stage, or at events. But in those settings, it had always felt like a performance, something crafted for the audience.
This time, surrounded by a crowd, it was clear Ling wasn't acting. She wasn't putting on a show. She wasn't pretending. Ling had genuinely come close to burning a hole through the poor guy with her glare.
The fifth clue was... a bit irritating.
"Has Orm already left?"
"Did Orm leave without saying goodbye again?"
"Is Orm..."
"Orm."
"Did you see where Orm is?"
"Did Orm leave?"
Orm, Orm, Orm, Orm, Orm.
The last time it happened, P'Mam couldn't hold back and gave Ling's wrist a firmer tug than usual as they left yet another event.
In those moments, Ling reminded P'Mam of a lost puppy that had been separated from its mother or owner. It was cute—too cute—but Ling was becoming a bit much. P'Mam, who always appreciated Ling's introverted nature, had grown comfortable with their quiet exits from events. But now, those serene departures were filled with an endless stream of questions about her colleague.
By the sixth clue, P'Mam couldn't decide which was worse—jealous Ling or obsessed (and painfully obvious) Ling.
The actress and her manager had flown to Shanghai. It was one of the rare trips where neither Orm nor Koy was part of the team. P'Mam, of course, missed their presence. She had grown fond of Orm's chaotic energy and Koy's high-pitched yet endearing voice. But her feelings couldn't possibly compare to what Ling was going through.
"Oh wow, I'm going to take a photo of this for N'Orm."
"P'Mam, I'm buying this for Orm, okay? Just wait a second."
"Dew, Dew, stand here and take a photo of me. I need to send it to someone."
"Orm would love this."
"Should we buy snacks? I want Orm to try them."
P'Mam nodded at every request, stopped wherever Ling asked, patiently waited, and even sent Orm a message: "Ling will text you in half an hour after she finishes her fan photoshoot," per Ling's instructions.
Truth be told, P'Mam rarely saw Ling so fixated on her phone. And so blatantly obvious. Every time they got in the car or food was served, Ling immediately pulled out her phone, snapping pictures and typing away. P'Mam didn't have to guess who was on the receiving end.
What's more, Ling rarely talked on the phone. Over the years, P'Mam had noticed it happened only three times a day—and it was always to Ling's mother. Those calls had a distinct rhythm: Ling's voice would become calmer, softer, more reassuring, as if she were trying to convince her mother that everything was fine, no matter how tired or stressed she actually felt. Her tone radiated tranquility and composure.
But this time, P'Mam couldn't help but laugh.
It was evening, and the entire team had gathered at a restaurant. Friendly conversations, laughter, and discussions about the day's events created an easy atmosphere P'Mam cherished.
Moments like these allowed them to breathe, to pause, to feel like friends instead of colleagues.
P'Mam noticed when Ling grabbed her phone and stepped aside, distancing herself significantly from the group. A silly—no, a downright ridiculous—smile played on her face. It seemed like no one else noticed, or perhaps they were tactfully ignoring it as they continued their conversations.
The waiter brought out the food Ling had ordered, so P'Mam decided to let her know. Approaching the actress, who had her back turned, P'Mam overheard something that stopped her in her tracks.
"N'Orm," Ling's voice was impossibly sweet, almost saccharine, making P'Mam feel like an intruder. "No, I miss you more."
P'Mam swallowed hard. She never thought she'd hear something like this from Ling.
"No, I—" P'Mam realized the two were in the middle of a playful argument over who missed the other more. Over a day and a half. A day and a half.
P'Mam couldn't help but smile before composing herself and gently placing a hand on Ling's shoulder.
"Bao... Orm, I have to go. I'll call later."
Ling turned, locking eyes with her manager, her face instantly flushing red. She wasn't sure how much P'Mam had overheard.
"P'Mam."
"Your food is here."
P'Mam had worked in the industry long enough to know that some artists tend to overdo it in promotions or take longer to shake off a role. But this—Ling's case—was different. P'Mam could tell this wasn't just pretend or a lingering character.
The way Ling had changed over the past few months unsettled P'Mam. Ling joked more, shared personal stories, and was more active and daring. On the one hand, it made P'Mam happy—she saw an inner child in Ling coming to life, thriving, and embracing joy. At first, it only happened when Orm was around. But now, it seemed to have become a core part of Ling's personality.
On the other hand, P'Mam was honestly just surprised and still adjusting. She had known Ling for years but had never seen her like this.
Orm was pressing buttons, striking chords that neither P'Mam nor Ling herself had known existed.
The seventh clue caught P'Mam completely off guard.
To be honest, she no longer doubted Ling's feelings. The manager had long ago made a sobering conclusion about her charge.
You could practically brand "in love" on Ling's forehead, and it still wouldn't be as obvious as the way she looked at her colleague.
What P'Mam wasn't sure about, however, were the feelings of the younger actress. She had known Orm for years—long before Koy's daughter entered the industry. Orm had been an adorable child, a talented actress, and, most importantly, a very clever young woman. She was sincere in everything she did, got along with everyone—from children to elders—treated staff with respect, and loved her fans.
But... but Orm was like that with everyone. P'Mam had seen her interactions with other actors on other sets, watched how easily she connected with seasoned veterans of the industry. She had observed all the touches, the smiles, the emotions she gave—not to Ling.
And she worried.
She worried about Ling's heart being broken. She worried about seeing Ling retreat into her shell, becoming quiet and withdrawn once more. Because if she were honest, P'Mam loved the changes in Ling. Watching her blossom over the past few months had been one of the most rewarding experiences for the manager.
The girls had already begun workshops for Only You, and P'Mam, Ling, Orm, and Koy were spending a lot of time at the Maleenont Tower.
One day, during a break in rehearsals, Koy stepped out to discuss Orm's upcoming trip to China with Dew. P'Mam decided to grab coffee. They had been working for hours and were all exhausted. The woman placed her usual order, picking up four drinks. These small acts brought her pride—she knew everyone's preferences by heart and never needed to ask what the girls wanted.
Returning to the office, P'Mam exchanged greetings with a few staff members, read a notice about budget cuts, and chatted briefly with an actor she had worked with in the past.
When she opened the door to the workshop, she froze in place.
Ling was seated on the couch directly opposite the door. Orm was on her lap, facing her. From the positioning of their heads and the soft sounds in the air, it wasn't hard to guess—they were kissing.
Ling's hands wandered chaotically across Orm's back, tracing some invisible patterns.
P'Mam snapped out of her stupor at the exact moment she heard a faint moan. She wasn't sure who had made the sound, but honestly, she didn't want to know.
Quietly, she exited the room and made a conscious effort to make her presence known.
She greeted an imaginary colleague loudly just outside the door, fiddled with it for an exaggerated amount of time, and finally walked in with deliberate slowness.
When she glanced at the girls, they were sitting a full meter apart on the couch, awkwardly avoiding each other's eyes. Their lips were slightly red and swollen, but, of course, P'Mam said nothing.
She never said anything. And Ling was grateful for that.
A manager's job—or so P'Mam told herself—was to notice everything but say very little. Especially with Ling. Push too hard or invade her personal space, and Ling might clam up.
"Matcha, matcha, matcha!" Orm broke the uncomfortable silence, grabbing two drinks. She handed one to her colleague before flopping back onto the couch with the other. "P'Mam, you're a lifesaver. Thank you."
After rehearsal, Ling approached P'Mam, her hands clasped together in front of her—a telltale sign that she felt awkward.
"P'Mam."
"What?"
"Did you... understand?"
"Understand what?"
"About me and?.."
"I don't know what you're talking about. Now pack up; we've got a photoshoot in two hours. Let's stay on schedule."
P'Mam didn't want to push, pry, or meddle—not if it didn't interfere with Ling's work or, in fact, seemed to enhance it. Still, doubts lingered in her mind. She continued to worry that her child might end up hurt.
The doubts completely vanished with the eighth clue.
Ling always looked for Orm after events, but Orm was always in a rush—to her next job, to university, or simply back home. Orm didn't like lingering after work; once it was over, it was over.
But Ling would pout like a child every time her colleague left without saying goodbye.
After one particular interview—this P'Mam had learned from Koy—Orm started saying goodbye.
It amused the manager to no end because Orm now treated it as the most important mission in the world. No matter how pressed for time she was, she'd always carve out a few seconds for a farewell hug.
At a calendar signing event, the girls acted as they always did—too clingy, too sweet. Sitting behind them, P'Mam quietly chuckled under her breath every time she overheard another ridiculous whispered flirtation. But whenever Ling or Orm turned to look at her, she'd immediately don a focused expression, pretending to be entirely absorbed in her work.
As the event neared its end, Ling disappeared into the crowd of fans, giving each person her full attention. She took the time to talk to them, to make each individual feel seen and valued. She even arranged takeout for them, ensuring they could have dinner after waiting for hours. Ling was truly a noble soul, and P'Mam couldn't help but feel proud of the actress she managed.
P'Mam was busy backstage when Orm ran up to her, slightly out of breath.
"P'Mam, P'Mam, P'Mam, where's Ling?"
"Onstage?"
Orm smirked and glanced at a stern-looking Koy, who was clearly on edge.
"Orm, we're late. Please, let's go," Koy urged.
"Mam, just a second."
Orm peeked into the backstage area, but upon spotting Ling enthusiastically chatting with fans near the stage, she smiled and stepped back.
"P'Mam, can you tell Ling I'll text her after I'm done at university?"
"Of course," the manager replied, unable to suppress a smile. There was something tender, almost intimate, about the way Orm said it, and it felt like a weight had been lifted from P'Mam's shoulders.
"Orm."
The actress was already leaving but turned at the sound of her name.
"Don't forget the bouquet," P'Mam teased, stifling a laugh as she quickly looked away to focus on her work. Out of the corner of her eye, however, she noticed the blush spreading across Orm's cheeks.
"It's already in the car," Orm muttered before walking briskly toward the parking lot.
The ninth clue came casually from Ling.
After a loud event with a large group of artists—and after reporters had thoroughly soured Orm and Ling's moods—the girls looked exhausted. Lost in their own little world, they whispered to each other, quietly discussing something only they could understand.
As P'Mam approached Ling, Orm quickly stepped aside, noticing a group photo forming with their fellow actors. This left the manager and the older actress alone.
"What's wrong?" P'Mam asked.
"Ling, could you give me a ride? Or should I book a taxi?"
"P'Mam," Ling said apologetically, avoiding eye contact, "I already sent the driver home."
"How will you get home?"
"I'm going to a family dinner."
"Someone's here for you—" P'Mam stopped mid-sentence when she noticed Ling blushing. "It's fine. I'll ask my husband to pick me up."
"P'Mam..."
"Ling, it's really okay. Have a great evening."
"P'Mam, I—" Ling hesitated, looking like a guilty schoolgirl. "I'm sorry. We're just starting, and I... I'd rather not. You understand, right?"
The girl stumbled over her words, but P'Mam didn't interrupt. She watched warmly, filled with nothing but fondness for Ling, who had grown so close to her over the years.
"It doesn't have a status, if that helps," Ling finally managed after a few minutes of incoherent rambling.
"Why not?" P'Mam asked, smiling.
"We,"—P'Mam refrained from commenting on the plural—"we're not in a rush."
"Right, patience. I've heard that before," P'Mam said teasingly. "I'll be off now, Ling. Don't forget, we're meeting at 8 tomorrow morning."
"Of course."
P'Mam was about to leave, and she really didn't mean to say anything more. But the words slipped out before she could stop herself.
"Oh, and Ling."
"Yes?"
"Maybe don't do anything too impatient in the office. Just saying."
Ling covered her face with her hands and turned away, unable to hide her embarrassment. P'Mam burst into laughter—too loudly. So loudly that everyone nearby turned to look at her in surprise. Seeing the usually composed manager like this was a rare and strange sight.
The tenth clue was the final one.
On Sunday, right before Orm's graduation, the girls had a workshop. As usual, P'Mam arrived before everyone else. She sat on one of the couches, going through her work emails. She was so engrossed in her tablet that she didn't notice Koy entering the room.
"Good morning," Narumon greeted, pulling P'Mam's attention away from the screen.
"Good morning," P'Mam replied, glancing at the door, expecting Orm to come barreling in with her usual whirlwind of energy.
But Koy had already unpacked her things, sat down, and even said something that P'Mam had entirely ignored.
"And where's N'Orm?"
"She stayed over at a friend's place. She'll be here later," Koy replied with a sly smile, her tone making it impossible to misunderstand what she really meant.
P'Mam smiled back. So much for taking things slow. But she was genuinely happy.
The changes in Ling over the past six months had been remarkable. The girl had blossomed, as if a new life had awakened inside her. She was discovering new emotions and learning to embrace them.
Ling had become more open, cheerful, and lively. She no longer hesitated to show how she felt. She even took on more work—P'Mam could guess why. Ling had changed for the better, and the manager welcomed these changes with open arms.
Soon, the two girls entered the room, holding hands and chatting loudly. They greeted Koy and P'Mam before letting go of each other's hands, giggling awkwardly. It was clear something had shifted in their relationship.
Orm went off to speak with her mother, while Ling sat down next to her manager.
"Everything okay, Ling?" P'Mam asked.
"More than okay."
P'Mam nodded, then glanced at the actress's neck.
"Ling."
"Yes?"
"Button up one more button on your shirt."
"Why?" Ling frowned.
"You've got,"—P'Mam pointed to the spot near Ling's collarbone—"something showing that doesn't have a status."
Ling flushed red once again.
Being a manager to an artist was hard work, but P'Mam definitely loved her job.