Chapter Text
Lingling, the university’s football star, was a force of nature on the field. Quick, strategic, and impossibly charismatic, she had the entire school wrapped around her finger. Fans cheered her name, girls followed her with hopeful glances, and yet, she never seemed to take any of it too seriously. She basked in the attention but never let it define her. Her smirk, her confidence, and the way she carried herself—it was infuriatingly charming.
On the field, Lingling was untouchable. Always knowing exactly where to place the ball for the perfect shot. Her teammates—Ying, Milk, and Namtan—knew that as long as Lingling was on their side, victory was always within reach.
After practice one afternoon, the four of them sprawled out on the grass, catching their breath as the sun dipped lower in the sky.
“Another goal from our star player,” Ying teased, nudging Lingling’s shoulder. “How does it feel to be everyone’s favorite?”
Lingling smirked, stretching her legs out. “Exhausting. You’d think having admirers would make campus life easier or at least less stressful—but nope. Still drowning in assignments, still running on caffeine and minimal sleep.”
Milk rolled her eyes. “Oh please, you love the attention.”
“Love is a strong word.” Lingling grinned. “I appreciate it.”
Namtan scoffed. “And yet, you never actually date any of them.”
“Because I’m picky,” Lingling said smoothly. “If I wanted, I could be taken by now.”
Ying laughed. “Oh really? Then why are you still single?”
Lingling glanced at them, then shrugged. “Because no one has caught my interest yet.”
Milk sat up, intrigued. “That’s a lie. Every girl on campus throws themselves at you.”
Lingling chuckled. “And I let them do what they want. Doesn’t mean I feel the same.”
Namtan leaned back on her elbows. “So what? No one’s ever made you want to commit?”
Lingling smirked but didn’t answer right away. Instead, she plucked a blade of grass and twirled it between her fingers. “Let’s just say… I’m waiting for the right moment.”
Ying groaned. “That sounds like an excuse.”
Milk pointed at her. “Exactly! I bet you just enjoy watching them try.”
Lingling only grinned wider. “Maybe.”
Namtan shook her head. “Hopeless.”
The conversation shifted to their upcoming match, but even as they talked strategy and plays, Lingling’s mind wandered. Because while she might joke and play around, there was something—or someone—who lingered at the back of her mind more often than she cared to admit.
-
Orm, on the other hand, was the cheerleading captain. Sharp, disciplined, and effortlessly graceful, she led her squad with precision and pride. Unlike Lingling, Orm never entertained the admirers that followed her around. She wasn’t one for meaningless affections or playful flirtations. She valued sincerity above all else, which was exactly why Lingling irritated her to no end.
After an intense practice session, Orm gathered with her teammates—Prighking, Love, and Film—on the bleachers, wiping sweat from her brow. The evening sun cast a golden glow over the field as the sound of the football team practicing in the distance filled the air.
“I swear, if we have to run that routine one more time, I’m going to pass out,” Film groaned, stretching her arms over her head.
Love laughed, tying her hair into a ponytail. “You’re just saying that because Orm’s making us perfect every tiny detail.”
Orm raised a brow. “That’s what captains do. Unless you want to embarrass ourselves at the next game?”
Prighking nudged Love. “She’s right. You know how much Coach expects from us.”
Film sighed dramatically. “Fine, fine. But can we at least acknowledge how unfair it is that the football team gets to slack off and still be treated like gods?”
Love smirked. “Oh, you mean Lingling?”
Prighking grinned. “Yeah, the campus princess. The amount of people who follow her around is insane.”
Orm scoffed, crossing her arms. “It’s ridiculous. She barely has to try, and people just throw themselves at her.”
Love leaned in teasingly. “Sounds like you’ve been paying attention.”
Orm rolled her eyes. “It’s hard not to when half the school is obsessed with her.”
Prighking giggled. “You really don’t like her, huh?”
“Not even a little.” Orm shook her head. “People like her, who thrive on attention, are exhausting.”
Film sighed wistfully. “Still, I wouldn’t mind being worshiped like that.”
Love laughed. “Same. Imagine all the free food.”
Orm sighed, standing up and stretching. “Come on, break’s over. One more run-through before we call it a day.”
The girls groaned but obeyed, knowing better than to argue with their perfectionist captain. As they got back into formation, Orm pushed all thoughts of Lingling aside. She had more important things to focus on. Or at least, that’s what she told herself.
-
Orm never liked Lingling.
It wasn’t just because she was the university’s football star, the golden girl with a dazzling smile, nor was it because she had an entourage of admirers trailing after her wherever she went. No, Orm could deal with that. What she couldn’t stand was Lingling’s flirtatious nature. Orm hated the way she threw compliments so carelessly, the way she acted like everyone adored her, the way she…
The way she always, always flirted with Orm.
“You’re staring again,” Prighking teased, nudging Orm’s side as they sat on the bleachers, watching the football team practice.
Orm scowled and looked away. “I wasn’t.”
Love smirked, resting her chin on her hand. “You kind of were.”
“I was not,” Orm insisted, but the warmth creeping up her neck betrayed her.
Film snickered. “Then why do you look pissed? What did Lingling do this time?”
Orm clicked her tongue. “Nothing. She just—” Her eyes flickered back toward the field, where Lingling was effortlessly weaving past defenders, her movements sharp and calculated. Then, just as she scored, she turned toward the bleachers, and as if she could sense Orm watching, she winked.
Orm exhaled sharply, turning away immediately. “She’s unbearable.”
Prighking burst into laughter. “Oh my god. She got you again?”
“She didn’t ‘get’ me. She’s just annoying,” Orm muttered.
Love sighed dramatically. “If she’s so annoying, why do you always react to her?”
“I don’t!”
Film grinned. “You kind of do.”
Orm groaned, standing up abruptly. “Practice is over. I’m leaving.”
As she stormed off, she could hear her friends giggling behind her, but she ignored them. She ignored the way her heart was beating too fast. And most of all, she ignored the fact that, even as she walked away, she could still feel Lingling’s eyes on her.
-
From the very first day they met, Lingling had been relentless. Passing Orm in the hallway? "Hey, gorgeous." Catching her after practice? "Need a hand stretching those pretty legs?" Spotting her in the cafeteria? "Should I sit here, or would that make you fall for me too fast?"
Orm hated it.
She hated the way Lingling’s voice dripped with amusement, the lazy, teasing drawl that made her sound like she had all the time in the world just to get under Orm’s skin. She hated the way Lingling leaned in too close when she spoke, like she was sharing a secret meant only for them. Most of all, she hated the way Lingling never seemed to get tired of it—always ready with another infuriating line, always watching for Orm’s reaction like it was her favorite game.
“Lingling, I swear to God—” Orm hissed one afternoon when she caught Lingling waiting outside the gym, casually leaning against the wall as if she hadn’t just skipped her own practice.
Lingling grinned. “Oh? Swearing now? Careful, Captain. What would your little fans say if they knew how easily I get you riled up?”
Orm clenched her jaw. “You are insufferable.”
Lingling pushed off the wall and fell into step beside her. “I prefer ‘charming.’”
“Try ‘annoying.’”
“Adorable works too,” Lingling mused, completely ignoring the glare Orm shot her.
Orm stopped in her tracks and turned to face her, arms crossed. “Don’t you have better things to do?”
Lingling tapped a finger against her chin, pretending to think. “Hmm. Not really. Watching you get flustered is the highlight of my day.”
“Then you need a better hobby.”
“Nah,” Lingling said with a wink. “This one’s just fine.”
Orm groaned, turning on her heel and walking away, but she could still hear Lingling’s laughter trailing behind her, light and unbothered, like she knew she’d won yet again.
-
Orm was dangerously close to failing calculus, a thought that sent a wave of frustration through her. Numbers and equations had never been her strong suit, but she had managed to scrape by—until now. Her professor, seeing her struggle, had gently suggested that she get a tutor. With little choice and even less time to waste, she had agreed, more out of desperation than anything else.
"You? A tutor?" Prighking blinked in surprise when Orm mentioned it before practice.
Orm sighed, rubbing her temple. "Don’t start."
Love nudged her playfully. "Well, I mean, it’s just hard to picture. You’re usually so in control of everything."
"Yeah, well, calculus has a personal vendetta against me," Orm muttered, arms crossed.
Film grinned. "So? Who’s the tutor? Please tell me it’s some quiet nerd who’s secretly in love with you."
Orm rolled her eyes. "I don’t know yet. Professor just said they’d set it up for me."
Prighking smirked. "Bet they’re already nervous. Imagine tutoring the great Orm."
"I just need to pass the damn class," Orm grumbled, tying her ponytail tighter. "That’s all that matters."
But when Orm stepped into the library for her first tutoring session and saw who was waiting for her, she came to an abrupt halt, her stomach sinking like a stone.
Lingling.
Leaning back in her chair with that insufferable grin, arms folded behind her head as if she owned the place. The picture of smug satisfaction.
Orm’s fingers curled into fists. "You have got to be kidding me."
Lingling’s grin widened. "You’re speechless. That’s a first."
Orm exhaled sharply, crossing her arms. "You’re my tutor? This is some kind of sick joke."
Lingling stretched lazily, looking far too pleased with herself. "I know, right? Out of all the people on this campus, you end up with me. Sounds like fate. Lucky you.”
Orm scoffed. “Lucky is the last thing I feel right now. More like a cruel punishment."
"Oh, come on." Lingling propped her chin on her hand, feigning innocence. "Don’t tell me you’d rather fail calculus than spend quality time with me."
Orm scoffed. "I think I’d rather walk into oncoming traffic."
Lingling clicked her tongue, shaking her head. "So dramatic. And here I was, excited to be your academic savior."
Orm sank into the chair across from her, rubbing her temples. "If I drop dead from sheer irritation, just know it’s your fault."
Lingling leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a teasing whisper. "I’d rather keep you alive, captain. Gotta make sure you pass first."
Orm gritted her teeth. This was going to be unbearable.
Despite every fiber of her being telling her that this was a disaster waiting to happen, Orm had to admit—grudgingly—that Lingling was a damn good tutor. She explained concepts with an ease that made Orm wonder if calculus had ever been difficult for her at all. Her voice was steady, her patience surprising, and—infuriatingly—Orm actually understood things faster than she ever had before.
It didn’t make sense. Lingling was the university’s football star, always busy with practice, games, and whatever ridiculous social life she somehow maintained. How did she have time to be this good at studying too? Orm stole a glance at her, watching as she effortlessly scribbled out another explanation. Was there anything this girl wasn’t good at?
"See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?" Lingling leaned back, twirling her pen between her fingers as Orm set her pencil down.
Orm sighed, staring at the completed equations in front of her. "I hate that this is working."
Lingling chuckled. "Admit it, captain. You’d be failing without me."
Orm shot her a glare. "I am not admitting anything."
"Uh-huh." Lingling smirked, closing her notebook. "Alright, since I’ve so graciously saved you from academic doom, I say we celebrate. Let’s get dinner."
Orm blinked. "What? No."
"Oh, come on. Just a little meal between study partners." Lingling rested her chin on her palm, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Unless you’re scared?"
Orm scoffed. "Of what?"
"Of having fun with me."
Orm rolled her eyes, gathering her things. "If by ‘fun’ you mean enduring two hours of you making terrible jokes and flirting shamelessly, I’ll pass."
Lingling placed a hand over her heart, mock-offended. "Wow. You wound me."
"Good." Orm slung her bag over her shoulder. "See you at the next session."
As she walked away, she could hear Lingling calling after her, voice dripping with amusement. "You’ll say yes eventually, captain! It’s only a matter of time!"
One evening, during their second tutoring session, Orm set her pencil down and leaned back in her chair with a huff, staring at Lingling with narrowed eyes.
“You know, I don’t get it.”
Lingling glanced up from the notes she was scribbling, one eyebrow arching in curiosity. “What don’t you get? The problem?”
“No.” Orm tapped her pencil rhythmically against the desk, her expression unreadable. “Why you’re here wasting time tutoring me when, honestly, shouldn’t your girlfriend be throwing a fit about this?”
Lingling blinked. Then, to Orm’s surprise, she let out a real laugh—deep and genuine, nothing like the playful chuckles she usually tossed around. “My what?”
Orm rolled her eyes. “Your girlfriend,” she repeated, exasperated. “You have an entire fan club trailing after you every day. You mean to tell me not a single one of them has claimed you yet?”
Lingling’s lips twitched into a smirk as she tilted her head slightly, studying Orm with something that looked suspiciously like amusement. “Oh, them?” She leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm. “They’re the ones flirting with me, captain. Not the other way around.”
Orm scoffed, unimpressed. “Bullshit.”
Lingling’s smirk softened into something more knowing, more deliberate. “Think about it, capt.” Her voice dipped just enough to make Orm stiffen slightly. “Have you ever actually seen me flirt with any of them?”
Orm opened her mouth to retort—because of course she had—but then she hesitated, frowning. The countless girls who hung around Lingling, giggling and blushing… Lingling never really pushed them away, but now that Orm thought about it, she had never seen her football star tutor actively encourage them either. No lingering touches, no whispered promises, no sweet-talking in return.
As if reading Orm’s thoughts, Lingling shrugged. “I just treat them kindly. If someone buys me a drink, I thank them. If they cheer for me at a game, I smile back. That’s all.” Her eyes twinkled with something unreadable. “But kindness isn’t flirting, captain.”
Orm hated that realization more than she cared to admit.
Lingling watched Orm carefully, amusement dancing in her eyes. Then, with deliberate slowness, she leaned in just enough to make Orm’s breath hitch.
“You know,” she said, her voice dipping into something softer, something almost teasing but undeniably sincere, “if you paid close enough attention, you’d realize something.”
Orm frowned, her grip tightening on her pencil. “Realize what?”
Lingling’s lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. “That out of all the girls in this entire university,” she said, eyes never leaving Orm’s, “there’s only one I’ve ever actually flirted with.” She paused for effect, then let the words land with precision. “You.”
Orm’s heart stuttered in her chest, her throat suddenly dry. She opened her mouth—maybe to argue, maybe to scoff—but nothing came out. She hated the way Lingling’s words sent a ripple through her composure, hated the way her body betrayed her with the slightest, almost imperceptible shiver.
Lingling saw it. Of course, she saw it. And she smiled, slow and devastating, like she had just won a game Orm didn’t even realize they were playing.
Her gaze never wavered. She tilted her head, as if examining Orm like a puzzle she had just solved. “See?” she murmured, her voice light, teasing, yet laced with something deeper. “You weren’t paying close enough attention.”
Orm’s jaw tightened. The air between them felt heavier, charged with something unspoken, something Orm didn’t want to acknowledge. Heat crawled up her neck, betraying her, so she did the only thing she could—she looked away, flipping open her calculus textbook as if it suddenly held the secrets of the universe.
“Shut up,” she muttered, hating how her voice lacked its usual sharpness.
Lingling chuckled, leaning back in her chair like she had all the time in the world. “Whatever you say, captain.”
Orm barely had time to sit down at their usual lunch table before Prighking leaned in, eyes glinting with curiosity. “So,” she drawled, resting her chin on her hands, “how’s your tutoring going?”
Love and Film immediately perked up, exchanging knowing glances. “Oh, right,” Love chimed in. “With Lingling, isn’t it?”
Orm, who had just taken a sip of her drink, nearly choked. She set the cup down with more force than necessary, glaring at them. “It’s fine.”
Prighking smirked. “Just fine?”
Orm opened her mouth to respond, but unfortunately, her mind betrayed her. Instead of forming a sharp retort, it wandered—to the previous night’s session, to Lingling’s infuriatingly confident smirk, to the way her voice had dipped when she said, If you paid close enough attention…
Orm’s face went hot.
Her silence did not go unnoticed.
Film’s eyes widened in delight. “Oh my god,” she gasped. “What happened?”
“Nothing!” Orm blurted out, far too quickly.
Prighking, Love, and Film exchanged looks, their suspicion deepening.
“Uh-huh,” Love drawled, stirring her drink absentmindedly. “That reaction totally doesn’t scream ‘something happened.’”
Orm crossed her arms, scowling. “There is nothing between us. She’s just tutoring me. That’s it.”
Film tapped a finger against her lips, pretending to think. “Hmm. If that’s true, why do you look like you just remembered something… interesting?”
Orm groaned, covering her face with her hands.
Prighking gasped dramatically. “Oh my god, did she say something?” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Did she confess her undying love for you?”
Love leaned closer. “Did she touch your hand while explaining derivatives?”
Film clasped her hands together. “Did she whisper in your ear? Oh wait—did she lean in close? She totally leaned in close, didn’t she?”
Orm shot them all a deadpan look. “Are you guys writing a romance novel or interrogating me?”
Prighking shrugged. “Why not both?”
Love sighed dreamily. “I mean, it’s so obvious Lingling has a thing for you. It’s practically campus gossip at this point.”
Orm scoffed. “That’s ridiculous. She’s friendly with everyone.”
Film raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, but does she actually treat them the same way she treats you? Or do people just assume she does?” She tilted her head. “Think about it, Orm. Lingling is busy enough with classes and football practice, but she made time to tutor you.”
Orm froze. Her friends leaned in, watching her reaction like vultures scenting prey.
Prighking gasped again, pointing at Orm’s face. “Look! Look at that! That’s the face of someone connecting the dots!”
Orm groaned louder, slumping forward onto the table. This was going to be a long lunch.
Orm fidgeted with her pencil, tapping it against the edge of her notebook as Lingling leaned back in her chair, effortlessly relaxed as always. The third and final tutoring session was coming to an end, the last few pages of notes scattered between them. Orm had understood the material well enough by now—better than she expected, actually—but that wasn’t what was occupying her thoughts.
She swallowed, glancing at Lingling, who was scribbling something in her own notebook. “Hey.”
Lingling looked up, amused. “Hey.”
Orm hesitated, gripping her pencil tighter. “Why did you agree to tutor me?”
Lingling tilted her head. “What do you mean?”
“You’re busy.” Orm’s voice was quieter than she intended. “Football, classes, all your… other commitments.” She exhaled, trying to keep her voice steady. “You didn’t have to do this. So… why?”
A slow smile crept onto Lingling’s lips, and she set her pen down, folding her arms on the table as she studied Orm carefully. The pause stretched, the air suddenly feeling heavier between them.
Then, she spoke. “Why do you think?”
Orm’s breath hitched. Her fingers curled around the edge of her notebook, knuckles turning white. The way Lingling was looking at her—so steady, so sure—it made her feel dizzy.
She quickly looked away, staring hard at the equations in front of her. “You answered a question with another question,” she muttered, ears burning.
Lingling smirked and lazily flicked Orm’s pen. “Look at you, all flustered over a little math and me. Adorable.”
But they both knew it wasn’t just a question. And Orm wasn’t sure if she was ready for the answer.
As they packed up their books and notes, Lingling leaned back in her chair, stretching her arms above her head with an exaggerated yawn before shooting Orm a lazy grin. "So, captain, how’s the confidence level for tomorrow’s exam? Feeling like a math genius yet?"
Orm straightened her papers, trying to ignore the way her stomach flipped at the casual nickname. "I think I’ve got it," she said, feigning nonchalance. "Pretty sure I’ll do well."
Lingling hummed, tapping a finger against the table. "Pretty sure, huh? That’s good to hear. But you know, I think I deserve something for all my hard work."
Orm narrowed her eyes. "Hard work? You mean sitting there and watching me suffer?"
Lingling gasped in mock offense, pressing a hand to her chest. "Wow. So ungrateful. Here I am, sacrificing my precious free time for you, and this is the thanks I get?"
Orm sighed, already regretting entertaining the conversation. "Alright, what do you want?"
Lingling smirked, eyes glinting with something unreadable. "Dinner. Just you and me."
Orm blinked. "Dinner?" she repeated, wary. "Like… as a reward?"
Lingling nodded, leaning in slightly. "Exactly. No pressure, captain. Just a meal between two people who spent way too many evenings staring at calculus problems together. Totally innocent."
Orm fidgeted, staring at the desk as if the answer to this was hidden somewhere between the equations. She should say no. She knew she should say no.
But then Lingling tilted her head, watching her with that insufferable smirk, and before she could stop herself, Orm sighed and muttered, "Fine."
Lingling’s grin stretched wider. "That’s the spirit. Now, go ace that test, captain. Don’t make my tutoring go to waste."
Orm rolled her eyes, gathering her things with a little too much force. "I’ll pass just to spite you."
Lingling chuckled, watching her with amusement. "Oh, I’m counting on it."
-
As Orm sat in the exam hall, flipping through the pages of the test, a slow realization dawned upon her—she knew how to solve everything. The equations that once seemed like an indecipherable mess now made perfect sense.
For the first time, calculus didn’t feel like a battle she was barely surviving. Instead, it felt… manageable. Almost effortless.
And there was only one person to thank for that.
As she shaded in her final answer, her thoughts drifted to Lingling—her ridiculous smirks, her smug comments, the way she had somehow made all those late-night tutoring sessions bearable. Orm would never admit it out loud, but Lingling had been a damn good tutor. And for that, she was grateful.
Not that she was planning on telling her that anytime soon.
When Orm saw the results, she almost couldn’t believe it—she passed. Not just barely scraping by, but with a solid score. A triumphant mix of relief and excitement surged through her, and before she knew it, her feet were carrying her straight to find Lingling.
She spotted her lounging outside the field after practice, casually sipping on a sports drink, looking effortlessly cool as always. Without thinking, Orm rushed toward her and, in a burst of unfiltered joy, threw her arms around Lingling in a quick but firm hug.
"I passed!" Orm blurted, her voice breathless with excitement.
For a split second, Lingling was frozen. Then, she let out a low chuckle, her arms coming up to loosely return the hug. "Well, well. Looks like my tutoring wasn’t in vain after all."
That was when it hit Orm—what she had just done. Her entire body went rigid, and she all but jumped back, eyes wide, face already burning.
Lingling, on the other hand, looked absolutely delighted. Her grin stretched wide as she tilted her head playfully. "Wow, captain. I knew you’d be happy, but I didn’t expect such a warm thank-you."
Orm cleared her throat, crossing her arms in a desperate attempt to regain her composure. "Don’t read too much into it."
"Oh, but how can I not?" Lingling teased, leaning forward slightly. "And speaking of things that can’t be ignored…"
Orm exhaled sharply. "Here we go."
Lingling’s eyes glinted with mischief. "My payment. You didn’t forget, did you?"
Orm groaned, already regretting her life choices. "You’re really not letting this go, are you?"
Lingling smirked. "Nope. A deal’s a deal. Dinner. You and me. No backing out."
Orm huffed, but the warmth in her chest from earlier hadn’t entirely faded. "Fine," she muttered, glancing away. "But don’t get any ideas."
Lingling simply grinned. "Too late."
Dinner was at a cozy Italian restaurant, chosen because Lingling had casually declared, “I feel like eating pasta,” as if that alone was enough reason to determine the entire evening’s plan. Orm, despite rolling her eyes, had agreed without much resistance.
As they skimmed through the menu, Orm raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t athletes supposed to have strict diets?”
Lingling smirked, flipping the menu shut without hesitation. “Yeah. Strict meal plans, timed protein intake, all that.” She leaned back in her chair.
She shrugged. “Most of the time, I stick to balanced meals—lots of protein, enough carbs to keep me going, nothing too crazy.”
“But sometimes—” she grinned as she tapped the menu, “—sometimes, you just need a big plate of pasta.”
Orm hummed, pretending to consider. “So, what you’re saying is, I should feel honored you’re breaking your usual routine for dinner with me?”
Lingling gave her a slow, teasing smile. “Exactly.”
Orm quickly looked back at the menu, trying to ignore the way her face suddenly felt warm.
After finally settling on their orders—Orm choosing ravioli and Lingling confidently going for a large plate of carbonara—they handed their menus to the waiter. A comfortable lull settled between them as they waited, the soft clinking of silverware from other tables filling the space.
When their food arrived, Orm picked up her fork, speared a piece of ravioli thoughtfully, and took a bite. She had to admit—it was good. Across from her, Lingling was already halfway through her carbonara, clearly enjoying every bite.
Orm twirled the edge of her napkin between her fingers before finally speaking. “Um… thanks. Again. For helping me.”
Lingling looked up from her plate, a knowing smile playing at her lips. “You’ve already thanked me, captain. Is this your way of buttering me up?”
Orm’s face burned. “I just—never mind.”
Lingling chuckled but let her off the hook, focusing on her pasta.
After a moment, Orm glanced at her curiously. “Actually, I’ve been wondering…” She hesitated, then finally asked, “How do you even have time to study? You’re always busy with practice, games, and… other things.”
Lingling paused mid-bite, then smirked. “Other things? You mean my overwhelming social life?”
Orm shot her a look. “You know what I mean.”
With a small chuckle, Lingling leaned back against her chair, twirling a fork in her pasta. “Well, my parents weren’t exactly thrilled about me playing football. They thought it would ruin my grades.”
Orm blinked. “Really?”
Lingling nodded. “So, I had to prove them wrong. Show them I could do both. I wake up at 4:30 every morning to study before my workout.”
Orm’s fork slipped from her fingers, clattering against the plate. “Four-thirty?”
Lingling grinned at her reaction. “Mm-hmm.”
Orm stared, genuinely stunned. She had always assumed Lingling just happened to be naturally talented at everything. But this—this was discipline, sheer determination. Something stirred in her chest, something she couldn’t quite name. She had never really thought about how much effort Lingling put into everything she did. “That’s… kind of amazing,” she admitted quietly.
Lingling tilted her head, a soft smile touching her lips. “Surprised?”
Orm looked down at her plate, stabbing a piece of ravioli. “A little.”
Lingling laughed. “Guess I managed to impress you this time.”
Orm groaned. “Don’t start.”
Lingling leaned back in her chair, twirling her fork idly through her pasta. "You know, I’ve always been a little jealous of the basketball and volleyball teams."
Orm looked up from her plate, raising an eyebrow. "Jealous? Of what? You’re the university’s football star. What could you possibly envy about them?"
Lingling sighed dramatically, then rested her chin on her hand, eyes flickering to Orm with something unreadable—something almost wistful. "Because they get to be cheered on by you every time they play. Must be nice."
Her voice was light, teasing as always, but there was something else beneath it, something that made Orm pause. The hint of jealousy in Lingling’s gaze caught her off guard, and for a moment, she didn’t know how to respond. She looked away, suddenly focusing on the way her spoon clinked against the plate.
"That’s..." Orm cleared her throat. "That’s a weird thing to be jealous about."
Lingling chuckled, but her eyes lingered on Orm a second longer, as if she wasn’t joking at all. Then, almost too quiet to hear, she murmured, "I wonder if you’d ever cheer for me like that.”
Orm hesitated for a moment, then, as if surprising even herself, she said, "My team might not be cheering for your football team... but that doesn’t mean I can’t personally cheer for you."
Lingling’s fork clattered softly against her plate as she stared at Orm, eyes widening in shock. For once, she seemed momentarily speechless. Then, slowly, a grin spread across her face. "Wait, are you serious? Did you really just say that?"
Orm shifted in her seat, regretting her words immediately. "I—"
Lingling cut her off before she could take it back. "Tomorrow’s the regional semi-final. Come see me play. Cheer for me."
Orm’s eyes widened. "What? No, I didn’t mean—"
"Oh, no, no, no." Lingling leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table, her smirk turning victorious. "You said it yourself. You can’t take back your words now."
Orm opened her mouth to protest, but Lingling was already looking at her like she had won some kind of battle. And, honestly, Orm wasn’t sure she hadn’t.
The next day, Orm found herself standing at the entrance of the stadium, gripping the ticket Lingling had given her. Her heart pounded against her ribs, and she didn't know if it was from excitement, nerves, or sheer disbelief that she was actually here. This was the first time she had ever attended a football match—not just any match, but Lingling’s.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped inside, following the usher’s directions until she reached her seat. It was only then that she realized something—this wasn’t just any seat. It was a VIP seat, positioned so close to the field that she could practically hear the players’ conversations.
Orm stared at the ticket in her hand, then back at the field, her stomach twisting. Lingling had planned this. Of course, she had.
She sank into the plush seat, crossing her arms as she exhaled slowly. "That smug idiot," she muttered under her breath. But despite herself, a tiny, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of her lips.
The stadium buzzed with energy as both teams stepped onto the field, greeted by a roar of cheers from the crowd. The players, clad in their uniforms, jogged into position, their focus sharp and unwavering. But Lingling—Lingling had only one thing on her mind.
The moment she crossed onto the field, her sharp eyes immediately scanned the stands, searching. It took mere seconds before she found what she was looking for—Orm, seated right where she expected, close enough to see every movement, every play.
And then it happened—their eyes met.
Orm felt a strange jolt in her chest, as if the entire stadium had blurred into the background, leaving only the two of them in focus. Lingling’s expression shifted instantly, her lips stretching into the widest, most triumphant grin Orm had ever seen. It was as if she had already won—before the whistle even blew.
Not long after, the match began. Orm sat up straighter, eyes fixed on the field, heart pounding in anticipation. She had never truly watched a football game before—never cared enough to—but now, with Lingling out there, commanding the field with such confidence, she couldn’t look away.
Lingling played with a striking combination of agility and intelligence. She moved like a dancer, weaving through defenders with sharp, precise footwork, always a step ahead, always in control. Every pass she made was calculated, every touch of the ball intentional. She was fast—so fast that her opponents struggled to keep up, their only strategy seemingly to knock her down.
Orm flinched every time they tried. Some players went in with barely concealed aggression, cutting Lingling off, attempting to shove her off balance. But Lingling never wavered. She anticipated their moves, dodging at the last second, twisting her body out of reach with a smirk that made it clear she knew exactly what they were trying to do—and that she was better than them.
Still, Orm’s stomach tightened each time an opponent came too close, her fingers gripping the hem of her shirt. She had never cared about a game before. She had never cared about a player before. But watching Lingling now, she felt something new—something that made her heart race just as fast as the action unfolding on the field.
Then, it happened. A perfect opening.
Lingling moved with the kind of precision that made it seem like she had seen the play unfold before anyone else. She cut past one defender, then another, her movements swift and decisive. Just as a third opponent closed in, she didn’t hesitate—her foot met the ball with flawless control, sending it forward at just the right angle, just the right speed.
Ying was there, exactly where she needed to be.
The pass was perfect. The moment the ball left Lingling’s foot, Orm knew—it was unstoppable. Ying met it with a clean strike, sending it soaring past the goalkeeper and straight into the net.
For a second, there was silence—like the entire stadium had collectively held its breath.
And then—an explosion.
The crowd roared, voices blending into a deafening wave of cheers. The entire stadium shook with excitement. Teammates rushed to Ying, celebrating the goal, but Lingling—Lingling turned toward the stands, her eyes immediately searching.
And when she found Orm, she grinned, radiant and triumphant, as if this victory wasn’t just for the team—but for her, too.
-
The entire match, Orm could hear it—girls screaming Lingling’s name from every direction. It was relentless.
“Lingling, I love you!”
“Marry me, Ling!”
“You’re amazing!”
Every time Lingling so much as touched the ball, the cheers would swell, and Orm swore half the crowd was there just for her. It was irritating. Did she really have that many fans? She knew Lingling was popular, but this was on another level.
But as much as Orm hated to admit it, Lingling earned every bit of that attention. The girl was unstoppable. She wove through defenders like water slipping through cracks, her movements smooth, calculated, and deceptively effortless. No matter how many times the opposing team tried to knock her down, she stayed on her feet, strong and unfazed. It was impossible to look away.
Still, she couldn’t deny it—the girl deserved the attention. By the time the final whistle blew, the scoreboard read 3-0, with Lingling adding two more goals to Ying’s opener. A flawless victory.
The moment the game ended, the team rushed the field, piling onto Lingling in celebration. Orm watched as they patted her back, ruffled her hair, and practically worshipped her. It was obvious—Lingling had just dominated the match.
Then, something happened that Orm didn’t expect.
Amidst the chaos, Lingling’s eyes lifted toward the stands, searching.
And when she found Orm, she didn’t hesitate. With a grin still lingering on her lips, she mouthed, Please wait for me.
Orm felt heat rise to her cheeks. Her grip on the railing tightened, and before she could even think about what she was doing, she gave a small, shy nod.
Lingling’s smile widened before she was pulled into another round of celebratory shouts from her teammates.
Orm exhaled, her heart hammering. What the hell is wrong with me?
Orm stood outside the stadium, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. The night air was cooler now, a stark contrast to the heat of the match. The crowd had mostly dispersed, but the distant echoes of celebration still hummed through the air.
She checked her phone. Almost an hour had passed.
“There you are!”
Orm barely had time to react before Lingling appeared in front of her, still slightly breathless, her damp hair tousled from the post-match shower. That same wide, gleaming smile was on her face—the one Orm had seen a hundred times before but now seemed impossibly brighter.
Orm swallowed, her heart lurching at the sight. Ridiculous.
Clearing her throat, she crossed her arms. “Took you long enough.”
Lingling chuckled. “I had to wrap things up, you know—interviews, team talks, all that stuff. But I came as fast as I could.”
Orm hesitated, then asked, “Shouldn’t you be out celebrating with your teammates? Isn’t that what you usually do after a win?”
Lingling nodded. “Yeah, they’re celebrating right now.”
Orm frowned. “Then why are you here?”
Lingling smirked. “Because I asked the coach if I could bail tonight.”
Orm blinked. “Just like that? He let you go?”
Lingling’s grin turned playful. “Did you see the match earlier? You really think he had the guts to say no to me?”
Orm stared at her, then let out a small, incredulous laugh. “Fair enough.”
Lingling pulled into the restaurant’s parking lot and cut the engine, stretching with a satisfied sigh. Orm, still buzzing with leftover adrenaline from the game, sat beside her, feeling oddly giddy. She had to admit—it had been exciting. More exciting than she expected.
Inside, they settled into a booth, the warm lighting making the atmosphere feel cozier. Their orders were placed, and as they waited, Lingling leaned back, arms stretched across the top of the seat, watching Orm with a small smile.
"Thanks for coming today," Lingling said after a moment, her voice softer than usual. "It meant a lot."
Orm, who had been fidgeting with the corner of her napkin, looked up and smiled shyly. “You played really well. Congratulations on the win.”
Lingling’s grin widened. “Well, I had to. My lucky charm was watching.”
Orm groaned, covering her face with one hand. “Oh my god. You never stop.”
Lingling laughed, nudging Orm’s foot under the table. “No, but seriously—having you there made it even better. If you hadn’t come, maybe we’d still win, but probably, like, one-nil. Barely scraped by.” She smirked. “Your presence made me more motivated .”
Orm peeked at her through her fingers, her ears turning pink. “You say the most embarrassing things so casually.”
Lingling shrugged. “What can I say? It’s a talent.”
The waiter arrived, placing their food in front of them. Orm eagerly grabbed her fork, grateful for the distraction.
“So,” she said between bites, “next is the final, right?”
Lingling nodded, “Yep. It’s two matches—first one away, then the second at home.” She glanced at Orm, eyes twinkling. “You should come to both.”
Orm pretended to think, “I’ll have to check my schedule first.”
Lingling clicked her tongue and sighed dramatically. “Fine, busy lady .” Then, with a smirk, she added, “Guess I’ll just have to play even better and hope my number-one fan magically shows up again.”
Orm bit her lip, trying to fight the smile forming on her face. “I’ll… see what I can do.”
Lingling’s smirk softened into something gentler. “That’s all I ask.”
After finishing their meal, Lingling stretched with a satisfied sigh. “Alright, let’s get you home.”
Orm shook her head immediately. “No need. I’ll take a cab.”
Lingling raised an eyebrow. “A cab? When I have a perfectly good car sitting outside?”
Orm crossed her arms. “I don’t want to trouble you.”
Lingling snorted. “Trouble me? Or are you just trying to escape?” She leaned forward with a teasing smirk.
Orm huffed, pretending to be annoyed, but truthfully, she knew she wasn’t getting out of this. “Fine. But just this once.”
Lingling grinned in victory. “That’s what you said about the tutoring sessions too, and look where we are now.”
Orm rolled her eyes and followed her out to the car.
On the drive home, the conversation flowed easily. They talked about school, assignments, and their upcoming plans. At one point, Orm mentioned her cheerleading competition.
“It’s next month,” she said, adjusting her seatbelt. “We’ve been practicing like crazy.”
Lingling’s eyes lit up. “A competition? Can I come watch?”
Orm turned to her, surprised. “You want to watch a cheerleading competition?”
“Of course.” Lingling shot her a quick grin. “It's my turn to support you. Fair’s fair.”
Orm scoffed but couldn’t hide her small smile. “You just want an excuse to see a bunch of pretty girls in uniform.”
Lingling let out a laugh, glancing at Orm in amusement. “Oh? Is that jealousy I hear?”
Orm’s back straightened. “ Me , jealous? In your dreams .”
Lingling laughed again, clearly enjoying how flustered Orm had become.
“Relax, captain. I’d be there to cheer for you .”
Orm turned away, muttering something under her breath that Lingling didn’t quite catch. But the blush on her ears was unmistakable.
When they finally pulled up in front of Orm’s house, Lingling put the car in park and turned to her. “Well, here we are.”
Orm unbuckled her seatbelt, suddenly feeling awkward now that the night was ending. “Thanks for the ride.”
Lingling rested her arm on the steering wheel, watching Orm with a lazy smile. “Anytime.”
Orm hesitated for a second before stepping out of the car. As she reached her front door, she turned back to see Lingling still watching her.
“Goodnight,” Lingling called out.
Orm nodded, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Goodnight.”
Lingling waited until Orm disappeared inside before finally driving away, her grin lingering long after she was gone.
-
After that day, Lingling’s teasing became even more frequent, slipping into Orm’s daily life so naturally that it was almost suspicious. And somehow—without realizing when or how it happened—Orm stopped putting up as much of a fight. Oh, she still huffed and rolled her eyes, still tried to fire back with sharp retorts, but there was no real venom in them anymore. If anything, Lingling seemed to take her half-hearted protests as encouragement.
It wasn’t just the occasional wink or playful smirk anymore. Lingling had found ways to weave herself into Orm’s daily life—like casually swinging an arm around Orm’s shoulder when they walked together, leaning in way too close under the pretense of checking something on Orm’s phone, or using every possible excuse to call her “captain” with that annoyingly charming grin.
"Good morning, captain," Lingling greeted one day, her voice laced with amusement as she smoothly slid into the seat beside Orm. Her eyes flicked to the drink in Orm’s hand, and a smirk tugged at her lips. "Is that milk tea? You really do have a thing for sweet drinks—just like your personality."
Orm huffed, swatting Lingling’s hand away as she reclaimed her cup. "First of all, don’t just sit next to me like you own the place. Second, my personality is not sweet."
Lingling hummed, clearly not convinced. “Mm, debatable.”
Orm tried—tried—not to let her lips twitch. She failed.
Her friends, of course, noticed everything.
“Okay, but seriously,” Love said one afternoon, arms crossed as she squinted at Orm. “Where’s the Orm we used to know? The one who would roll her eyes so hard every time Lingling walked into a room that we were afraid they’d get stuck?”
“She’s been replaced,” Prighking declared, nodding sagely. “This new Orm doesn’t even put up a fight anymore. She just lets Lingling flirt with her and pretends she hates it.”
Orm choked. “Excuse me?”
Film smirked. “Oh, don’t ‘excuse me’ us. We’re onto you.”
Prighking leaned forward, wiggling her fingers dramatically. “So, tell us—when did you start enjoying it?”
Orm opened her mouth—paused—then scowled when both of them immediately started grinning.
“See that hesitation?” Prighking whispered.
“Oh, I saw it.” Film nodded knowingly.
Orm groaned, dropping her head onto the table. “I hate you all.”
But later, when Lingling casually tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear while teasing her about something entirely unimportant, Orm felt something unfamiliar twist in her stomach.
And despite all her protests, she couldn’t quite shake the feeling that her friends might have a point.
-
Lingling walked over to Orm, her movements confident but soft, as she held out two tickets in her hand. "Here," she said, her voice warm yet playful, "two tickets for the final—both the away game and the home game."
Orm blinked, a little surprised. "But the tickets are sold out..." she started, her gaze flicking between Lingling and the tickets.
Lingling gave a small, knowing smile, her eyes glinting with a playful spark. "I know," she said, her voice laced with a hint of mischief. "But I saved these for you. You have to come. Without my lucky charm, it’ll be really hard for me to win."
Orm felt her heart skip a beat, her face flushing. She glanced at the tickets again, then back at Lingling. "VIP tickets again? You really know how to spoil me," she teased, trying to hide the slight unease she felt. "Honestly, if I sold these, I could make quite a lot of money..."
Lingling’s smile faltered, and her eyes softened. "Please don't sell them, Orm," she said, her tone suddenly serious, as she gently grasped Orm’s hand. "I want you there, cheering for me. It’s not the same without you."
Orm’s heart fluttered at the warmth in Lingling’s voice. She looked down at their hands, suddenly shy. "I... I’ll come. I promise."
Lingling’s smile returned, brighter this time, and she ran her thumb lightly over Orm’s palm. "Good," she said softly, her voice almost a whisper, the connection between them now palpable. "I’m counting on you, Orm."
Orm nodded, her face still flushed, but her heart full, the quiet intensity of Lingling’s words lingering long after they had finished speaking.
-
A few days later, Orm found herself in the quiet solitude of a toilet stall, the faint hum of the busy university beyond the thin walls. She was just about to check her phone when she suddenly froze, her attention caught by the sound of voices outside her stall.
"You know, last night, Lingling actually gave me a ride home," one voice said. It was unmistakably Bam's—she was known for her loud, confident tone.
Orm’s heart skipped a beat, her mind racing as soon as she heard Lingling’s name. She leaned slightly forward, instinctively wanting to hear more, her breath caught in her throat.
"Wait, seriously?" one of Bam’s friends responded, the surprise evident in her voice. "Lingling, the Lingling , gave you a ride home?"
A sharp pang of something—jealousy, perhaps, or insecurity—ripped through Orm. Her pulse quickened. Bam? Orm's mind raced. She knew Bam well. The star of the theater club, the epitome of elegance and beauty, always surrounded by admirers.
"Yes, she did," Bam replied casually, as though it were no big deal. "If you don’t believe me, just ask anyone in the theater group. They all saw it. It happened right after practice last night."
Orm's mind buzzed as she tried to piece it all together. Lingling dropped Bam off? But why hadn't she mentioned it? Orm couldn’t help but wonder what it meant, or if it meant anything at all.
"You know," Bam continued, her voice dripping with a hint of amusement, "I told her she didn’t have to, but she insisted. I mean, how could I say no to her, right?" She laughed, a sound that echoed in the bathroom like it belonged in a different dimension, a world that Orm couldn’t quite reach. It stung in a way she couldn’t quite explain.
Her two friends were clearly shocked, their voices a mix of disbelief and curiosity. "Wait, seriously? She just decided to drop you off like that? No reason at all?"
Bam raised an eyebrow, smirking as if she were in on a joke no one else understood. "Oh, yeah. Totally. She’s kind of stubborn like that. If she wants to do something, she’ll do it whether you want her to or not." Bam’s tone shifted slightly, a playful tease creeping in. "Guess you guys didn’t know she was that…persistent, huh? Not many people get to see that side of her."
The words hung in the air, each one like a knife twisting deeper into Orm’s chest. That side of her? What did that even mean? Was it really just a casual ride home for Bam, something so simple, so effortless? Or was there something more she didn’t understand?
One of the friends spoke up, her voice tinged with curiosity. "But... isn’t Lingling really close to Orm? Like, don’t they hang out together a lot?"
Orm’s heart tightened in her chest. She wanted to shout out, to interrupt, but she stayed silent, frozen in the small stall, barely able to breathe.
Bam’s reply was casual, almost dismissive. "Oh, that? That’s just gossip. Lingling is just helping out with tutoring, the professor asked her to. It’s nothing more than that." She laughed again, and Orm’s stomach churned with an uncomfortable knot.
"Oh, I see," the two friends replied in unison, their voices a little less interested now.
The sound of their footsteps faded as they walked away, the door to the restroom creaking shut behind them. Orm remained still, her heart hammering in her chest, the weight of their words pressing down on her. She let out a shaky breath and wiped her face with her sleeve, but the tears, despite her best efforts, couldn’t be held back. She was left alone, the quiet of the bathroom now feeling heavier than ever.
Orm sat on the edge of her bed, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the edges of the match tickets resting beside her. Tomorrow was Lingling’s away game—a game she had once looked forward to with excitement. But now, an uneasy weight settled in her chest.
Should she go?
She wanted to. More than anything, she wanted to be there, to watch Lingling play, to cheer for her like she had promised. But the thought of seeing her after what she had overheard made her stomach twist. Was there even a point in showing up when her presence clearly didn’t matter?
Lost in her thoughts, her phone buzzed against the sheets. Her breath hitched as she grabbed it quickly, only for her heart to sink the moment she saw the name on the screen. It wasn’t from the person she had been hoping for.
Instead, it was Faye—the basketball player who had been persistently trying to get close to her.
"Hey, Orm. Want to hang out tomorrow?"
Orm exhaled slowly, staring at the message. Her fingers hovered over the screen, but the excitement she once would have felt for tomorrow’s match had already dulled into something heavy and bitter.
She glanced at the tickets again. They were still crisp, untouched. VIP seats—just like before. Just for you, Lingling had said. But did it really mean anything? Had it ever?
Minutes passed. The room was silent except for the soft hum of the air conditioning, but in her head, the echoes of Bam’s voice still lingered, cruel and unshakable.
Before she could second-guess herself, Orm picked up her phone and typed out a reply to Faye.
Then, without another thought, she clenched the tickets tightly in her fist, feeling the paper crumple beneath her fingers. And with a quiet, decisive breath, she stood up, walked over to the trash bin, and let them fall from her grip.
She didn’t look back.
-
The match was just an hour away. In the dimly lit locker room of their opponent’s university, Lingling and her teammates were making their final preparations. The atmosphere buzzed with quiet anticipation—some players stretched their limbs, others had their headphones in, drowning out the world with music. But Lingling? She sat on the bench, her fingers idly scrolling through her phone, a small, secret smile tugging at her lips.
She could already picture it—Orm sitting in the stands, her expression unreadable as always, pretending she wasn’t excited to be there. Maybe she’d cross her arms and act indifferent, maybe she’d even roll her eyes when Lingling glanced her way, but Lingling would know better. Orm had come. Orm was watching. And that was enough.
Still grinning to herself, she tapped on Instagram Stories, expecting nothing out of the ordinary. But the moment her screen loaded, her body tensed.
The very first story stopped her cold.
Faye.
A photo of Orm and Faye sitting together in a car, the soft glow of the evening light casting a warm hue over them. The caption read: "Weekend w/ her ❤️."
Lingling’s chest tightened, her grip on her phone subtly tightening.
She checked the timestamp. An hour ago.
Her mind scrambled for explanations. Maybe… maybe Orm came here with Faye? Maybe they drove together, and Orm is already in the stands now, waiting for me. Yeah, that could be it.
Desperate for reassurance, she swiped to the next story.
Her stomach dropped.
A photo of two movie tickets. Showtime: 3:40 PM. Orm’s Instagram handle was tagged.
Lingling’s eyes darted to the clock on the wall.
Ten minutes ago?
Orm wasn’t here.
She wasn’t in the stands, waiting.
She was at the movies. With Faye.
Lingling’s heartbeat pounded in her ears, the world around her seeming to blur. A part of her still wanted to believe— Maybe it’s a misunderstanding. Maybe Faye’s just making things up.
But the weight settling in her chest told her otherwise.
“Team, gather up!”
The coach’s sharp voice cut through the heavy fog in her mind. Lingling jolted slightly, forcing her expression into something neutral as she stuffed her phone into her bag and stood up.
The team huddled together, their coach launching into the final pre-game briefing. But Lingling?
She didn’t hear a single word.
The voices around her faded into a meaningless hum, her mind drowning in a storm of thoughts.
For the first time before a game, she wasn’t thinking about the match.
She was thinking about Orm.
And the empty seat in the stands where she should have been.
Lingling and her team strode onto the field, the electric hum of the crowd vibrating in the air. The stadium lights cast a bright glow over the pitch, but all Lingling could think about was one thing—one person.
Her gaze flickered toward the VIP section, scanning the rows near the players’ bench. Her heartbeat quickened.
Then, it dropped.
Empty.
The seat she had saved for Orm remained unoccupied.
A tightness coiled in her chest, but before she could even process the weight settling over her, the referee’s whistle cut through the noise, signaling the start of the match.
From the very first touch of the ball, something was off. Lingling’s passes lacked their usual crispness, her footwork slightly sluggish. The ball felt foreign under her control, her decisions a fraction too late. Twice, she sent a pass too wide, forcing her teammates to scramble. Once, she mistimed a run, letting an easy scoring opportunity slip through her fingers.
"Lingling! Focus!" The sharp bark of her coach cut across the field.
Her teammates were trying to pick up the slack, but even they could sense it—Lingling was not herself tonight.
By the time the referee blew the whistle for halftime, the scoreboard remained frozen at 0-0. No goals. No breakthroughs. Just frustration hanging heavy in the air.
As the team filed into the locker room, the silence was suffocating. But it didn’t last long.
"What the hell was that?" the coach snapped the moment they were inside. His voice was sharp, cutting through the tension like a blade. His gaze locked onto Lingling. "You’re playing like your head’s somewhere else. I need my striker out there, not—whatever that was!"
Lingling stood there, gripping the hem of her jersey tightly. Her heart pounded, not from exhaustion, but from something far worse.
“I…” Her voice faltered. What could she say? That she had spent the first half searching the stands instead of focusing on the game? That the thought of Orm not being there had completely unraveled her?
Her silence only made the coach angrier. "You want to apologize? Save it. Fix it in the second half."
Lingling swallowed hard and gave a small nod. "Yes, Coach."
But deep down, she wondered—could she?
The second half kicked off, but for Lingling, it felt like she was running through quicksand.
No matter how much she willed herself to focus, her mind kept dragging her back to the same torturous thoughts—Orm, Faye, the image of them together. A weight settled in her chest, heavy and suffocating. Had she misunderstood everything? She had been so sure, so certain, that Orm felt the same way. The stolen glances, the way Orm would blush when she teased her, the way she always showed up—was it all in her head?
"Focus, Lingling!" Namtan’s voice snapped her back to reality as they jogged back into position.
Lingling clenched her jaw. She had to lock in. There was still time.
Minutes ticked by, and then—the moment came.
The 85th minute.
Namtan sent a perfect through ball, slicing through the opponent’s defense like a knife. It rolled toward Lingling, setting her up for the equalizer. The crowd roared in anticipation.
This was it.
She sprinted forward, her body moving on instinct, eyes locked on the goal. Just a little closer—
A sudden force from the side.
Before she could react, a defender intercepted, cleanly stealing the ball from her feet.
What—
The next few seconds happened in a blur. The opponent didn’t hesitate, launching a long, arcing pass down the field. Lingling turned, watching in horror as the ball soared toward their goal.
"Get back!" Their goalkeeper’s voice rang out.
Too late.
The opposing team’s striker was already there, taking the shot.
The net rippled.
Silence. Then—an explosion of cheers from the other side of the stadium.
Lingling stood motionless, heart pounding in her ears as the scoreboard changed.
1-0.
The whistle blew for full time, but Lingling barely registered it.
They had lost.
The locker room was thick with unspoken tension. The air felt heavy, weighed down by the coach’s lingering frustration. He had just left, but his words still echoed in everyone’s ears.
“How do you go from being in front of the goal to losing the ball like that?” he had yelled, his sharp gaze fixed on Lingling.
Nobody had an answer. Lingling had simply stood there, shoulders tense, head slightly bowed, unable to offer anything but a murmured, “I’m sorry.”
Now, the team sat in silence, some staring at the floor, others shaking their heads in disappointment. No one dared to speak, not even to comfort each other.
After what felt like forever, Lingling finally pushed herself to her feet, clearing her throat. “I’m really sorry, everyone,” she said, her voice quieter than usual. “I let you all down today.”
Milk, who had been leaning against the lockers with her arms crossed, stepped forward. Her sharp eyes softened just a little as she studied Lingling.
“What’s going on with you?” she asked, lowering her voice so only those nearby could hear. “Before the game, you looked completely fine. Then suddenly, you’re unfocused, missing passes, losing the ball… You weren’t yourself at all out there.”
Lingling stiffened.
“I…” she started, but her voice faltered. She had no explanation, at least not one she could say out loud. What was she supposed to tell them? That the sight of an Instagram story had shattered her entire focus? That her mind had been consumed not by the game, but by someone who wasn’t even there?
Ying, sitting nearby, let out a sigh and stood up. “Look, if you don’t want to tell us, that’s fine,” she said, her tone blunt. “But whatever’s going on, you need to deal with it before the home game. I don’t care what kind of drama you have outside the field. Once you step on that pitch, you have a job to do.”
Her gaze sharpened. “If you can’t handle that, then maybe you shouldn’t play.”
A heavy silence followed. The weight of her words settled over everyone, and Lingling felt her stomach twist.
Anger bubbled up in her chest—anger at Ying’s harshness, at herself for playing so poorly, at Orm for—
No.
She clenched her fists.
Lingling took a slow breath and nodded, forcing herself to meet Ying’s gaze. “You’re right,” she said, her voice steady despite the storm inside her. “I’ll fix this. I swear.”
-
Orm arrived home feeling completely drained. The entire day with Faye had been exhausting—every smile, every touch, every attempt to close the distance between them had been met with her own silent resistance. Faye had tried, persistently, leaning in closer, brushing their hands together, finding excuses to prolong their time together. And Orm, equally persistent, had spent every moment subtly dodging, pulling away just enough, forcing a polite laugh whenever the atmosphere felt too heavy.
What exhausted her the most, though, was the way Faye kept insisting on taking pictures. Orm hated it. She hated the way Faye would nudge her closer, tilt her face toward hers, make her hold her drink just right so it looked effortlessly candid.
But she let it happen.
She even forced herself to smile.
Because deep down, in the part of her she didn’t want to acknowledge, she wanted Lingling to see. She wanted Lingling to stumble upon the posts, to feel that same twisting ache in her chest that Orm had felt.
Now, all she wanted was the comfort of solitude. She tossed her bag onto the bed, exhaling deeply before picking up her phone. As she unlocked it, a flood of messages filled the screen, all from her friends.
“We lost.”
“Tough match. We barely held on.”
“Lingling played terribly. Never seen her like that before.”
Orm’s stomach twisted.
She sat up straighter, rereading the messages, as if the words might change the second time around. Lingling, the star striker—playing badly? It didn’t make sense.
A strange, sinking feeling settled in her chest.
Was it because of me?
Her fingers trembled slightly as she sat in silence, Lingling’s words echoing in her mind.
"You have to come. Without my lucky charm, it’ll be really hard for me to win."
The memory surfaced so vividly—Lingling’s teasing tone, the way her eyes had lingered on Orm just a second too long, that playful smile that always held something deeper.
Orm squeezed her eyes shut.
No.
This wasn’t her responsibility. It wasn’t her fault.
Lingling had no right to make her feel guilty, no right to say those things if she didn’t mean them. No right to treat Orm like she was special only to turn around and act the same way with someone else.
A bitter taste rose in her throat as she recalled Bam’s voice in the restroom earlier that week, the casual way she had spoken about Lingling— "I told her she didn’t have to, but she insisted."
Was it all just a game to her?
Orm clenched her jaw, her fingers tightening around her phone.
She hated this. She hated the confusion, the way Lingling had wormed her way into her thoughts, the way she made Orm feel—hopeful, important—only for reality to crash down like this.
She hated playgirls like Lingling.