Chapter Text
Orm Kornnaphat Sethratanapong never cared much about romance. At twenty-three, her world revolved around auditions, modeling gigs, and late nights at the theater—whether she was on stage or just helping out behind the scenes. She had a plan: work hard, make a name for herself, and maybe—just maybe—think about dating once she was a household name.
It wasn’t that she disliked love; she just had other priorities. And unlike most people in her industry, she had the luxury of chasing her dreams without the weight of financial pressure. Orm came from money—old, comfortable, generational money. Her father, with a sharp mind and a soft heart, had always told her she could be anything she wanted, and her mother, a novelist, had filled their home with stories, poetry, and a deep appreciation for art in all its forms.
Orm had spent her childhood surrounded by books—some published, others still in messy, coffee-stained manuscripts scattered across her mother’s study. She grew up watching her mother craft entire worlds from nothing but words, and maybe that was part of why Orm had fallen in love with storytelling herself—just in a different medium. Her mother had never pushed her toward writing, but she had always encouraged her to dream, to chase passion over practicality.
Her parents adored her. Maybe a little too much. Her father still sent her good luck texts before every audition, and her mother had never once missed an opening night, no matter how small the role. But the most supportive family member? That was her fifteen-year-old brother, Att. He was a little menace—too smart for his own good and far too comfortable making fun of her. Anytime she visited home, he greeted her with some dramatic, exaggerated version of, “Oh, look, it’s the superstar,” before immediately begging her to buy him something or ask about her projects.
She loved the brat. She also loved annoying him back. It was her duty as an older sister.
With a family like hers, Orm knew she was lucky. She had the freedom to dream big, fail, and try again. She didn’t have to settle for anything less than exactly what she wanted—especially not in love.
Prigkhing, her best friend and roommate, on the other hand, was obsessed with love. She treated dating apps like a second job, went on an alarming number of first dates, and inevitably returned to their shared apartment, collapsing onto the couch with a dramatic sigh. Tonight was no different.
“I give up,” Prig groaned, shoveling a spoonful of chocolate ice cream into her mouth. “Why are people so awful?”
Orm, curled up on the other side of the couch, barely glanced away from the rom-com playing on their TV. “Because you have a type, and it’s a disaster?”
Prig gasped, clutching her chest as if personally wounded. “Excuse me, Dr. Love?”
Orm smirked. “I don’t need a PhD to see a pattern.”
Prig huffed, scrolling furiously on her phone. But then, just as quickly, she gasped again—this time with excitement.
“Wait. Orm. Look at this.” She shoved her phone into Orm’s face. The screen displayed a video of a stunning woman—sharp cheekbones, deep red lips, and eyes so confident they might convince someone to sell their soul. She spoke in a smooth, velvety voice, her smile both inviting and intimidating.
“The biggest mistake people make in love,” the woman purred, “is thinking they have to play by someone else’s rules. You don’t chase. You attract.”
Orm snorted. “Oh, come on.”
Prig ignored her. “Her name’s Lingling Kwong. She’s, like, the best matchmaker out there. Look at her followers! She has this whole program to help people find ‘the one.’”
Orm shot her a look. “You’re not seriously falling for this.”
“Why not? Nothing else is working!” Prig waved her phone. “Besides, look at her. She obviously knows what she’s doing.”
Orm wasn’t sure if that was because of Lingling’s wisdom or because she looked like she could seduce a rock.
Still, there was no way this woman was legit. Right?
Prigkhing, unfazed by Orm’s skepticism, continued her deep dive into Lingling Kwong’s empire of love. With an almost alarming enthusiasm, she scrolled through testimonials, pointing at one happy couple after another.
“Look at this one!” she exclaimed, shoving her phone back into Orm’s unwilling hands. “They met because of Lingling’s program, fell in love, and now they have twins! Twins, Orm! That’s double the love!”
Orm squinted at the photo of a beaming couple holding two chubby babies. “Okay, first of all, you do not get credit for matchmaking just because people eventually reproduce. That’s not how this works.” She swiped to the next photo. “And second, who even verifies these? What if they were already together before they met her?”
Prig dramatically gasped. “Are you accusing Lingling of fraud? Of fabricating her legacy of love? That’s slander!”
Orm rolled her eyes so hard she might have seen the back of her skull. “Prig, come on. You really think some random woman on the internet holds the secret to finding love? People meet when they meet. It’s messy, it’s random, and no amount of coaching is going to ‘hack’ the process.” She made air quotes with one hand, the other still holding her spoon. “Love isn’t some algorithm you can manipulate.”
Prig folded her arms. “And yet, I’m single and miserable while her clients are out here thriving.”
“Maybe you’re single because you keep going on dates with guys who think ordering for you at a restaurant is romantic.”
Prig gasped again, but this time, it was out of betrayal. “I told you that in confidence.”
Orm smirked. “Then stop telling me things if you don’t want them used against you.”
Prig huffed but turned back to her phone, scrolling aggressively. “Well, too bad, because I just signed up for a meeting. Let’s see what the great Lingling Kwong can do for me.”
Orm leaned over, peering at the screen. “Wait. That says ‘waitlist.’”
Prig froze. Then, as if trying to process an actual tragedy, she whispered, “Oh my God.”
Orm snatched the phone, reading the message at the top of the screen: Thank you for your interest! Due to high demand, new clients are placed on a waitlist. We’ll notify you when a slot becomes available.
“You’re telling me,” Orm said slowly, “that there’s actually a backlog of desperate people waiting for a chance to throw their money at this woman?”
Prig grabbed the phone back. “This is devastating. I need romance now, not in six months! What if I turn into one of those women who just sighs longingly at couples on park benches?”
Orm gave her a deadpan look. “Prig, you already do that.”
Prig dramatically collapsed back onto the couch, staring at the ceiling. “I can’t believe I’m competing for love coaching. This is like trying to get a table at that sushi place that only seats eight people a night.”
Orm patted her on the shoulder. “Maybe the real love coach is the friends we made along the way.”
Prig swatted her hand away. “Shut up.”
Still, as Orm watched her best friend sulk over a woman she had never even met, she couldn’t help but wonder—who the hell was Lingling Kwong, and how did she manage to convince so many people that love could be engineered like a perfectly curated Instagram feed?
–•–
Two months had passed since the great Lingling Kwong debate, as Orm had privately dubbed it. Life went on as usual—auditions, small gigs as a model, and long nights spent memorizing scripts. Prig, despite her initial heartbreak over being put on a waitlist, had found new distractions in a fresh string of bad dates, each one more disastrous than the last. If anything, Orm had expected her to give up on romance altogether, but her best friend was nothing if not resilient.
Orm, on the other hand, had zero interest in dating. She was too busy, too focused, too determined to make something of herself before even considering romance. And unlike Prig, she didn’t need someone whispering sweet nothings in her ear to feel validated.
That was why, on a rare free afternoon, Orm had happily agreed to meet her mother, Koy, at the small park a few blocks from the apartment. The sun hung warm but gentle in the sky, casting a soft golden glow over the winding paths and the patches of green where children laughed and chased each other, dogs barked joyfully, and the distant chatter of families filled the air. It smelled faintly of fresh grass and ice cream cones.
Orm sat with her mother on a wooden bench under the shade of a large tamarind tree, a half-melted scoop of strawberry ice cream balanced precariously on a waffle cone in her hand. Koy, as graceful and vibrant as ever, mirrored her with her own cone, smiling at the scenes of life unfolding around them.
“So, tell me about this new play,” Koy said, licking a bit of pink ice cream from her thumb, her voice full of genuine curiosity.
Orm smiled, feeling the usual ease she always did with her mother. “It’s a contemporary drama. Very character-driven, kind of surreal. I’m playing Rin—a girl who’s wild, full of fire, dreaming about leaving her dead-end town behind.” She shrugged lightly, feeling the familiar tug of nerves at admitting how much the role meant to her. “It’s different from anything I’ve done. Scary. But good, I think.”
Koy’s eyes twinkled as she nudged Orm’s arm gently. “Sounds perfect for you. Wild and full of fire suits you.”
Orm laughed, feeling some of the tension in her chest ease under the warmth of her mother’s easy affection and the golden hum of the afternoon.
Koy chuckled, reaching out to squeeze her hand. “You’re doing exactly what you should be doing, sweetheart. I’m proud of you.”
Before Orm could respond, her phone buzzed violently, one glance at the caller ID told her everything she needed to know.
“Oh God,” she muttered. “It’s Prig.”
Koy’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “Answer it. I’m sure it’s something ridiculous.”
Orm sighed and swiped to accept the call. “What now? Did your date turn out to be secretly married again?”
“Worse,” Prig huffed. “I need you to save my life.”
Orm blinked. “Okay, bit dramatic. What did you do?”
“I have an audition—a huge audition—this afternoon,” Prig rushed out. “Like, career-changing huge. I cannot miss it. But I also have a photoshoot booked at the exact same time, and I also cannot miss that because Nene—bless her stressed-out little heart—worked so hard to land this job for me. I can’t flake on her, Orm. But I also can’t flake on my dream role. So, I need you to step in and go to the shoot for me.”
Orm stared blankly at the table. Then, slowly, she said, “I beg your pardon? On my only day off?"
“This is literally the easiest favor in the world. You just have to show up, let them take pictures of you, and that’s it.” Prig countered, as if she’d already anticipated the argument. “Nene’s already handling everything else.”
“I’m not prepared for a shoot right now,” Orm tried, grasping at excuses. “I don’t have my hair done, I don’t have a wardrobe picked—”
“Nene will take care of all of that,” Prig interrupted. “They have hair, makeup, everything. You just need to show up, look stunning, and let them do their thing. Which, let’s be real, is what you do anyway.”
Orm groaned. “You’re so annoying.”
“And you’re my best friend,” Prig said sweetly. “Come on, Ormie. Please? I’ll owe you forever.”
Koy, who had been listening with undisguised amusement. “You should do it,” she said, ever the voice of reason.
Orm shot her a look. “Why are you on her side?”
“Because she’s clearly desperate,” Koy said, smiling. “And because it’s good karma. Besides, it’s just one shoot. It could be fun.”
Orm highly doubted fun was the right word, but between Prig’s pleading and Koy’s irritatingly reasonable logic, there was no way out of this.
“Fine,” Orm muttered. “Send me the details.”
Prig gasped. “You’re the best! I love you forever.”
“You already do,” Orm grumbled before hanging up.
Koy beamed. “See? Good karma.”
Orm sighed, already regretting every decision that had led her to this moment.
Her phone buzzed with a message from Prig, sending her the location of the shoot and reassuring her—again—that she didn’t have to worry about hair and makeup because everything would be done on set. And that Nene would be there to help her with everything else.
“This better be the best audition of her life,” Orm muttered as she grabbed her bag and headed out.
When she arrived at the location, she felt her breath catch for a moment. The photoshoot was taking place in a spacious, beautifully preserved vintage record store. It had that perfect mix of old-school charm and modern cool, with walls lined with shelves of colorful vinyl, turntables on display, and the faintest hum of classic rock playing in the background.
Orm had always loved music. Growing up, she spent hours listening to old records with her father, letting herself get lost in the warmth of analog sound. Even now, she had a small collection of vinyl at home, though she rarely had time to enjoy them.
Before she could admire the place further, Nene spotted her and wasted no time ushering her inside.
“Come on, let’s get you to hair and makeup,” Nene said, checking her watch. “We’re on a schedule.”
Orm followed quickly, a small, fond smile tugging at her lips. She and Prig had met Nene years ago, back when they were fresh out of high school and still trying to find their footing at their performing arts academy. Nene had been managing a local production back then, a whirlwind of energy with an eye for talent and an endless supply of contacts. Since that first chaotic show, she had taken both of them under her wing, helping them land auditions, coaching them through casting calls, and occasionally bossing them around like a slightly exasperated older sister.
Orm often wondered what they would have done without her.
She barely had time to take in the scene—a team was already working, cameras flashing as they photographed another model—but she didn’t get a good look at who it was before Nene pulled her away.
As they walked, Orm decided to ask the one thing that had been on her mind since Prig dragged her into this. “By the way, what brand is this for?”
Nene shrugged. “Some new one. A friend of mine works in their marketing team and asked me to help find a model. I figured it’d be a good opportunity for Prig to get her face out there.” She shot Orm a knowing look. “And now, for you too.”
Hair and makeup went by in a blur. Orm was used to sitting still while people fussed over her, poking at her face and tugging at her hair like she was some kind of display item. She always felt like a doll during these preparations—perfect skin, perfect hair, perfect silence. It wasn’t her favorite part of modeling, not by a long shot. Most of the time, she found the whole thing a bit superficial, even exhausting. But she knew it was important for her portfolio, especially if she wanted to land bigger acting gigs later. So she endured, pretending she didn’t hate every second of being made over like a paper cut-out.
The makeup was light and natural, just enough to enhance her features without feeling heavy, and her long hair was swept into a sleek, high ponytail that gave her an unexpectedly sharp look. She had to admit—it worked.
Then came the outfit. She changed into a blue baby tee and another pair of jeans—not too far off from her usual style, but the way it was put together felt intentional. She tugged at the hem of the shirt and glanced at herself in the mirror, tilting her head. “Huh,” she murmured. The tee was actually kind of cool. The cotton was soft and snug, hugging her frame without clinging, and the bold Always Wonder logo was printed right across the front in large, clean lettering. It should’ve felt obnoxious, but somehow it worked—it made a statement. Simple, confident. She liked that.
“Not bad,” she admitted.
The moment Orm stepped onto the main set, adjusting to the bright lights and the bustling crew, she finally caught sight of the other model. And her entire body went still.
Standing a few feet away, effortlessly radiant under the glow of the cameras, was none other than Lingling Kwong.
The Lingling Kwong. The matchmaker. The woman Prig had been obsessing over for months.
Orm’s gaze lingered longer than she intended, tracing the details of the figure standing so confidently across the room. Lingling wasn’t wearing anything dramatically different from her own outfit—a baby tee and jeans—but somehow, it looked… better. Her baby tee was a deep burgundy, rich against her skin tone, with the Always Wonder logo printed boldly across the chest. The cut of the shirt was identical to Orm’s, but Lingling wore it like it had been made for her. Her jeans hugged her legs perfectly, casual but sharp, and her posture was relaxed in a way that made everyone else seem like they were trying too hard.
Her long, dark hair was worn down and sleek, parted slightly off-center so it framed her face in a smooth curtain. The makeup was subtle—barely-there foundation, soft blush, a swipe of eyeliner that emphasized her already sharp eyes—but it did just enough to highlight the natural elegance that seemed to radiate off her in waves. She looked clean, classic, composed.
Orm felt an immediate, involuntary wave of disbelief. What were the chances? Out of all the people in the world, she was the one doing this photoshoot?
Lingling must have noticed her staring because, with a graceful tilt of her head, she met Orm’s gaze and smiled. It was the kind of smile that looked practiced, like she knew exactly the effect it had on people.
“Have we met before?” Lingling asked, her voice warm, laced with casual amusement.
Orm blinked, still trying to process. “I’ve seen you before.”
Lingling’s lips curved slightly. “I hear that a lot.”
Of course, she did. She had thousands of followers, an entire business built on making people believe in love. Orm could already hear Prig’s voice screaming in her head over the sheer absurdity of this moment.
Before Orm could respond, the photographer clapped his hands, calling everyone into position.
If nothing else, Orm knew how to work. She had been doing photoshoots since she was a teenager—some for brands, some for theater promotions, some just to build her portfolio. She knew how to hit her angles, how to take direction, how to shift her expression with the subtlest of movements. It wasn’t acting, not quite, but it was adjacent enough that it felt natural.
Lingling was good too. That much was obvious. There was a confidence in the way she carried herself, a magnetism that drew attention without her even trying.
The hours passed in a blur of poses, outfit changes, and brief moments of rest. Orm was used to the rhythm of a shoot, the way time folded in on itself between the flashes of the camera. What she wasn’t used to was the way Lingling’s gaze seemed to find her—steady, unreadable, and far too hard to ignore.
It happened during one of her solo shots. She was positioned in front of a vintage record wall, the soft lighting casting shadows that highlighted the sharp lines of her face. She adjusted her stance slightly, tilting her chin just so, waiting for the photographer’s next cue—when she noticed it.
Lingling, off to the side, watching her.
It wasn’t the usual passing glance that models gave each other on set. There was something analytical about it, something focused. Not just casual observation, but assessment.
Orm was no stranger to photoshoots, but something about this one felt different. Maybe it was the setting—the warm-toned record store, the vintage aesthetic—or maybe it was the way Lingling carried herself, exuding the kind of effortless confidence that made it impossible not to look at her.
Orm was hyperaware of everything—the shifting lights, the subtle adjustments being made behind the camera, and most of all, the occasional brush of Lingling’s arm against hers when they had to pose together.
And then there was the talking.
Lingling, it turned out, was chatty.
She made little comments between takes, filling the silences with easy conversation. “You’re good at this,” she observed at one point, watching Orm adjust her stance just before the photographer even had to tell her.
Orm arched a brow. “Thanks. I do this for a living.”
Lingling hummed, clearly amused. “I thought you were an actress.”
Orm shrugged, shifting into the next pose. “I am. But acting and modeling aren’t all that different. Both are about control—your body, your expressions, the way you present yourself.”
Lingling tilted her head, considering that. “So, in a way, you’re always playing a character?”
Orm gave a small smirk. “Aren’t we all?”
Lingling’s lips curled at the response, something like intrigue flickering in her eyes. “Interesting perspective.”
Orm didn’t reply, focusing instead on the camera. She had the oddest feeling that Lingling wasn’t just making conversation—she was studying her, peeling back layers with every casual remark.
But Orm wasn’t about to make it that easy.
Lingling didn’t seem deterred. She was persistent, in a way that felt almost deliberate. “So, what’s your favorite role you’ve played?”
Orm exhaled, adjusting her stance. “That’s like asking a parent to pick their favorite child.”
Lingling laughed. “Okay, then. What’s one role you’d love to play but haven’t yet?”
That question made Orm pause, just for a second.
It wasn’t that she didn’t have an answer—she did. Plenty, actually. But she hadn’t expected Lingling to ask.
Before she could think too hard about it, she answered honestly. “Something challenging. Something that pushes me.”
Lingling’s gaze lingered on her for a beat too long before she nodded. “I think you like proving people wrong.”
Orm shot her a look, surprised. “What makes you say that?”
Lingling simply smiled, an infuriatingly knowing expression. “Just a feeling.”
Orm didn’t know what to make of that.
And she definitely didn’t want to think about why it sent the smallest shiver down her spine.
She worked through the next few poses, hyper-aware of Lingling’s presence. Hyper-aware of the way she lingered just within her line of sight. Hyper-aware of the way her eyes moved—assessing, but also… something else. Something Orm didn’t want to analyze too deeply.
Lingling was studying her. And Orm wasn’t sure if she liked it.
So, she did what she did best—she focused on the job.
But the second this shoot was over? She was going home, locking herself in her room, and pretending this entire day never happened.
By the time the last shot was taken and the photographer finally called it a wrap, Orm let out a slow breath, rolling the tension out of her shoulders. It wasn’t that the shoot had been difficult—far from it. She was used to long hours, used to the rhythm of posing, adjusting, and holding expressions until her face threatened to cramp. But today had been different. Today, she had spent the entire time hyper-aware of Lingling Kwong’s presence.
And now, as the crew started packing up, Orm noticed something else.
The long table that had been empty when she arrived was now overflowing with food—plates of steaming dishes, fresh fruit, drinks, and an assortment of desserts that looked almost too pretty to eat. The energy in the room shifted instantly. Crew members gravitated toward the spread, murmuring in appreciation as they piled food onto their plates.
And then, as if to remove any doubt lingering in Orm’s mind, Lingling stepped forward, offering a gracious smile.
“I just want to take a moment to thank everyone for their hard work today,” she said, her voice carrying effortlessly over the low hum of conversation. “It means a lot to me, and to my team, that you all put so much effort into bringing this to life. Please, eat, enjoy yourselves—you’ve earned it.”
Orm tightened her grip on the hem of her shirt. So, Lingling was the one behind Always Wonder.
Not just the face of it. Not just a model filling in for a campaign. The owner. The person calling the shots.
The realization left a strange feeling in her chest, but she shook it off, refocusing on the task at hand. She needed to change and get out of here before Prig started blowing up her phone asking for every ridiculous detail.
Moving quickly, she slipped into the dressing area, swapping the carefully styled outfit for her usual clothes—her comfortable jeans, baby tee, and sneakers. She pulled her hair free from the high ponytail it had been tied in, running her fingers through the strands to shake out the styling products.
She had just slung her bag over her shoulder, ready to slip out unnoticed, when a familiar voice stopped her in her tracks.
“You’re not going to eat?”
Orm turned to find Lingling standing there, watching her with that same easy confidence she carried in front of the camera. Now that the shoot was over, she had changed into something more casual—an oversized button-down left slightly undone at the collar, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, paired with tailored pants. She looked effortlessly polished, like someone who never had to try too hard to make an impression.
“I should get home,” Orm said simply, adjusting the strap of her bag.
Lingling tilted her head, as if studying her. “It’s been a long day. You sure you don’t want to grab something before you go? There’s plenty of food.”
There was something undeniably smooth about the way she spoke, a conversational pull that Orm imagined worked wonders on clients seeking love advice. But she wasn’t about to get reeled into it.
Instead, she kept her voice polite but firm. “Thanks, but I really need to get back.”
Lingling didn’t push. She just smiled, slow and knowing, like she could see right through Orm’s attempt to make a quick exit. “Alright. Safe trip home.”
Orm gave a short nod, muttered a quiet, “Thanks,” and turned on her heel, making her way toward the exit without looking back.
She didn’t exhale until she was outside, the cool air hitting her skin.
She had made it through the day.
Now, all she had to do was survive Prig’s inevitable interrogation.
When Orm finally walked through the door of their apartment, it was well past 10 PM. She was exhausted, her shoulders aching from hours of holding poses and pretending not to be rattled by Lingling Kwong’s presence. All she wanted was a shower and her bed.
Instead, she was greeted by the sight of Prig sprawled out on the couch, wearing pajamas, spooning ice cream straight from the tub, and watching yet another romantic comedy.
“Finally!” Prig said, pausing the movie and sitting up. “How did it go? Tell me everything!”
Orm dropped her bag by the door and exhaled heavily. “You’re not going to believe who the other model was.”
Prig gasped dramatically, eyes wide. “Oh my God. Was it someone famous? A celebrity? Someone hot? Was it—” She suddenly clutched her chest. “Wait. Was it Lalisa Manoban?!”
Orm rolled her eyes. “No, Prig. It was Lingling Kwong.”
Silence.
Prig blinked at her. Once. Twice. Then:
“LINGLING KWONG? AS IN THE LINGLING KWONG? AS IN MY LINGLING KWONG?”
Orm cringed at how loud she was. “She’s not your Lingling Kwong.”
Prig was already screaming into a pillow. “I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS. I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS. YOU—YOU—” She pointed an accusatory spoon at Orm. “YOU STOOD NEXT TO LINGLING KWONG FOR HOURS AND DIDN’T EVEN CALL ME?!”
Orm tossed herself onto the couch beside her, exhausted. “Oh yeah, sorry. Let me just grab my phone in between poses and be like, ‘Hey, Prig, guess what? Your love guru is right next to me. Wanna say hi?’”
Prig smacked her with a throw pillow. “THIS IS UNFAIR. DO YOU UNDERSTAND HOW UNFAIR THIS IS? I WAITED TWO MONTHS TO GET A SPOT ON HER WAITLIST, AND YOU JUST CASUALLY BUMP INTO HER AT WORK?!”
Orm snorted. “It wasn’t casual. It was a professionally lit, highly coordinated encounter.”
Prig groaned and flopped backward onto the couch. “I hate you.”
“You love me.”
“No. I only tolerate you now.”
They sat there for a moment, the movie still paused on a frozen frame of a couple about to kiss. Then Prig sighed. “Okay, tell me everything. What was she like? Is she as pretty in real life? Did she smell good?”
Orm gave her a look. “I didn’t sniff her, Prig.”
Prig waved her off. “Okay, but, like… vibes?”
Orm thought back to the way Lingling had carried herself, the confidence in her every movement, the way she had smiled so easily. She shrugged. “She’s… fine. Friendly, I guess. Annoyingly good at small talk.”
Prig gasped. “Oh my God. You liked her.”
“What?” Orm made a face. “No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did,” Prig said smugly, stuffing another spoonful of ice cream in her mouth. “You’re doing that thing where you pretend not to care, but deep down, you’re intrigued.”
“I’m not intrigued,” Orm insisted, but her voice had lost some of its bite. She hesitated, slumping back against the couch with a groan. “Okay—maybe I was just… a little intimidated. She has this… I don’t know. Presence. She looks at you like she already knows everything you’re going to say. It’s annoying.”
Prig blinked, then grinned like she’d just hit jackpot. “Oh, she totally got to you. That’s her whole thing, isn’t it? Matchmaker vibes. Seductive and mysterious. She probably tried to flirt with you too.”
Orm narrowed her eyes. “She talked. A lot. Tried to start conversations. I might’ve ignored her. Maybe.”
Prig cackled. “Oh my God, she was definitely into you.”
Orm groaned. “Can we drop this?”
Prig smirked. “Fine. For now.”
–•–
Three weeks later…
Orm was sitting on her bed, highlighting lines in her script, when Prig burst into her room like a woman possessed.
“She emailed me.”
Orm didn’t even look up. “Who?”
“LINGLING KWONG.”
Orm’s highlighter froze mid-sentence. Then, very slowly, she turned to face her best friend. “…You’re still on that?”
Prig scoffed. “Of course, I’m still on that! I waited months for this!” She shoved her phone into Orm’s face, showing an email with Lingling’s name in the sender field. “She wants to set up my first meeting! It’s happening!”
Orm groaned, rubbing her temples. “Prig, I swear, this is a waste of time and money.”
“No, it’s an investment in my future happiness.”
“It’s an investment in someone else’s bank account.”
Prig ignored her skepticism and instead dropped onto Orm’s bed dramatically. “Listen, I need a favor.”
Orm’s eyes narrowed. “No.”
“You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”
“Let me guess—you want me to go with you?”
Prig beamed. “See? We’re so in sync!”
Orm shook her head immediately. “Absolutely not.”
Prig grabbed her arm. “Please.”
“No.”
“PLEASE.”
“Not happening.”
“I’LL WASH THE DISHES FOR THE REST OF THE YEAR.”
Orm hesitated.
Prig saw her chance and went in for the kill. “I mean, think about it. No more greasy pans. No more leftover food in the sink. No more mystery smells.” She leaned in closer. “Just. Clean. Dishes.”
Orm exhaled slowly, weighing her options.
Finally, she groaned. “Fine. But only because I don’t trust you to go alone. You’ll probably sign up for some premium love coaching scam.”
Prig clapped her hands excitedly. “YES! This is going to be so fun.”
Orm groaned again, already regretting her decision.